Yeah. I'm an Orphan - 2
It was the season when bright spring coaxed new buds from the earth.
Alongside it came the social season, when the nobility and their children threw gathering after gathering.
Young ladies with young ladies. Young lords with young lords. And, every so often, mixed banquets where the two spilled into one another.
Lately, among them all, one topic had become common fuel for conversation.
The orphan who stuck to Beatrix's side like a second shadow.
"I simply cannot make sense of Her Majesty's intentions."
Karl—a well-groomed man in lavish clothes—set down a pure white teacup with a soft click and let out a sigh.
He and several other young lords sat around a round table draped in a spotless white cloth.
Another young lord, Arnold, plucked one of the pastries decorating the table and spoke.
"She has always been difficult to understand, but this time she may have gone too far. Keeping a commoner—an orphan, no less—at her side?"
He had no idea that the orphan he so casually dismissed was bedding the queen day after day. The other young lords were no different. Daniel, who had been listening in silence, was one of them.
"Her Majesty will soon host a banquet to mark the spring. We can take the measure of that orphan's face then and decide for ourselves."
None of them had the courage to curse an orphan to Beatrix's face. Not the young lord of the ducal house hosting today's gathering, and not the hangers-on who trailed after him. Calling it an opportunity to curry favor was far too generous—one wrong step would not merely trip them up. The moment they stepped forward, they would almost certainly die.
"That sounds wise."
Karl nodded and brought the conversation to a close.
Because he carried a torch for Beatrix, Albert grated on him more than he could bear. The rumors were everywhere—that the orphan clung to her side and monopolized her favor.
What kind of scheme did he pull to make even Her Majesty…
An easygoing nature had drawn some attention, but the finishing blow was his cock. A massive thing Karl, with his merely average endowment, could not begin to approach—and the reason a vicious inferiority complex festered in him.
A few days after the gathering broke up, a letter arrived from the royal palace, just as Karl had expected.
Martinez. An invitation under Beatrix's family name—the name of the royal house itself.
"So it has come again this year."
A beautiful noblewoman of some years, her voice carrying a curiously deep, mature weight, swept back the hair that had fallen along her neck and murmured to herself. Conrad Miller, one of the three great dukes of the East. Karl sat before her.
"Yes. Of course I must attend. And you, Mother…?"
"I intend to go this year as well. Like you, I am curious about the face of the man who has seized that queen's heart."
A subordinate found it difficult to refuse a superior's invitation. All the more so when the invitation came from the infamous Beatrix—one might as well feel like a convict being dragged to prison.
Beatrix, however, was surprisingly generous on this point. Whether someone was truly busy or simply invented an excuse because they did not wish to come, she accepted it readily enough. She was not the sort to treat a declined invitation as an insult. An invitation was exactly that—an invitation, not a command.
"Then I shall have preparations begun at once."
"Mm. Do so."
When the duchess gave her leave, Karl finished his greetings and left. As the eldest son who would one day inherit the duchy, he knew how to handle subordinates—education Conrad had drilled into him since childhood. The eldest daughter was far too frail to succeed the house, so Karl would have to bring in a son-in-law of his own.
"Nnh…"
Conrad let out a small sound and closed her eyes. What stance to take at the palace. Who else would come. A dozen such thoughts crowded her mind.
"It suits you."
A smile touched Beatrix's lips as she stood beside the full-length mirror. Albert looking into the glass with that awkward expression was simply too adorable.
"Yes… thank you. Though I still wonder whether I have any right to wear something like this…"
Albert, dressed in a black formal suit, murmured as if the honor were too much. Even a light touch of the fabric was enough to tell how expensive the material was—soft and smooth, and sturdy besides.
"You're the man who has me. Of course you have the right."
Beatrix brought up their first night as naturally as breathing. She had only pounced on him out of curiosity about that enormous cock—and looking back now, she could only conclude it had been one of the best decisions of her life. Had she pretended not to notice and walked on by, she would have gone her whole life never knowing this joy.
Best to just laugh it off at times like this.
Albert gave an awkward little laugh and sidestepped an answer, not knowing what on earth he was supposed to say.
"A great many nobles will gather this evening. You know that, don't you?"
"Yes. That's why I'm even more nervous."
A party. The moment Albert dropped the awkward smile, the tension on his face stood out plain. The thought of standing before so many nobles set his heart pounding. In this reversed world, women held the power—so the banquet hall would be filled with women in gowns. Young ladies and young lords would attend as well, swelling the scale even further. Under the pretext of introductions, they would firm up existing connections or forge new ones.
"You don't have to force yourself to remember everyone. Accept the greetings politely enough and forget them. They'll all do the same."
Superiors did not trouble themselves to remember their inferiors. Beatrix was no exception. She simply had an exceptional memory, so the faces lodged themselves without effort.
"Hearing you say that takes some of the weight off."
The permission to forget seemed genuinely welcome; a soft smile curved Albert's mouth.
Cute.
Beatrix's cheeks warmed, just a little.
A coat over it might look good too.
Perhaps because the tension had eased, Albert let his mind wander as he looked into the mirror.
"The banquet starts this evening, and you stay glued to my side. As for greetings… do them if you feel like it."
Even when ranks differed, courtesy between high and low was proper. Beatrix was a tyrant who regarded everyone beneath her regardless of station—but Albert was not. She might be thinking of marriage, yet thinking was all it was. He was not yet her official consort.
Best to bow my head for now, at least.
Greet them and see. After the brief exchange, Albert settled on the safe conclusion.
"Your Majesty. All of the invited guests have assembled."
Just as Beatrix firmed her resolve to drive the nail home today, a rather lovely head lady-in-waiting entered to announce the hour.
"Good. We're going."
"Yes."
The head lady answered shortly and withdrew. When Beatrix's fair hand took Albert's, he laced his fingers through hers and held on tight, as if he had no intention of letting go.
"Let's go."
Drawn by her touch, he left the room. The necklace half-buried in the deep valley of her chest swayed and caught the light.
As they walked the corridor, the ladies-in-waiting who had been standing along the walls fell quietly into step behind them. There were not many, yet it was more than enough to call a queen's procession. Every maid's attire was immaculate, and not one among them lacked beauty.
At last the party reached a broad, towering set of doors.
"Opening them now."
Two maids from the rear stepped forward and took one massive door leaf each. The doors, heavy enough that they looked as if they would never budge, began to yield under the women's hands.
Even in the dead of night, the light beyond was dazzling enough to blind. Mana lamps in the shape of chandeliers hung from the banquet hall ceiling.
So many people. Albert stared in wonder at the crowd filling every corner of the hall. Even when he had worked at the trading company, guests had come and gone—but nothing like this.
"Ah…! We greet Your Majesty!"
Someone nearest the doors hastily bowed their head—a young lady in a gown far fuller and far less revealing than Beatrix's.
"We greet Your Majesty."
Starting with her, every person gathered in the hall bowed in a cascading wave, like falling dominoes. Beatrix cut straight through the bowing throng without hesitation and mounted the low dais set in the corner of the hall.
"I'm glad to see you all enjoying yourselves. Thank you for coming. That will do—raise your heads."
At the queen's command from the dais, everyone lifted their bowed heads. Most of the eyes looking up were glazed with fear.
"Last year passed without incident, and spring has come again without fail. I hope each of you will govern your territories this year without trouble as well."
Don't do anything stupid trying to fill your bellies.
The lovely voice delivered a blood-chilling warning, and faces throughout the hall went paper-white. The only two whose complexions remained normal were Beatrix and Albert.
So her temper hasn't gone anywhere.
She had grown considerably gentler in front of Albert, but she was still a tyrant.
"Ah. And the one beside me. I intend to take him as my consort. My lawful spouse, needless to say."
And so she could drop a bomb on the banquet hall as casually as filing paperwork, without so much as a twitch. She simply opened her mouth and spoke, as if handling ordinary business.
This is a little embarrassing.
Embarrassment flushed Albert's cheeks a faint red. He had more or less expected it, but facing people's reactions head-on still made him self-conscious. Some forgot their terror in the fresh shock and rounded their eyes. Some whispered with their heads drawn together. And some sent looks thick with jealousy. The full range of human nature was on display.
Impossible…!
Among them all, Karl Miller's gaze burned hottest. The shock was so great he could not even manage the expression control he practiced every day. That orphan brat he had assumed would be, at best, a side piece—or a toy to be used and discarded—as the lawful consort? It was absurd. How many years had he spent chasing her favor at every opportunity…
"Plenty of discontent, I see."
A heavy sigh slipped from Beatrix's lips. The strain of holding back a rising temper was plain. If Albert had not been holding her hand—who knew? She might have interrogated them razor-sharp and sent heads flying before the night was out.
"It's all right."
Albert whispered with a small smile. Who would be happy to hear some orphan suddenly drop in by parachute? He would have kept his distance too. What surprised him was simply that there were people who seemed to genuinely like the queen.
Quite a few of them, actually.
So loving a beautiful woman was the same here as anywhere else. Albert felt anew that even in a gender-reversed world, the standards for looking at the opposite sex were not so very different.
"That's all I have to say. Enjoy yourselves freely, then go."
Beatrix ordered them back to the banquet and sat upon the throne prepared on the dais. The guests watched one another's faces, then gradually resumed their conversations. Soon, talk blossomed again throughout the hall.
"Sorry. There isn't a chair for you."
"It's fine. From the staff's point of view, it would have been awkward to prepare one."
The place beside the queen belonged solely to the royal consort. And Albert was not yet the royal consort. Those who had prepared the banquet had simply followed protocol.
If Albert's nature had been a little more vicious, though—if he had quietly complained to Beatrix that they were slighting him…
I'll have to re-educate them.
Beatrix nursed the grievance in silence. She even resented herself for getting so drunk on mixing feelings and bodies that she had neglected the finer points of consideration. She never knew when she might grow tired of him. Even now, time might pass and she might send him away. She had let that early caution—held in the first days of sharing a bed—drag on, and this was the result.
Would a gift make him happy?
He said he was fine, but that could not be the whole truth. Beatrix resolved to soothe whatever wound he carried with a carefully chosen present.
Ah, I'm so nervous.
Albert, for his part, was simply too wound up to know what to do with himself. Even when nobles, their tension easing, approached the dais one by one to pay their respects. Even when he received their greetings and exchanged a few light words. Every moment was pure strain.
"I'll be going now. Enjoy yourselves."
"Yes. Please take care, Your Majesty."
When Beatrix withdrew first, the other nobles saw her off as if they had expected nothing less. The banquet would run for three days, but the host almost never lingered long. Showing one's face, exchanging a few words, and stepping back was the usual way. That was why the guests were not flustered.
While they settled once more into easy conversation, the man and woman reached the bedchamber. As if they had been waiting for this, they locked in an embrace and tangled tongues—and before long they were joining their bodies like animals.
As always.
"Nnh…"
In the small hours, when everyone else slept, Albert gave a faint sound and sank into deep slumber. Beatrix, who had been sleeping with her arms around him, quietly parted her lips.
"Come out."
There should have been no one here but Albert, lying asleep on the bed. Yet she spoke as if someone most certainly were present.
And someone truly answered, in a low voice.
"Yes."
A soft thup—the sound of something small dropping. Not a thing, but a person dropping from the dark ceiling, leaving behind only the slightest noise.
A woman in a black robe, her hood pulled so low her face could not be seen.
"You summoned me."
"I did. Take paper and a pen from the drawer and sit at the table."
Without a word, the woman went to the cabinet in the corner, drew out pen and paper, and sat at the table near the bed. Still turned away, Beatrix opened her mouth again—voice kept small so Albert would not wake.
"The names I call out—write every one of them down. Miss none."
"As you command."
"First…"
Names spilled from Beatrix's lips. The woman recorded every one without fail, double-checking that nothing had been left out.
"I have written them all. What shall I do?"
A kill list? Or something else? When the woman asked to confirm her mistress's will, Beatrix answered.
"Have the children watch them. Day and night, without rest."
"Surveillance alone will suffice?"
"Watch them loosely. If they speak ill of that man, listen carefully and report it."
The names Beatrix had ordered written down shared a common trait. Every last one of them had looked at Albert with jealousy in their eyes.
A kill list in all but name.
Once the queen set her sights on someone, they were as good as dead. The woman bowed her head slightly in place of words—then melted into the darkness as if she had never been there at all.