A Calming Hand
The scratching of Rezef’s pen stopped the moment he heard his aide’s report.
“His Majesty the Emperor spoke as though he would transfer the authority, allowing Her Highness the Princess to choose her own husband directly.”
“Father said that?”
Rezef asked whether Raphael’s name had come up during the discussion. The aide shook his head.
“He declared that he does not desire a marriage with Sir Raphael.”
“Is that so?”
It seemed Cayena’s condition—marriage to the partner of her choice—had been sincere after all. Until now, their father’s use of Cayena as an excuse to pressure Raphael had been quite useful to Rezef. The loss of that justification left him faintly disappointed.
“However, after concluding her audience, Her Highness took tea with Sir Raphael.”
“…The two of them alone?”
“Yes. Lady Lydia informed us while she was on her way to prepare the tea.”
“And Raphael followed without resistance?”
“Yes. Her Highness suggested they share tea, claiming she would help resolve his troubles.”
Rezef’s brow furrowed. He recalled the way Cayena had looked at him with such clear, unwavering eyes.
“What exactly did they talk about?”
“According to the maid Vera, she brought up marriage prospects and found fault with the daughters of other houses. She did, however, speak favorably of Lady Olivia Grace.”
Praising Olivia Grace. Because she’s to become a lady-in-waiting in the princess’s palace? For my sake?
Rezef could not make sense of Cayena lately. Sometimes she seemed like the sister he had always known; other times she felt like an entirely different person.
“…Understood. You may leave.”
He had too many urgent matters to dwell on it. The overturned assassination attempt had left several loose ends that needed tying up.
Knock, knock.
A servant entered after the knock and announced, “Your Highness, it is Zenon Evans.”
“Send him in.”
Zenon Evans stepped into the study and offered a respectful bow. Rezef waved a dismissive hand.
“Enough with the formalities. What is it?”
Zenon, with his ash-gray hair, approached holding a silver tray that bore a sealed letter.
“Since the recent meeting with Grand Duke Heinrich’s faction, several nobles have begun shifting their movements.”
At the name Heinrich, Rezef’s face twisted violently. That lunatic was like a cockroach—step on him as many times as you liked, and he still crawled back up to gnaw at your nerves.
“What new scheme has that vermin cooked up this time?”
Even the recent incident with Cayena proved it. A ruffian without a drop of imperial blood was running around claiming to be the rightful heir to the throne. Rezef wanted nothing more than to beat them all down with a flaming club.
He set down his pen, tore open the envelope, and read the letter’s contents.
“That ignorant hybrid bastard!”
He shot up from his chair in a burst of fury.
Anticipating the outburst, Zenon quietly retreated a step.
“These brainless fools have gone over to Grand Duke Heinrich!”
The letter reported that several landowners Rezef had carefully cultivated had now sided with the Grand Duke. They were claiming that Heinrich was the successor personally acknowledged by the Emperor—a direct blow to Rezef’s most sensitive nerve.
Rezef had been born not of the Empress but of a concubine. Unless his birth mother was elevated to Empress, he would remain a bastard. Only if the Emperor formally adopted him beneath the late Empress could he gain true legitimacy and become the temple-recognized heir. Yet the Emperor continued to behave ambiguously.
The Grand Duke’s supporters argued that there was no difference between an adopted son without imperial blood and Rezef himself.
“After everything I’ve done for them, they betray me over a few measly mines? The true royal is not that filthy fake, Heinrich—it’s me!”
Crash!
Rezef overturned the table.
“When I become Emperor, every last one of them will be purged! Insolent wretches who don’t know their place!”
Running a rough hand through his hair, Rezef turned to Zenon.
“Still no reply from the Grace viscount family?”
“We have not yet received an answer.”
Rezef hurled a vase at him. Fortunately it missed, shattering against the wall instead.
“Why haven’t you secured a reply yet? It’s because you’re all useless that even the lowliest insects dare ignore me!”
Zenon had known from the start that the Grace family would hesitate to respond because of their ties to the Kedrey ducal house. But telling the enraged Rezef that truth would likely cost him his head. Swallowing a sigh, he bowed deeply.
“…My deepest apologies, Your Highness.”
“Why is there not a single competent person around me? This is exactly why that lunatic Heinrich can run wild!”
Zenon was privately pondering which of the two—Rezef or the infamous madman Heinrich—was the greater fool when a servant entered with a fearful expression.
“Y-Your Highness…”
“What is it?” Rezef snarled, eyes glittering with killing intent.
Click.
“It’s me, Rezef.”
Cayena opened the door and stepped inside.
Zenon clicked his tongue inwardly. He glanced at Rezef, who was clenching his fists so tightly the knuckles had gone white, then moved toward Cayena.
“Your Highness, I apologize, but it would be best if you returned at a later time.”
Cayena regarded him with an icy gaze.
“Are you trying to prevent me from seeing my brother get hurt?”
The ugly tension that had filled the study shattered at her single sentence. The violent scene suddenly seemed no more threatening than a child’s tantrum.
When did the princess become this resolute…?
Overwhelmed by her presence, Zenon stepped back. Cayena offered a bright smile and walked past him as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
She swept her gaze over the wrecked room, then slowly approached Rezef. Broken porcelain and glass littered the floor. One wrong step in her thin leather slippers could cause a serious injury.
“Do not come any closer, sister.”
Rezef’s voice was cold and rigid, his eyes frozen. Cayena ignored the warning and continued forward, not even glancing at the floor. It would have been no surprise if she cut herself.
Irritation flashing across his face, Rezef warned her again.
“I told you not to come closer!”
“But if I don’t come to you, you’ll be all alone, won’t you?”
“What…?”
His face twisted at the absurd remark. At that exact moment, Cayena stepped on a fallen ornament and lost her balance.
“Ah!”
A fall would have meant serious injury. Rezef swallowed a curse and yanked her toward him.
“That’s why I told you—”
Before he could finish venting his rage, Cayena gently brushed his cheek. The sting made Rezef frown slightly.
“You’re hurt, Rezef.”
A shard from one of the broken objects must have grazed him, leaving a thin cut.
“What is this on that handsome face of yours?”
Using her sleeve, Cayena carefully wiped away the blood.
Rezef merely stared at her with a displeased expression. The molten fury that had been raging inside him began to cool. This was the first time his anger had ever subsided simply by looking at his sister.
He lifted Cayena into his arms and carried her to the only undamaged part of the room. The long sofa near the bed was the sole piece of furniture that had survived the rampage.
“Such strength!”
Cayena let out an astonished cry at how easily he carried her. No matter how light she was, she was not weightless, yet Rezef lifted her as though she were a sheet of paper.
Somehow, her attitude drained the last of his energy. The man who had been raging like a lunatic only moments ago suddenly felt like a fool.
The villainess is a marionette.