I Am Not the Duke
But it seems these fellows are a little short on caution. Or perhaps they simply didn’t recognize the plant because they’d never seen it before….
It must be the latter. I’ve never seen that grass either.
Zama refused to accept the criticism that his words had been insensitive and insisted such grass did not grow in Loudhill.
Tichite wondered if he might be right. Just as she had seen a mountain horse for the first time, the vegetation of their homeland and this place would not match perfectly.
Once her speculation reached that point, Tichite grew worried.
If the herbs that grow here differ from those that grow there, will I be able to gather the medicinal plants the prescription requires without any disruption? If a plant that is commonplace here does not grow there….
She examined her patient with anxious eyes—his iron frame that still permitted not a single speck of dust.
If she knew exactly which ingredients were needed, she could prepare them in advance. The resolve to examine his condition as soon as possible welled up inside her.
At that moment Milvian spoke, observing that the title of apothecary had apparently not been entirely false.
His formal voice still carried a trace of suspicion, yet it also held a note of admiration capable of bolstering Tichite’s courage.
Let us reach the village before sunset. It would be wise to give the horses proper rest.
The Duke had spoken. As she entrusted her body to the hands that lifted her while urging haste, Tichite made up her mind.
Tonight I will definitely ask him to remove his armor and show me his skin.
While she steeled her resolve, the man swung into the saddle and seized the reins.
Thus they rode once more, galloping for a long while. Tichite Ranlam, nothing more than a frail civilian, felt as though she were dying from the physical disparity between herself and the robust men, yet she refused to utter any pathetic words about wanting to rest or dismount. She was now balanced upon the scale of their reevaluation; she had no desire to be branded a pitiful woman who disrupted the schedule.
The knights avoided the deep mountains and instead followed the level path beside the water. By the time they had cantered up and down the gentle hills, smoke was rising in the distance. Someone had lit a fire—a sign that people lived there.
Nyx Farrow and his knights turned their course as though by prearrangement. The sun had not yet touched the horizon, but they spurred their mounts without hesitation.
What they had expected to be a modest cottage proved, upon arrival, to be a surprisingly lively village. When they stopped a passerby and asked who ruled the land, the name that returned was one they had never heard.
We should find lodgings.
Yes, Knight Commander.
Revealing their identities and requesting hospitality would certainly earn them courtesy, yet Nyx wished to pass through this place without anyone learning he had come.
Travelers like them were not uncommon, but the presence of the Paeroa and his knights stood out sharply.
The massive mountain horses and the reddish-skinned Tilamin woman drew considerable attention, yet what drew every eye most was Nyx Farrow himself. The man’s armor was not intended for real combat. Paired with the sword at his side, it was ornate ceremonial gear—for the simple reason that it had been donned for socializing rather than warfare.
Nevertheless, the man stubbornly remained fully armed. He disliked becoming the subject of gossip, but among complete strangers who did not even know his name there was no point in worrying about evaluation. It was bearable.
Tichite worried for him.
If he cannot sweat properly, it will harm his skin as well.
She was certain the man must be cooking alive inside that steel.
“Milvian.”
“Yes, Knight Commander.”
“If there is a saint in the village, bring him. I wish to request the evening prayer.”
“Yes, understood.”
“What about me? What should I do?”
The Duke issued orders to Milvian in front of the assigned inn room. At once Zama began to fidget like a dog eager to fetch a ball, begging to be given some task.
“Well… shall we look for something to eat? Enough for your portion and Milvian’s as well.”
“Yes, Knight Commander. I believe they were selling things on the first floor. Shall I bring some at once?”
“No, not right now. Bring it after the evening prayer ends.”
“Yes, Your Grace. I will prepare it!”
The man stroked Zama’s head with his steel gauntlet. The gesture was so fluid it was clear he had done so many times before; though the touch was hard, the response flowed as naturally as water.
Zama clattered down the stairs after Milvian, footsteps bustling with youthful energy.
Nyx grasped the door handle. Only then did he notice Tichite standing at a height he rarely bothered to check.
She was gazing up at him with eyes that seemed ready to ask, What should I do?
Her head sat perceptibly far lower than those of the two young men, and the realization unsettled Nyx anew.
“You…”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“You must not call me that.”
“Pardon?”
The command was so abrupt, so out of place, and so pointless that she could not help but ask again.
“…You mean I should stop calling you Your Grace?”
“Yes.”
“Then… forgive me, but why?”
Why now, all of a sudden? And if not that, what was she supposed to call him?
The silence told her the man had no wish to answer. After a sigh he left only his index finger extended, folding the rest one by one as he spoke.
“First, I am uncomfortable being addressed by that title…”
Before he could finish the first point, someone popped out of the neighboring room. It was nothing remarkable—simply another guest.
The man swept his gaze over the pair blocking the corridor, then continued past them as if to remind them they were not alone.
The Duke finished his sentence as though to say there, you see?
“Second, in a place like this it would be even more awkward.”
Whether first or second, it amounted to the same thing. It had seemed he would offer a coherent explanation, yet in the end he had merely gone through the motions.
She remained bewildered, but the man left her standing there and moved to enter the room alone. He pointed at the adjacent door with his thumb.
“Your room is next door. Should anything happen I can reach you at once, so there is nothing to fear.”
“Just a moment, Du—”
Having been told not to call him Your Grace, she hesitated, searching for another form of address, and closed her mouth. Come to think of it, the other knights all seemed to call him Knight Commander.
“I’m sorry, but I still don’t quite understand.”
When Nyx opened the door, Tichite seized the chance and slipped inside after him. She pressed on with her questions.
“What do you mean by uncomfortable? Why? In what way is it inconvenient for you?”
Had it been anyone else he would have kicked them out, but he had no idea how to make this woman retreat.
How could a young maiden enter a man’s room alone without the slightest wariness?
Nyx stood flustered, unable either to drive her away or welcome her. At last he realized the surest way to send her back was simply to answer.
He spoke with the air of a man who would rather stagger than continue.
“Because… the real Duke exists elsewhere.”
“The real Duke?”
Her eyes rounded.
Where is there a real one and a fake one? Does that mean you are the false Duke?
The answer remained incomprehensible; her doubts refused to settle. Nyx let out another helpless sigh and dropped heavily into a chair.
“I mean my father. My sire, Roger Paeroa.”
“…Your Grace’s father?”
That, at least, was a clear explanation.
“Was he not dead?”
The mention of a man everyone had naturally assumed no longer existed sparked fresh curiosity.
“He is probably alive.”
The man spoke, then after a brief pause added a short note of uncertainty.
“…Most likely.”
Nyx believed his father, Duke Roger, still lived. That was why he had sent various petitions to the Jeroli royal house and the temple. He considered himself nothing more than a temporary proxy filling the vacancy, and for that reason had never held the succession ceremony.
“The title of Paeroa belongs solely to the Paeroa family. It was not obtained through an oath of loyalty, so neither the king nor the Moon Shadow holds any authority over it. With the father who should place that mantle upon my shoulders absent, I am at present merely the primary heir.”
Unless someone thrust Duke Roger’s corpse before his eyes, Nyx had no intention of inheriting the name.
Though the entire world already called him Duke Paeroa, the man himself continued to reject that title within the boundaries he had drawn for himself.