Shaking Carriage
In the swaying carriage, Richard flipped through the sheaf of documents and asked, “How is Herbert holding up?”
“He seemed utterly exhausted and has fallen fast asleep.”
“What a pathetic wretch.”
Richard’s assessment was unfair. Even as nightmares clawed at him, Herbert had still done his duty. With Rio’s help, the report he had compiled contained a detailed comparison: the estimated durability and firing rate of the Kurzhan cannons based on the scenes burned into his memory, the weight of their gunpowder and shells, and how they measured against Zylan’s new cast-iron cannons. Far from weak, the man possessed a remarkably resilient spirit.
That was why Rio spoke up. “You shouldn’t speak of him that way.”
“What do you mean?”
“The archbishop. To you, brother, he must seem frail. But he worked with genuine fortitude.”
Richard did not even glance at Rio. “You have always given me sound advice. But this time I will be perfectly clear. You are wrong.”
“Why?”
“Herbert is not some ordinary civilian—he is an official of the kingdom. What use is a man who collapses from exhaustion over something so trivial?”
He gestured toward the carriage ahead where Herbert rode, though his eyes never left the stack of papers.
“That may be true, but he still completed every task assigned to him. Didn’t he?”
Rio tried to meet his brother’s gaze, seeking agreement. But Richard refused to look his way. Instead, he sneered.
“One faint per report. Splendid. Who knows how many more times he’ll keel over.”
“Brother!”
This was wrong. Richard should not behave like this. He should not mock Herbert’s efforts. Herbert was not a superhuman like Richard. If he wished to command ordinary men like Herbert, Richard needed to at least understand their weaknesses, even if he could not empathize with them.
That was why Rio was shocked, why he had raised his voice. Yet beyond calling out to his brother, he could say nothing more.
“Enough, secretary.”
Richard’s voice was thick with fatigue and irritation. Only then did he finally meet Rio’s eyes, but the familiar warmth with which he usually addressed his brother was gone. Teeth clenched as though he might throttle him at any moment, he growled, “Do you think the archbishop is the only one who finds this unbearable?”
“F-forgive me, Your Majesty. I never meant to upset you…”
“Be more careful in the future, Rio.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
After that, a heavy silence settled over Rio and a comfortable one over Richard. Rio could not bear to look at his brother. When it came to strength, no one surpassed Richard. He had endured countless wars, none of them any gentler than the single horror Herbert had faced. Beyond the ravages of battle, he was still bearing a burden that no ordinary person could possibly withstand.
Rio gazed at Richard—who had lived nearly twice as long as he had, yet now appeared only three or seven years older—and thought of how it must feel to become a woman. It was nothing so simple as the disappearance of flesh between the legs and the appearance of female organs. It was something else entirely.
As he studied his brother’s form, Rio thought that Richard was truly beautiful. The reflection he saw in the mirror each morning—and several times throughout the day—was no different. This was not about the face. Rio’s own face was undeniably feminine, and he had never liked it; looking at it in the mirror often left him irritated. Yet the very same features, when they belonged to Richard, felt completely different.
Richard’s face was just a touch softer in its lines than his own. Even seated, he was slightly shorter. Rio’s gaze drifted downward. The most obvious difference lay in the chest. Small, yet sufficiently rounded. And Rio knew that what strained against the masculine doublet was far more feminine than it appeared. Though the waist was cinched more than was typical for men’s clothing, Rio still remembered how his brother had looked in nightclothes. The garments tailored perfectly to Rio’s body could not fully reveal the curve of Richard’s waist.
Most decisively, there was the space between the legs. Because Richard sat at an angle with one foot propped on the seat, the line of his crotch was clearly visible. It was shaped nothing like Rio’s own—smooth and flawless from hip to thigh, the fabric clinging tightly. Rio stared for a long moment before his face flushed crimson and he jerked his eyes away.
Richard was undeniably beautiful. He was incomparably beautiful, and feminine. No matter how masculine his attire or behavior, it only made his womanhood stand out more sharply. Beauty was a blessing for any woman. But for Richard, the femininity he had gained was a curse.
Only then did Rio notice his brother’s expression again. His face was flushed, and Rio could see fragments of irritation and displeasure written clearly across it. Ever since boarding the carriage, Richard had been constantly shifting his posture. It must have been uncomfortable. Yet he could not seem to find any position that eased it.
It isn’t the posture that’s uncomfortable, Rio thought to himself. It was pain. It was a nightmare. Only a few days ago Richard had been the manliest of men. Now all that remained of his masculinity were forced mannerisms and a slender frame that made his remaining strength seem out of place.
Rio was not Richard, so he could not truly know what agony his brother endured. But he understood well enough that it must be excruciating. Later—though when that would be, he could not say, and perhaps it would never come—until that day arrived, Richard would endure the torment inflicted upon him with greater strength than anyone. As far as Rio knew, no one on earth was stronger than his brother.
Rio hung his head. He was ashamed that he had dared speak to such a person about weakness and strength. How presumptuous he had been! He had been insensitive to the pain his brother must be suffering. He had simply assumed that because his brother was strong, and because he had seemed energetic since the first day of his reign, everything must be fine.
That was wrong. It was inexcusable. No matter how talented Herbert was, no matter how heavy his responsibilities or how much pain he endured, Rio’s first duty was to think of his blood relative—his brother Richard. It was only natural that Richard would be angry with him. Moreover, while Richard was family in private, in public he was Rio’s sovereign.
He lifted his head. Afraid the tears would spill, he tilted it even higher. The lantern hanging from the ceiling swayed with the carriage’s motion. He closed his eyes and quickly wiped away the few tears that had escaped. Taking a deep breath with his eyes still shut, he opened them again. He had to apologize to Richard. Even a prince could not be easily forgiven for committing such an unforgivable act of presumption. He looked at his brother, ready to confess his sin.
Richard was staring down at the documents, fanning the back of his neck with his tied hair like a fan. Even to the young Rio, the sight was beautiful, and it made his heart ache all the more. Holding back his tears, the moment he opened his mouth to call out, Richard spoke first.
“Rio?”
“Y-yes, brother?”
“Why do you look so startled, boy?”
Richard lifted his head and met his eyes. “I’m sorry. I spoke too harshly.”
Rio answered in a fluster. “N-no, no! Not at all, brother! If anyone should apologize, it’s me…”
“Rio, Rio. My little brother. Don’t cry.”
Richard wore a troubled expression. “I didn’t realize my words would hurt you so deeply.”
I mustn’t cry…
He had wanted to apologize before his strong brother while showing strength of his own. He had wanted to be a sturdy support for the brother who was suffering. But despite his intentions, the tears began to fall.
Richard gently stroked Rio’s hair. It was stiffer than usual from the dust of the armory and the “back courtyard,” hardly a pleasant texture, yet Richard did not withdraw his hand. Slowly, tenderly, those soft fingers caressed his head, and the tears poured from Rio’s eyes even more fiercely.
“It’s not because of what you said, brother. I’m not crying because of that. I’m… I’m angry at my own helplessness. And because I acted so presumptuously in front of you… and because that disgraces you. That I would do such a thing… it makes me furious and sad. So…”
Richard looked troubled. He had told Rio he was wrong, but he knew deep down that there was truth in his brother’s words. He could not rule Zylan alone. He needed the help of his subjects, and he knew they were not as strong as he was. Yet he did not know how to comfort those who lacked his strength. With knights or soldiers, he could have piled up strong drink, let them drink until they lost their senses, and traded curses until the resentment faded. But Rio, though a knight and soldier by rank, was not someone he could treat that way.
Watching his weeping brother, Richard pondered for a moment, then moved to sit beside him. He drew Rio into a gentle embrace.
“Brother?”
Rio started, eyes wide. Right beside his own eyes were Richard’s golden locks, and a few stray strands at the temple tickled his cheek. He felt his mind growing hazy. From the nape of Richard’s neck came a mysterious, sweet fragrance. And against his chest, through the fabric, he felt an unmistakable softness. It was Richard’s breast, moving in time with the arm that kindly wrapped around his shoulder.
“There is no need to be sorry. So there is no need to cry.”
“Brother…!”
Rio hugged his brother back fiercely. He was still crying, but it was different now. He had wept from hatred of his own powerlessness and incompetence. Now he wept, moved by his brother’s generosity.
While he remained overwhelmed with emotion, Richard spoke. “You are right. It seems I truly push my subordinates too hard. But I don’t know what else to do. The men I once led were all rough soldiers. So please continue to help me. If it seems I am driving my subjects too far, always tell me.”
“Of course, brother. I will. I swear on my life…”
“And you as well.”
“Pardon?”
Richard loosened the arm that had held him and drew back slightly. Rio did not want to let go, but he dared not defy his brother’s will. When he pulled away and met his eyes, Richard said, “If I ever burden you, speak up without hesitation. Do you understand what I mean?”
Rio nodded vigorously. “Yes. Of course, brother.”
“Do not drive yourself too hard either. If you collapse for no reason, who will stop me from driving others into the ground?”
At that, Rio let out a small laugh. “You are right, brother.”
“Besides, you are my only blood relative and a royal of Zylan. You, above all, deserve a comfortable life. Do you understand? You are a clever boy.”
“Of course. I will do as you say, brother.”
At his answer, Richard smiled faintly. Then he wiped away the tears still clinging to Rio’s eyes, pulled him into one last tight embrace, and patted his back several times.
Rio wanted to push his brother down and bury his face in that chest. It was not at all what he had intended. Before he could, Richard—his own ears now burning red—called out toward the front of the carriage.
“Driver! What is it? Why have we stopped so suddenly?”
“Y-Your Majesty! B-bandits…!”
“Bandits what? Stop stuttering and speak clearly.”
When Richard snapped with clear irritation, the driver shouted back in a still-trembling voice.
“Highwaymen, sire!”