The Weight of Return
The castle was in utter chaos by the time Richard returned to Venterum Castle. When his coachman had delivered the royal command—along with his dagger—to summon the Milehaven Great Raven Militia Battalion, Virginia had nearly fainted on the spot. She could hardly drag the Queen’s governess away by force, and the royal guards’ deployment had nearly been delayed because of it. And when Richard finally appeared, Virginia truly did faint.
Even without her reaction, Richard’s appearance was enough to make anyone swoon. His hair had been hacked off halfway in a single day, one eye socket was swollen with a deep purple bruise, and both his lips and chin were puffy and swollen. Half his face was crusted with dried blood. Beneath that, he rode back on Leo’s horse completely naked from the waist down, with nothing but a torn doublet draped over his shoulders like a shawl. No trousers at all!
The sight of him wearing the very evidence of what Richelle must have endured was too much. Virginia’s eyes rolled back and she collapsed. It was hardly surprising. She had first been sick with worry upon hearing of the rebellion, then overjoyed at the news that the Queen had returned safely—only to be confronted with this. Thankfully, she regained consciousness quickly.
Once because of the Queen, and once because of the Queen’s governess, Venterum Castle had been turned completely upside down. Virginia had always scolded him, but this scolding was harsher than any before. The distance from Penhill to Venterum was no short ride. No matter that it had been night, his lack of awareness was inexcusable. Richard was scolded until tears streamed down his face.
But it was not only scolding. After she had thoroughly rebuked him, Virginia pulled him into a tight embrace. She understood the duty of a monarch who must protect the realm, and she had some inkling of the double burden of pain Richard carried. So she wept without a word. Her tears were contagious; before he knew it, Richard found his own eyes growing wet.
Upon hearing that Richard had arrived, Marion had also hurried out to the castle gate. She had been unable to sleep even this late, and the dark, hollow shadows beneath her eyes were proof of it. She watched the scene between Richard and Virginia in silence.
Richard had actually hoped Marion might step in and mediate between them. But Marion believed that a man inserting himself into women’s affairs would only appear unseemly to others, so she simply observed the two of them.
Marion was clearly different from Virginia. She had already ordered the servants to bring a proper cloak. As she handed it to him, she first asked whether he was very tired. When he answered that he was, she suggested that a bath would be best first, since he smelled quite strongly.
Richard wrapped the cloak around himself and headed straight for the Red Heart of the Martyr.
He washed for so long that steam rose from his body. He changed the bathwater several times, scrubbing himself with soap again and again, yet the rotten stench of Jihan seemed impossible to erase. Even when the maids told him it was enough, he rinsed his mouth repeatedly and scrubbed at his chest and thighs. Only when they grabbed his arms with worried eyes did he finally stop his obsessive cleansing.
Philip was waiting for him when he returned to his chambers.
“I heard the story from Prince Leo,” he said, offering Richard a cup of wine.
Richard replied, “I don’t particularly feel like getting drunk tonight.”
Philip looked at him in surprise. “What’s gotten into you?”
“Just how I feel.”
Richard accepted the cup from Philip, took a small sip, and frowned. The sharp bite suggested it had been spiced. When he glared at Philip, the man waved his hands in protest.
“I bought it myself. With my own money.”
“Then I’ll enjoy it.”
“It’s not even Jihan liquor.”
“As Leo always says, you need to be more conscious of your station.”
With those words, Richard moved to the bed and sat on its edge. Philip took a seat at the table in front of him.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t control my vassals properly,” Philip said.
“No. It was my mistake to think capturing you as a hostage would be enough. You’ve done nothing wrong.”
“Thank you for saying so.”
Philip emptied his cup in one gulp, then filled it again. Like some impoverished serf, he poured until the wine nearly overflowed, then caught the spilling liquid with his mouth. Richard watched and let out a small chuckle.
“Why are you drinking so much?”
“It’s my wine, isn’t it?”
“Well, yes, but still.”
“If I don’t drink, my mind simply won’t hold together.”
Richard’s expression turned awkward. “Didn’t I say it was fine? It’s not your fault. It’s just that the Derim royal family’s power has grown so weak it can’t even control a single vassal.”
“It’s not that.”
Richard had tried to brush it off with a light joke, but Philip avoided his gaze and downed another cup in one go. When he set the cup down, his eyes had grown slightly unfocused. He looked back and forth between the cup, Richard, and his own shoes, then let out a long sigh. Silence fell between them.
Just as the silence was about to grow uncomfortable for both, Philip filled his cup once more. He rose from the table, lifted the cup toward Richard, and said,
“Ah… yes, of course.”
Richard tilted his head in confusion but emptied his cup anyway. The smooth fragrance of fine wine burned like cheap moonshine because of the spices, yet drinking in the Derim style had its own charm. He still couldn’t understand why anyone would deliberately turn good liquor into something that tasted so rough.
He told Philip, “Sorry for drinking so slowly. Tonight, I just…”
“No, it’s not that. I’m sorry for disturbing you so late.”
With those words, Philip gave a crooked smile and left Richard’s room. Richard tried to stop him, but Philip walked out without so much as a backward glance. It was utterly incomprehensible. And more than a little irritating.
No matter how close their friendship, to barge into someone’s bedchamber without warning, drink in silence, then leave without explanation—it was rude beyond measure. Even if they were equals in rank, Richard was still the sovereign of a nation. And the situation was different now than it had been before. In the past, any offense would have remained a private matter between the two of them. But now, the maids might spread rumors that His Majesty Philip of Derim harbors feelings for our Queen.
“Wait… surely not.”
Richard could only tell himself it wasn’t possible. If the thought that had just crossed his mind was correct… then—no, he didn’t even want to consider such a possibility. He prayed with all his heart that it was not the case.