They were not the only ones worried about Sierra.
The Crown Prince's Palace of the imperial family. There, a young man with brilliant golden hair raised his head.
"Is Sierra sick?"
"I am ashamed to say that I have heard it is so."
At those words, even the sight of him sighing was as beautiful as a painting. He was the Crown Prince of this nation, the man who would one day become the sun. His name was Leandro.
"She's been unusually ill often this year."
He rubbed his temple with his knuckle. He seemed terribly worried that Sierra was ill.
It was understandable. She was so pretty, pure and delicate, and sickly that one couldn't help but worry about her.
The retainer who had been bowing his head before the Crown Prince stealthily raised it.
"Are you worried, Your Highness?"
"Of course I'm worried. Send her some flowers—tulips would be nice. And bring some medicine from the dispensary good for anemia and colds. I shall speak to Her Majesty myself."
Though it goes without saying, the setting of this novel is midwinter, January. For reference, tulips bloom in April.
But with a single word from the Crown Prince, even nonexistent tulips would have the obligation to bloom from somewhere, somehow. That is what power is.
The retainer, who now had to produce tulips before the card arrived at Count Fernaine's estate, stared vacantly at the Crown Prince's smug side profile as he wrote a simple card, his heart in turmoil.
Tulips... Where do I get tulips...
"Here."
The card was written thus:
『Sorry I can't come to see you. Don't be sick. Every time you're like this, I worry.』
The fact that he didn't even write his name showed that they clearly knew each other's handwriting.
Which meant that such exchanges of cards were by no means rare.
Leandro's message was informal and affectionate. Though they were mere words, honey seemed to drip from them, coating the mouth in sweetness.
The retainer had worked in the imperial palace for quite a long time, was in his late forties, and was a trusted talent who had watched Leandro since he was five years old.
Blasphemous as it was, he regarded the Crown Prince somewhat like a cute nephew.
And uncles always take an interest in their nephew's love life.
He carefully tucked the card, written in an incomparably sweet tone, into his breast and cast a sidelong glance at the Crown Prince's face.
"Speaking of which, it is nearly time for you to marry."
"Hm?"
Leandro, who had been serious, raised his head.
"Who? Me? Sierra?"
"I speak of you both."
At that, Leandro made a very strange expression. It was the face of *Uncle, I love you, but you are talking nonsense right now.*
"What are you talking about? I'm affectionate to everyone. Did you forget? The sun must shine its light fairly. And if you insist, Sierra is just like a little sister. I've known her since she was three."
Leandro's firm refutation rang through the side chamber of the Crown Prince's Palace.
*Sierra is just like a little sister.*
*Sierra is just like a little sister...*
The words echoed unnecessarily long.
At the retainer's meaningful glance that spoke volumes, Leandro once again firmly declared that no romantic chemistry existed between Sierra and himself, and that even if one looked at it that way, such feelings could never suddenly sprout; then, making sure to relay the order to simply bring the medicine and tulips and call on Sierra, he chased the retainer out.
"Do you truly feel nothing at all?"
Leandro's answer was nothing if not clear.
"Yes!"
And before long, this man would come to bitterly regret these words.
Anyway, by this point, it would only be natural to move the stage to Count Fernaine's estate and check whether something truly terrible hadn't befallen Sierra.
If even the Crown Prince of a nation was worried, the family that so loved her must surely be beside themselves with worry by now!
* * *
Count Fernaine's estate. The study of Archibald Fernaine, Count Fernaine.
"Father, the doctor has arrived."
"Sierra's doctor?"
"Yes, that is correct."
"Is she ill again?"
"Yes, that is correct."
Archibald asked his son so indifferently and, without going to see his daughter, adjusted his glasses.
Though his daughter was ill, he did not seem the least bit curious about where or since when she hurt.
"We shall speak of that later. What of the vineyard beyond Greenway?"
"The old man is absolutely refusing to sell and holding out, but I believe it is only a matter of time if we apply a little more pressure."
They spoke of business as if they had completely forgotten about Sierra.
Ah, perhaps the twins, Jasper and Jeffrey, were nursing her in Sierra's room, worried sick.
The father and the eldest son were discussing business because it was urgently pressing.
Of course, what could be more important than their youngest daughter falling ill, she whom they loved so dearly it wouldn't hurt to place her in their eyes? Still, if one assumed they had entrusted her to the reliable twins, it was perhaps forgivable.
Now then, let us move the stage to Sierra's room and see if the twins are looking after her.
* * *