Rupert Mallory was waiting in front of the palace gates. Against the pitch-black night sky, his sandy blond hair stood out.
“You haven’t come by to complain lately, have you, Millie?”
It was a greeting ripe for misunderstanding.
“It’s good for calloused hands.”
With that, he abruptly held out a bergamot fruit as well.
“Last time we met, you whined so much about how hard things were, so I went and got this for you.”
“Anyone listening would think I was making an enormous fuss.”
Millicent accepted his kindness sulkily.
“It’s the truth, though,”
Rupert said.
“You go on about how you can’t tell if you’re a maid or an assassin, practically every other day….”
“Let’s fill our stomachs first, Your Eminence.”
Millicent cut off his nagging. Jingling her pouch of gold coins, she took the lead.
“The more polite you are, the creepier it gets.”
Though she had gone out of her way to be respectful, Rupert shuddered, visibly annoyed.
“Shut it. I’m starving, so let’s hurry.”
Millicent grumbled.
“Where’d you get the money?”
Still, he eyed the clinking coin purse with suspicion.
“I put my specialty to use.”
Millicent shrugged.
At that, Rupert laughed in that silly way of his. Beneath his sandy blond hair, which lightly covered his neat forehead, his green eyes curved into crescents. It was the familiar smile he wore whenever Millicent talked nonsense.
“To get to the city…. Wait.”
Rupert threw on a black cloak over his red priestly robes.
From the palace all the way to the Cathedral district of the capital, Millicent only ever saw Rupert Mallory’s back.
He was a large man—the Bishop of the Cathedral diocese who had been elevated to Cardinal last year.
Indeed, he was so tall and broad-shouldered that he seemed better suited to being a church door than a cleric. At the same time, he was a young man with pale skin that only ever flushed at the very tip of his nose.
Had Rupert been born a noble, he would have worn splendid armor and stood at the vanguard of the knights.
But unfortunately, he had been born the second son of the Mullery butcher shop. He hunted in the mornings, helped his father cut meat during the day, and read books at night.
Well, even so, he still counted among those whose lives had turned out well considering their origins.
“Where to?”
As they turned down a familiar alley, Rupert glanced back.
“You know, the place we always go.”
Millicent pointed with her chin toward the familiar tavern.
Even with lights burning, it was dim and murky. Farmers crowded together without washing the dirt from their hands. There were also men and women whispering with cloaks pulled over their heads, as if they were secret lovers meeting.
Millicent and Rupert took a corner seat.
“Could we have some fruit and ale?”
Rupert said to the server who approached with a sullen expression.
“Bread, too.”
Millicent quickly cut in.
“If you have eggs, could you boil them? Just enough so the yolk runs. Some roasted pheasant, too. If you don’t have that, even the bacon you’ve set aside to sell for tomorrow morning’s meals. Oh, and don’t forget butter for the bread. Strawberry jam would be even better.”
The server—freckles dusting the bridge of his nose—walked away muttering Millicent’s order under his breath.
“You do know it’s almost midnight, right?”
Rupert clicked his tongue.
“Exactly. And you expect me to last until tomorrow morning on fruit and ale alone?”
“So you’ve already stopped calling me Your Eminence?”
“Didn’t you say it gives you the creeps?”
Millicent glared.
“Besides, we’re outside the palace now.”
“I suppose so.”
Rupert snickered.
“It’s already been over a month since I introduced you to Her Majesty as a decent assassin….”
Suddenly, he raised an eyebrow.
“Is the work progressing?”
“I caught a fish earlier,”
Millicent said.
“A spoiled goldfish decorated with pink scales, you might say.”
She roughly filled him in on her recent circumstances and Charlotte Brennan’s approach.
“But Rub, you,”
Millicent asked.
“What is your relationship with Queen Jaydalin?”
“The Queen and me?”
“That woman asked you to find her an assassin. And she believed me immediately, just because you said I was the assassin you found.”
“Do you really think the Queen trusts you?”
After a brief pause, Millicent shook her head.
“Right. The Queen doesn’t trust anyone. She doesn’t even bother pretending to.”
Rupert nodded quietly.
“Queen Jaydalin and I have merely formed something like an alliance. We protect each other when necessary.”
“An alliance?”
“Because His Majesty the King is terrifying,”
Rupert said, half in jest.
“Jaydalin is a foreign woman isolated in the palace, and I’m a butcher’s son who has made enemies of nobles with far better bloodlines than mine.”
“It was King Frederick who raised a non-noble like you to such a high position.”
Millicent raised her eyebrows.
Rupert Mallory of the butcher shop had risen thanks to his innate passion for scholarship and diligent habits.
He had entered university on a scholarship to study theology, won a professor’s favor, and been appointed priest at the court chapel.
Then he had caught the eye of Frederick, who was a prince at the time.
After attending Mass and speaking with Rupert, the prince had admired the young priest’s remarkable insight. Their discussion lasted until the morning star twinkled, and as a result, Rupert earned the honor of becoming the prince’s personal tutor.
A few years later, Frederick—now king—appointed Rupert as a judge and then a royal advisor.
“People say King Frederick is truly fond of you,”
Millicent said.
The young Cardinal, the so-called “King’s Mirror,” was said to be a man through whom no state affair could proceed.
“That’s exactly why it’s frightening.”
Yet Rupert showed no desire to flaunt this.
“All my foundation was built by His Majesty,”
he said.
“His Majesty can take it all back whenever he wishes.”
The conversation paused briefly as Millicent’s attention was diverted elsewhere.
The young server who had walked away muttering earlier was now laying out food across the table.
Her mouth watered. Though the eggs hadn’t been boiled to her exact liking, she quickly devoured the reasonably tasty ones.
“Your Eminence must be very hungry,”
the boy who had successfully carried out the order said, rubbing his hands on his apron.
“Well, you’d have to eat a lot to maintain a physique like that.”
Rupert shrugged.
“No, this is all for this lovely young lady here.”
He only drank a glass of ale.
“If I so much as reached for a piece of bread, she’d stab me with a fork.”
Millicent was too busy spreading butter and jam to reply. The young server left in bewilderment.
“Everyone in the capital really does recognize you.”
“Yes. So much for my efforts.”
Rupert pointed to the black cloak he had thrown on to hide his red priestly robes.
“It’s not the clothes,”
Millicent laughed.
“You should have hidden your height first—a whole head taller than any other man. And that gleaming blond hair.”
“I’m not that tall,”
Rupert spouted nonsense that couldn’t even be called modesty.
“I’m only about the same height as His Majesty.”
“WhatkindofpersonistheKing?”
“I can’t understand a word you’re saying, so eat first.”
But Millicent quickly forgot the question she had been about to ask as she gobbled up the bread with jam.
“…Millie. You’re sure about this, right?”
Just as she was turning her attention to the roasted meat, Rupert asked.
“I can take you in and care for you at the butcher’s while you claim to have died and come back to life. I can introduce you to the Queen.”
He looked troubled.
“I might even be able to make a hole for you to slip through after killing ladies at court.”
Then he furrowed his brow.
“But if you’re caught in the act, I won’t be able to help you,”
he said.
“If you’re dragged to Cathedral Tower where criminals are imprisoned, tortured until your trial, and then hanged, I won’t be able to save you.”
It had become a terrifying warning in an instant.
“No, if you’re caught and set so much as one foot in Cathedral Tower, Queen Jaydalin will act first—and I won’t be able to stop even that.”
“I don’t need help.”
Millicent stabbed deeply into the lean meat with her fork.
“Because I’m good at killing.”
“Then I suppose that’s a relief.”
Though he let out a worried sigh, Rupert roughly nodded.
“What kind of person is His Majesty the King?”
Millicent asked, suddenly remembering the question she had meant to ask earlier.
“They say he’s God’s most perfect creation?”
“That’s right. They also say he’s the greatest king on the five continents,”
Rupert smiled.
“He’s skilled in spearmanship and horsemanship, and a born strategist.”
“But I heard he just brawls every day?”
Millicent replied nonchalantly.
“Well, it couldn’t be helped for a time,”
Rupert said.
The Holy Kingdom of Kintreland had originally been a country where royal power was weak. Rather, powerful families had installed a nominal king and ruled jointly, referring to the will of the archbishop.
But even they, stabbing the king in the back to suit their own interests, eventually turned on each other.
Amid the clash of nobles, the reign of the late King Frederick II was inevitably dark. Wars broke out in succession. No one could tell whom to serve in order to survive.
But as Prince Frederick grew, the tide turned.
He advanced carrying the banner of Greyhis, emblazoned with the gray azalea, symbol of the royal house. He executed all traitors. Countless nobles and knights died. Only those loyal to the royal family remained.
After his coronation as Frederick III, the pacification accelerated further. It was said that the foundation of absolute monarchy was nearly complete.
“The kingdom has almost found stability now. Though the aftermath of the civil war still lingers,”
Rupert said.
“Wasn’t he busy at the border for some time?”
A few months ago, she recalled, girls had scattered rose petals in the Cathedral district to bless the king as he advanced at the head of his army. Millicent had hovered around that noisy procession herself, hoping to score even a bowl of thin soup.
“Yes. I thought he’d have to fight several more times….”
Rupert looked doubtful.
“But for some reason, he returned earlier than expected,”
he muttered.
“Though he’s always been an unpredictable man….”
“They rang the victory bells, but aren’t they throwing a party in the capital?”
Millicent, who couldn’t care less about the king himself, only harbored the hope of receiving free bread and beer distributed by the state.
“Aren’t the palace maids busy preparing a banquet until they’re sick of it?”
Rupert poked at the reality he had tried so hard to forget. That terrible maid disguise. Her enthusiasm instantly deflated.
“But martial prowess isn’t His Majesty’s only strength,”
Rupert continued, even after dashing her hopes.
“He’s also brilliant. He’s authored several books. He showed them to me first, and I was shocked.”
“Why?”
“Because they were outstanding.”
He clicked his tongue as if telling her not to ask stupid questions.
“Besides, His Majesty also writes sonnets quite well, is an excellent dancer, and sometimes even composes splendid melodies for the choir to sing.”
“Aren’t you laying it on a bit thick?”
Millicent didn’t believe him in the slightest.
“You’ll understand when you see him,”
Rupert spoke as though there were no need to convince her.
“You’ll have no choice but to understand when you see him in person.”
And finally, when Millicent downed a glass of ale and finished her meal, the two of them stood up.