Hysbia was an island nation.
Because of this, to reach it, one had to sail across the vast open sea by ship for at least a fortnight. Moreover, as it had not been long since exchange with the continent began, to board a ship to Hysbia, one had to pass through the trampled lands of Impel. This was because the first place Hysbian vessels had initially reached was Impel's port.
Of course, this had not been for wholesome trade. Because Hysbian soldiers had brutally slaughtered the people of Impel in the early stages of the war, many coastal cities had been reduced to ruins in the blink of an eye. Only a few port cities had been quickly rebuilt out of necessity.
Except for the region of 'Hysair,' protected by massive walls, Impel was virtually a lawless zone. The outer areas that could not enter Hysair were collectively called 'Hysnoair,' and the coastal region belonged to Hysnoair as well.
In that sense, Corona Port could truly be assessed as having good public order. The fact that one could leisurely drink beer at an outdoor table like this meant that at least a minimal degree of order was maintained.
A man who had been resting his chin in his hand, watching passersby, hummed as he raised his beer mug. With brown hair, he rolled his reddish-brown eyes, which carried a strong red hue.
How long had he been sitting like that? When only about a sip of beer remained, he suddenly unclasped the hand propping up his chin.
"Patsia!"
At his cheerfully calling voice, a man who had been looking around in the distance approached at a near-run. Dressed in a black suit with a hat pulled low, he was neat and tidy in a way that ill-suited the overall gloomy and depressed atmosphere of Impel. Strangely, the passersby did not particularly notice or pay attention to the oddly alien man. Even dressed in black from head to toe, it shouldn't have been easy for him to be so utterly devoid of presence.
The man finished the little beer that remained and set down his mug. Behind Patsia, who had reached him in one breath, stood a young man of tender years.
"My liege!"
"Ugh, please refrain from such burdensome titles. As you know, this isn't a place where drawing attention is a good thing."
The man laughed leisurely and waved his hand. However, Patsia did not relax his rigidly stiff expression. After furtively surveying the surroundings, he finally yielded to the man's insistence, who gestured for him to sit, and took a seat.
"I thought you had departed for Hysbia."
The ship heading to Hysbia had set sail not long ago. And it was no ordinary vessel, but a large, luxurious passenger liner. The man had been scheduled to board that ship. Since it had departed normally, it meant that all passengers must have boarded. This was because the passengers were no ordinary figures; they could not simply leave behind someone who hadn't boarded.
Patsia furrowed his brow. The sight of the man, who should have been catching the sea breeze aboard the passenger liner, instead sitting alone drinking cheap beer was utterly unfamiliar.
"I get seasick, you see. Quite severely. So in order to calm my stomach before leaving, I skipped this sailing."
Patsia's mouth fell open as he looked at the man. Regardless, the man's gaze shifted behind Patsia.
"Who's this?"
"The one I took in this time. As I mentioned, because the position became vacant."
"Ah, right. The previous one got tied down in Hempo, I recall."
Patsia glanced behind him. The young man who had been standing silently raised his head. His appearance was that of an ordinary boy his age, but his light golden eyes were quite striking. Though one might have expected him to show curiosity at the appearance of a stranger, the way he stood expressionlessly at his post pleased the man considerably. Sensing that both men's attention had shifted to him, the young man bowed his head.
"I'm Luta."
The man rubbed his chin and looked Luta up and down, then nodded refreshingly. Ordinarily, he would have selected someone himself, but the situation was not favorable right now. Patsia had worked under the man for a long time, so he must have developed an eye for choosing those suited for the position. Moreover, seeing him brought along like this, it seemed he might be carefully training him.
"If Patsia's the one who picked you, you're trustworthy. Just don't go falling in love."
The man said nonchalantly, waving his index finger in the air. Luta furrowed his brow, unable to understand the man's words. However, Patsia understood that he was referring to his predecessor and let out a sigh.
It would be more accurate to say that Luta's predecessor hadn't quit, but rather had been assigned a dedicated duty. It was just that this dedicated duty happened to be closely related to that damned romance of his.
Whether this was misfortune or fortune, the man generously understood his love-blind subordinate. This was because the man was also a self-proclaimed 'romanticist of the century,' no less so than his subordinate. However, the man's love was an unrequited one-sided love, so he often displayed the embarrassing sight of envying his subordinate who had 'borne the fruit of love.'
Patsia tried to dissuade the man in a deflated voice.
"My liege, that's..."
"Hey, didn't I tell you not to use that title? Rather, yes. Call me by my name. Since we're outside, I'll specially permit it."
Patsia's lips moved as if he had much he wanted to say. But he knew better than anyone that he couldn't dissuade the man's stubbornness. And as the man said, there was no benefit to drawing unnecessary attention here.
In the end, Patsia pressed his thumb firmly against his brow, suppressing the resentment welling up inside. In the meantime, the man ordered two more beers in a cheerful voice.
"My li— no. Lord Mattiola. In any case, I have identified several places where you can stay for the time being."
"Places to stay?"
Patsia was no longer even angry at Mattiola's utterly clueless expression. He once again despaired at his own predicament.
Just then, the waiter brought two beers. Thinking the timing appropriate, Patsia took a drink in one gulp, but immediately set the mug down. It was lukewarm and bland, utterly terrible.
The more one drank, the more one's mouth felt parched; this was hardly suited to Mattiola's palate at all. Yet he drank it down without complaint. Patsia looked at Mattiola with a grave expression. Seeing that Patsia had no desire to drink further, Mattiola smacked his lips and set down his mug. Patsia's voice dropped even lower.
"You have no intention of departing for Hysbia. The homeland will not sit idly by."
Mattiola nodded as if in agreement. Then he replied in a composed voice.
"Actually, the Blue Loop heading to Hysbia has sunk."
"I see... wait, what?"
"A message arrived from one of the fellows I put aboard the Blue Loop. It seems they were attacked."
Patsia's eyes went wide. The Blue Loop was the passenger liner Mattiola had originally been scheduled to board.
"Pirates? But there has never been pirate activity in these waters..."
Could it be that Mattiola hadn't boarded because he knew the ship would be attacked? Patsia looked at Mattiola with renewed eyes. Seeing him peacefully wasting away on cheap beer, he wondered if it wasn't simply good luck.
How could Mattiola have known about the attack in advance? Unless he had orchestrated it himself. But Mattiola did have a reason to order an attack on a passenger liner... he certainly did.
Patsia was suddenly swept by a rapid sense of unease, but he couldn't bring himself to voice his doubt. He wasn't confident he could handle it if Mattiola were to confirm it.
"Do you know who was aboard?"
Having nearly finished the beer in his mug before he knew it, Mattiola asked in a carefree voice. Patsia answered without hesitation.
"Why, the Charleman delegation and the envoys returning to Hysbia, of course."
Honestly, the delegation departing from Charleman was not comprised of particularly great families. More precisely, it would be no exaggeration to call them a collection of those who had fallen out of favor within their own factions.
Charleman was already preoccupied with internal struggles for royal power. Amidst this, Hysbia had been fawning over them to forge ties, so they had assembled the delegation with a 'take this and leave us alone' attitude. From its members to its numbers to its gifts, nothing about it was properly arranged enough to be considered a formal delegation. And the man belonged to this delegation in name only.
The reason the delegation had come all the way to Corona Port to board the ship was because of the envoys said to have been dispatched from Hysbia's homeland to Impel.
Upon hearing news of the Charleman delegation's plans to visit Hysbia, they had been overjoyed and proposed they share passage on the luxurious Blue Loop. Charleman's homeland, which had been reluctant to move a ship for a delegation they didn't even want, readily accepted the proposal. Thus was completed the passenger list of the Blue Loop—each individual's worth might have been lacking, but their titles at least sounded impressive.
Listening quietly to Patsia's answer, Mattiola casually added a word.
"And Lormand was there too."
Lormand was a powerful noble house of Hysbia and had ruled Impel for over a decade. Lobelia, the elder sister of the siblings who had come to Impel representing House Lormand, reigned as the de facto ruler through her marriage to Count Irea, an Impel noble, while her younger brother Achandur assisted his sister in governing Impel.
They were also the ones who had built the walls dividing Hysair from Hysnoair. And recently, they had brutally suppressed protests by the people of Impel demanding food. In the end, Achandur was killed by radical protesters, and Lobelia decided to flee back to the homeland to escape the demonstrators.
But even that had fallen through with the sinking of the Blue Loop.
"Surely not the Resistance..."
Lormand was precisely the number one enemy that Impel's Resistance groups had marked as their prime target. Patsia immediately placed several names that came to mind on his list of suspects.
"Who knows. But the passengers were all figures who had earned no small amount of resentment here and there, so what good would identifying the culprit do? It sank in the middle of the sea, and apparently the lifeboats had already been holed by someone. It seems the attackers had hidden themselves aboard intending to go down with the ship. I wouldn't have known any of this myself if I hadn't received the letter by carrier pigeon. Perhaps they were targeting me too."
Lobelia was a woman who had earned much hatred. It would not have been strange if someone who could not bear to watch her return had committed the act, even at the cost of their own life. However, she was not the only one on that ship worth targeting. Mattiola himself had been forced onto the delegation list by his brothers' scheming, as if pushed from behind.
"Then the homeland must not know that Lord Mattiola is here."
If it had been an attack targeting Mattiola, they would believe him dead along with the sunken ship. Even if he hadn't been the target, news of the ship's sinking would lead them to assume he was dead.
Mattiola, who had been so enraged for the past few weeks upon being selected for the Charleman delegation to Hysbia that he couldn't sleep, finally enjoyed a proper night's rest upon realizing this. He dearly wished to ridicule his insufferable brothers but admirably suppressed the impulse.
For the time being, he had to lay low like a dead mouse. And fortunately, Mattiola had unwittingly planted his own people here in Impel. He hadn't anticipated this situation, but so what?
"Even if they learn the ship sank, it will take quite some time to discover that I wasn't aboard. In other words, I am now a very free man."
Mattiola winked and said sprightly, his eyes sparkling.
"So I thought I'd take on a new mission."
Mattiola showed the waiter his empty beer mug. It was already his third. What wind had blown for a man who couldn't hold his liquor to be drinking beer so recklessly?
Patsia, observing Mattiola's complexion with a displeased eye, realized his expression was greatly excited. It was likely because of the 'new mission' he had just mentioned. It wasn't difficult to guess what that was.
"...Please, just don't cause any trouble."
"Trouble? Don't say such hurtful things. I've taken on a very wholesome mission. I'm going to become a letter courier!"
Mattiola declared in a grave voice, raising his index finger. Patsia stared at the upright index finger and asked in a flat voice:
"Who?"
"Me!"
"A letter courier?"
"Yes!"
"You're joking, right?"
"I'm not?"
Patsia covered his face with both hands. Dear God, what sin had he committed in a past life to deserve such tribulation? Though he didn't believe in religion, he called out to God more desperately than anyone.
Perhaps he should become a monk instead. What wealth and glory was he chasing to have his labor exploited beneath such a man? Yes, it might be better to leave the secular world behind and spend his life staring at walls in a monastery.
Unaware that Patsia was falling into such extreme thoughts, Mattiola drove the nail in with an innocent voice:
"Come on, Patsia. My friend. I'm serious, of course. I've worked so hard, it's time I gave myself a gift."
'How grand indeed.' Patsia barely swallowed the sarcasm that had nearly leaped from his tongue and muttered with a resigned expression.
"You mean to go to the island yourself."
"Now you're speaking my language!"
'Speaking your language, my foot.' Patsia looked at Mattiola with tearful eyes, then suddenly changed his expression. Frowning and brooding, he opened his mouth in a much calmer voice.
"But Lord Mattiola. There will be no one there to receive the letter."
Mattiola, who had just received a full mug from the waiter, froze as he tried to drink. The sloshing beer overflowed slightly, trickling down the side of the mug. Unaware of the lukewarm, sticky beer moistening his fingers, Mattiola stared at Patsia.
"What do you mean?"
"Discreti began moving the moment Lormand departed."
Mattiola's complexion hardened completely.
"The successor of Vin has personally set out to bring the imprisoned princess to Impel. This is what I heard directly when I visited the Torian estate recently. I submitted a report about it as well; did you not see it?"
That was because Mattiola had been going through a tumultuous time and hadn't received the report. He hadn't sent it to the homeland, so it had probably been delivered somewhere in a cabin of the Blue Loop, now sunken beneath the sea. Mattiola frowned.
It had been over a decade since Impel fell to Hysbia's invasion. During that time, various factions in Impel had resisted Hysbia, and the two representative Resistance groups were Overton and Discreti. They were also the last ones remaining.
Overton had effectively collapsed due to the recent death of its leader, Mordan. Discreti was the only remaining force, and unlike the warlike Overton, they were cautious opportunists. Because they had operated in the shadows, insisting they needed to make thorough preparations, Discreti had not had any direct clashes with Hysbia to date.
But this time, it seemed the final reckoning would come. Perhaps it was even connected to the sinking of the Blue Loop he had vaguely mentioned earlier.
He had heard that the Hysbian noble who had temporarily taken Lormand's place was a complete fledgling. They must have judged that they could wait no longer, that now was the opportune time.
Mattiola set down the beer mug he was holding. The gesture was somewhat rough, causing some of the contents to spill outward.
"If a ship coming from the Forgotten Isle is to dock, it would be at Nyshin Port, wouldn't it? It's fortunate that Corona is close to Nyshin. It will take at least a day if we leave now, but since there must have been quite a few people who went to greet the princess, we should be able to find their trail quickly by searching the vicinity."
Leaving the untouched beer behind, Mattiola rose. Patsia followed him with bewildered eyes.
"Wait, Lord Mattiola! Surely you don't mean right now..."
"Didn't I tell you? I'm a letter courier now."
Mattiola picked up the coat he had draped beside him. The waiter approached for payment. Taking out a few coins from his pocket and tossing them to the waiter, he shrugged on his coat.
"I have a letter that must absolutely be delivered, and she is likely in a very unstable state right now. A letter is one of the best ways to calm a person's mind and body. So I absolutely must deliver it."
Patsia, who had risen as well, furrowed his brow.
"Why would she be unstable? The nobles of Impel will surely honor and care for her."
Discreti was led by Impel nobles who supported the princess. The reason they had lain low for so long, feigning caution, was likely because they had been waiting for the princess to come of age. As the sole surviving legitimate member of the Impel royal family, expectations for her were considerable. Naturally, they would treat her with honor. The fact that they had sent the successor of Vin proved this.
At Patsia's question, Mattiola's face contorted. His expression was so cold that one could hardly recall the carefree, lighthearted demeanor he had shown all this time.
"Because the return could not possibly have been of her own will."
Hysbia was the invader, and Impel had been conquered. Yet the people of Impel had fought without bending for independence.
How convenient it would be if it could be explained with such a simple sentence. How easy it would be if the dichotomous logic held true—that all Resistance groups were allies, and to all people of Impel, Hysbia was the enemy.
But unfortunately, reality could not be explained by such simple formulas.
Take, for example, Larkspur, who had come to receive Amaryllis. He was not well-disposed toward the Impel royal family, yet desired Impel's independence; he did not support the princess, yet had joined hands with Discreti. Though their intentions were united for independence now, House Vin had been one of the houses that had lain low under Lormand's rule.
Amaryllis lowered her gaze. Perhaps because a wave had struck, her body swayed greatly.
The ship that had come to fetch her was not large. Having expected nothing grand like a passenger liner, she had obediently boarded the small vessel. The room given to her as a private cabin was terribly small and cramped, but that was fine. The ship pitched greatly even at small swells, but it was bearable.
Everything was fine. Everything. Amaryllis clasped her hands together.
Everything, had to be fine.
Biting her molars to suppress her trembling, Amaryllis took a deep breath and picked up the letter she had placed beside her. It was what Larkspur had handed her earlier.
The letter had been sent by someone she knew well. Amaryllis let out a deep breath after confirming the signature 'Yergana' at the end of the short letter. The tips of her fingers trembled slightly as they brushed over the part where the signature was written.
She knew of Yergana's circumstances, how she was under particularly heavy surveillance by Hysbia. Because of this, it was difficult to send even a single letter, and she had received them only once every few years. Even those had been brief greetings and words of encouragement that couldn't be written at length.
She had thought at the time that it couldn't be helped, that Yergana was avoiding Hysbia's gaze. But seeing that even a letter that could be sent freely was this concise, it seemed to have been her original nature. Amaryllis pulled her lips into something between a tearful smile and a bitter grin.
Yergana. The dowager countess of House Torian, she was also Amaryllis's godmother.
'I have eagerly awaited Your Highness's return. Please forgive me for being unable to greet you in person. Your Highness is the only flame that will illuminate Impel. I shall pray for your safe arrival...'
It was nothing so special. Simple sentences without grand rhetoric. And yet, those words seemed to constrict her breath until it came in choked gasps.
Amaryllis tried to recall what her godmother had looked like ten years ago. She must have aged even more by now. Her beautiful hair must have turned white. Even so, she would be elegant and commanding. Amaryllis had admired Yergana since childhood and had wanted to become like her. That was why she had been overjoyed when Yergana agreed to become her godmother.
But if Yergana were to see her as she was now, she would surely be disappointed. Amaryllis folded the letter. She had left the tower half out of spite. Having only ever stepped on hard brick floors, the sensation of earthen ground she trod upon for the first time in so long was strange. She had been so startled just to step outside the tower, so how much more... how much more.
Amaryllis's face contorted. The important thing was not the environment. Unfamiliar scenery or changed sleeping arrangements were not the problem. The reason she had been so startled and stiff when she first left the tower was...
Knock, knock.
"Your Highness. It is Maranta."
Amaryllis, who had been staring at the firmly closed door, tapped the nearby side table with her hand. Soon after, the door opened with a clicking sound. Maranta, who had something rolled up in her arms, cautiously entered and closed the door.
"They say we will disembark soon. As the public order is not good, you must cover your appearance with a cloak and hood."
What Maranta had brought was a dark-green hood and cloak. There were no special patterns or flashy designs, but the material looked good. There had been no such things in the tower, so she must have obtained them from somewhere. Amaryllis stared at what Maranta held in her hands.
She had returned to Impel. Seeing these things made it feel real. Soon she would step on land. And she would have to face many people. The gazes of countless people vividly came alive in her mind.
'Carry out the sentence on the prince!'
Buzzing voices echoed through her mind. At the same time, her breath caught in her throat. Her heart began to beat a little faster. Amaryllis gripped the hem of her dress, but the trembling did not cease. Rather, it worsened to the point of being visible. Maranta, unfolding the cloak, set it down in surprise and approached.
"Your Highness!"
Some trembled in terror, while others resigned themselves. Some rejoiced, while others condemned. Some grieved, while others mocked. Amid countless voices and gazes, the prince walking toward the gallows turned to look at his sister as if brushing past her. They were water-colored eyes identical to hers. She dared not imagine what emotions he must have felt in that moment.
"Are you alright? Your Highness, please look at me."
Amaryllis's eyes moved slowly. Maranta's worry-filled gaze was right before her. Amaryllis relaxed the hand gripping her dress hem. Slowly extending her hand forward, Maranta carefully took it.
Warmth gradually returned to her chilled hand. The violent trembling subsided little by little. Maranta, holding Amaryllis's hand in silence, spoke in a calm voice.
"Are you feeling a bit better?"
Amaryllis nodded. Maranta's hands were rough and coarse. This was because she had done all manner of menial tasks in Amaryllis's stead. Yet her hands were always warm. And whenever Amaryllis looked back in need, she was always there. She was the one who had taken the hand of the young princess who had closed herself off, and walked into the tower of her own accord when no one else would follow.
Amaryllis managed to give Maranta a faint smile. Maranta, still holding her hand, studied her quietly and called to her in a low voice.
"Lady Mari."
She had been by Amaryllis's side since she was eight years old. Even though Amaryllis was now a grown lady of twenty-one, in Maranta's eyes she was still a young princess to be protected.
Of course, Maranta was only twenty-seven at most, so it would be difficult to say there was a great age difference. However, the long years she had spent caring for Amaryllis gave her a greater sense of responsibility. Maranta fully knew that she was the only person Amaryllis opened her heart to and trusted.
"If you permit, I shall escort you when we disembark."
Amaryllis nodded once again. Only after her pale complexion had somewhat settled did she release Maranta's hand. Around then, the outside grew suddenly noisy. It seemed the ship was entering the dock.
Amaryllis wrapped herself in the cloak and pulled the hood deep over her head, taking a deep breath before the door. With the hood on, much of her vision was blocked. If she pulled it down any further, she would see nothing but her feet. Perhaps with this narrow field of view, she might be able to endure going outside.
Opening the door and stepping out, she saw Larkspur standing there, having come to fetch her. He extended his hand as if to escort her.
Because there were no other watching eyes nearby, Amaryllis could decline his offer without hesitation. If there had been onlookers, it would have been awkward to ignore Larkspur's courtesy; it was truly fortunate.
Just then, Maranta scurried out and stood beside Amaryllis. Larkspur made a bewildered expression at the sight of Amaryllis taking Maranta's hand.
"Mind the stairs, Your Highness."
Perhaps keeping in mind that Amaryllis had her hood pressed down deeply, Maranta beside her carefully surveyed their surroundings. It took little time to reach the deck with cautious steps.
Until the anchor was dropped and the gangplank laid down, Amaryllis waited with her back straight. A princess wrapped head to toe in cloth, escorted by a maid—indeed. The soldiers who had boarded with them all wore puzzled expressions. Larkspur stared quietly at her from a short distance away.
The maid, confirming the signal that they could disembark, guided Amaryllis. She walked looking only at her feet, so cautious that she appeared rather strange.
Larksper leaned against the deck railing. Already, other members of Discreti had come to the pier to receive the princess. He could see a group of people milling about in front of the gangplank. Larksper sneered at the sight of them holding their breath with flushed expressions. The princess still seemed unaware of their presence.
From the moment she had left the spire, Amaryllis hadn't even made eye contact with the soldiers. No doubt she was so shy because it had been far too long since she had set foot outside the tower. He hadn't held any expectations to begin with, but seeing it with his own eyes was quite a spectacle.
Entrust Impel's independence to *that* princess?
He recalled Yergana of Torian, who had been so adamant about the princess's significance. Even Yergana, whose fame was so widely renowned, seemed to have grown senile with age.
"Your Highness, we have been expecting you."
Larksper, who had been lost in thought, raised his head. He saw silver hair gleaming in the sunlight. A man with dark gray eyes was stepping forward with a bright expression. Larksper let out a brazen sneer.
No doubt the princess would grimace and shake him off. Or perhaps she would simply turn away and pretend not to see.
Larksper watched them with keen interest. The princess, having finally stepped onto the pier, turned her head toward the voice. The silver-haired man dropped to one knee and greeted her.
"I am Rodante E. Ipok of House Ipok. It is an honor to meet the First Princess of Impel."
The others standing behind him also stepped forward to offer their greetings. Larksper also began to move to disembark. Meanwhile, the princess seemed to raise her head further to look at the people greeting her. And Larksper, who had been watching her the entire time, noticed her slender frame sway ever so slightly.
Larksper frowned. He saw the princess raise her head fully and stare straight ahead.
"We have taken every precaution to see you safely escorted... Your Highness!"
Rodante's face, which had been smiling brightly, turned pale. He quickly rose from his kneeling position. And Larksper, who had been standing some distance away, also muttered a low curse and rushed toward the princess.
The princess's body was collapsing forward.
She was conscious, but strength would not return to her eyelids.
Amaryllis focused on the sensations of her body with her eyes still closed. The first thing she felt was the softness of the bed. She could feel the weight of the soft blanket wrapped around her body. There was also a faint lingering trace of a headache.
Her hazy consciousness gradually grew clearer. She groped for her last memories.
She remembered getting off the ship. Then some man had greeted her, so she raised her gaze. She had pulled her hood too low to see her surroundings well, and it was difficult to meet the man's eyes. Feeling it would be terribly discourteous not to look upon the face of one who welcomed her, Amaryllis had forced herself to raise her head.
She thought he had said his name, but she couldn't remember. It was likely because of the gazes of far too many people that had entered her field of vision.
The man had smiled and said something, but unfortunately Amaryllis could not take in his words. Facing too many people, she had suddenly felt dizzy and suffocated. She had barely held on by gripping Maranta's hand, but ultimately collapsed on the spot.
She had made a fool of herself yet again. Amaryllis swallowed a sigh with a devastated heart. A feeling of helplessness enveloped her entire body.
Was it because she had grown too accustomed to life in the spire? The path into the spire had been harsh, but life inside was more peaceful than she had imagined. Including Amaryllis, there had been only three people on the island. She had likely grown accustomed to that.
It was understandable to be startled when suddenly facing a crowd, but this was already the second time. Not only had she dropped her sword and fled disgracefully, but she had actually fainted. Fainting in front of the very people who had come to welcome her.
But could she truly be confident that they had welcomed her?
Larksper, who had come to retrieve her, had displayed blatant disappointment. The others would likely be no different. Once they knew she couldn't speak properly and trembled before crowds, they would surely be disappointed. They might regret their choice. They might even push her to return to the spire.
Then did she herself wish to return to the spire? Had she stepped forward so rashly, so utterly unprepared in heart?
Jumbled thoughts swirled in her mind. If she lay here like this, she felt she would fall into a bottomless pit of endless speculation.
Amaryllis forcibly pushed open eyelids that refused to open. The room was dark, so there was little burden in opening her eyes. Blinking slowly as she lay there, she looked around her surroundings, then raised her body with effort. Her temples throbbed.
Still pressing the aching spot with her hand, she got down from the bed. She was still wearing the same clothes as before; only her braided hair had come undone. Maranta had likely loosened it gently.
Gathering her flowing hair to one side, she surveyed the room. She hadn't realized while lying in bed, but now that she was up, she saw it was quite spacious. When she pressed her ear quietly against the door and focused, she heard someone's steady breathing outside.
Amaryllis quietly opened the door. A long sofa, a table, and several formal pieces of furniture came into view.
Maranta was lying on the sofa. Seeing her collapsed on her side, it seemed she had fallen asleep from exhaustion after sitting up. On one side of the parlor, the few belongings they had brought from the spire sat untouched.
Amaryllis took a thin shawl from the luggage. She draped it over Maranta's sleeping form. Even then, Maranta did not wake.
Today must have been a difficult day for Maranta as well. Amaryllis stifled her footsteps and headed for the door. She pressed her ear against the door once more. Perhaps because the door was thick, no sounds from outside could be heard.
She debated whether to go out. Then she carefully unlocked the latch. Thanks to her efforts to keep it silent, the latch opened without a sound. Grasping the handle and turning it, she pushed the door open heavily.
Outside was a hallway. There were several more rooms, but she sensed no presence. Amaryllis opened the door of the nearest room. The handle turned easily. She cautiously peered inside, but there was no one there.
Would the other rooms be the same? She immediately grasped the handle of another room. After opening two more doors, only the sight of empty rooms devoid of any warmth greeted her.
The last room was the farthest from Amaryllis's. As she approached it, she paused. The door was slightly ajar, and a dim light flickered from beyond. Amaryllis's steps grew more cautious. As she drew closer, she heard voices.
"It's Blueloop..."
"Are you... crazy..."
"But...!"
One was Larksper, and the other was the man who had greeted her earlier. Fragmented words reached her, but she couldn't make out the exact conversation.
The moment Amaryllis took a step after hesitating, the conversation suddenly stopped. Then the door swung fully open with heavy footsteps approaching. The man standing silhouetted against the room's light discovered Amaryllis and raised an eyebrow.
"What are you doing?"
"...Your Highness? Heavens, you're awake! Are you well?"
Rodante poked his head out from behind Larksper with a surprised expression. Amaryllis barely managed to stop herself from reflexively stepping back. Since her expression hadn't wavered, the two men wouldn't know that she had been startled, even if only for an instant.
She grew excessively nervous before large crowds, but it seemed she could endure a small gathering like this. Amaryllis assessed her condition. It was a relief that she didn't simply collapse the moment she was before strangers.
Larksper frowned at Amaryllis's silent stare.
"Your Highness, what were you doing—"
But he couldn't finish. Rodante had abruptly stepped forward. He pushed Larksper aside as if scolding him and cleared a path.
"Please, come in first. Let us sit and speak."
Perhaps it was because she had met the utterly uncouth Larksper first? Rodante's manner felt exceedingly gentlemanly.
Amaryllis glanced at Larksper, whose face was thoroughly crumpled in displeasure, and readily stepped inside. Larksper, who had been expressing his dislike with every fiber of his being, clicked his tongue quietly. Regardless, Rodante quickly guided Amaryllis to a chair. Then he promptly placed his pen and some paper for writing memos on the table.
"Please use this. It is not a fine instrument, but you should find it comfortable enough to write with."
Amaryllis's expression softened slightly. Her heightened wariness subsided. Having been quietly observing Rodante, she lightly grasped the pen. It felt much better than what she had used in the spire. It was suitably heavy, and the pen wrote smoothly. Moreover, the ink was built-in.
Amaryllis realized anew how poor her circumstances had been in the spire. Thinking back, they probably hadn't bothered to send the newest items when delivering necessities. It was possible they had sent only cheap, old things to turn a profit and pocketed the difference.
Staring at the pen in her hand, she slowly pressed the nib to the paper.
[You are,]
She felt a pang of regret that she couldn't remember his name properly despite having heard it once. Seeing the princess's pen hesitate, Rodante immediately answered.
"I am 'Rodante E. Ipok.'"
There wasn't a hint of offense in his gentle voice. Amaryllis looked at him with renewed eyes. He was a remarkably handsome young man with a good disposition as well; she found him quite admirable.
House Ipok was a house she could easily recall. Count Ipok, who had been active in political circles, came to mind. She couldn't say they were close, but she remembered exchanging greetings with him a few times. Her older brother had also once spoken favorably of Count Ipok.
[I am acquainted with Count Ipok. He often spoke of his heir.]
Rodante's face brightened upon reading the sentence Amaryllis wrote. But it was quickly reined in. After a moment's silence with complicated feelings, Rodante replied in a deliberately composed voice.
"I didn't know you had a connection with my father. It is truly an honor. However, my father... couldn't preserve his life during the war. By rights I should have succeeded him immediately, but circumstances being what they are, I have not yet inherited the title. So please feel free to call me Rodante."
He hadn't even dared to consider inheriting the title. It was because his house had been utterly ruined. Having lost all his family, only Rodante had barely survived. He had sworn revenge for his deceased father, but opportunities were scarce, and he had been biding his time.
There were many young men in Discreti in circumstances similar to Rodante's. Since the core of Discreti was composed of Impel's nobility, Rodante had been waiting for the day he could fulfill his long-cherished wish alongside them. Thus, he couldn't help but be overjoyed now that he faced the princess.
Perhaps sensing Rodante's sincerity in welcoming her, Amaryllis readily nodded at his words.
[Sir Rodante. I shall gladly accept your kindness.]
She gave him a faint smile. At the sight of the favorable princess, Rodante's expression brightened as well. He felt somewhat proud.
The reality was vastly different from what he had imagined based on mere rumors. Though she couldn't speak, the princess was beautiful and composed. Of course, she had collapsed immediately after disembarking, but it was only natural for a body confined for ten years to be overtaxed. Moreover, having collapsed, no one would have found it strange if she had ordered others to attend to her for some time; yet she had come personally to hear their report the moment she woke.
Her naturally fair skin made her face appear even more pallid, yet her expression was impeccably dignified. Her posture while sitting and engaging in written conversation was also flawlessly elegant.
In Rodante's mind, Amaryllis's image was being reconstructed.
As expected of royalty, she was different to the core.
"Are you well? There are no healers worth calling in the vicinity, so I could not arrange separate treatment."
Amaryllis nodded to convey that she was fine. Just as Rodante was about to continue, an untimely voice cut in.
"Do you perhaps suffer from a chronic illness?"
It was Larksper, watching from a distance, who had interrupted their amicable conversation. He had been staring silently, somehow displeased that Amaryllis and Rodante were getting along so well despite having just met. Perhaps he felt even more dissatisfied because his own first encounter with Amaryllis had been quite unpleasant.
Whatever the reason, his foul mood was evident. Larksper made no effort to conceal his feelings, so Amaryllis fully sensed his discomfort. Feeling soured herself, Amaryllis pressed her lips together and picked up her pen.
[I am not ill.]
Larksper approached, checked the paper, and crossed his arms. Rodante, having seen the answer, spoke first.
"Then it seems your body was startled by the sudden schedule."
"There could be an illness even you yourself know nothing about."
At the words poured like cold water, Rodante looked at Larksper in surprise. Larksper faced the two of them with listless eyes. His expression showed no awareness that his words had been extremely rude. Or perhaps he was pretending not to know.
He wasn't a man known for his good nature to begin with, but he was especially contrary in front of the princess. Had something happened on the forgotten island?
Rodante looked at him, unable to understand.
Larksper was staring at the tip of Amaryllis's pen.
[Do you wish for me to be ill, Sir?]
"Not at all. I am simply concerned because you seem unable to stand properly before crowds. If someone who must appear before even greater gatherings keeps fainting, it will be me who escorted her that ends up being reprimanded."
Amaryllis couldn't reply immediately. It was because she sensed his words weren't entirely empty argument. Reading her momentary hesitation, Larksper curled his lips crookedly.
"You can still return now. If you long for the comfort of the spire, you need only say the word. Once again, I am not forcing you."
He was willing to prepare a ship immediately if she said she wanted to go back right this moment. At Larksper's earnest words, Rodante looked at him with an ashen face.
Why was he so displeased? Rodante wanted to shut his mouth immediately. However, causing a scene in front of the princess was a matter of tact, so he could only caution Larksper in a low voice.
No matter how much Rodante signaled him, Larksper ignored it. Rodante, who had naturally been supportive of the princess, would never understand. But Count Bin, his father, would understand Larksper's feelings. He might even come to regret sending his son so far for such a woman.
Rodante anxiously observed Amaryllis's complexion. He had expected her to be visibly furious, but her expression was more composed than he had thought. That said, she didn't look pleased. Her cold eyes were fixed directly on Larksper.
[Truly blatant disparagement.]
"Disparagement? If you feel that way, I regret it. I speak with pure intentions."
[Do not insult my pride merely because the royal house has fallen to ruin. Though I was imprisoned in the spire for ten years, I am the princess of Impel, a person who received the education to rule this nation. I have no intention of abandoning my duty and responsibility.]
A strange light flickered across Larksper's face. For such long sentences written quickly, her handwriting was as neat and smooth as it had been from the start. Had her anger been severe, her writing would have trembled, yet no trace of emotional turmoil showed.
And pride, no less. He hadn't imagined the princess would mention such a thing. No, he hadn't even known that any pride as royalty remained within her. He had thought all that was left was weakness and pointless stubbornness. His first impression, formed by watching her flee or collapse, was slightly revised.
[Attend to your duty as one who came to greet me. You have not been granted the right to insult royalty. Even one who inherits the name of Bin will not be permitted to overlook such excessive rudeness.]
Larksper stared silently at Amaryllis as she poured out sentence after sentence with a stern expression. At this moment, he felt it was somewhat fortunate that the princess was mute. Had she spoken aloud, he would have faced endless rebuke far worse than this. If she could reel off this much in writing, how much more scathing would her tongue have been?
And Rodante, standing beside them, was in awe. Not with spoken words, but with writing, she had rendered Larksper speechless. Her Highness was truly magnificent!
"...I acknowledge my rudeness. I apologize for it."
Amaryllis silently watched Larksper admit his fault so readily. Then she quickly wrote something with her pen. However, immediately after putting the period, for some reason she tore off what she had written and crumpled it in her hand. Then she slowly wrote a sentence on a clean part of the paper.
[It is late, so I shall return. No escort is necessary.]
"Yes, please rest well and recover your strength. I shall see you tomorrow."
Having acknowledged Rodante's farewell, Amaryllis rose and crossed the room gracefully. Then she suddenly stopped and looked back at Larksper.
Larksper, who had been lost in thought for a moment, looked back at her. Was it because she hadn't bid him farewell? Larksper parted his lips to offer a customary parting word. Then something suddenly flew at his face. Tak! The thing that struck his face without pain was a crumpled ball of paper.
The one who had thrown the crumpled paper at Larksper gave a soft smile to Rodante, who was looking at her with a bewildered expression. Rodante, blinking his eyes, bowed his head in a dazed greeting. Amaryllis accepted his greeting with a nod, then looked at Larksper coldly and turned sharply away.
Even after Amaryllis left the room, Larksper stood there at a loss for words. Just now, had the princess really thrown a crumpled paper in his face? A hollow laugh escaped him at the absurdity. He picked up the paper rolling at his feet. When he smoothed out the crumpled ball, he saw a sentence written roughly, as if in haste.
[Being unable to speak is not the same as being unable to think.]
Rodante, who had leaned over to see the contents from the side, let out a small exclamation. Her Highness overflowed with charisma as well!
Larksper glanced at Rodante's sparkling eyes and crumpled the paper again distastefully. Rodante was aghast, asking how he could crumple paper that the princess had written upon, but Larksper's hands showed no hesitation. She had put on all those airs of dignity only to throw paper in someone's face? Of one thing he was now certain: she was not a princess who merely trembled endlessly.
And she had a bit of... temper as well.