Main Residence of the Grand Duke, the Capital.
"The letter of visitation has been sent."
"Yes, Your Grace."
Fabian returned to his work without pause.
Charlotte.
The woman's scent still lingered in his mind, even after a day had passed.
He buried himself in the pile of documents, as though the papers could erase the shadow that kept returning.
"Move these documents."
"Understood."
Fabian closed the report on preparations for the academy inspection to be held the next day. Not a single detail seemed suspicious, none that held his attention for long.
Charlotte and Ian would be entering as new cadets at the Imperial Academy.
Magic or aura.
Magic could not be learned. It could only be accessed from birth, through a connection to the magic force.
A talent, not the result of training.
They would most likely choose the path of aura.
Fabian recognized that pattern all too well, especially from Ian.
A familiar feeling, shared among swordsmen.
Charlotte was the same.
She could not be underestimated.
I need to know her better.
At the side of the room, the Secretary stood stiff as a statue that had forgotten how to breathe.
The latest newspaper had troubled his mind, though the Grand Duke before him showed not the slightest interest.
Rumors of his mysterious relationship with Charlotte were mere dust upon the table of power.
Hans was different.
He was not of noble blood. He knew how ordinary folk slowly crumbled beneath the glare of the nobility's rumors.
Charlotte would not be able to face that storm alone.
"Your Grace."
"Hm."
"Regarding Miss Charlotte, you have placed her in a difficult situation."
Fabian's pen stopped.
"Miss Charlotte will face harsh reactions from the nobility."
"Continue."
"The headline of that newspaper was provocative. Too easily inviting attention. And I fear the Crown Prince will not remain silent."
"Is that all?"
"Your Grace… do you truly not worry for Miss Charlotte at all?"
Fabian returned to writing.
Hans had been long enough at the Grand Duke's side to recognize his habits.
Charlotte was not merely a name in passing.
Fabian glanced at him briefly, then returned to the document before him.
"State your suggestion."
"The good one, or the impertinent one."
"You are being long winded, Hans."
Hans smiled faintly.
There was something left unspoken beneath Fabian's calm. Something not shown, yet not entirely hidden either.
"Announce to the public that you and Miss Charlotte share only an ordinary connection."
"The second."
"Use your authority to silence the press spreading that provocative news."
"Hm."
Fabian paused longer on that option.
Yet the consequences were clear.
A clash with the Crown Prince would soon become unavoidable.
He had no wish yet to open conflict with the heir to the throne.
Hans had already anticipated that refusal.
"This is my final suggestion, Your Grace. It may seem sudden."
Fabian did not answer, but his silence was permission enough.
"What you require is full legitimacy over Miss Charlotte. Propose to her. Begin with an engagement. Marriage may be considered afterward."
"Repeat that."
"Engagement, and marriage."
The room fell silent.
A few seconds later, Fabian's expression returned to its flatness. Calm, like the surface of ice that never cracked.
Hans caught a small disturbance upon that ever composed face.
A change nearly imperceptible, yet enough to be called a victory.
"Well, Your Grace?"
Silence.
Engagement.
Marriage.
Fabian had never considered it.
Yet now, the notion fell into the midst of his calm like a cold blade piercing without warning.
Hans studied the Grand Duke closely.
That suggestion had not been born of mere boldness.
But because he had found one thing that Fabian could not ignore.
Charlotte was a variable that could not be treated as mere noise.
The secretary would not waste so small an opening.
***
Residence of the Duke of the East, the Capital.
Cecilia set the newspaper down upon the table.
Before her, Rose sat with a face filled with unease. Not the slightest change in the girl's expression ever escaped Cecilia's notice.
"I would not have thought the Grand Duke, known all this while for his coldness and never showing the slightest interest in women, could act so aggressively."
"Is your judgment not a little excessive, Rose?"
"I do not think so, My Lady. It was the Grand Duke who began it. That is the report I received from our spies."
"Charlotte carries a heavy burden."
"I fear the Grand Duke will pay no mind to this rumor and leave Charlotte to face it alone. What is more, the noblewomen of the capital will seize this chance to invite her to various gatherings."
"Invitations that appear courteous, yet are filled with ill intent."
"Indeed."
Cecilia understood the consequences that would arise from that news.
Her cousin was close to the Emperor. With such influence, most of the nobility chose to avoid any clash with him.
Charlotte was different.
Sooner or later, the nobles would make her their target.
I must help her.
But not in a manner that would draw attention.
If the family of the Duke of the East appeared to side with Charlotte and the Handler family, the rumors about Charlotte and the Grand Duke would only grow stronger.
"Rose."
"Your command, My Lady."
Cecilia frowned faintly.
"I have already asked you to stop speaking so stiffly."
Once, Rose had readily gone along with Cecilia's wishes. But since being officially appointed as Cecilia's personal knight by the Duke's decision, everything had changed.
She was no longer the guard and personal attendant of the heir of the Schönborn family.
Now she was a knight.
"I ask for your understanding, My Lady. My position is different now."
"You are so difficult to change."
"Because such a change would bring me no good."
"I wish for us to remain as close as before."
"Time continues to pass. Many things have changed. But there is one thing that will never change."
"What is that?"
"I shall always remain at your side."
A faint smile finally traced itself upon Cecilia's lips.
"I hope so."
"That is my promise."
Cecilia rose to her feet.
"Prepare yourself. We shall go and meet Charlotte."
"Meet her?"
"Indeed. Not as Cecilia Schönborn."
"Do you mean..."
"We shall go in disguise."
Rose fell silent.
She soon grasped the reason behind that decision.
Cecilia's standing was too precious in the eyes of the Imperial nobility. Were she to appear openly at Charlotte's side, the rumors already spreading would only become harder to contain.
Yet another unease slowly filled her mind.
Years had passed since they had last met.
"Perhaps Charlotte will not recognize us."
Cecilia shook her head gently.
"You are mistaken, Rose. Just as we recognized Charlotte only from a picture in the newspaper, she too will recognize us the moment we meet."
"..."
"Ian will be there as well."
"Ian..."
At the mere sound of his name, Rose lost her words.
She missed him.
Deep within her heart, she hoped Ian might still recognize her, though time had changed so much.
Cecilia walked toward the door.
Rose's gaze fell, unbidden, upon the bouquet of White Roses lying beside the bed.
The bouquet remained untouched since the day before.
Not a single stem had been moved into a vase.
Cecilia did not care for flowers.
If there were any flower she truly valued, it was only the ones that lived on in the garden, tended by the Duchess herself.
"Where are you going, My Lady?"
"To prepare."
"To prepare?"
"You have not forgotten, have you? Meeting Charlotte requires careful preparation."
"I understand."
Two servants opened the door quietly.
Cecilia gave a brief nod before stepping outside.
The door closed slowly once more.
***
The Handler Family Mansion, the Capital.
It is difficult to remain calm.
The higher the sun crawls across the sky, the harder it becomes to hold down the unease that keeps gnawing at my mind.
Fabian will arrive today.
The same question keeps turning over and over in my mind.
Why does he come?
What is the purpose of this visit?
The official letter of visitation has arrived. The whole mansion moves busier than usual. The servants prepare a reception fitting for a Grand Duke.
Aunt has asked me again and again to calm myself, though I know she too carries an unease not so different from my own.
In the training room, Ian stands several dozen paces before me. His hand runs along the weapon rack, choosing one wooden sword after another before finally taking up two of them.
It was I who asked him to spar.
At this moment, there is no more effective way to drive out the chaos within my head than to fight.
Ian approaches me, then holds out one of the wooden swords.
I take it without hesitation.
"Ian."
"Hm?"
"Why have you been silent all this while?"
"There is nothing to speak of."
"You are thinking of something."
"That is true."
"Are you not angry?"
"Angry over what?"
"Regarding the Grand Duke."
"No."
I let out a slow breath.
"Insufferable. You grow more insufferable still."
Ian merely steps back without response.
The wooden sword remains gripped in his right hand as he takes his stance.
The distance between us widens once more.
I spin the sword a few times before gripping its handle tighter.
Ian wears a black shirt with trousers of matching colour.
His favourite colour.
The same as Father's.
And I must admit, that colour truly suits him well.
I raise the sword until its tip points straight at Ian's chest.
"No chakra allowed. This bout relies purely on physical skill."
"Understood."
This training room is not spacious enough to withstand a clash of chakra.
Even a small scale ninjutsu would be enough to bring down part of the building.
I do not wish to trouble Aunt a second time.
Besides, tomorrow I must attend the riding invitation.
Which means...
I will meet Fabian again.
That thought shakes once more the calm I had built with such difficulty.
I draw a long breath, then release it slowly.
"Let us begin."
Ian gives a faint nod.
His wooden sword cuts through the air a few times as a warm up.
I move first.
Ian meets my attack without the slightest haste.
Even without the aid of chakra, our speed remains far above that of ordinary men.
This is not the first time we have fought relying only on physical skill.
It is precisely this kind of bout that feels most honest.
Every clash is borne entirely by muscle, bone, and technique.
The difference in physical strength between us is in truth quite marked.
Yet Ian always tempers his strength so that the bout remains balanced.
Thock!
The two wooden swords clash hard.
We press against each other, each fighting for control of our own balance.
Ian's face remains calm.
It is precisely that calm which unsettles me most.
I must keep pressing him.
I must not let him find his rhythm.
Thud!
My kick surges straight toward his stomach.
Ian immediately raises his left arm to block.
His body is pushed back several steps.
Pure physical strength.
Yet that is enough to force him to lose his footing for a moment.
I press forward at once.
The longer the bout goes on, the more my curiosity toward Ian grows.
There is something he is hiding.
That thought slowly even begins to displace my unease over Fabian.
I swing my sword.
One slash.
Followed by a straight thrust.
Thock!
Ian shifts his sword with a motion nearly without flaw.
My attack misses entirely.
Facing Ian with only basic swordsmanship is a mistake.
I immediately change my pattern of attack.
The path of my sword grows more intricate.
Slash after slash flows without pause, joining together in a rhythm that grows ever faster.
Ian keeps retreating while parrying every attack with movements nearly perfect.
The clash of wood fills the training room, swallowing the sound of our footsteps and our breath, which has begun to quicken.
Since long ago, my style of fighting has always been the same.
Press forward.
Hunt for the smallest opening until the opponent loses rhythm.
Ian is the opposite.
He tends more often to defend.
Not because he is cornered.
But because he is reading every movement of his opponent.
The longer the bout goes on, the clearer the difference in our fighting styles becomes.
I keep dominating.
Yet bringing him down still feels impossible.
I swing a vertical slash toward his shoulder.
Thock!
Ian turns his sword at an angle nearly perfect.
My sword is knocked upward.
In a fraction of a second, the pressure reverses direction.
I gave a faint smile.
At last this bout begins to feel enjoyable.
My body gradually relaxes, while the chaos within my head slowly fades away.
Yet there remains one thing that keeps troubling my mind.
Where did Ian go yesterday?
The strangeness I had caught could not merely be my imagination.
I must make him speak.
The rhythm of my attacks rises once more.
Bit by bit, control of the bout shifts back into my hands.
Yet that is still not enough.
Ian does not appear cornered in the least.
His gaze remains as calm as the surface of a lake without ripple.
As our swords lock together, my left hand suddenly seizes the blade of his wooden sword. In that same instant, the sword in my right hand shoots straight for his wrist.
Ian releases his grip at once and leaps backward.
I do not waste that chance.
I hurl both wooden swords toward him.
Not to strike him.
Only a momentary diversion to open a gap.
I know such a method would not be enough to catch him off guard.
And so, my body surges forward at once.
In an instant, I am directly above him.
"Do not be startled. This method has always worked on you, has it not?"
He does not dodge.
Whether he reacted too late, or simply no longer regards me as a threat.
That bad habit, it seems, has not changed.
Thud!
Ian's body strikes the floor first.
I land atop him as well, pinning both his shoulders so he cannot rise.
Before he can react, my hand immediately undoes the topmost button of his shirt.
I pull back his collar until the area near his neck and shoulder becomes clearly visible.
"What is this, Ian?"
"Could Elder Sister stand up first?"
"Do not change the subject."
My forefinger touches faintly a bite mark still left upon his skin.
Ian's expression finally changes.
The first crack appears in the calm he has maintained all this while.
"Ian."
My voice sounds far more insistent.
"Answer me. Where did this wound come from?"
"It is nothing."
"Do not lie."
"Perhaps it simply appeared."
I let out a soft chuckle.
"Impressive. So now you think me that foolish? And yet last night it was you so busy giving me counsel."
Ian chooses silence once more.
"Ian. Where did you go yesterday?"
"I do not know."
"And I must believe that bite mark appeared on its own?"
"That is indeed so."
"Liar."
Ian immediately turns his face away.
I have known him since we were both still small.
Since I first became able to remember the world around me.
I watched him grow, little by little.
Learning to control chakra.
Learning to wield a sword.
Learning to hide what lay within his heart.
We have almost never been apart.
Because of this, there is one thing I understand very well.
Ian is indeed skilled at keeping secrets.
But whenever he lies, he always fails to hide his embarrassment.
It was so even before.
Especially where Cecilia or Rose were concerned.
My gaze falls once more upon the bite mark on his neck.
Then a possibility suddenly crosses my mind.
"Tell me... which woman bit you?"
Ian starts.
In the next instant, both his hands push against my shoulders at once.
I lose my balance and fall to the floor.
...Panic?
Ian rises to his feet at once.
He only glances at me briefly.
"I am going to bathe first, Elder Sister."
"You have only just bathed."
"I am sweating."
"That is no excuse. Ian, wait."
He has already turned away.
The tips of his ears have reddened.
I stare at his back with a face full of disbelief.
"Just now... did he push me?"
As far as I recall, Ian has never treated me so roughly.
"Ian."
His steps finally stop, but he does not turn at once.
"Do not tell me it was the Baron's daughter."
This time he truly turns.
"Nonsense."
Only those two words leave his mouth.
After that, he walks on once more without hesitation.
Though I call after him again and again and throw out one guess after another, he never turns back again.
Before long, his figure disappears behind the door of the training room.
I lie down upon the floor, staring up at the ceiling.
"So... who is that woman?"
Not Rose.
Not Cecilia.
And certainly not the Baron's daughter.
Then...
Who could be capable of making Ian lose his composure like that?
That question keeps turning over in my mind.
But before I can find the answer, the image of Fabian fills my thoughts once more.
I shut my eyes tightly.
"That man truly gives me no chance to be at peace."
Damn him.