Anxiety began to spread on the faces of people walking ahead and behind.
The sizes and titles of the families were different, but they were all people who had been loyal to Queen Gilsis for a long time. It was embarrassing to pretend not to know the Queen just because something had happened like this, and even if moral reasons were excluded, they were afraid of retaliation.
Most of Queen Gilsis's power came from her biological family, the Laitian Dukes. The Queen's half-brother, Duke Laitian, was as twisted as a snake, but he was still faithfully serving the Queen and Krald without any trouble.
They all owed a debt, to a greater or lesser degree, to the Laitian duchy. There were also people who illegally enriched themselves and embezzled taxes while the Duke or Queen turned a blind eye. Turning their backs on the Queen was no different from saying that they had to repay all the mistakes they had committed several or dozens of times over. It was something to be afraid of.
“If His Highness Krald doesn’t become Crown Prince, won’t we be no better than clowns with our jaws down?”
“That’s something you don’t know. Franz has been a bit weak since he was young. He may be in poor health...”
“It sounds comforting, Countess. I saw him from afar earlier, but his appearance when he was young was nowhere to be seen. I thought he was a young military officer of the empire.”
“Well, the Princess is like that too. When she first came to Rotair, did she seem like a Princess? She was like a kitchen where I couldn't even get her blood. But now look what happened.”
The Countess pouted her lips. Then the other women all made similar expressions.
They were people who disliked Judith as much as Queen Gilsis. However, unlike Queen Gilsis, the reason they treated Judith so harshly was because she was a foreigner. Compared to Rotair, the Kingdom of Tien was far inferior in rank.
“Now that they have both reached adulthood, they will soon merge their palaces and form a royal family. When that happens, isn’t it only a matter of time before they will have a royal grandchild?”
“Krald is also a real problem. How can he do that if he interferes with the government every day? However, there is no sign of Libencia Montfort reappointing the royal family.”
“I heard a rumor that they drink ginkgo bark decoction on purpose to avoid getting pregnant.”
“I heard that they make tea with echinacea and drink it.”
Ginkgo bark and echinacea were known to have medicinal properties for colds and geriatric diseases and were widely used on a daily basis. However, in the private sector, it was also secretly used for contraception, and a rumor spread among the nobility that healers visiting Count Montfort frequently prescribed medicine containing ginkgo bark.
“It’s a shame. It is presumptuous for the government to boast about having a child.”
“If she were the daughter of Count Montfort, she was famous even before her debutante. Her mother was also a woman of many dirty rumors.”
These were people who, given time, could easily spend a week just gossiping about others. As they passed in front of the Magnus Palace, they looked with gentle eyes at the glass window where the light was still twinkling, and each of them snorted.
“Now that things are like this, don’t we have no choice but to try to find a way to survive, Duchess?”
The Countess's eyes, looking at the bright lights, were filled with anxiety that could not be hidden. The Duchess, who was better off than her, managed to maintain her upright expression, but that didn't mean she was calm inside.
“If we act hastily, we won’t be safe.”
“So we’re going to wait like this? If things continue like this, you won’t be able to stick to any side and will just end up in a situation where you’re left out.”
At someone's urging, the Duchess bit her lip hard.
“For the time being, act as usual. I’m going to give it a try.”
The palace door opened and a group of people poured out. The four noble ladies who were standing in a place where the light could not reach ran out of the garden as if running away. Their movements were busy and nervous as if someone would grab them by the back of their feet if they stopped.
***
To the west of Rotair Castle, there was a nice field for running horses. As you leave the forest, the King's hunting ground, and the outer castle gate, and pass through the downtown area, an open plain suddenly appears, and from there, there is no major curved terrain until you reach the horizon.
Franz grabbed the reins and rode his horse at full speed with his butt halfway out of the saddle. All around him was quiet, except for the sound of horses' hooves pounding the ground and the occasional sound of Bartholomew and Rogero cheering from behind. It wasn't really that there was no sound, but it felt that way because of the wind whistling past his ears.
Franz rode his horse until he was out of breath, and only slowed down when he reached a cluster of long-growing arborvitae trees. Even after his horse stopped running, he couldn't easily calm down his excitement, so he started touring and kicking the ground repeatedly. Franz patted his horse's mane with his palm and looked back.
“Aren’t you both a bit lazy about horseback riding?”
Bartholomew and Rogero, who followed suit, made bewildered expressions at the same time. The first to refute was Bartholomew.
“It’s not that I’ve slowed down, it’s that you’ve gotten faster. I thought you were going to the Empire to study, but didn’t you get a job as a stable keeper somewhere?”
“Where does the stablekeeper have time to ride his horse? He must be busy cleaning up horse manure.”
“At the academy, I was purely cowardly. Well, there wasn’t even a field this wide.”
Rogero grumbled. He knew that Franz was good at riding horses, but he had no idea that he could ride so skillfully and at such high speeds. Horseback riding lessons at the academy only taught the basics, so he had no opportunity to demonstrate his skills.
“Let’s take a break here.”
The three men roughly hitched their horses, stood side by side, and walked through the field. After running for a while, a pleasant heat rose to his forehead.
“Even so, Franz, His Highness the Prince is also very good with words.”
Bartholomew said. Rogero grinned, flicking up his sweat-soaked green hair.
“If I made a mistake and felt like my father would scold me, I would quickly steal my horse and run away. Then I got a boner.”
“From what you’ve said, it seems like you’ve been active since you were young.”
“I was about six years old? There was even a bet between relatives.”
“What bet?”
Franz looked back with an interested expression. Rogero’s shoulders shook.
“It was the day I painted my portrait, and I was wondering how many minutes I could sit still.”
The two people who were blinking burst into laughter at the same time. Bartholomew asked.
“So, who won? How long have you been sitting?”
“The person who took care of me at that time was my aunt, and she bet fifty gold coins that the moment the artist picked up a pencil, I would kick down my chair and run out. My aunts and others expected that no matter what, a few people would sit down and endure it. In the end, my Aunt won. She probably used the money she earned that day to retile the terrace.”
Bartholomew was giggling and laughing. As soon as he met Rogero, he became close with him, as if he had met a friend he had known well for a long time. They were able to get close easily because they both liked physical activities like swordsmanship, horseback riding, and martial arts, and both had extroverted personalities.
Rogero seemed quite interested in the fact that Bartholomew was a combler trainee. The Combler, an elite soldier of the Rotair royal family, had a high reputation even among foreign military officers. It was somewhat unexpected that even the Prince of Delacca knew about the existence of the Combler, but Bartholomew was secretly proud.
“What a shame. I can’t believe I got kicked out with that ability.”
When Bartholomew told him that he had lost his status as a trainee due to Queen Gilsis and Krald's tricks, Rogero felt sad as if it was his fault. This was after watching Bartholomew engage in sword fighting with Franz.
“Perhaps that piece of wood shows no signs of becoming a Young Saint and needs to go into exile somewhere else, so please come to Delacca. For a talented person like you, either Father or my older brother would be willing to make room for you.”
“Thank you even for a joke, Your Highness the Prince.”
When Bartholomew humorously pretended to bow, Franz, who was listening, laughed as if he was shocked. They were able to laugh because they both knew it was a joke, but it seemed like Rogero was being serious.
“By the way, His Highness the Prince is also quite skilled with a sword.”
Bartholomew, who was taking steps to avoid the tall grass, glanced back at Rogero. Rogero, who was smiling slyly, slowly turned his head towards the open field and said.
"Well. ‘It’s fairly well handled’ is probably an assessment that varies depending on the person. Why are you curious?”
“Anyone, anytime, anywhere, is welcome as long as there is an opportunity to expand my knowledge.”
Bartholomew grinned. As summer progressed, his skin was slightly tanned by the sun, which went well with his bronze hair, making him look like a young military officer full of energy.
“For someone who applied for the Combler job, I guess your skills are probably mediocre?”
In response to Rogero's words, Franz, who was walking about half a step ahead of him, made a sound like "huh" as if he was listening.
“Franz, why are you smiling?”
“It feels so refreshing to see you show such humility.”
Bartholomew's eyes sparkled. After hearing from Franz that Rogero's skills were excellent, he was itching to spar with him whenever he had the chance. He could not dare to ask the Prince to spar first, so he just remained calm. If Rogero had brought Bartholomew to the sparring hall first, he would never have hesitated or pulled out.
“I really want to see how His Highness the Prince uses the sword.”
“I won.”
Rogero, who was laughing and scratching the back of his head, suddenly started rummaging through his pockets. Franz and Bartholomew looked at Rogero with puzzled eyes. After rummaging through his vest pocket for a moment, his hand came out and there on top was taffy made by boiling honeysuckle roots in black sugar.
"Want some?"
“What is this all of a sudden?”
Bartholomew picked up a piece of taffy first and put it in his mouth. Franz also picked up the taffy with a puzzled look on his face but did not eat it and just stared at Rogero.
Rogero scooped up the remaining taffy in his mouth and rolled it on his tongue a few times. A rich sweetness seeped out, and soon a bitter scent reached the tip of his nose. Rogero said.
“Before sparring, I need to replenish my sugar intake.”
Bartholomew's expression, who had been chewing while blinking his big eyes, brightened.
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