110. As Expected, It’s Fading

Keslan had not realized that Thyssen was the very assailant who had attacked during the previous hunting festival.

There was no way the Empire, humiliated in front of foreign diplomats, would have left such an incident uninvestigated.

Only, Thyssen had escaped by means beyond common sense.

Instead of fleeing outward after burning the face-skin of the laborer whose features he had been using, he had actually hidden himself inside the Imperial Palace.

By the time the investigators discovered the charred remains of that skin—never once imagining that the attacker would dare infiltrate the palace itself—it was already far too late.

Thanks to Greta’s diplomatic status and Marchioness Bonita of Hainder’s influence, Thyssen had already been smoothly reborn as an important guest from Norden.

As both an Imperial knight and Greta’s escort, Keslan had been hounded mercilessly throughout the inquiry, yet uncovered no real clue.

No matter how keen his observation and intuition, he could only move according to the directives of his superiors—unable to examine every circumstance on his own.

On top of that, fortune itself hadn’t favored him.

When Keslan showed no particular reaction even with Thyssen before him, Greta relaxed. But she overlooked something.

Even if Keslan had no inkling that Thyssen was the attacker, Thyssen still easily qualified as a “key figure” in his eyes.

For some time now, his danger sense—so finely attuned—was not just ringing but screaming at him.

This isn’t right. Absolutely not right. I can’t just let this go! He’s way too suspicious. Should I report this to the Captain? No, no… those blood-red eyes…

Suppressing the urge to rub down his arms bristling with gooseflesh, Keslan forced himself to appear calm and composed.

Before beings who were danger incarnate, he could not afford to show that he felt threatened.

Thus outwardly he looked every bit the stalwart model of an Imperial knight, and thankfully, he managed to fool both Greta and Thyssen, who had been watching him closely.

Though he longed to run out of the room that very moment, Keslan endured and endured.

Surely this business was finished now.

Please, let it be finished.

As if she had understood his desperate wish, Greta released him without protest that day.

“I’d like to be alone now.”

Her dismissal was the same as before, but this time Thyssen remained by her side.

Still, Keslan said nothing about it.

That was how an escort was meant to behave.

Of course, Greta had never once permitted him to remain by her side—but he had no intention of quibbling about that now.

He only wanted to leave this place.

Squaring his shoulders and straightening his back, Keslan marched from the chamber with disciplined steps.

Only then, sweat beading his brow, was he about to exhale a long sigh when words drifted faintly from beyond the closing door.

“…altar… needed…”

“…shorten the time…”

To him they were just disjointed fragments—but the cold sweat now streamed down his jawline and dripped to the floor. He swallowed his sigh.

His sharp-eyed nature, born of timidity, had let him notice that Thyssen’s blood-red eyes were identical to Cryer’s. But overhearing Greta’s crumbs of conversation had been pure luck.

Despite knowing the door was not yet shut, despite knowing Keslan had not yet walked far, Greta discussed her plans freely with Thyssen.

She was certain Keslan could not understand even if he overheard.

Just as Bonita had casually invoked the “true god” before Olivia without hesitation.

Keslan walked on as if he had heard nothing. Not long after, he stood before the Princess’s office, swallowing dryly, and knocked with grave formality.

At her summons, he entered, his neck stiff with tension to the point of pain.

The dusk-darkening office was saturated with the smell of ink and paper.

“Sir Keslan. Let’s hear what brings you.”

From within the mountains of paperwork came the Princess’s voice, and Keslan swallowed again.

“The diplomat from Norden has brought his own escort, Your Highness.”

“Yes. He requested it, so I permitted it. As you know, he was unsettled by the small disturbance at the hunting festival.”

“Forgive me, but… have you met that escort yourself?”

“Well. And what reason would I have to?”

Olivia’s unruffled answer made Keslan swallow hard.

Her Highness was correct.

Though Norden was an ally, it was hardly a major power on the continent.

Why would the Empire’s future Empress personally go out of her way to meet a diplomat’s escort, when she had already granted approval?

To do so would only damage her dignity—or invite diplomatic protest.

As both Imperial knight and the heir-apparent Vice Captain, Keslan understood all this perfectly.

Thus, even though the Princess was watching him, awaiting an answer, he could not bring himself to speak.

For one look at the stacks of paperwork around him was enough to prove her tireless burden.

He must not trouble her with trifles.

Should he retreat and wrestle with his suspicions about the diplomat and his escort alone? Or rush to the Captain? But was there even anyone in the Order sharp enough to see what he did?

Anxieties flew through his head like arrows loosed in quick succession, but Keslan clenched his fists.

If he were going to retreat, he wouldn’t have come here at all.

No. He wouldn’t have resolved to endure the blood-red-eyed beast at the Princess’s side today—whose presence now radiated not just menace but a murderous intent that promised to rip out his throat if he did not leave.

Under such crushing pressure, his heart thundered, his stomach churned, and the sweat he had barely dried earlier now poured anew.

Yet instead of fleeing, Keslan steadied his voice and met those blood-red eyes head-on.

When he was at the limit of convincing himself it was all just nerves—

“Sir Keslan?”

Olivia’s tired yet clear voice cut through the silence.

“Yes, Your Highness. Forgive me, but there is something about that escort which I must report.”

Though his face had gone pale, his jaw trembling, Keslan spoke with solemn resolve.

Olivia tilted her head slightly toward Cryer. The distance between them lessened, and immediately the suffocating killing intent that had threatened to tear him apart eased.

Keslan seized the chance and answered.

“You must?”

“Yes. Absolutely.”

Her lashes fluttered slowly, like the wings of a butterfly.

She set down her pen, laced her fingers, and rested her chin upon them.

Without a word, she gave him leave to continue.

“The first matter you must know is… the eyes. Specifically, the color of the irises.”

With fervor befitting a knight loyal to the Empire and the Imperial family, he reported on the suspicious escort and the unsettling crimson eyes of Thyssen.

Never realizing that in only moments, he would be forced to confront the fact that gaps often appeared in his own memory.

“Master, if you need anything else, please pull the cord.”

Smiling brightly, the servant bowed.

Sugar, still awkward, forced himself to return the smile.

“I will. Thank you.”

“Oh, it’s my duty! Then I’ll be off.”

With steps as lively as the household’s young lady herself, the servant vanished down the hall. Sugar waved until he was gone.

Left alone at last, the boy tilted his head as if pondering something.

Then, unsatisfied, he spun in place several times, thinking hard.

At last he stepped hesitantly toward the mirror, lifting his shirt.

“…Is it?”

He stared at the brand upon his skin, nearly pressing his nose to the glass.

The cool air against his bare flesh raised goosebumps, but he remained frozen.

“It looks like it…”

Muttering so softly no one could hear, Sugar pressed and rubbed the mark with his fingertips, deep in thought.

It was fainter than before.

Or was it? Maybe the mirror was cloudy? No… impossible.

He knew well how diligently the servants polished it.

And if the mirror were the cause, shouldn’t the mark look different to his naked eye?

“…It really is fading.”

Even as he stared directly at it, he could hardly believe, whispering without confidence. He let out a sigh.

Knock, knock.

“Sugar, do you have a moment?”

A cheerful knock, followed by the even brighter voice of Ambre.

“Y-yes! Please, come in!”

Sugar hurriedly pulled down his shirt. Before he finished granting permission, the door burst open and Ambre, smiling ear to ear, announced:

“Her Highness has summoned you!”

Sugar’s eyes and mouth went round with shock.

Bounding over, Ambre patted his neatly combed head and chattered on:

“It’s been so long, hasn’t it? The Princess sent an invitation to the palace! She says she wants to hear how you’ve been doing!”