INWY~17

Chapter 17

Dusk had settled over the platform by the time the train pulled in. 

The few remaining passengers rose with practiced precision, gathering their belongings.

“Miss Bronte.”

“…Mm?”

“We’ve arrived.”

Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, Riena slowly lifted her head. 

The bright sunlight that had once streamed through the carriage window had long since faded, replaced by the soft glow of gas lamps outside.

Henry chuckled faintly at the sight of her tousled hair, then stood and collected both her bags before disembarking first. 

Setting the luggage briefly down, he extended a hand toward her as she stepped down.

“Careful on the stairs—they’re narrow.”

“Thank you.”

A small smile touched Riena’s lips at his considerate gesture. 

These unvarnished kindnesses—simple, unpretentious—felt strangely unfamiliar, and yet… not unpleasant.

She placed her hand atop his. 

Her movements, once awkward, had grown more natural, answering his gentle escort without hesitation.

Only once they had left the station and settled into a carriage did Riena finally take a moment to look around. 

It was dark, but not so much that she couldn’t make out the unfamiliar landscape. 

Slowly, she let her eyes drink it in.

On the train, Henry had told her a little about Florian, the town where he was born. 

The southernmost point of the Bermark Kingdom—too small to even be called a proper town, isolated from the cities. 

In his words, practically the countryside.

At some point during the ride, the air grew cooler, tinged with a faint scent of brine.

“Florian’s a coastal town, isn’t it? That explains it—it really does smell of the sea.”

“We’re passing near the shore,” Henry replied. “It’s sharper than the scent of the river in Behern—salt and fish both.”

“The sea?”

A quiet exclamation slipped from him, as if something had just occurred to him. 

He gave a small nod, then glanced about before adding with a smile, “You said you’ve never seen the ocean before, didn’t you? Then this will be your first.”

As he spoke, the view on his left opened wide—an endless expanse of deep blue stretching into the horizon.

“Wow…”

Riena’s eyes sparkled, her lips forming a breathless whisper. 

Until now, the sea had only ever been something described in words, a place she had only heard about.

She leaned instinctively toward Henry’s side for a better look, her breath catching as the wheels rumbled beneath them.

“Is that really the sea? Compared to it, the rivers in Behern are nothing…”

It was magnificent. Words faltered. 

Her chest swelled too full, too fast, and she could only draw in a deep breath, trying to imprint every detail of that vast, impossible expanse.

Her heart hammered in her ears, quick and loud.

Even after they had alighted from the carriage, her expression still held the dazed brightness of someone caught inside a dream.

“Do you regret not seeing it longer?” Henry asked.

“Yes, a little… no, a lot.”

Her correction made him laugh softly.

“You won’t have to regret it for long. If you live here, you’ll see it countless times.”

That word—countless—made her pause. Slowly, she nodded.

“…You’re right.”

But her heart sank. 

Countless times? How many could there truly be? One year? Perhaps two, if luck held, as the physician had said.

Her hand tightened unconsciously around the handle of the trunk—the one that held Benjamin’s prescribed medicine—staving off the sudden ache rising in her chest.

“You should go in now,” Henry urged gently. “Even in the south, sea winds aren’t as warm as they seem.”

“Ah, sorry. The sea was just so beautiful, I lost myself for a moment.”

When she lifted her head again, his face came into focus—cheeks faintly flushed.

Was it hot inside the carriage? 

She wondered, tilting her head as he rubbed awkwardly at the back of his neck.

“Is something wrong, Lieutenant?”

“…Forgive me. At this hour, there weren’t many choices. Of course, I’ll ask for separate rooms, so you don’t need to worry.”

He spoke quickly, eyes darting away. 

Riena finally noticed their destination—a small inn. Smaller than the one in Behern, though tidier.

They had stayed in inns before. 

Why was he suddenly so embarrassed, especially when he had already promised to take a separate room?

Her head tilted again, then she offered him a calm smile.

“It’s fine. It’s not the first time, after all.”

And so she missed the way his ears turned scarlet.

***

Clink.

Silver cutlery struck porcelain, blending with the mellow strains of a cello and the murmur of conversation, creating an elegant harmony within the banquet hall.

Royal banquets were always meant as displays of authority—gatherings of high officials, nobles, and foreign dignitaries where the queen’s poise and refinement would be judged as much as the meal itself. 

Tonight was no different.

The chancellor, the treasurer, the minister of state, the chief justice, the naval secretary, and members of the privy council all sat in attendance.

Their discussions ranged from foreign affairs to rising industries, from art imports to court intrigues—anything to keep the air light, the mood lively.

So it had been, until now.

Since the founding of Bermark, these families had never relinquished their power, passing down their bloodlines and influence unchanged. 

Yet with each generation, their unconditional loyalty to the crown had frayed, thread by thread.

Gloria raised her wineglass, feigning a sip as her eyes flicked toward the crown prince.

Her son sat among wolves, all too eager to tear into any sign of weakness. 

Stripped of a mother’s bias, he was still unsteady, his position precarious. 

Now, of all times, he needed to cement his standing—and yet…

Her fingers tightened around the stem of her glass.

The warm atmosphere shifted, conversations faltering into silence. 

It was the brief lull that always came before new topics were raised.

And Norman seized it.

“The kingdom has been unsettled of late, with the matter of Grand Duke Venachert,” he said with a grave sigh. “But seeing Her Majesty and His Highness the Crown Prince tonight among the lords, I feel a great peace—as though nothing had ever been amiss.”

The air thickened instantly. 

Faces stiffened, and the chief justice Harold even blanched outright.

For all its polish, Norman’s remark was barbed.

“Come to think of it, I realize I’ve yet to hear Her Majesty’s own thoughts on the affair. Circumstances prevented us before, of course. Forgive me for my lapse of duty.”

He dipped his head with a show of solemn respect.

“…But of course. I, too, understand how urgent the situation was, Chancellor,” Gloria replied smoothly, swallowing her irritation.

“Still, the matter is unresolved. And since so many of the kingdom’s ministers are gathered here tonight, perhaps it is fitting we discuss it now.”

So it comes to this. 

The look on Crown Prince Reichter’s face said as much.

At once, eyes darted around the table, nobles weighing each other’s reactions. 

None were eager to speak. 

They all knew why.

To stand against the duke was to risk ruin; no merchant or noble could maintain their enterprises without his favor.

But power was never singular. 

The duke’s shadow was long, yes, but so too was the chancellor’s influence.

Since the king had ceased governing, the royal family was but an empty shell. 

Norman was the true hand guiding the kingdom.

If only the crown prince had the strength to stand as a counterweight, things might have been different…

The silence stretched, until at last one of the privy councilors spoke.

“Your Highness, what are your thoughts? You were present at that meeting, were you not?”

That meeting—the day Grand Duke Dante Venachert had stormed through the council chamber like a tempest.

For a moment, Reichte  faltered, but he quickly composed himself.

“…As you all know, the grand ducal title was originally granted with certain conditions. That agreement has since been broken with the annulment of his marriage.”

He swallowed. He wanted nothing more than to strip Dante of his rank outright—but the man still held cards in hand, and no one knew how far his madness would go if provoked.

“Still, the grounds for annulment were… not without merit. Therefore…”

A retreat for the sake of advancing later—that was how Reichert rationalized it.

“…What if we reassign conditions anew?”

“What?”

The word cracked from Norman like a whip, sharp with incredulity. 

He turned on the prince, eyes flashing with anger, as though he had just heard something unthinkable.