Chapter 7
7. How Far Do You Intend to Take This?2021.09.23.
The triumphal procession continued until dawn. After moving to the capital for the formal ceremony before the emperor, only then could the army finally disband and the soldiers return to their families’ arms—but the emperor permitted a simplified triumphal procession to a certain degree, so the returning troops could fully savor their joy upon reaching their hometowns. With no rigid formalities and a far freer atmosphere than the capital’s event, soldiers would sometimes spot their tearful families amid the crowds, dash out to embrace them, and share heartfelt reunions. Even in the dead of night, no house seemed to be asleep.
“Julius has made quite the effort.”
Julius had spared no expense, to the point that even the journalists were genuinely astonished.
“To avoid being outshone by this triumphal procession, His Majesty the Emperor will have to put in some effort himself.”
People who had found it absurd to start a triumphal procession in the middle of the night changed their tune once the fireworks exploded and beautiful lights adorned the night sky—they now saw it as Julius’s masterful stroke, flaunting the territory’s nightscape to stage a special ceremony that challenged imperial authority without seeming to. It was an extravagantly splendid affair, unprecedented in history. Impossible to reconcile with the supply shortage scandals of the past five years.
The sky was lightening with the approach of dawn. Reina’s mind was fading to white right along with it.
‘What am I doing here…?’
Dressed in her gown, Reina stood beside Arthur atop the golden triumphal carriage, waving to the territory’s people for the eighth straight hour. She could no longer tell if she was waving her hand or if it was just spasming on its own. She hadn’t realized a triumphal procession could be this exhausting.
“…….”
Her feet ached in the shoes. Her heels throbbed worse than the fresh piercings in her ears from last night. Perhaps from the corset laced too tightly, a dull pain pulsed somewhere in her chest. Breathing was difficult. Her bones weren’t broken, were they? The scents of festival food wafted from every direction, but with cheering crowds before her, she could only maintain a dignified smile and keep waving, unable to touch a bite. She was starving. And yet she had no appetite. She was so tired. Her feet hurt. Her arms hurt. Her chest hurt. It was cold. The heavy earrings were making her dizzy. She’d collapse right here and die before they even reached the gallows.
“Miss, you mustn’t lose your smile. The journalists are watching.”
The two maids at her side whispered softly as they supported her and straightened her attire. While they prettily arranged her disheveled hair, touched up her makeup, removed the wilted flowers, and replaced them with fresh ones, Reina stared blankly at their faces. Their eyes met for a fleeting moment. They were maids she recognized by sight, though she didn’t know their names. They must have realized she wasn’t truly ‘Miss Christina,’ and yet their faces showed no hint of alarm. The way they called her ‘Miss’ felt so utterly natural that for an instant, she wondered if they saw her as the real lady. They had probably been assigned to her of necessity, to make her look the part—if the lady weren’t attended by anyone, it would raise suspicions. The marquis’s household wouldn’t want word of this getting out. Had they been promised double wages for keeping their mouths shut?
“…….”
Plop. A sudden soft warmth settled on her shoulder, and Reina blinked. Whistles and jeering cheers rose around them, as if egging them on. Glancing to the side, she saw Arthur had draped his overcoat over her shoulders and withdrawn his hand.
Not a single word, his gaze drifting away as if it were nothing.
“…….”
Had her memory played tricks? Calling him ‘quite handsome’ had been a lie—she’d understated it. He possessed an excessively striking beauty. Even a meaningless expression or a casual pose could etch itself into someone’s mind as a profoundly significant scene.
“…….”
Why was he so handsome? A face like that must have been useless on the battlefield. Even knowing their shared history might drag her to the gallows, his presence dulled her fear for a moment—he was too captivating. Beneath the hazy dawn light, clad only in a loose white shirt and gazing indifferently elsewhere, he looked impossibly alluring. How could such a person exist in the world? She could hardly stand still without feeling unnatural, her face and arms on the verge of cramping. Hadn’t he stood there waving all through the night just like her? And yet he looked so at ease, as if he’d simply stepped out to greet the early morning breeze. As expected,
“……Is it because he’s a warrior, his stamina…”
Gasp. Reina clamped her mouth shut. The words hadn’t been meant to escape. Perhaps the corset squeezing her torso so tightly had forced the thought from her chest straight past her lips without her realizing. She covered her mouth.
“…….”
She’d said it far too casually. Had he heard? Praying he hadn’t, she stole a glance at him. He leaned on the railing ahead, still staring forward, a smile on his lips.
“It’s quite taxing, isn’t it.”
…He had heard. Biting her lip, she stared down at the back of her hand. What would a real lady say in a situation like this?
“……I know the triumphal procession is a necessary procedure.”
Arthur laughed.
“You’re not denying it’s hard.”
Of course she wasn’t—that would be a lie. But she couldn’t brazenly whine to a man who’d roamed battlefields for five years and only just returned: My arm feels numb from waving too much. Hesitating awkwardly, she replied.
“……Thank you for the overcoat.”
A sudden unease stirred in her heart. Life as a maid in the marquis’s household hadn’t been easy, but it was peaceful—no worries of starving to death or getting stabbed in the middle of the night. She could squirrel away bits here and there for little luxuries and even dream of the seaside amid the hardships.
“…….”
The peace she’d enjoyed all that time must have been something he’d fought for with his life on the line. And yet here she was, borrowing his coat and chatting about how tough the procession was. Awkwardly, she fiddled with the overcoat he’d draped over her.
“…….”
「Don’t make a fuss.」
「Sir Arthur was just briefly angry, that’s all.」
「Your role is simply to quell this current uproar. Nothing more, nothing less.」
“…….”
She knew. This closeness might last only today. As long as she avoided the gallows for insulting the imperial family, this moment would remain the most glorious memory of her life. A prince from another world, standing so near for the briefest instant. She might never get another chance to speak with him like this. Probably the only glimpses she’d have of him from then on would be in the gazettes. She’d spend her life regretting not having said something cleverer… Should she say something now? It would be a memory to cherish forever.
“…….”
Reina blinked vacantly. Conversation? She must not be in her right mind. She just needed to stay quiet and wait for the gallows to pass safely. Being the shrimp crushed in a battle of whales was the last thing she wanted. She had to shrink down as much as possible, slip through this moment, and find a chance to flee. Far out to sea before the whales clashed…
“…….”
Reina shifted her gaze outward. The gathered crowds were watching them. Doll-like, she smiled again and extended her arm from beneath the overcoat, waving toward the throng.
“Care for a drink?”
Surprisingly, it was he who spoke again. Startled, Reina looked at the cup he held out to her.
“…….”
The jeering cheers rose once more, egging her on. It was just before dawn. Not as many people as at night, but a fair number still lingered nearby. They whooped excitedly, clearly hoping she’d accept.
“…….”
Reina took the cup. Clutching the coat lapels at her chest with one hand, she extended the other.
“…….”
She stared at it for a moment. He’d given her warmed grape wine. She couldn’t hold her liquor at all… But she’d accepted a drink from him. How could she refuse this cup? It would be a lifelong memory…
“…….”
Even Miss Christina wouldn’t refuse in this atmosphere. And the miss was good with drink, too…
「Be thoroughly Christina in front of him.」
The autumn dawn was frigid. White steam rose faintly over the wine’s rippling surface in the cup. It looked warm.
“…….”
Reina brought the cup straight to her lips and downed it in one go.
“Haa…”
Her breath, carrying the warm aroma of wine, dispersed into the dawn air. It felt good. Sweet and warm. The crowds cheered once more.
· · ·
“For the Emperor.”
Arthur raised his sword and called out briefly, and the soldiers echoed him in salute.
“For the Emperor!”
The simplified triumphal procession came to an end.
……The miss has come down with a terrible fever. But as you all know, today is the important day of the triumphal procession. She insisted on going somehow, but her fever is so high she can’t even stand properly. The marquis determined he couldn’t parade his severely ill daughter before the people. But asking Sir Arthur to wait outside the city for days until she recovers wouldn’t be the right thing either, would it? Not after the triumphant general and his soldiers have endured such hardships to return. If word got out that the miss couldn’t appear due to illness, it would be taken as us slighting them. Not just Sir Arthur, but all the soldiers returning home after five years—they’re waiting to reunite with their families. So for tonight only, Reina will stand in for the miss at the ceremony. Help her avoid any mistakes. You know without me saying that we must be discreet to keep any needless rumors from marring this joyous day, right?
· · ·
“…….”
The two maids who had been assisting Reina blinked in bewilderment. So that was the reason… But the miss right now wasn’t the miss at all…
“Open it.”
“…….”
Could it be that Sir Arthur didn’t know? Why… Why was it Sir Arthur? Carrying her into the bridal chamber? The second-largest bedroom in Julius Mansion, assigned to Arthur and the miss. The very room that would have been his if the household had a son. Standing before the closed door of the bridal chamber, which the maids and the Marchioness had labored over for more than a month. Sir Arthur, cradling Reina—who had suddenly lost consciousness and slumped after the endless triumphal procession, whether fainted or asleep—spoke.
“Are you deaf?”
The maids’ pupils began to shake wildly. Wait, hold on—isn’t this not allowed? Reina was just standing in for the ailing miss during the procession, wasn’t she? And now you’re going into the bedroom together? The bridal chamber meant for you and the miss? Should we stop him and say this is wrong? Or keep quiet in front of Sir Arthur? What, what is this!? Ma’am? Miss Christina? Mrs. Hurst? Where is everyone!? Sir Arthur, how far do you plan to go!?
