Ch#54
***
“Knights of Morte.”
The chattering knights fell silent and stood at attention.
Amarion looked up at Victor. He appeared unusually disheveled.
His gaze swept over his knights, lingering on her. She squeezed her eyes shut tightly.
“Cease your unnecessary chatter.”
His weary voice echoed overhead.
“Everyone knows the plan. We advance together to Norvant, then split into Western and Eastern forces to subdue the monsters. If you’re injured or must leave anyone behind, report it immediately.”
“Yes, my lord!”
“It won’t be difficult. It’s just a routine subjugation, albeit busier. Be proper knights: assist the young if they request it, and take care…”
His commanding voice, resonating through the courtyard, suddenly faltered.
She opened her eyes and met Victor’s gaze.
Her husband spoke abruptly.
“…Take care and don’t get hurt.”
With that, he vanished into the terrace shadows.
She stood rooted until his shadow fully faded. Her heart burned.
The knights glanced at her, puzzled. She finally tore her gaze away. Raoul scratched the back of his head.
“…Well then, shall we depart?”
“I’ve cleaned your saddle, madame!”
Mary grabbed her arm. She masked her gloom and followed.
＊ ＊ ＊
Monster hunts in Amari had been grueling. Necessary work that sometimes earned coin, but endless sword swings exhausted her. Bundled in threadbare winter gear without proper warmth, body and mind alike froze. Injuries were so rampant that leaving the village without a healer was nearly impossible.
Yet this subjugation force was far more organized. Their route was meticulously planned, and frequent hospitality from minor lords meant rare camping. At least thus far.
“Whenever Carlz went on subjugation, he’d boast about which castle cook had the best skills.”
Sir Leonard said, guiding his horse to the front.
“He had such a sharp memory he’d only stay at castles with superb food.”
“Where to today? Decent fare?”
“I’m not some maniac memorizing that nonsense.”
Leonard retorted as if offended. Sir Raoul chuckled. Amarion smiled faintly, watching the scenery pass.
Late summer in Morte was stunningly vibrant. Untrodden fields bloomed with late-season flowers; clear ponds shimmered. Birds chirped amid hoofbeats and chatter, blending peacefully. Fine weather made it feel less like subjugation and more like a picnic.
Mary rode beside her, thrilled. Surprisingly steady, having honed her skills in youth.
“It’s been ages since I’ve been out in nature.”
“Really? Don’t you go home on holidays?”
“No, I stay in the castle, even then. Read books, have the kitchen maids bake my favorite sugar cookies.”
Mary said casually.
“You remain in the castle on holidays too?”
After hesitating, Amarion pressed.
“Are your vacations too short? Shall I extend them?”
A thought she hadn’t considered before. Her maids hailed from distant knight and minor lord families across Morte; travel must be arduous. Morte spanned several times Amari’s size.
But Mary shook her head reasonably.
“No, madame. I prefer the castle. This trip’s holiday enough.”
‘But…’
She eyed her seventeen-year-old maid with concern.
‘If she doesn’t wish to go, fine… but doesn’t she miss home sometimes?’
No matter how cozy, the castle was her workplace.
“—We’ll reach our first destination by evening.”
Leonard’s voice snapped her from reverie. Blunt despite the splendid weather.
“The estate is Norvant; its lord, Julich Norvant. Seventh-generation heir, Viscount. Two sons, one daughter—all struggling scholars. He rarely leaves his lands, but relatives serve in the castle. Wealthy estate, shaky finances from his crystal-collecting hobby. Talented violinist, favors bread pudding—”
“How do you know all that?”
Raoul gaped. Amarion felt the same astonishment.
She glanced at Mary, hoping for insight from her long tenure in Morte, but Mary gawked too.
“I’m second son of House Odo, ancient Morte vassals. We’ve ties to nearly every family. Grew up on nobles’ tales as lullabies.”
“…I see.”
Raoul laughed. His grim face smiling made him fiercer. She cocked her head.
“What do you mean?”
“I wondered why Carlz wasn’t deputy knight. Leonard’s our vice-commander, sure, but he loathes giving orders.”
Leonard frowned but didn’t refute.
Raoul stroked his chin.
“Paperwork suits Leonard, so why delegate to Carlz? Madame, you’ll meet Morte lords henceforth, right?”
She turned to Leonard. The blond knight answered candidly.
“His Highness ordered me to aid her highness, easing anxiety before unfamiliar vassals.”
Her grip tightened on the reins.
She must meet vassals. Memories flooded of the Capital’s social season nightmare.
Fumbling with nobles proved she wasn’t noble material.
She couldn’t be a knight here. As Victor said, she was Morte’s lady.
“Relations sour with most vassals. Many executed were lords.”
Leonard stated flatly.
If they feared or loathed Victor, their welcome toward her would mirror it. Like the maids upon her arrival.
Leonard added plainly.
“Can’t say ‘don’t worry,’ but I’ll do my utmost.”
She nodded reluctantly.
The once-lovely flowers lost appeal.
＊ ＊ ＊
They arrived in Norvant without incident, on schedule.
Half a day from Morte estate, Norvant gleamed affluent. Manicured fields abounded; streets bustled.
Knights’ arrival drew roadside crowds, clapping cheers. Peaceful.
“Scarcely any monsters here.”
“Indeed.”
She conversed with Raoul en route to the inner city, lord’s seat.
Surprisingly, Lord Norvant awaited. He rushed forward.
“Welcome, Hostess of the Black Lion lands, her highness Amarion of Morte.”
A plump thirties man bowed deeply.
Uncomfortable, she dismounted swiftly, raising him. About to curtsy with skirt-lift, she recalled trousers—awkward knee-bend instead.
“Thank you for your warm welcome, Viscount Norvant.”
“Nonsense, my lady! Be at ease—make yourself at home!”
The Viscount beamed. His courtesy embarrassed her.
She entered the estate bemused.
The castle mimicked the Imperial Palace. Gaudy ornaments, wildly embroidered curtains, colossal crystal statues—opulent excess.
Mary whispered beside her.
“Madame, this marble floor… three days and nights to clean.”
Why such extravagance? Not a banquet; mere respite.
The Viscount’s family greeted awkwardly. Amarion felt like an Imperial envoy, ill-suited.
“Greetings, your highness.”
The Viscountess, in lavish gown, curtsied gracefully. Children followed.
Amarion floundered.
They hailed her Grand Duchess despite her knightly garb and role. Viscount knelt, kissed her hand’s back.
Feigning skirt, she waved airily, greeting per etiquette.
“Pleased to meet you, Viscountess. Your estate is truly splendid.”
