Ch#68
“…I’m Enolius.”
Enolius?
I stared at him, momentarily stupefied.
Right—Enolius, the mage serving in the Grand Duke’s castle.
I hadn’t anticipated crossing paths with him here, of all places, at such an hour.
“I’m weaving a healing incantation, so stay still.”
Yet he merely perched on a chair, showing no signs of incantation.
No hand extended my way. No glowing runes or ethereal glows in sight.
As though sensing my skepticism, the mage’s eyes sharpened.
“Healing magic defies visibility by its very essence.”
That condescending glance, treating me like a complete novice, sparked a flicker of irritation.
“You’re working magic on me without consent?”
My tone carried suspicion, but his response came cool and detached.
“On the Grand Duke’s command. I’m merely obeying. Direct grievances to him.”
His manner grated on me.
I itched to retort, yet he had a point, technically.
“…I wasn’t picking a fight.”
Exhaustion sapped my will to spar. His lips quirked in faint amusement.
“You’re not what I pictured.”
“How so?”
“I figured Her Highness would rouse and unleash chaos. I readied a restraint spell as precaution.”
He chatted with the ease of addressing an acquaintance. The insolence drew a hollow chuckle from me.
“You match the gossip perfectly.”
Thoroughly disagreeable.
“Guilty as charged. I tend to rub folks the wrong way wherever I land.”
The mage gave a nonchalant shrug.
Were he not a mage, his head might’ve rolled long ago. Even so, his candor didn’t truly rankle.
“I suppose we’re alike in that.”
Composed, I brushed my forehead.
A bandage clung where the egg had struck.
“Alike?”
“You’ve caught wind of my reputation, surely?”
From “Capital’s Villainess” to “enemy’s spawn,” and lately, no doubt, “the Grand Duchess draining the populace dry.”
The mage’s brow creased, then smoothed in understanding.
“Fair enough.”
Silence fell after that.
Soon, the mage rose.
“All set. Get some rest.”
With little more, he made for the exit.
As the door loomed, I murmured softly,
“…Thank you.”
My words were faint, but he paused, pivoting to face me.
“For what?”
“The healing magic.”
“Ah… yeah.”
He faltered briefly, rubbing his chin with unease.
“Didn’t intend to offend, by the way.”
That caught me off guard.
“No harm done.”
“And you’re nothing like me.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Here in this castle, at least, disdain doesn’t follow you.”
I shot him a quizzical glance; he nodded toward my back.
Twisting around, I spotted an array of flower pots—some grand, others modest—arrayed along the sill.
“These…”
I whipped back to question him, but the mage had vanished.
“Your Highness! Are you all right?!”
Cecilia burst in moments later, eyes brimming with tears.
“You can’t imagine my terror! I feared you’d never stir!”
Once I soothed her, the full account of my collapse emerged.
“The court physician deemed it merely a forehead graze, nothing grave. Yet dusk came and went without you waking.”
Cecilia dabbed at her eyes, still rattled.
“His Grace stormed the castle upon hearing. Livid, he summoned the mage at once.”
“The Duke lost his temper?”
“I didn’t witness it, but Sir Perel and the knights appeared haunted. They whispered it was unprecedented—His Grace in such a rage. The atmosphere turned lethal.”
The poised, regal Duke in a fury? Hard to envision, but I acknowledged it.
“And the perpetrator?”
“They nabbed the one who hurled the second egg. He’s confined, under questioning.”
Cecilia ventured delicately,
“The on-duty knights face imprisonment too.”
“What? Why imprison the knights?!”
I gaped, incredulous.
“For failing to shield Your Highness. Sir Tierne took a blow from the Duke himself.”
She revealed how the knights restrained him, and how Sir Perel urged silence on the matter. Yet she spilled it all.
I stood mute.
Sir Tierne—the Duke’s most devoted shadow—struck on my account?
“Incidentally, Your Highness—notice these?”
Sensing my distress, Cecilia gestured swiftly to the windowsill pots.
“I meant to inquire. What’s with all these?”
“Castle staff delivered them.”
Her smile glowed with warmth.
“A gesture to lift your spirits. Each brought their own pot.”
“Oh…”
They fretted over me? But flowers, of all things?
“Leta caught wind that Your Highness dislikes severed blooms.”
“…Understood.”
“It began with a handful of maids, then snowballed. Kitchen hands, stable folk—all pitched in.”
Peering closer, I spied even more pots clustered beneath the ledge.
I shifted to rise, but Cecilia flailed her hands.
“No moving yet!”
“I’m perfectly well.”
As I gained my feet, she steadied me to the window.
“…Lovely.”
Pots varied in scale and bloom—some bearing tiny notes.
Inhaling deeply summoned delicate perfume mingled with earthy freshness.
“Retta shared that the maids were incensed. They vowed divine retribution on your assailant.”
Cecilia affirmed it staunchly, intent on comfort.
“All fretted over your heart’s wounds. Even Sir Norton bade me relay: the castle stands united with you. No misconceptions.”
“…Thoughtful of them.”
In truth, I’d scarcely endeavored to charm the staff prior.
Yet that petite pot cradling an unopened white neflas bud… coaxed an unwitting smile.
The execution’s specter dissolved from my thoughts.
Knock knock.
Loic rapped softly at the door.
“Your Grace? May I enter?”
A tender voice beckoned from inside.
Loic eased into the Grand Duchess’s chamber, lips pressed tight.
She reclined against pillows in bed.
He’d cleared the visit with Whittle, so she awaited him.
Her familiar radiant expression twisted his chest.
Rooted in place, he couldn’t advance. The Grand Duchess cocked her head.
“Your Grace?”
“…”
“Why linger there? Sit.”
She patted the bedside chair.
How could he presume to sit after her public shame?
Frozen, he wavered; her eyebrow arched.
“Not coming? Shall I go to you, then?”
She flung aside the covers.
Desperate, Loic hastened over and sank into the seat.
Words eluded him still.
Head bowed, he whispered,
“Are you… recovering?”
“Never better. Truly.”
Her cheer rang undimmed.
“The mage’s touch has me invigorated. Healing magic delivers, it seems.”
“This… won’t recur.”
Loic fixed on his balled fists, voice resolute.
“The First and Second Knight units will jointly escort you henceforth. Sir Norton dedicates fully to your safeguard.”
“No need for—”
“Perpetrators will face swift justice once unmasked. The Merchants’ Guild head received a stern admonition against your slandering rumors. Reckless tongues will—”
Words tumbled from him in a fervent rush.
“Your Grace.”
The Grand Duchess cut in softly.
“I understand. But won’t you face me?”
“…”
“Not even a glance?”
Her gentle urging coaxed his gaze upward.
She bent near, pallor stark against his.
Cheeks bereft of their bloom, lashes quivering faintly.
And that stark forehead bandage…
“No cause for concern. It’s trivial.”
Catching his stare, she peeled it away.
“Leave it!”
Too late—she’d discarded it.
“See? Barely a mark.”
“…A scar remains.”
His tone quavered.