Chapter 17
'What... what are you asking me to do?'
Daniel's eyes widened more roundly than Frida's in his confusion. As he urgently pulled his shoulders back, Frida closed the distance and pointed to her forehead.
"Come on, Your Grace. Touch here. My fever's gone down."
When Daniel showed no sign of moving, the impatient Frida grabbed his left hand and brought it to her forehead.
"See? No fever, right?"
After repeated checks, Frida beamed brightly and stepped away from Daniel. She'd felt lighter since waking, but hadn't expected the fever to be gone. The medicine from Anton must finally be working. If it was going to go down this easily, why hadn't it sooner? Why waste days like this? She was busy enough already. Frida quickly sorted her tasks one by one. First, the advance payment to the Turkic merchants: 50,000—no, 30,000 ducats should suffice. Half the remainder after checking the bulbs' condition, and the other half after confirming they bloomed properly next spring. She'd start test cultivation of the precious bulbs on the fields inside the castle walls. There was still unplanted land on the eastern slopes they'd cleared, so this autumn, she'd plant them there first. Most urgent was gathering workers to finish logging by autumn. To speed things up, they needed three or four times more people. Funds were ample, so gather as many as possible. Utrecht's winters were milder than elsewhere, but logging was still tough. They risked waking hibernating beasts, endangering workers. For quick fields, slash-and-burn was easiest and cheap, but burned land didn't last. Next year might yield nothing. Better to log properly and cultivate, even if costlier and slower. Half of spring had passed already. To clear mountains outside the castle, build villages and fields before frost, they had to hurry. Anxious, Frida kept glancing at the nightstand holding the key. He'd felt her forehead, so he knew the fever was gone—yet her husband wouldn't return the key, making her fidgety. Frida reminded him of his own words.
"You clearly said to come get it once the fever breaks. Remember?"
Staring at the restless purple eyes that couldn't stay still, Daniel slowly nodded.
"...It has."
"Then could you give me the key now? It's very urgent, Your Grace."
Her slender white fingers clasped over her skirt fidgeted anxiously. Tracing up from the moving fingers led to equally thin white wrists. The hidden forearms under her sleeves would be white too. Perhaps as delicate and soft as the skin peeking through her half-torn neckline.
'Hah, you mad bastard.'
Daniel let out a hollow laugh at the absurd thought that had briefly crossed his mind. It was closer to scornful derision. He'd resolved to build firm walls, yet at her "touch me," he'd entertained foolish notions—ridiculous. Daniel picked up the key and handed it to Frida.
"Turkic merchants arrived inside the castle, I heard. Trading with them?"
Snatching the key eagerly, Frida smiled radiantly and bobbed her slender neck.
"Yes. Advance payment for bulbs to plant this autumn before they leave."
"Bulbs?"
"Yes. Turk has flowers only in royal gardens. Amazingly, plant bulbs in autumn; they winter underground and bloom in spring. The flowers resemble..."
Raising her arms, Frida mimed wrapping cloth over her head.
"Turbans the merchants wear like hats. You've seen them, right? Cloth on their heads."
Gripping the key so tightly bones showed on her white skin, Frida's eyes sparkled as she spoke.
"Those flowers vary in shape and color, sold dearly in Turk. Rarer hues fetch higher prices."
Her eyes brimmed with vitality, her voice overflowed with energy, proclaiming her genuine joy.
"Eastern trends will reach Svergen soon. Succeed in cultivating them here, and we'll be immensely rich! Just watch—Utrecht will become Svergen's wealthiest, most livable duchy."
Daniel couldn't understand Frida. Why? Why such happiness? What did it matter if the duchy became the empire's best? Especially when she might not live to see it. Unable to voice that, Daniel asked a somewhat foolish question.
"Do you like it here?"
"Of course. Absolutely. I love the duchy."
The immediate reply held no hesitation. Yes. She must. That's why she poured such effort. Spending fortunes to gather people, helping them root, nurturing strong roots. If she didn't like it, would she toil with that frail body? No more talk would make him understand her. Just as he'd never grasped his mother's obsession with his father. Daniel rose to end the conversation. Then—a fragile voice trembled like morning dew on willow leaves, holding him back.
"Y-Your Grace too. I... I like Your Grace so much."
***
"Mother. This is too..."
Emperor Leopold Bolshtak II of Svergen pondered once more before speaking.
'Ruthless.'
No, 'heartless' might fit better. To convey the vivid feeling, 'vile' suited.
"Cruel."
The word he finally chose might not suit an emperor addressing his mother but fell short of expressing his heart. Yet the Dowager Empress seemed satisfied.
"Good. If even you feel that way, Daniel surely grasps my intent."
As if anyone couldn't. Leopold irritably rubbed his face, unable to click his tongue before his mother.
"He's the brother who nearly died facing the Notingen Duke for me. Awakening safely after three years, and instead of a celebration, you send a spy first."
The emperor's tone rose, but the Dowager Empress's face showed no disturbance.
"Forgot? How the court reviled us over your brother's marriage to the Harkbon count's daughter. My painstakingly built image of noble grace crumbled in an instant. Will you repeat that mistake?"
"Good riddance. No more pretending to be the benevolent mother."
'You're plenty revolting now.'
Leopold gulped the bitter tea to swallow those words too. Briefly, even he, her own son, had been fooled by her kindly act. She was the one who'd pushed him to oust Uncle Robopf III and seize the throne. In the Svergen imperial family, where blood tied everyone as kin, Leopold had severed his own ties per her will to ascend. To survive. Women, mothers, were terrifyingly fearsome. Shuddering suddenly, the emperor trembled. Oblivious to her son's thoughts, Dowager Empress Margret calmly refilled his empty cup with red hibiscus tea.
"I don't understand why you dislike Baron Boild. Utrecht lacks even a proper lord and lady. He'll be an excellent steward to restore discipline in that unruly duchy."
"And a faithful imperial dog to spy on my brother's every move."
The Dowager Empress nodded calmly at the emperor's indifferent retort.
"Beneficial to both."
Assuming Baron Boild survived those damned mercenaries. His persistent mother would send another if he died, and another after. Quicker to hope his unexpectedly tolerant brother caused no trouble.
"Hoo."
Taking a deep breath, Emperor Leopold moved to the window to escape his stifling talk with his mother. Shendal Castle's spring garden bloomed vibrantly. His eyes caught purple flowers at the entrance to the dense woods—rose-like, yet not roses. His former lover, Vutain Baron's wife Patricia, had loved them. Had she not fallen from the Dowager Empress's favor, she'd be buried in those flowers.
'What were they called...?'
Leopold squinted, recalling his lover's clear voice chirping like a lark. The name flashed like lightning with the floral scent wafting through the window.
"Lisianthus."
A name as languid as spring breezes, like the consort who'd nestled into him. Patricia... a fine woman. Why provoke his mother? Tsk tsk. Regretful, he'd granted her the childless Jensbach Duke's lands and visited often under hunting pretexts.
'Spring's here—might visit.'
Close to Utrecht, he could see his brother awakened after three years too. Resolved, Leopold erased his unease toward his mother and turned. He needed to humor her aversion to him leaving Shendal for now.
"I'll write my brother. He'll hardly kill a steward I picked with care for his frail wife's sake."
The emperor, quill in hand, suddenly stared at his mother as something occurred.
"By the way, Mother. That Harkbon daughter married to my brother. Wasn't she seventeen at the wedding?"
"Perhaps. Why?"
Then twenty now... Didn't Harkbon daughters all die before that? The emperor leaned his cheek crookedly on his quill hand.
"That woman—is she still alive?"
***
The Duchess Rihardt's courage wasn't spent solely on ransacking her husband's room. After blurting her confession like lightning, Frida's cheeks flamed scarlet. If it persisted, he could point out the returning fever and reclaim the key. Would she retract her sudden declaration then? Daniel's gaze on the much smaller woman seemed impassive and dry at a glance, but he was truly bewildered. By his triumphant wife, striding like a victor returning from battle.
"I had to say it. Might be premature, but I really do like Your Grace."
Hearing the same confession twice made ignoring impossible. Knowing it foolish, Daniel still asked.
"Why? I didn't realize you knew me well enough for such feelings."
"Knowing more might make me dislike you."
Wise. Already sensing affection would wane upon learning Daniel Rihardt's true nature. As he admired her cleverness—
Spring sunlight poured into Daniel's eyes via her fresh smile.
"Tomorrow's unknown to me. So I live only today."
Leaping over lines he'd drawn.
"Today's Frida confesses to today's Your Grace."
Like fierce sunlight piercing his sturdy walls.
"That I like you."
