Please, This Time
"Tell me. In detail."
"I—I cannot say."
He was the Duke of Pancrazio, betrothed to the princess of the Ramirez Empire and the man who stood at the very summit of the nobility. Yet the moment even he was refused an answer, Alpheus's face stiffened in sheer disbelief.
"Not even if I order it?"
In the end the maid could not endure the killing intent rolling off him, cold as hoarfrost. She pressed herself flat to the floor and, shaking violently, was forced to speak.
"Th-the truth is... Her Highness... the craftsmen Your Grace favors..."
"..."
"She had a sculpture prepared. Every year."
"Why?"
At what came next, Alpheus's eyes widened.
"T-to give to you, Your Grace."
"And yet I have never once received a single one."
"That is... d-dare I speak of what lies between the two of you?"
When Alpheus permitted it, the maid slowly went on.
"The truth is... every year, Her Highness made preparations to celebrate Your Grace's birthday."
"..."
"But for some reason, every year she... failed to give you the gift."
His birthday. Now that he thought of it, whenever the day drew near, Princess Isabel had always been a little strange.
A-Alpheus. Your birthday... no. Never mind.
Her lips would part, draw in, then press shut. She had repeated that cycle countless times, starting to speak to him only to stop short.
"A-and every time she failed, she brought the gift back to her room like that and set it out on display."
Alpheus listened, then walked slowly toward the last empty cabinet and began to count them one by one. One, two, three, four, five, six. And then the seventh, still unfilled, left hollow. He stepped up to the empty case.
"Then what is this empty cabinet?"
On impulse he reached for its surface, and frowned at the uneven marks beneath his fingers.
Writing?
Realizing the roughness was not the grain of the wood but letters, he lowered his head. Faintly inscribed there were words Princess Isabel had left behind.
"If Her Highness should fail again this year to give Your Grace his gift..."
Please. This time.
"...then this is the cabinet that will be filled."
The sculptures set about the room had never been a hobby of Princess Isabel's. They were gifts she had never been able to bring herself to place in Alpheus's hands.
Please. This time.
The words were gouged deep, as though they were her will itself—that this time, she would succeed in giving the gift. For a long while Alpheus said nothing, tracing the inscription with his fingertips.
Again.
He was still looking at the words when it struck him all at once: his heart pounding madly, his skull splitting, a nausea that rose like the urge to vomit. He bowed his head.
It hurts again.
His heart ached once more. It was a strange thing.
"You."
"Y-yes?"
The maid answered in a mumble, her forehead pressed to the floor. Alpheus's lips stirred. There was so much he wanted to ask her. For instance—
What expression. What thoughts.
What look had been on Isabel's face when she bought these gifts, and what she had been thinking. What sculpture had been meant to fill that empty cabinet. And, and...
Whether she thought of me.
Whether, in this room, looking upon those cabinets, the princess had thought of him.
"Y-Your Grace?"
But Alpheus, lips parting, pressed them shut. He drew his gaze from the cabinet, and as he passed the maid who still had her head bowed to the floor, he spoke.
"His Majesty has summoned me, has he? Then I had best go."
"Yes... yes."
The words he had meant to say, he pressed down hard inside himself, as if doing so might still the pain in his heart.
"Prosperity upon the Empire. I humbly beg leave to greet the most radiant star."
"Raise your head."
Alpheus lifted his gaze and met the Emperor's eyes. Age had turned the Emperor's hair nearly white, yet rather than softening, his presence had only grown keener.
"I called you here because there is a matter I must discuss in earnest. Have you the time?"
"Yes. I have the time."
For a moment the Emperor regarded Alpheus in silence, as a kindly father might. And then, in an instant, that kindly father was gone, and a man with a sovereign's eyes stood in his place.
"From this day."
Alpheus's eyes flew wide.
"Close the case of Princess Isabel's disappearance? You mean..."
He meant that Isabel would be judged dead, that there would be no further investigation, that she would no longer be sought. The moment Alpheus heard it, he opposed the Emperor.
"Your Majesty, what are you saying? Nothing has yet been found—"
"This morning."
The Emperor cut him off in a single stroke and, armored in his characteristic ease, smiled faintly as he spoke.
"Evidence has been found that the princess cannot possibly still be alive."
The Emperor was the Emperor. At the sight of a man smiling as he spoke of his own daughter's death, the shoulders of the Imperial Palace attendants watching from a distance trembled for a moment.
"Michel. Bring what you showed me today."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
The Emperor called for Michel, Knight Commander of the Imperial Second Knight Order, who stood at his side. The moment the order ended, Michel lifted a case that had been waiting beside him.
A soft click. The Emperor already knew what lay inside, and he watched without the slightest change of expression.
"Michel."
"Yes."
The Emperor gestured for him to draw near and show it to Alpheus, and Michel obeyed, coming toward him.
The smell of blood.
Alpheus fought to smooth the frown that rose of its own accord. The distance from where the Emperor and Michel stood to where he waited was considerable, and yet the moment the case opened, a foul reek of blood reached him. The closer Michel came, the thicker the stench grew.
What in the world is it?
Michel, now before him, offered the case with a respectful bow.
"Your Grace. Here it is."
"This is... clothing?"
What lay inside was a garment, badly ruined. Its original color seemed to have been a pale violet, but it was so steeped in blood that the hue was nearly impossible to make out. Michel carefully passed the blood-drenched clothing into Alpheus's hands.
At first Alpheus frowned, examining it without knowing what it was. Then his eyes flew wide, as if recognition had struck. Seeing that he had understood, the Emperor slowly let a smile form.
"A garment rather familiar to you, is it not?"
Alpheus knew these clothes better than anyone.
"The very ones she wore on the day Isabel disappeared, when she came to your residence."
The morning Princess Isabel vanished had been unusually cold from first light. Perhaps because of the weather, she had visited the ducal house with this garment worn over her dress. The sight of her in a blush-pink gown and a violet outer robe was still vivid in Alpheus's mind, because that day had been the last.
But how can life or death be confirmed by a mere piece of clothing? No body has been found. The chance that the princess still lives... remains.
He had looked at the garment in confusion at first. Then his mind began to work, swift and sharp, and he turned to the Emperor.
"Your Majesty, I find it difficult to accept that the mere discovery of this garment should close the disappearance case."
"..."
"There is no certainty this blood is even hers. To declare the death of the Empire's one and only princess on the strength of a single garment..."
"And if it has already been found?"
The Emperor lifted his head. Alpheus, his pupils shaking violently, asked again.
"Found... what, Your Majesty?"
The Emperor was no longer smiling.
"If the body has been found?"
Alpheus's Jewel Eyes shuddered wildly.
"Your Majesty. What... what are you saying? A body... Isabel's—Princess Isabel's body has been found?"
The Emperor held his silence. Silence was assent. Alpheus's face drained whiter still. Watching him, the Emperor tilted his head slightly, as though something were strange, then wiped the blankness from his expression and let out a short laugh.
"Michel. You tell him."
He summoned Michel with a flick of the hand, as though even speaking were a bother.
"Yes. As you command."
Michel bowed respectfully, then turned to Alpheus.
"Word has just come in. The autopsy of a zombie corpse found nearby has only now been completed, and bones markedly similar to Her Highness's skeleton were recovered from it."
"..."
"And Her Highness's clothing was discovered near that zombie."
The circumstances fit together perfectly. Even so, Alpheus stared at Michel in a daze, his face that of a man who still could not believe it.
"Accordingly, His Majesty the Emperor has judged that Princess Isabel is deceased and has ordered this case closed."
When Michel finished, Alpheus turned his gaze as slowly as a man whose soul had left him, and looked down at the bloodstained outer robe clenched in his hand. He stared at it blankly, and for a long while went on staring, while Michel continued.
"The escort knights, the maid, and Her Highness's remains should arrive at the imperial household sometime tomorrow."
As if his duty were done, Michel bowed his head and fell silent once more.
"Remains..."
Alpheus murmured it low.
Remains. Remains—that is a word for those already dead. Why should such a word be fastened to the princess?
He bowed his head, dazed.
My head... my head won't work. I've gone mad. Yes, I must be mad. Why—why can't I even make sense of those two syllables?
Alpheus lost his words and lowered his head. Michel, knowing he had brought no glad tiding, simply stepped back and kept his silence. Between them the Emperor, who had stood quietly stroking his beard, opened his mouth.
"In two days' time, I shall formally announce the princess's death to the people of the Empire."
He smiled a smile that seemed drawn on, the corners of his mouth lifted as if painted there.
"However ill the two of you got on, I trust you will attend the funeral."
As he spoke, Alpheus slowly raised his head, and their eyes met. The Emperor narrowed his, as though something were amiss.
Not the face of a man who is pleased.
Alpheus had never welcomed his engagement to Isabel, so the Emperor had assumed he would be glad to hear she was dead. Seeing him instead transformed, furious as a demon, the Emperor regarded him with open puzzlement.
"Why do you not rejoice?"
"Forgive the presumption, Your Maj—esty. I..."
Alpheus clutched Isabel's pale violet garment, soaked through with blood.
"I do not believe she is dead."
"...Oh?"
"It is not yet certain that those remains are even hers. To close the case so abruptly—"