The Quiet Before Dawn
A sharp headache stabbed through her skull without warning. Annette pressed her temples and curled tightly into herself. Her head felt ready to split open.
Out of habit she reached for her migraine medicine, only to realize too late that the bottle was empty. She swallowed a sigh and rose from the bed.
A bluish dawn light hung in the air. She buried herself deep among the covers and waited for the sun to rise.
Annette often woke early because of the headaches, yet she always passed the time like this—lying still until the rest of the world stirred and began its busy motions.
She rather liked these hours. It felt as though no one, herself included, was truly alive.
Quiet. Peaceful.
Peaceful enough that she sometimes wished the sun would never rise at all.
She turned her head toward the empty side of the bed—the place where Heiner had sat the night before.
She always woke alone. In Padania, nobles and commoners alike shared a bedroom as husband and wife, but that custom had never applied to them.
In the past Annette had sometimes gone to Heiner’s room. She had wanted, even in that small way, to keep the appearance of a marriage.
She had also longed for a child for a very long time. The doctors said her constitution made pregnancy difficult, yet she refused to give up.
If she bore a child, she had believed, their relationship might improve. And Heiner never turned her away when she came to him.
Why? Why had he never refused her?
Had it been so she would go on living with that empty hope?
Even in bed he was never tender. They never fully undressed; they coupled in the dark with the lights extinguished. Annette had never once seen his bare body.
When the barren act was finished, he always left the room before the first light entered—even though it was his own bedroom.
As if greeting the morning together were a sin.
Annette closed her eyes and tipped her head back. She felt a sudden urge to sever the throbbing head from her shoulders and cast it aside.
The moment day broke she summoned the doctor. Arnold examined her perfunctorily, then rummaged in his bag and produced the same medicine as always.
Annette’s brow tightened slightly.
“This medicine doesn’t help, you know.”
“Madam, it is a perfectly good medicine. You seem to be looking for something miraculous. Migraines are common. There is no need to be so sensitive.”
“People simply live with headaches like this?”
“They do.”
Annette pressed her lips together. She found it hard to believe, yet the doctor had spoken and there was nothing more to say. Arguing would change nothing.
“……I understand. And it isn’t only the headaches. Lately my whole body feels unwell. My stomach is constantly nauseous. I wonder if it might be gastritis.”
“Stress, most likely. Or lack of exercise. Avoid rich food, and don’t spend all day lying about—walk a little.”
Arnold’s tone always carried the faint mockery of a man who thought her lazy for remaining shut in her rooms. Sure enough, the advice soon turned to open sarcasm.
“You were raised so delicately, Madam, that even the smallest discomfort makes you overreact. I cannot serve as your private physician.”
“……Is that so.”
Her voice shrank to almost nothing. She could almost feel the servants’ quiet laughter a few steps away.
“I understand. Thank you for coming, Doctor Arnold.”
She forced a gentle smile, but the corners of her mouth kept trembling, leaving her expression awkward and uncertain.
“Which would you prefer, Madam?”
The maid held up several dresses—all of them dark navy or gray. Annette chose the least somber of the navy ones. It was a party, after all; she could not appear entirely in mourning.
Since the fall of the monarchy she had lived simply. Heiner had never ordered it; she had chosen the restraint herself. Even a slightly luxurious gown would have made her the subject of immediate gossip.
A bleak silence filled the room while she was dressed. The days when maids had chattered happily, trading compliments and scraps of scandal, belonged to a distant past.
Servants moved according to the power within a household. Now and then one acted from genuine kindness, but that had never been true for Annette.
They were ordinary citizens with no ties to the old regime. Many had lost everything to the royal family and the army, or had once stood with the Revolutionary Army.
They had not the slightest reason to show her goodwill or pity.
“Shall I put your hair up?”
“……Please do.”
“And the ornaments?”
“My bangs fall into my eyes. A single pin will be enough.”
Their dislike never rose above a certain level—backbiting, faint mockery, careless indifference. That was all.
They were not truly cruel people.
That fact only made it harder for her to bear.
“Finished, Madam. His Excellency is waiting outside.”
The maid spoke stiffly, bowed, and withdrew. Annette slipped a handkerchief and her headache powder into her handbag out of long habit and left the residence. Her feet felt as though they stuck to the floor with every step.
A car waited at the gate. Through the rear window she could see Heiner. The driver opened the door; she settled carefully beside him.
While she smoothed the skirt of her dress, Heiner rested his chin on one hand and gazed out the window with indifferent eyes. In profile he looked sleek and powerful, like a finely trained hunting hound.
She had always thought him a difficult man to understand.
Annette loathed parties. Yet a partner was required, and Heiner always insisted she accompany him. The Commander-in-Chief’s wife must observe at least the minimum of duty, he said.
“Heiner, must I really go? You could take someone else……”
“Why would I, when I have a wife?”
No one ever welcomed her there. Why, then, did he force her to come? She had thought him impossible to understand—
Looking back now, the answer was simple.
He had wanted to open a stage of misery for a woman who almost never left the residence. Few places in her narrow world displayed malice so openly and so clearly as a party.
The car glided forward. No words passed between them. Annette turned her face toward the opposite window.
A wide autumn sky stretched beyond the glass. Rows of trees slid past in endless succession. No one was watching her, yet she carefully composed her expression all the same.
“Your Excellency! It’s been far too long.”
“Thank you for the invitation, Mr. Schmidt.”
Heiner and Arno smiled as they clasped hands. Arno Schmidt was a commercial magnate who had given substantial support to the revolution—and one of the wealthiest men in Lonchester.
“Of course I invited you. You’re one of our hotel’s largest investors.”
“I hear you plan to open a branch in Menhafen as well.”
“I intend to watch the situation first and choose the right moment. You’ve heard the rumors, I expect—that the pro-French factions in France and Ratland have joined hands…… With the defense treaty in the air, one cannot move too hastily.”
“At present our first priority is bringing Waitris into the smaller negotiating bloc. Success or failure there will decide the odds, but we will do everything possible.”
Arno murmured agreement and smiled with visible relief.
Hotel ventures, gold mines, foreign civil wars, republicans and royalists, the latest capital gossip—conversation flowed freely. People drifted toward Heiner until a small crowd had gathered around him.
Annette never once opened her mouth. No one greeted her; no one spoke to her.
In earlier days they had at least offered a polite word while gauging Heiner’s reaction. Even that had ceased. Heiner, for his part, paid no attention whatever to how she was treated.
“By the way, Your Excellency—I heard Assemblyman Gunter put forward a marriage proposal!”
“I declined, I’m afraid.”
“Ah…… I see. He must have been quite disappointed.”
“Why refuse? So many people said the two of you would make a perfect match!”
Annette’s clasped hands tightened. They spoke as though she were not standing there at all.
It was nothing new, yet discussing a husband’s possible remarriage in front of his wife was an unmistakable insult.
“Refusal was only natural.”
Heiner answered with a polite smile that held no warmth.
“I still don’t understand why the proposal was made in the first place. I already have a wife.”
For a moment every gaze turned toward Annette, then slid away again. Heiner added quietly,
“……Miss Annelie Engels is an excellent woman. She will find a far better husband than I.”
“Oh my—where in Lonchester is there a better match than Your Excellency?”
Laughter and agreement rose around them. Annette could no longer bear the isolation and the awkwardness; she took a cocktail from a passing tray.
The drink was stronger than she expected. Heat scraped down her throat with the first swallow. She did not mind. Focusing on that sharp sensation was better than listening to the rest.
“They say a gold mine has been found in Lanstein……”
“And the mining rights……?”
Every conversation became distant noise. Annette sipped her cocktail in a daze, longing only to leave.
She was nearly finished with her third glass when someone took it from her hand. Startled, she looked up. It was Heiner.
He continued speaking as calmly as if nothing had happened. She wanted to demand an explanation, yet interrupting seemed impossible.
When she reached for another glass, a large hand closed lightly on her shoulder and stopped her. She turned. Heiner was frowning, just faintly.