Life Is Perilous
Life, you see, is a perilous road.
And surely that is the only universal truth—equally shared by all, man and woman, young and old, high-born and low.
"Whew."
A red ember flickered briefly in the darkness and vanished inside a carriage rolling alone down a dimly lit street. Through the half-opened window, the humid night air of early summer poured in.
Her gaze, which had been wandering across the sky, drifted downward along the thick rows of street trees and lamps. Beneath the carriage wheels, a full moon shimmered on the water's surface.
One o'clock in the morning. For a woman dragging her exhausted body out on a late errand, the full moon was anything but welcome.
I'm dead tired, and of all days, it had to be tonight.
Using the carriage's steady rocking as a cradle, she took another long drag on her cigarette.
Just then, the carriage lurched hard. From outside came the whinnying of horses and the commotion of coachmen, growing steadily louder.
At the noise beyond the window, a thin groan slipped through her teeth.
Knock, knock!
She left behind the coachman, who had knocked to announce their arrival, and with her fingertips eased the curtain aside to listen to the clamor outside.
Sure enough—it sounded as if every noble in the Imperial Capital had gathered at once.
Right, he said he was coming.
She herself had only heard the news as she was about to leave her estate: the most powerful figure in the Empire would be visiting in person tonight.
The moment she recalled that fact, her mood, which had been scraping along the ground, plunged straight through the floor into the cellar. The flame at her fingertips, which had burned so long, slowly died down.
Why did it have to be today.
She had picked a poor night for it, she thought—but then, she was hardly in a position to be worrying about appearances now.
She had come too far, worked too hard, to turn back.
Pressing the ember out in her silver case, she flung the door open without giving the coachman a chance to knock a second time.
"So then, what I was saying was—"
"Viscount Hail said that—"
The narrow alley was a sea of people. On a late night when not even a rat would normally stir, the dark back alley lay shrouded in a hazy mist, yet the faces of the nobles, dressed to the nines like so many peacocks, were alight with excitement.
Siena swept her gaze across the space, where a din of voices tangled together, and a faint smile crept over her lips.
These were the sorts of characters who, on any other day, trotted out phrases like how dare you, and who do you think you are, and what insolence while clawing desperately for favors—and now here they were, standing in a queue.
Being famous does have its perks.
Just then, from beyond the edge of her vision as she surveyed the scene, a neatly dressed servant slowly appeared.
"Would that be Acting Count Siena Vice?"
Acting Count.
No one who knew her temper would ever have the gall to say that phrase to her face.
Siena's eyes narrowed as she studied him. Then, to the man offering nothing but an innocent, courteous smile, she asked in a tone positively dripping with mirth.
"And who might you be?"
"I've been sent by Count Lumos. From this point on, I'll be escorting you, Acting Count."
Again.
Siena forced down the corner of her twisting mouth and held out her hand.
"Then I'm in your care."
She had a sinking premonition that her patience would be worn down to nothing before tonight was over.
"Then I shall take my leave."
"Good work."
Siena escorted him to the door, pressed a few gold coins into the departing servant's hand, and smoothed her hair for a moment before it.
Reputation be damned—however notorious she might be for her recklessness, there was no helping the nerves that crept in now.
What mattered was what came next.
Beyond this curtain lay a decisive meeting—one that would end the grinding months in which Siena Vice had lived each day as though it held thirty-six hours.
Now that she had received a formal invitation from Count Lumos, head of the Aristocratic Faction, no more petty interference or manufactured quarrels would be allowed to obstruct her business.
Having steeled herself once more, she stepped boldly through the curtain, leg first. Shoving aside the gap in the fabric, Siena broke into a smile that spread across her whole face and opened her mouth wide.
"Count Lumos!"
Beneath a glittering chandelier, the light refracting in wine glasses and the rich aroma of aged alcohol wrapped around her as if they had been waiting all along.
"Well, well! Ladies and gentlemen, if I may have your attention. Allow me to present Siena Vice, of Vice Shipping!"
Siena beamed radiantly at Count Lumos, who greeted her with theatrical enthusiasm.
She wore her opulence openly, letting her presence fill the room.
A red dress that clung to her silhouette, crowned by waves of curling golden hair—those who had only ever seen her prim and proper figure in parliament could hardly recognize her at first.
Standing beneath the lights, she greeted the nobles gathered around the tables one by one, playing the leading lady with expressions and gestures a touch exaggerated, a touch theatrical.
"The Acting Count Vice?"
"Why is that woman here of all places?"
Confronted with an unannounced guest, however, the assembled company did little but exchange wary glances at Siena's greetings.
"Good evening, Marquis? We haven't met in a place like this before!"
Marquis Shasan, the direct recipient of her greeting, glared up at her with visible displeasure.
Mindful of the murmuring around them, the marquis glanced about awkwardly, then lowered his voice to chide Count Lumos.
"I mean, still—this is a club, after all. Count Lumos! Hardly a proper place to bring a lady."
"Oh, Marquis, you really know nothing. Come, come, Madam Representative—it's quite all right, this way please."
"With pleasure."
The marquis's flustered voice rang out behind her, but Siena, too, finished her farewell with a brisk flick of her eyes and turned away.
"Forgive them all. They simply don't keep up with the times."
At his apology, Siena crinkled the corners of her eyes and shook her head.
"It's I who should ask for understanding. Nothing has been officially announced, and there's no precedent for a woman entering a place like this—so of course it all feels strange to everyone."
The count, having moved to the most secluded table at the back, poured a glass of fine whiskey over her empty glass.
"His Majesty said nothing to you directly?"
"No official word yet. But the opening of the new trade route is a matter of some importance, so I expect it will be proclaimed within the month. With the Founding Festival nearly upon us, after all."
"After the Founding Festival? What exquisite timing! Hahaha!"
His booming laughter filled the space. As though it had been a signal, the nobles at the outer tables began to drift over one by one, offering greetings and introductions.
They all knew one another already, of course—but being received at the club like this carried an entirely different weight.
It was a rite of passage: the moment Siena Vice, until now merely an Acting Count, was formally acknowledged by the male-dominated world of imperial politics and commerce in the Aldo Empire.
It was also a public display that House Victe—a family of imperial blood—had entered into amicable cooperation with the Aristocratic Faction.
"Honestly, how could everyone so undervalue a talent like Siena? Shunning her for nothing more than being related to Princess Perensa!"
At the mention of her mother's name, Siena's expression flickered and went blank for an instant—before the convincing mask settled back into place.
Oblivious to the shift, the count carried on flattering her in a nasal purr.
"Frankly, she could call herself Count, not Acting Count, and no one would blink. It's already been nearly four years since she first entered parliament! And with this new trade route on top of it, House Victe's standing rises by the day, doesn't it... Ah—am I permitted to speak casually, since this is a private gathering?"
"Of course, Count. Please, be at ease. It puts me at ease as well, you know."
Siena smiled sweetly, honey-voiced and accommodating.
Tonight's gathering was clearly not a stage built for her benefit alone. There was surely a reason he had summoned her here, to this place, on this night.
Having deftly concealed her emotions behind the mask, she did not miss the way Count Lumos rubbed his palms together.
Placing a man of his standing—the head of the current Aristocratic Faction—in her debt was a very profitable transaction indeed.
And where else could she find fruit this sweet to cap off a brutal stretch of overtime?
"On that note... Siena, a new ship is due to arrive next month, you see—"
"Yes, Count?"
"We couldn't manage the registration in time. It would be a great kindness if you could arrange some... accommodation."
As their eyes met in midair, time seemed to slow between them. So that's what this is about.
"Oh, heavens—why worry yourself over such a little thing? You should have told me at once."
Siena lifted her glass and flashed her most generous smile.
"Don't give it another thought. I'll see to it personally."
Tssk.
Life is such a grind...
Pressing her forehead against the wall, Siena muttered to herself, gnawing on her cigarette filter. Slipping out through the servants' entrance to dodge the crowd had been a stroke of divine inspiration.
Who knew a place could be this quiet?
Those pigs.
Fawning over them was rapidly approaching its limit. Glancing at her wristwatch, Siena let out a low groan and rubbed her cold forehead with her palm.
Three o'clock in the morning. Little time remained before her morning schedule. If she didn't leave within the hour, everything—dressing, travel—would run hopelessly late.
She felt ready to drop from exhaustion, and yet a laugh escaped her at the thought that a long holiday began tomorrow.
Seriously... what is it about the Founding Festival.
Muttering wearily, Siena pressed her cigarette out against the inside of her silver case.
Then she braced herself against the corner wall and hiked her skirt up. The garter belt fastened around her thigh was being troublesome, and her stocking kept slipping in the most irritating way.
It wasn't as if any noble would come wandering back here, and the servants were all too busy avoiding eye contact to bother her.
Why is this happening? Should I just take it off?
Siena was leaning against the wall, balanced on one leg and struggling—when suddenly a stool appeared before her out of nowhere.
A servant?
Toward the polished toe of a shoe caught at the edge of her vision, Siena lifted her head, intending to toss off a careless word of thanks—
"Oh, thanks—"
Across the damp, humid air, her gaze collided dead-on with a pair of eyes looking steadily down at her.
A face whose presence remained unmistakable even in the hazy glow of the lamplight. Sharp contours and finely chiseled features.
The man let his gaze travel slowly over Siena from head to toe before speaking in a dry, unhurried voice.
"You'll fall."
He was the man who had gathered the nobility of the Imperial Capital into this social club at this late hour. The most powerful figure in the Aldo Empire—Claude Marcel.
"Please, take your time."