The Path to Cardenas

“The situation looked urgent, so I committed a breach of etiquette. I am—”

“Enough. I wasn’t looking for excuses.”

The marchioness waved her hand, cutting Maeve off.

“It hardly matters what your station is now. I’ve already helped you.”

“Thank you, my lady.”

Fanning herself lightly, the woman looked Maeve up and down, then turned away as if the whole business bored her.

Maeve watched her go and forced the corner of her mouth into a smile. Even if it stung, she had to smile for now. With the plans ahead of her, there was nothing to gain by giving this woman any reason to find fault.

“Only… if word of this reaches society…”

“You need not worry about that.”

Maeve’s voice was firm. For someone who prized face above all else, such a concern was only natural. The Cardenas heir had gone unrecognized even by families bound to them by blood. A rumor like that would be a humiliation without equal.

The noblewoman left with a rigid expression that made her displeasure plain. She did not spare so much as a glance for the child still standing against the wall; her steps were cold and unyielding.

“Young master.”

“Move.”

Maeve stepped into Aern’s path as he tried to lower his head and leave. When he finally lifted his face, the rims of his eyes were red.

She took a clean handkerchief from her pocket and held it out. She considered wiping his face herself, but the way he was holding back the tears looked like the last scrap of his pride, so she simply pressed the cloth into his hand.

“I said I don’t need it!”

“If you go out looking like that, you’ll only give them more to talk about.”

He had been about to shout; the word more froze him solid. Maeve sank to one knee in front of him so their eyes met, then reached up and straightened the crooked Imperial Academy lapel pin on his coat.

“His Grace would not have wanted you to suffer over something like this either.”

“You don’t know anything…”

Aern muttered under his breath. It did not sound like something meant to be overheard—just the grumbling of a boy who hated the entire situation.

Maeve gave him a light once-over. There were old bruise marks on his legs. This kind of torment had clearly been going on for some time. She brushed the dirt from his clothes as if it were nothing, then spoke in the same casual tone.

“No parent stays silent when their child is insulted like this. Why didn’t you ask the duke for help?”

“The duke doesn’t care about me anyway.”

Maeve went still. The duke? A child born to a fallen branch of the family, to a mother whose origins were better left unasked. Even if he had been sold into the ducal house like goods, on paper they were father and son. That form of address carried far too much distance.

Aern seemed to realize the slip. His eyes darted; his mouth opened and closed several times before he simply turned and walked away.

Small footsteps faded quickly. Left alone in the street, Maeve could only stare after his retreating back.

…What was that?

The family ties here looked more tangled than she had expected.

From a distance Maeve waved toward Melissa, who was already climbing into a carriage bound for the temple. Count Airen was running after it with tears streaming down his face, dignity abandoned entirely.

“Teacher! Please stop Father! This is so embarrassing!”

Maeve could not help herself; she ducked her head and smiled broadly at the foolish, affectionate sight of father and daughter. Turning, she spoke to the count’s attendant, Rupert, who had arrived late.

“Rupert, let’s get the count into a carriage before the young lady jumps out and clamps a hand over his mouth herself.”

Rupert barely managed to swallow a snicker.

“Ahem. Yes, that would be best. My lord, I’ve had a carriage waiting over there.”

Even after he climbed in, the count kept staring at the spot where Melissa had vanished. Every time Maeve saw him like this she wondered the same thing: could anyone really love a child that much?

“My lord. The young lady isn’t going to her death. She’s going to the temple.”

“I know…”

Worry still filled his face. Unable to bear the heavy mood, Rupert deliberately brightened his voice.

“Obelis Holy Kingdom may be a little far, but His Holiness the Pope resides there! They keep the sacred relics as well—there’s nowhere safer.”

“That’s right, my lord. Set your mind at ease.”

The count let out a long sigh, tore his gaze from the window, and lowered his head. Maeve and Rupert exchanged a look.

Rupert, what if he turns the carriage around for Obelis right now?

Please don’t even think such dreadful things. It shortens my lifespan, Miss Maeve.

“I can hear the gears turning in both your heads from here. You needn’t worry about that. I left overprotectiveness behind long ago.”

Maeve’s and Rupert’s expressions turned ambiguous—neither fully smiling nor fully frowning, just a pair of half-lidded stares that said the same thing: Left overprotectiveness behind? Not even close.

“Hah. Well then. Maeve—what do you intend to do from here?”

The count lifted his head and met her eyes. The anxious father vanished in an instant. Maeve wiped the smile from her face and straightened. The real plan began now.

“Melissa is of age, so your work as her governess is finished. Have you given any thought to what I mentioned last week?”

To a woman who had returned five years from the future it felt like a distant memory, but to the Maeve of this moment the offer had arrived only last week. She knew at once what he meant.

A chance to become the crown prince’s tutor—and a letter of recommendation.

Back then she had not even considered another option. To a woman who had been raising the young shoots that would one day stop a war, the crown prince had been the dream itself. The post brought immense honor and power, but more than that, the chance to shape the future emperor had been irresistible.

Yet the same methods would only produce the same results. She meant to refuse. It was the first decision she had made after returning to the past.

“Hmm? It would be an excellent opportunity. Are you finding it burdensome?”

“No. It isn’t that it’s burdensome…”

When her answer lagged, the count asked with mild surprise. She corrected the misunderstanding at once.

“I simply want to do something else. I would like you to write me a recommendation for that instead.”

“Something else?”

He tilted his head, the unspoken question clear: what could possibly be better than tutoring the crown prince?

After running into Aern Cardenas at the Imperial Academy, Maeve had first thought of taking a teaching post there. The plan had been to instruct the young duke, build a bond, keep him alive, and thereby forestall the rebellion.

His death alone had not been the sole cause of the uprising, of course, but saving him would naturally create a connection to the duke; she had meant to adapt from there.

She had discarded that plan.

Maeve thought of Aern. His manners in front of the marchioness had been a disaster, and he had lacked even the basic knowledge every noble child was expected to possess. Even allowing for the fact that he had been entered into the family register only last year, she could not tell what, if anything, he had been taught. At a glance he looked neglected.

“For the time being… I intend to continue as a private tutor.”

Every framework of Maeve’s plans had rested on the premise that the duke cherished his young heir. In her previous life the duke had certainly seemed to dote on his adopted son—more than dote; the boy had looked like a reverse scale. She had believed that premise, at least, could not be wrong.

After seeing Aern today, that certainty was gone. Looking back, when asked why he had not stopped his son from walking into a death trap, the duke had answered by drinking the poisoned cup. Why?

She wanted to reduce uncertainty as much as possible. Maeve abandoned the idea of using Aern as a window into the inner workings of the ducal house.

“A private tutor? In that case, becoming the crown prince’s instructor would still be the far better post, would it not?”

“I already have a family in mind. Could you simply write the recommendation?”

“Hmm…? That much is easy enough. I’m curious which lucky house has earned your choice.”

Maeve meant to enter the duke’s residence—as private tutor to society’s problem child, Aern Cardenas. Nothing was more certain than seeing with her own eyes. She met the count’s gaze and drew the corner of her mouth into a smile.

“The Cardenas ducal house.”

The count’s face went cold; he pressed his back into the seat. Count Airen rubbed the deep crease between his brows with a finger, the gesture of a man who could not understand her choice.

“…Why? That place is—”

“I met the young master of that house today. He looked like a student who would be interesting to teach.”

Maeve was a little startled by how smoothly the lie left her tongue. Count Airen folded his arms and studied her.

“Interesting to teach? That pleasure would be far greater with His Highness the Crown Prince. No matter which powerful house’s child you instruct, how could it compare to teaching the next emperor?”

Maeve kept her expression carefully blank and smiled at him. When he pressed like this, answers grew scarce.

Part of her was puzzled. The count was ordinarily respectful of personal choice. In her previous life he had even told her that if she wanted another path he would help her take it—whether that meant entering the palace as an administrator or becoming tutor to some other family.

So she had not expected him to oppose her this strongly.

“You… Hah. I pride myself on reading people fairly well. They say no one knows a person better than themselves, yet sometimes others see more clearly.”

“…My lord.”

“Hear me out. If you become involved with the ducal house in any form, you will be unhappy. I guarantee it.”

Unhappy? That was the sort of thing only someone who truly knew the duke would say. Yet there had never been any traffic between House Airen and House Cardenas. She had never once heard the count mention them in private.

But Count Airen was serious. Never before had he displayed hostility so openly.

Maeve entertained a ridiculous thought. Could the count have regressed as well? Is he saying this because he watched me die entangled with the duke? She shook her head. Impossible. This was not a guess based on feeling.

If he had returned, if he knew of her death, he would never have claimed that becoming the crown prince’s tutor was the better option. His first reaction should have been to question the change itself.

Something like, Why choose a private tutor’s post over the crown prince? That question should have come first. If her altered choice was going to unsettle him, it should have done so long before the name Cardenas was spoken.

There was only one thing she could be certain of here.

“But my mind is already made up, my lord.”

The count who, even after a two-year blank, had instantly recognized that the mastermind behind the rebellion was the Duke of Cardenas.

The count who, for reasons unknown, showed open enmity toward Cardenas.

The count knew something.