A Cupid's Errand

"Are you truly planning to declare yourself guardian to Her Highness the Princess?"

"I am."

"There's no telling how long you'll be stuck in this tedious capital. You've received your title and your lands—why not simply return to the North now?"

Ignoring Philip's whining, Rihard shrugged off his epauletted coat. The Emperor, who had only just regained consciousness, had grown frail beyond anything Rihard remembered from their last meeting. Neither he nor the Chamberlain said a word aloud—not even the Emperor himself—but it was plain enough to guess that death was drawing near.

"If you're so eager to go back, go ahead without me."

"Wh-what? If I go back alone without the commander, they'll all want to kill me!"

"Then die."

"...Isn't that a bit much, really? Keep this up and I'll end up eating every last one of the messenger pigeons Astar sends."

At the absurd threat, Rihard held out his hand. Grumbling all the while, Philip obediently handed over the paper folded into several layers.

"Apparently there's some kind of trouble within the family. The accountant who managed the previous duke's ledgers fled all the way to Haute Forest, so they say it must be something rather serious."

"Haute Forest?"

"Why, you know the place. Where all the precious lords and ladies go to amuse themselves hunting deer and bears the moment autumn arrives."

Philip made a comically exaggerated gesture of firing a rifle, even mimicking the bang-bang of gunfire with his mouth. Rihard didn't bother to reprimand him. Truthfully, the Hunting Festival hosted by House Belois looked like child's play to northerners who faced monsters for a living. Rihard, who had once distinguished himself at that very festival and caught the eye of powerful people, merely chuckled.

"So, you couldn't find out what the trouble was?"

"Whether they couldn't find out or simply don't care. You'll see for yourself—it's all talk about Noah, page after page."

Just as Philip said. Rihard clicked his tongue. Watching his commander's reaction, Philip slyly produced a wad of cheap paper from inside his coat and offered it.

"Ahem. And this is today's Troublop. I thought you ought to see it, so I brought it along."

Rihard took it with a frown before even reading the contents. As he expected, the cheap paper was filled with talk of last night's ball.

"Ha."

The cheap paper crumpled into a mess in Rihard's fist. Glaring at the Troublop with a livid face, he promptly hurled it into the fireplace. Philip, who had been watching from the side, could bear it no longer.

"Commander, what on earth happened at the ball yesterday?"

"Nothing happened."

"Nothing, indeed. Then why has Your Excellency been dragging subordinates around by the collar since dawn and burning innocent paper at the stake?"

Philip clicked his tongue and shrugged, gesturing at the Troublop now reduced to ashes.

"Your mouth's still working, so I take it you're feeling perfectly healthy. What, care for a sparring match?"

"Oh, I'll pass. So what happened, then? I need to know whether I'm supposed to help or pretend I don't know a thing."

How could he not realize that wanting to pretend ignorance was precisely what made him hopeless? But Philip was right. Ever since he'd seen Isabella's tears yesterday, he'd been losing his composure.

The Isabella he knew was not one to shed tears easily. She was a woman raised from the moment of her birth in an education befitting House Belois. When she had told him she was leaving, when she had torn him apart so mercilessly—not a single tear had shown on her face. For her to weep now meant something was gravely wrong.

Rihard didn't think Damon capable of such a thing. Damon, of all people. Others didn't know why the Emperor, despite his chronic illness, kept postponing the transfer of power. And yet Damon was so incompetent that everyone accepted it without question. But if Damon had something on Isabella—something worth blackmailing her over?

"Go to House Belois, Philip."

"Pardon?"

"Ask when they intend to honor the promised tea party, and don't come back until you have a definite answer."

"...Hold on. Me? You mean go over there and demand they produce a date for a tea party?"

Rihard gave a slight nod at Philip's incredulous expression.

"You understood perfectly. Why aren't you leaving?"

At a question that went past shameless into sheer audacity, Philip could only stare blankly. But what could he do? When the commander said jump, you jumped. Suddenly saddled with the role of Cupid, Philip set off for House Belois with a foolish look on his face.

I rolled my eyes anxiously. Things were going badly wrong.

This year's social season was about to begin. The nobles who had scattered to their estates and resorts were converging on the capital, and the invitations to the debutante ball that would open the season had arrived long ago. With mid-August already behind us, I had to stop the Hunting Festival from being moved up. The best option was to have it replaced with something else entirely. There was precedent, so it wasn't impossible. If only I could have gotten an audience with either the Emperor or Damon, it wouldn't have felt this bleak.

This was supposed to be manageable!

I stole a glance at the man seated across from me.

How on earth had it come to this?

The trouble started when I ran into a knight of House Winston on my way back from the imperial palace, having gotten nowhere trying to see Damon. Or maybe the trouble was answering "come anytime" when he asked when I'd invite him for tea.

I said anytime, yes, but that does not mean today!

Unlike me, fidgeting in my seat, Rihard—who had shown up determined to wring a cup of tea out of me no matter what—was perfectly composed.

Noah's regular report should be arriving any moment now.

Unable to bear the silence any longer, I broke it.

"If the mint tea doesn't suit your taste, shall I have something else brought out, Count?"

Whatever it is, drink it fast and leave.

Whether he'd read my mind or not, Rihard smirked. Picking up his nearly cold cup, he drained what was left in one gulp and said:

"How long do you plan on using that ridiculous title, Bella?"

At the pet name that rolled off his tongue, I swallowed a sigh. If I wanted Rihard gone quickly, I had no choice but to play along. I softened my rigid expression and gave a slight nod.

"...So why did you come?"

"What happened yesterday?"

"Yesterday?"

"Don't play dumb, Bella. You cried on the terrace after dancing with the Crown Prince."

He really came all this way to ask about that? For a moment, I was speechless.

Why? I couldn't understand Rihard. Wasn't he supposed to resent me? I had lashed out at him fiercely just yesterday. Drew a line in the sand—stay out of my business, don't get involved—and pushed him away. And yet here he was, looking at me like he was worried.

I couldn't tell anymore whether what Rihard felt for me was affection or hatred. So there was no way I could risk opening my mouth.

When I didn't answer, Rihard's brow furrowed.

"Did Damon threaten you?"

"Even if that were true, I'm under no obligation to tell you. Have you forgotten, Rihard? We're not the kind of people who worry about each other anymore."

"And what kind of relationship is that, exactly?"

"You know perfectly well."

"You're going to tell me we're strangers now, so stop caring—just like before?"

I bit down on my lip. One thing was certain, whatever else wasn't. That man remembered every word I'd said ten years ago. And he wielded them against me, turning my own weapons back on me.

If I were even a little younger, I'd have taken Rihard's bait. I'd have spilled everything in a flood of emotion and given myself away. But I was twenty-eight now.

Instead of answering, I sank deeper into the sofa with my arms crossed. A silent declaration that the past was off the table. Rihard studied me for a moment, then frowned slightly.

"...Because I might become Sasha's guardian."

A sigh leaked between the muttered words. He couldn't seriously be considering that offer?

"What?"

"I'm saying that whatever's between you and Damon could affect me too, so I want to know what I'm dealing with."

I turned Rihard's words over in my head, dazed. It took a long moment before I understood.

Oh.

It wasn't me he was interested in—it was Damon. No, wait. In this case, I suppose it was Sasha he cared about.

I swallowed the hollow laugh that threatened to escape.

God, he's cunning.

The moment Rihard revealed his purpose, I felt deflated. Even as I told myself I shouldn't hold on to any lingering feelings, there was no stopping the disappointment.