Chapter 41 The Marquis of Saint-Pierre (2)
“Um……, Madame Saint-Pierre.”
The young maid opened her mouth.
A cold wind was shaking the bedchamber. Even with the stove burning all day, and even with the mobilization of magic, it was difficult to be free from the cold of the north.
In the northernmost tip of the Holy Numeros Empire, in the middle of a land dyed in moss, was the Saint-Pierre territory. A climate where even shrubs had difficulty growing. Those who lived there were mostly poor. As if mocking this, the outer walls of Saint-Pierre Castle were decorated with ice.
The cold ice reflects all around,
and shines, having absorbed the scarce sunlight.
“I have something I'm curious about. May I ask?”
At the young maid's question, Pertillier lifted her head.
Pertillier de Saint-Pierre. The wife of the head of the family, Deserick de Saint-Pierre. Her complexion was indescribably haggard. Dark sunken eyelids, red bitten lips, and a constantly trembling hand. Her once beauty had been gone for a long time.
“……What are you curious about? You can ask me anything.”
Pertillier said.
She's like the ruins of a palace, that person.
The young maid thought so. She was completely broken, but she was still brilliant. Though Pertillier's appearance had been withered for a long time, her thoughtful expression was indescribably beautiful.
“Why do you only stay here? I have never seen you go out, Madame.”
The young maid asked from across the table.
It was a small, sharply angled table.
“……I am afraid of the outside. Here, in this place, I like being alone with Fleur.”
Pertillier replied from across the table.
It was a table with a flowerpot holding a flower on it.
“What was your hometown like, Madame?”
“It was a rural village with a lush flower garden. I grew up there my whole life.”
“Were you happy?”
“Of course. I loved taking naps, buried in the scent of flowers.”
“You were……, a commoner, weren't you, Madame?”
“That's right. I was a commoner.”
Pertillier reached out her hand.
She fumbled with the flower in the flowerpot.
“According to my husband……, he said I have a great power. A power that communes with God……. That is why he said we had to be married. That our child would surely be powerful……”
“So you got married and gave birth to your daughter?”
No, no.
Pertillier whispered so.
“I didn't want to leave. I didn't want a loveless marriage, and I didn't want to have a child either. I didn't want to live in a place like this. I didn't want to receive sneering gazes, and I didn't want to be looked down on for being a commoner, and also……”
Pertillier's breath quickened.
Her breath, holding a chill, stirred. Blood formed in the gap of her hand, which was gripping the hem of her clothes, and a scream-like cry shot up from between her torn lips.
“……I wanted to kill her.”
Pertillier's voice distorted.
“When I first saw Fleur……, I wanted to kill that child.”
Ah, please.
Get this out of my sight right now.
This disgusting lump of blood is not mine.
Just give it to the marquis. That's what he wanted.
Please, please, please…….
Pertillier muttered so. A cry steeped in madness stained her pale skin. Even so, it was a familiar sight to the young maid. Because the marquise's fits were common. Because she had been coming and going to clean Pertillier's bedchamber every morning and evening.
“But it's alright now.”
See. She's smiling so quickly.
The young maid shrugged her shoulders. The sobbing Pertillier was now wearing a smile.
“Fleur has grown up so beautifully. That child is the only reason for my life.”
“I'm glad, Madame.”
The young maid stood up from her chair.
After giving a respectful bow, she retrieved her cleaning tools.
“I will be on my way now. I hope you have a peaceful day.”
“Thank you. I hope you have a peaceful day as well.”
Pertillier, who had been greeting her thoughtfully, suddenly,
“Oh dear. Look at my mind.”
She reached out her hand towards the flowerpot.
“What are you doing, Fleur. You have to greet our guest.”
A flower, poking its head out from the small flowerpot.
“That's right. Bow your head and greet her.”
Pertillier, whispering as she tilted it downwards.
The young maid turned around without delay. She turned her back on Pertillier's whisper, which was directed at the flower. Come to think of it, a flower is like a bone. The young maid thought so. A flower poking its head out from a pile of dirt is, in the end, like the arm of a dead person who has pushed through a grave with all their might.
“──Young lady!”
Meanwhile, a girl blocked the maid who had reached the corridor.
“Please! Give me back my clothes! If the butler finds out, I'll be in big trouble!”
“Shh. No need to be afraid, Louise. No matter how angry the butler gets, he can't go against me.”
The young maid.
No, the young Fleur wore a smile.
She passed by Louise, no, the young maid who was assisting Pertillier, humming.
“Thank you, Louise.”
Suddenly, Fleur whispered to Louise.
“Thanks to you, I was able to talk with my mother.”
Not a maid, but Fleur de Saint-Pierre.
What if she had visited in her original form?
The young Fleur thought for a very brief moment. She must have been in great pain. She would have thrown things around. She would have pulled out all her pretty hair. And then she would have shouted. To disappear from her sight right now. That's right. She would surely have said so. Because her mother's daughter is not me.
‘Because it's a flower.’
Contained in a small flowerpot,
a flower as beautiful as to be innocent.
* * *
Brilliant Sun Royal Palace.
The ancient palace, or the imperial palace of the Holy Numeros Empire.
The Brilliant Sun Royal Palace, shaped in the form of wings, was a symbol of a long-standing hegemony. A huge national power is a law that also affects culture. The influence of the Brilliant Sun Royal Palace on palace design technology was absolute. The palaces of the entire country were nothing more than imitations of the Brilliant Sun Royal Palace. The great achievement of the Numeros imperial family was engraved on the oldest palace.
It was not difficult to enter the Brilliant Sun Royal Palace. The imperial palace was opened at regular intervals, and as long as one's identity was guaranteed, they were permitted entry regardless of race or status. It was a tradition with the purpose of showing off the imperial authority and increasing patriotism.
Today's banquet was also the same.
About a month ago, the airspace of the capital, Naflansee, had been invaded.
Even so, nothing changed. The imperial family would not become rigid. Since they had the power to deal with an invasion several times. It was an event to show such spirit.
“Lady Fleur de Saint-Pierre.”
The banquet hall of the Brilliant Sun Royal Palace, also known as the Hall of Dove.
While all sides were decorated with platinum, and a crowd dressed in formal attire was in high spirits,
“Have you……, received my letter?”
Fleur was sitting alone.
Just as she was fiddling with the flower crown on her head, a certain boy had struck up a conversation.
“……A letter?”
Fleur looked up at the boy.
Creating a perfectly clear smile.
“I'm sorry, sir. Would you please tell me your name?”
“Ah……, my apologies. It would have been polite to state my name. I am Marco da Materazzi. The third son of the Materazzi family. I'm a 5th-year at CIAR, and……, I sent you a letter a while ago.”
Materazzi is a count's family from the borderlands.
There was no reason to remember the son of that place.
Fleur brushed back her sky-blue hair, then placed her index finger on her lower lip and whispered.
“I don't think I've checked it. For what purpose did you send me a letter?”
“That is……”
Marco's face turned red.
“Because you are so beautiful……, your hair……, it's like a flower petal woven from frost……”
“Aha, is that so.”
Fleur placed her hand on her chest.
How strange. I checked my mail a while ago, and if it was a love letter with such a cheap metaphor, I should remember it. Why can't I remember anything?
Thinking so, Fleur opened her mouth.
“I apologize, sir. It's my fault for checking my mail neglectfully. Thank you for writing a letter with such sincerity. I will be sure to reply.”
“Ah, that……, thank you very much.”
But, um, by any chance……, and.
Marco continued, stuttering.
“Would you……, dance with me?”
“……Oh dear.”
Fleur's gaze turned to the center of the banquet hall.
A ball was in full swing. A group of men and women, strutting while maintaining a beautiful formation. Fleur shook her head. Though it was easy to dance with him, she had other business today.
“What a shame. Let's do it next time. I'm waiting for a companion.”
“……Understood.”
Marco gave a bitter nod and turned his back.
A sigh escaped Fleur's lips. When will Monika arrive? She had prepared a formal dress for that child. She had her employees on standby since it would be hard for her to change alone. Because she would surely show up in plain clothes. And then she would just be ridiculed. The people gathered here are fools buried in appearances, and Monika was not a child to be laughed at by them.
Yes, I won't let her be treated like that.
Monika should not be looked down upon by anyone.
“──Attention, please.”
How much time had passed?
After the orchestra's performance had ceased,
“Abel Argento, and Monika Lohengrin──.”
The voice of a servant, amplified through a spell, echoed.
Fleur stared at the entrance of the banquet hall. Beyond the arched door that had opened with a metallic sound, the figures of a man and a woman, with their backs to the sunlight, stood out.
“──The entrance of our new distinguished guests!”
And so, silence.
No one opened their mouth. The nobles who had been dancing as if possessed, the nobles who had been debating the price of tea leaves, the nobles who had been discussing the right and wrong of the situation, the nobles who had been reciting poems to each other, all of them closed their mouths and stared at the entrance of the banquet hall.
“……Why?”
Fleur muttered softly.
A crack spread in the solid silence. The sound of sneering leaked out from various places, and someone let out a low groan as if they had stepped on something foul.
Displeasure. Contempt was contained in everyone's gaze. The one standing at the center of it was none other than Monika.
“Why are you……”
And yet, why are you so dignified?
Monika was taking a step with an indifferent expression. On the surface of her fluttering cloak, the black swan crest of the Orléans family glistened. In the midst of the nobles who had dressed up splendidly, what covered Monika's body was a mere uniform.
“Monika.”
“Yes, Teacher.”
Monika answered at Abel's call. Beyond Abel, who was staring straight ahead indifferently, were faces full of contempt. Disability and status. The hatred based on them. It was something familiar to Monika. It wasn't even worth being agitated about.
And above all, Abel was with her. Does he remember what he said at the Naflansee Grand Cathedral? Monika thought, peeking at Abel's shoe-clad feet.
Abel's stride was slightly narrow.
He was matching Monika's pace.
“Just because it's the weekend, you shouldn't neglect your daily routine.”
“I know.”
While murmurs went back and forth from all sides,
Monika's and Abel's expressions remained stoic until the end.
“Then I will ask. How many pages of the writing class with Granny Fruit have you finished.”
“The title is different. It's ‘Let's Learn with Granny Fruit! Sweet and Lovely Writing Class’. I've finished dictating five pages.”
“Good.”
Abel, who was nodding his head once.
“Then how much of ‘Let's Explore with Uncle Beard! The History of Philosophy of the Holy Numeros Empire’ have you read?”
“I've read up to the part where the linguistic philosophers are active. For your information, I finished reading ‘The Ecosystem of Epezeria as Seen Through the Excrement of Animals’ a few days ago. The role of the dung beetle was amazing.”
“Then guess this. When does a dung beetle defecate?”
“It happens at the same time as it eats. It shits while eating shit.”
“Correct.”
No one would have noticed.
That the conversation between the two was so trivial.
And rightly so, for their attire, which did not suit the atmosphere, their sharply honed air, and their unhesitating footsteps were overwhelming the crowd.
It was just that everyone did not want to admit such a fact.
“How far have you gone with your swordsmanship training.”
“I think I've learned all the basic forms of Numeros Formal Swordsmanship. But I'm not confident. Please take a look when you have time.”
“Understood.”
And also……, and.
Muttering so, Abel surveyed his surroundings.
He detested the atmosphere of the social world. If it weren't for the emperor's invitation, he would never have belonged. A list of meaningless thoughts, an appraisal of consumptive beauty, and a vortex of futile conspiracies that were not inferior to them……. It was all so very vulgar.
“……I could have bought you a dress anytime. Why did you insist on a uniform?”
“Because I don't need it.”
Monika let out a sigh.
“Look. Do you think those people are beautiful, Teacher? I'm not sure. They all look like they're wearing the skins of bugs.”
“Well, I won't deny it.”
Abel nodded his head.
Iris's advice was reasonable. Monika would one day become a Hero, and would establish herself as a pillar of Epezeria. The day when she would confront noble society was also not far off. Facing the secular world of the upper class was a kind of preparatory learning, but even so, he could not let go of his worries.
“If you can't stand it, tell me at any time. I don't want to stay in a place like this for long either.”
“……Thank you.”
Monika wore a faint smile.
She turned her gaze and scanned the center of the banquet hall.
‘So you were here too.’
At the end of her gaze, Fleur was standing.
‘Fleur de Saint-Pierre.’
Fleur clicked her tongue and turned her gaze away.
At this rate, I can't meet her eyes. Thinking so, Fleur turned her back on Monika.
Because I hate it. I hate it. Because it's a hateful feeling. I hate it so much I'm trembling.
It's not that I hate you. Monika Lohengrin, what about you could I possibly hate. What I hate is everything except you.
‘Why?’
Fleur bit her lower lip.
‘Why do I hate it so much?’
The beautifully decorated banquet hall. I hate this space.
I hate the melody that decorates the space. The footprints of the nobles, stamped down in time with the melody. I can't stand it. Me, crossing between the footprints they have engraved. I hate it, without a doubt. Ah, yes. That's it.
I hate it. I hate myself. I hate myself for having hateful feelings.
‘Monika wasn't hurt by anyone.’
If so, then it's good. It should be good.
Monika didn't need any pretense. There was no need to tie up her black hair sturdily and put in a fancy decoration. There was also no need to wrap her body, which was thinner than her peers, in frills, or to decorate her modesty with calm lace.
Any embroidery, any ribbon, any jewel. Monika didn't need any of it.
But why is that? Why do I hate it?
‘What on earth is this feeling?’
Fleur panted for breath.
She placed her hand on her heaving neck.
As she was, she pressed down and calmed her breathing.
‘Why am I…….’
So hateful?
At the moment Fleur lifted her head, thinking so,
“You arrived first, Fleur.”
A man was visible.
He was a man who looked exactly like Fleur. Hair as blue as a clear sky, eyes as cool as if carved from ice, and ivory skin that held the cold of the north. But unlike Fleur, who wore a flower crown woven from five colors, he was a man wrapped in a compulsively white formal suit.
“Are you not feeling well? Your breathing is rough.”
“Ah, no……”
Fleur shook her head.
It didn't take long to calm her heart. She created a perfectly beautiful smile and held it on her lips.
As always.
“I was just a little dizzy. I'm fine.”
“Is that so?”
The man tilted his head.
“I'll believe you. But keep this in mind, Fleur. You are my treasure. You must not be in pain.”
“Thank you. For worrying about me……”
……My kind father, and.
Fleur whispered in a moist voice.
Following that, she lifted the hem of her transparent dress and bowed politely.
Towards the man, Deserick de Saint-Pierre.