Chapter 22 - Reminiscence of Arveil, Retainer of the Marquis House
Arveil looked around the room.
It was not particularly spacious, but it was bright and comfortably furnished.
After that—after the meeting with Viscount Redan—the Viscount had handed the letter not to Arveil, but to the deputy envoy, and told him to return to the ship.
"I'm sorry, but until the Marquis's son arrives here, you will remain at the manor. It shouldn't matter if it's not you personally who returns to the ship. Surely you can accommodate a request of that level."
Viscount Redan's words seemed reasonable even considering appearances—the Viscount's dignity would be crushed if he didn't look like he had extracted some kind of concession—so Arveil accepted it. After giving instructions to the deputy envoy who had been permitted the meeting and seeing them off as they left the manor, he told them he would go wherever they wished, and was led to this room.
To be honest, he had thought he couldn't complain even if it were a dungeon, so it was a bit unexpected.
Since it seemed unlikely they would poison him at this late stage, he obediently ate the food that was served.
For four days after leaving the royal capital, he had been almost constantly on the move; the only time he had been able to sleep properly was for less than half a day after returning to Mares. On the ship heading to Redan, he had his hands full cramming the contents of the notes he had compiled on the Viscount's vassals into his head, so he couldn't afford to rest at all.
In a situation where he could have slept on even the hardest bed, or rather, even on a blanket spread on a prison floor, what was provided was a warm, soft down duvet. Once he decided not to worry about having his throat slit in his sleep and went to bed, he didn't wake up until dawn.
He finished the breakfast provided and took another nap, woke up to eat, and then slept again. He spent the entire next day like that, and it was only the day after that that he finally regained the physical and mental strength to move properly.
That said, since he was essentially a hostage under house arrest, there wasn't much he could do. It was only to the extent of moving his body within the room so as not to grow dull.
Hot water, towels, and undergarments were provided, but since the only outer clothing he had with him was his official uniform as a civil official, he couldn't move his body to his heart's content. Even though undergarments were supplied, he felt that a hostage demanding fresh undergarments every time he ate, for example, would only be seen as strange no matter how favorably one looked at it.
Because of that, once he moved his body enough not to soil his clothes and tidied up the room out of habit, the rest of the time continued like a gaping hole.
Each time, he wondered idly how the young lady was doing now.
Since he took up his post as an aide who also served as her guard four years ago at the age of seventeen, when she was thirteen, he had never been away from her side for this long. During the first two years in the Marquis's territory, there were times he went on his own training or missions for the Marquis's army, but even those were at most three or four days. Since going up to the royal capital two years ago, they had been together almost all the time except when sleeping. Since he served as both an assistant for her work as a representative and a guard, it was a situation that could be called inevitable.
He would respond if his opinion was sought, give advice even if not asked if he deemed it necessary, and did not hesitate to offer remonstrance. That was the kind of assistance required of him. It was also the role that the young lady herself had taken on, and which the Crown Prince had not required.
—Thinking back, I suppose I was lucky.
Because I was able to have a master who would listen to my opinions with an open mind, regardless of whether she agreed or not, and who would trust me with what should be entrusted.
I undoubtedly trust the young lady—my master—deeply. I also hold respect for her ability, her effort, and her magnanimity.
That is precisely why I wanted the young lady to be properly rewarded as the future Queen. That is precisely why I could not harbor good feelings toward the Crown Prince, who treated her poorly without even trying to understand her value.
An ill-matched engagement. The words that had slipped out of my mouth in the carriage that day were my true, unvarnished feelings. Even if he is the Crown Prince, if he cannot understand that young lady and utilize her abilities, there is no way they could be a match.
That Crown Prince never bothered to consider how much the young lady was hurt when she realized that the things she had worked so hard to polish were being discarded, and were even becoming a source of friction. And then that lawless declaration of exile. If the young lady hadn't stopped me, I would have assassinated the Crown Prince on the spot.
That night feels like a long time ago, but in reality, it has only been about ten days. After handling various tasks that would make a long, long list if lined up, I am now lamenting my idleness.
Even though I understand that this is a time when I can rest and that I should rest because I'll be busy soon enough anyway, it's not easy to set my mind at ease. I never thought that being away from the young lady's side and having nothing to do would be this unsettling.
In the end, it might mean that I was leaning on the young lady that much.
—His Excellency the Marquis said that I was spoiling the young lady, but...
It might have been I who trusted the young lady and was being pampered by her.
However, I think the young lady also trusted me. I didn't think she would entrust such a serious matter to someone she couldn't trust, and she even told me that I was the only one she could ask.
—I wonder how that young lady is doing now.
I toyed with the imagination that I didn't know how many times I'd repeated.
If everything went according to plan, the young lady should have returned to Mares long ago. And the young master should be arriving at Redan today or tomorrow.
I will likely return to Mares in exchange for the young master. And after that?
I will return to the young lady's side and follow her instructions—.
Thinking that far, Arveil nodded to himself, I see.
He realized that he had indeed been leaning on the young lady. As Arveil let out a small, wry smile, the sound of a soft knock reached his ears.
Don't you often find that you were actually relying (mentally) quite a bit on the person you thought you were supporting?
I really like stories where that kind of self-awareness just slips out unexpectedly... (The face of an author who's far gone)