At that very moment, Noyer, astute to the duke’s strategic maneuvering, deftly manipulated the abacus in his head.
“Nevertheless, the Rezette harbors no inclination towards that child. He scorns not only the Light Dragon but the very essence of dragonkind, dismissing it as an unworthy progeny of his lineage,” Noyer remarked with a shrewd understanding.
In such a scenario, the plausible course of action would be to entrust the princess to Rezette and delegate the care of the child to Irrien, thus pacifying the duke’s ire. Whether the offspring inherits Kyrstan’s fortress or finds a place under Irrien’s tutelage is of marginal consequence to Noyer, who seeks a dragon under his sway, unbound by territorial confines.
Should the Kyrstan lineage prove disappointing, another can always be procured, he pondered, contemplating the prospect of not being confined to a solitary heir. Therefore, the prudent course of action at present would be to ascertain the well-being of the princess’s offspring and gain insights into her condition.
“Firstly, Duke, permit me to inquire about the princess’s well-being. Has Genovia conveyed any information regarding her condition?” Noyer diplomatically queried.
“There is no cause for concern; I assure His Majesty that all is well,” responded the Duke confidently, citing Genovia’s assurance that the princess’s desires would soon be fulfilled.
While relying on the patience of awaiting fruition, Noyer acknowledged the need for more substantial assurance. “I understand your expectations. I shall earnestly attempt to sway my brother. I implore you to refrain from disrespectful remarks and take your leave.”
Resolved to dispatch another envoy to Rotiara in the near future, Noyer concluded his deliberations.
***
Two months had slipped away since the Grand Duke and his wife returned from their joint inspection of the realm. Now, the latter half of the day belonged to the fading warmth of summer, while the initial whispers of autumn claimed the rest.
At a casual glance, life within the confines of Rotiara Castle appeared undisturbed. The princess, a fixture on the top floor, refused to grace the lower levels even once a week.
Conversely, the Grand Duke, once engrossed in his pursuits on the second floor amid studies and military drills, now directed the majority of his affairs from the uppermost floor. Naturally, curious eyes trailed the couple’s every move.
“It seems His Highness is still ensconced upstairs, doesn’t it?” remarked one observer.
“Yes, according to the maids, he spent the entirety of summer cloistered in the bedroom, much like Her Highness. Once within, there’s no inkling of him emerging. Perhaps Lady Petisson should take it upon herself to knock on the door?” speculated another.
“Sounds leak through sometimes. Just the muffled echoes are enough to turn one’s face crimson,” added a third voice.
“Even His Highness, no matter the princess’s beauty, should exercise caution. It’s been over six months since she ascended to the throne. What if complications arise with the princess or the child?” expressed concern from yet another.
“But, you know, there’s a rumor. I’ve heard…” The unspoken truths, despite the diligent supervision of the higher-ups over the servants’ tongues, had a way of finding liberation.
Lisa ascended to the uppermost floor to tend to her cleaning duties, catching sight of Her Highness, the princess. However, the regal aura one would expect from a reigning monarch seemed conspicuously absent.
“I heard she had a miscarriage already… That’s why His Highness is so on edge. The doctor is summoned to the top floor daily. Isn’t it inherently difficult for a human to bear the seed of a dragon?” queried one voice in the shadows.
“But, if she indeed lost the child, wouldn’t it be a significant event that everyone knew about? It doesn’t add up that none of us are aware. Something feels off,” pondered another.
“What are you insinuating?” asked a third, prompting a subtle hesitation in the air.
“No one in Rotiara has witnessed Her Highness in the role of a reigning queen. Perhaps…” The dubious notion stealthily spread among the servants, and the sound of someone swallowing nervously echoed unusually loud.
“Maybe the child never existed in the first place…?”
“…Gods above. This is preposterous. If Alfred or Lady Petisson caught wind of such words, heads would undoubtedly roll…!” exclaimed another voice.
“Yes, our master brought Her Highness to Rotiara under the pretext of her pregnancy. The Emperor must have been informed. What you just proposed implies that our master deceived the Emperor.”
A heavy silence enveloped the surroundings. If the speculative assumption held any truth, those privy to the information couldn’t fathom the dire consequences.
‘Deception of the master with false pretenses, shielding the heir of the enemy’s throne.’ It was an act that resonated with rebellion, defiance, and even treason.
“…Let’s stop this topic. We haven’t discussed anything.”
“Y-Yes, let’s do that.”
