Amidst the celebratory atmosphere of the harvest festival, the outer courtyard of the fortress, serving as the final frontier in the triple defense line, graciously opened its gates to the local residents, setting the stage for an exquisite outdoor banquet. This tradition had endured in the region long before Rezette’s ascendancy, marking the sole occasion each year when commoners were welcomed into the fortress. The air buzzed with both meticulous preparation and eager anticipation from within the fortress walls.
Yet, Rezette, the ruler of this domain, found himself openly frowning at the prospect. “Make my wife a spectacle for everyone to see?” he questioned, his disapproval apparent. Over the past six months, Princess Elise of Argan, now the grand consort of Rotiara, had unwittingly become a constant subject of attention among the common folk. The fortress workers engaged in ceaseless gossip about her, a situation exacerbating Elise’s growing aversion to public scrutiny.
“It might be beneficial to inform Rotiara of the warmth with which she is observed,” Lady Petisson suggested, having keenly observed the princess’s plight. “Lately, her laughter has waned, and there are days when she seeks solace in slumber induced by fragrances.”
Alfred added, “The doctor claims there’s no significant physical ailment, but mental well-being is a complex matter.”
“The body may be in good health, but mental health is not so easily dismissed,” Lady Petisson replied thoughtfully. “Living in isolation for months, with only a handful of interactions in a confined space – such a life cannot foster health or happiness. Even within a palace, such an environment can lead to depression and heightened sensitivity.”
Rezette hesitated. Lady Petisson, perceiving his indecision, offered firm advice. “You must instill in Her Highness a sense of justice and belonging to Rotiara. This will divert her thoughts from Argan, providing stability here. Didn’t the doctor also suggest such a course of action?”
Upon escorting Elise to the bedroom, Dr. Freya had cautiously imparted the same advice to Rezette. “Ensuring that Her Highness doesn’t succumb to depression requires special attention. Conversely, be mindful not to let lethargy overwhelm her.” The doctor emphasized Elise’s inherent sensitivity and delicate sensibilities. Considering the depths of her inner world, it’s crucial to handle her with even greater care, a point reiterated in the doctor’s counsel.
The terms ‘depression’ and ‘languor’ resonated in Rezette’s mind. Elise, in his eyes, seemed fragile and delicate, marked by frequent tears, underlying fear, and a plethora of thoughts. She occasionally made bewildering choices, veering towards self-harm or contemplating drastic actions like leaping into a river. There were moments when the line between her desire to live or die blurred, creating a sense of ambiguity.
Quite often, in fact, almost every moment, Rezette grappled with an unbearable sensation when he looked at Elise. Despite already being his, he felt an incessant need to reaffirm this fact and fill in the missing parts. No matter how much he immersed himself in her, her presence still felt insufficient.
It was like having just one missing piece, and yet, filling that gap remained elusive. Despite his efforts, Rezette couldn’t pinpoint what that elusive piece was. Merely having Elise quietly confined to the bedroom fell short. Her world extended beyond the physical confines of reality. In her subconscious, she roamed freely to desired places, and in her consciousness, past connections intertwined like persistent impurities.
Rezette found himself grappling with an incessant urge to eradicate the impurities that lingered in Elise’s intricate world. The richness and delicacy of her existence perplexed him, fueling growing doubts and irrational impulses that disrupted even the most mundane aspects of daily life. In the clutches of this internal turmoil, Rezette was in great distress, his attention relentlessly drawn to Elise whenever he momentarily looked away, rendering focus on anything else impossible.
The term that encapsulated this troubling symptom was unmistakably “addiction” or, perhaps more fittingly, “enchantment.” Echoes of Genovia Irrien’s words, spoken under the influence of evil, suddenly reverberated in Rezette’s mind. “It wasn’t you who drove me mad. I went mad on my own. Could it be… it might not be the case for you, right?” The possibility that it was an inherent facet of madness lingered, casting a shadow over Rezette’s state of mind.
With a heavy heart, Rezette responded to those awaiting an answer. “I will inquire with Her Highness.”
Lady Petisson, sensing the weight of the moment, silently handed over a handkerchief. Unbeknownst to him, ink had dripped from the pen he held, staining his forefinger. Rezette checked the mark and licked his tongue in contemplation. Despite forcibly keeping his gaze on the typeset, his thoughts persistently drifted to the bedroom where Elise peacefully slept.
Even though he was aware that further delay would disrupt the ongoing harvest festival, Rezette couldn’t help but check the time repeatedly. The moment to wake Elise was approaching, and the looming responsibility weighed on him. Contemplating whether to hold her in his arms while reviewing the documents, he entertained the notion that, with her encouragement, progress might expedite.
