Side Story 11

Golden sunlight shattered upon the water’s surface.

The exceptionally verdant summer sky beautifully illuminated Duke MacKinnon’s estate. The lake beside it was no different. Clear water sparkled brilliantly like jewels.

“Eek!”

“Ah, it’s cold!”

Giggles. Little children laughed as they clumsily touched the water with their hands. The clothes they wore were white linen suitable for water play, but the craftsmanship was extraordinary.

“Be careful!”

“Oh my goodness! Young master, be careful not to fall!”

The assigned nannies—at least one per child—were frantic.

The oldest girl among the children was seven, and the youngest was so small that even their running still looked awkward.

Children around that age were prone to accidents every hour anyway. And since they were playing by the lakeside with their feet in the water, if even one person got overly excited, no one knew what might happen.

If a cold—or something worse—befell not their own bodies but the bodies of the young masters and ladies they served, could they guarantee their own lives?

The nannies trusted the character of the employers who had entrusted their children to them, but they didn’t know what the law might say. After all, the children gathered here held the most noble statuses in the Empire of Amiteria.

Splash! Splish, splish, splish!

“Ahahaha!”

A wave overturned with force, and the nannies’ composure overturned with it. The culprit was the oldest and most spirited seven-year-old, Princess Arbiyone.

“Your Highness the Princess!”

A nanny cried out plaintively.

On the grassy lawn about a dozen steps from the water’s edge—where the adults were gathered—Edward Ganielo spoke, his eyes sparkling.

“Her Highness Princess Arbiyone is truly full of vitality. I wonder if His Majesty the Emperor was like that when he was young?”

Cledwyn shook his head.

“No.”

The gazes of those present converged on Nerys. Wearing a white dress with a delicate floral pattern suited to lakeside tea time and a bonnet decorated with summer flowers, she held a baby who had just turned one. Yet her posture remained utterly unbroken, exuding an elegance beyond compare.

(T/N: UGHHHHHHH!!! ANOTHER BABYYYYYY!!)

It didn’t seem like she, holding the baby, had a childhood similar to the lively princess currently commanding a group of seven children: the children of Grand Duke Ganielo’s family, the children of Duke MacKinnon’s family, the children of Count Wirtham’s family, and even Joan, the daughter-in-law of Grand Duke Ganielo, nodded as if convinced.

“Perhaps she takes after Duchess Truydd? Children sometimes resemble relatives other than their parents. They say my second younger sibling is exactly like my youngest maternal uncle.”

As the others nodded along as if that must be true, Nerys let out a bitter smile.

“No, she’s actually quite similar to how I was as a child. Though Yoni is smarter than I was.”

Question marks appeared on the faces of everyone except Cledwyn. To exaggerate a bit, wasn’t Nerys the perfect noble lady who seemed to have memorized etiquette books from birth? Count Wirtham Talfrin whispered to his wife, Diane.

“Wasn’t Her Majesty the Empress very dignified even in her first year, darling?”

“She was, wasn’t she, darling? Ah, but I understand. Our Riz has that kind of innocence about her.”

As if innocent people were extinct. Talfrin was thrown into confusion. Watching them, Cledwyn let out a faint smile.

Cledwyn hadn’t seen Nerys when she was that young, either. The current Arbiyone was five years younger than Nerys had been at the time of her Academy enrollment, so it was only natural he hadn’t seen her—even in Nerys’s memories. Still, recalling her first-year days from those memories, he could roughly understand what she meant.

The endlessly naive and carefree Nerys of that time, paired with a child’s overflowing energy, must have been that bright. And it was that brightness that wore down in an instant when she was placed in an unfamiliar, hostile environment.

Duchess Truydd, who caught assassins and severed ties with her family for the man she loved. Perhaps Nerys had originally been a daughter who greatly resembled her mother.

“It’s good for a child to be lively. Since Her Highness the Princess knows how to lead others, the Empire’s future seems secure.”

The one who quietly ended an atmosphere on the verge of turning strange was the young Duchess MacKinnon, Brigid.

Married to Joyce five years ago, she had originally been the illegitimate child of the previous Pope—a status that couldn’t even entertain marriage talks with ordinary noble families, let alone a young duke. Moreover, after her father’s death, every member of her family fell into disgrace, so even beyond the issue of birth, it would have been difficult to aspire to the position of young duchess.

However, when the MacKinnon Trading Company began transactions with the Papal States, the situation changed, as Brigid—who knew the internal affairs of the Papal States well—helped Joyce.

Unlike her father, who met an ugly end, Brigid was brave and kind-hearted. The Duke and Duchess MacKinnon, worried sick over their son showing no interest in women even past thirty, welcomed her existence with open arms. And with tremendous drive, they created a new official identity for her: the daughter of one of the long-extinguished noble families of Maindulante.

Of course, it was possible because the imperial family subtly supported it and most people were seeing Brigid’s face for the first time. The nobles who had wanted to form marriage alliances with Duke MacKinnon initially complained in private and doubted her origins, but since Shadows had already perfectly fabricated the evidence and the Empress treated Brigid warmly, the suspicions vanished.

Nerys’s feelings upon seeing the happy Joyce and Brigid couple were complex. In Nerys’s previous life, Brigid had married Nellusion Elandria and, according to Valentin, even had a child. In a way, she was the person who took the man Nerys loved.

But Nerys knew well that Brigid’s opinion hadn’t been reflected at all in that marriage. Rather, she felt somewhat guilty for having forced the powerless woman to marry a scoundrel.

That was why Nerys supported Brigid’s hand, even though there were many families that would have been suitable for a marriage alliance with the Duke MacKinnon family. Cledwyn, who knew the circumstances, also followed her words without question.

“Thank you for saying so, young Duchess.”

Past regrets had become present good fortune. Thinking so, Nerys’s face—expressing gratitude—shone softly with happiness. At that moment, the child in her arms squirmed, wanting to be put down.

“Want down? Hmm? Shall I put you down, Maeve?”

As Nerys bent at the waist, Dora—who had been waiting right behind—took the second princess, Maeve, and set her down on the grassy lawn. Holding Dora’s hand, Maeve began to toddle.

At the sight of that cute, wiggling bottom, laughter bloomed among the adults.

❖ ❖ ❖

“I’m going to catch a fish. The book I read yesterday, page 76, had a story about catching and raising fish.”

Arbiyone declared proudly. Joybel placed a hand on her chin, pretending to think seriously. Five-year-old Joybel was at an age where she was gradually becoming aware of her position as the heir to the Count Wirtham family, and she was very much into acting mature.

“That seems like a good idea, Your Highness. But I think the fish would be further in.”

Ah, that pronunciation was accurate this time. Very mature. Joybel praised herself inwardly. Arbiyone’s expression turned serious.

“If we go deeper, the adults will say something, right?”

What was permitted for the group of children—which included a two-year-old—was only the shore where the water would reach up to an adult’s ankles. For Arbiyone, the oldest at seven and currently fearless, it was a lamentable situation.

Fortunately, the nannies were focusing more on the younger children, leaving the relatively older Arbiyone and Joybel alone. Arbiyone’s personal nanny and Joybel’s personal nanny were standing a few steps away from this chaos, as long as the splashing wasn’t as severe as before.

Then a young voice came from behind Arbiyone and Joybel.

“Nuni.”

“Eek!”

Arbiyone’s eyes widened as she turned around. That pretty face—the spitting image of her father—expressed surprise in an utterly adorable way.

The boy who had somehow approached behind Arbiyone and Joybel was the first prince, Owen. There were no other princes yet, and since the Emperor had shaken his head, saying he wouldn’t have more children, Owen was precisely the only prince.

In complete contrast to his sister, who was the spitting image of her father in every aspect except the Violet Eyes, Owen had gray eyes. But his hair color and face were exactly like his mother’s. The adults found it very amusing that this four-year-old wore a much more mature and detached expression than his sister.

Since the children were still young, the necessity of appointing a Crown Prince hadn’t arisen, but nobles who thought Owen was more earnest than Arbiyone secretly imagined he might become the next Emperor. The only sticking point was that while Owen thought like an adult, he wasn’t growing taller than his peers, and his speech was still quite childish.

The imperial couple had firmly stated, ‘We must learn from the fall of the Bistor Family,’ and declared they would give the throne to the capable person. They had to wait and see who would be the most competitive.

Arbiyone wasn’t yet interested in whether she or Owen would become Emperor. She knew the adults whispered, but it wasn’t her concern. She was happy as long as every day was fun, and she liked both her younger siblings very much.

‘Though Owen and I sometimes don’t get along.’

Unlike Arbiyone—an inquisitive child in all matters—Owen was always relaxed, and he followed the rules well. The grown-ups praised that appearance of maturity until their mouths ran dry.

But according to her mother, whom Arbiyone loved most in the world, the happier a child was, the better. She said if you paid too much attention to what others thought, you could forget the most important thing in the world—‘happiness’—so you had to be careful.

So Arbiyone wished Owen would run and play with her, not bring up danger and spoil things every time she tried to do something she’d seen in a book.

‘Of course, he’s too much of a baby to run and play with me yet.’

But looking at friends with younger siblings around her, like Joybel right next to her, they somehow played with their baby siblings. Three-year-old Larabelle was now a girl who had taken a liking to chattering with clumsy pronunciation, and she went wherever her older brother went. Both were babies—by Arbiyone’s standards—so they played well, but they also fought quickly.

Arbiyone was a big sister now, so she could play well with her younger siblings without fighting—if only the younger siblings cooperated. Her surprise was momentary; she put on an innocent face and asked Owen.

“When did you get here, Wenny?”

“Deep in go, adults, uh, worry. (If you go deep, the adults will worry.)”

Even as he spoke, Owen’s small face frowned as if he didn’t like his clumsy pronunciation. Joybel—who looked exactly like Talfrin on the outside and exactly like Joyce MacKinnon in how he doted on younger siblings—found Owen adorable inwardly. Even if His Highness the Prince was mature, there was still a difference between five and four.

In Joybel’s view, five was an older sibling, and four was a baby. She had no idea that Arbiyone thought of him as a baby.

“I’m not going that deep. I’m just going to where the fish are. Keep it a secret, Wenny. Okay?”

“No can do.”

His tone was mature, but his pronunciation remained babyish. Joybel found Owen even cuter. But Arbiyone was annoyed. Why? All the other younger siblings took their older sister’s or brother’s side, so why did only her younger sibling take the adults’ side?

“Hmph.”

Now that Owen had noticed, she couldn’t think of quietly slipping away. Arbiyone finally sulked and snorted.

Embarrassment appeared on Owen’s doll-like, delicate face. He opened his small mouth, trying to rationally persuade his sister.

“Sister. We are, children so…….”

We shouldn’t go to dangerous places…… The moment he tried to say that.

Arbiyone’s gaze suddenly drifted into the distance. Curious about what she was looking at, Joybel and Owen turned their heads. But at the end of her gaze, there was only the lake.

Did she see a fish? Joybel thought so. But Arbiyone hadn’t spotted a fish.

She closed her eyes just like that and collapsed, as if she’d fallen asleep.

Splash.

The spray of water caused by his seven-year-old sister collapsing into the water engulfed Owen. He stiffened rigidly like a block of wood.

From afar, the Emperor and Empress stood up, their faces turning deathly pale.