ESL Chapter 69

In the dark of night, a black shadow slipped silently into the Mihael ducal mansion. Evading the eyes of the guarding knights, the shadow crossed the garden at speed and headed toward the knights’ quarters. The shadow moved without hindrance until its footsteps came to a stop at the room of Jacques Rombel, the captain of the knights. Even tonight, Merina’s moans could be heard drifting from his room.

“………..”

The black shadow hid itself in the darkness and quietly waited for the right moment. According to information he had gathered, after her encounters with Jacques Rombel, Merina had a habit of going down to the knights’ quarters to seduce whichever knight caught her fancy. The shadow had been privately impressed, thinking it was no easy feat for an ordinary woman to have that much stamina — but when the door opened and a sharp, irritated female voice rang out, he suppressed even the sound of his breathing.

“Honestly, what a dreadful man! Standing there all worked up like that and then holding back — what on earth is that about? Just finish and be done with it!”

The copper-haired woman who stormed out of the room in her slip was, as rumored, an alluringly beautiful woman. Her full chest and hips, her slender waist — any man who saw her would feel a stir of desire, but unfortunately for her, the shadow’s tastes ran toward a purer, more innocent type. Merina hurled a few more insults at the unresponsive room, then threw on her robe and stomped noisily down the stairs. Once he confirmed she had gone, the black shadow melted into the room without so much as a sound. Or rather, he attempted to. Had it not been for the sword that met his throat the moment he stepped inside, that is. Faced with a ferocity that promised an immediate slash at the slightest movement, the shadow went still.

“Who are you.”

Jacques, his upper body bare, leveled his sword at the throat of the black shadow that had crept into his room and spoke coldly. This hour — directly after being degraded by Merina — was always the worst of his day, and his eyes held a killing edge sharp enough to cut someone down on the spot. But the black shadow was no pushover. He glanced down at the still-prominent bulge at the front of Jacques’s trousers and spoke as if making a jest.

“Surely you don’t intend to receive the Young Lord’s letter in that unseemly state?”

At the shadow’s words, Jacques’s dark brows twitched. His expression did not change, but his eyes betrayed unmistakable surprise.

“….The Young Lord, you say?”

Still guarded, but with some of the edge taken off him, the shadow smiled easily and said,

“Yes, yes~ So if you’d kindly lower that sword. I’m quite good at sneaking in, but not so much at swordsmanship. If you keep that blade in my face, I might get so frightened I forget where I’ve put the Young Lord’s letter.”

The unhurried, nonchalant tone of voice — it carried a faint sense of familiarity. And Jacques did not miss it.

“Black Kavan?”

“Impressive as always, Captain of the knights. You recognized me by voice alone even with my face covered. I am Fortre of the Black Kavan.”

The core members of the Black Kavan each had their own specialty; in Fortre’s case, it was infiltration and disguise. Once Jacques lowered the sword he had been pressing to Fortre’s throat, Fortre reached into his breast pocket, withdrew a letter, and handed it over.

“Read it. Once you’ve finished, burn it, dispose of it, whatever you like. My mission is complete, so I’ll be on my way.”

Fortre gave a little wave and walked a few steps before dissolving into the darkness as though absorbed by it.

“……”

Jacques looked down at the letter in his hand, his expression sober. He had been refusing Cheor’s orders, but strictly speaking, he had betrayed the Young Lord in order to protect his own blood. He ought to have protected the legitimate heir — and had not. He ought to have kept him safe — and had failed. He exhaled a heavy sigh and unfolded the letter. Inside was a single brief sentence.

At the hour when the moon hangs at its zenith, to the place where the true master of Mihael resides.

The place where the true master of Mihael resides — that could only mean the chambers of the Young Lord Luciel. He read the letter once more, then quietly crumpled it and pressed it into his mouth. Chewing the paper, he steeled his eyes with grim resolve.

****

Merina came down to the knights’ quarters and went to Jaedeckro’s room. When she knocked, the door opened and a thickly muscled arm reached out, seized her around the waist, and pulled her inside.

“What’s the hurry~ My dear squad leader.”

Tossed onto the bed by Jaedeckro, Merina propped herself up on one elbow and looked up at him with a soft, teasing smile in her eyes. She had not been satisfied in her encounter with Jacques tonight, and her body was still aflutter. Perhaps because of that, she looked even more seductive and wanton than usual. Jaedeckro’s gaze, fixed on her, darkened with desire, and he reached out and roughly stripped the robe from her.

“Hmm~”

Merina let him do as he liked, not minding his manner in the least — but when his hands tore the thin slip, she raised her foot and gave his face a light push. Remarkably, he stopped.

“That’s not the right order. Do it properly.”

Merina spoke, pulling up the corner of her mouth with imperious satisfaction, like a queen commanding a servant, and the motionless Jaedeckro began to move slowly. He took the foot resting against his face and pressed his lips to the top of it. Caressing each toe in turn, moving to her ankle and then her calf, he shifted his lips with a care as though her body were spun glass.

“Haah~~”

Merina let out a moan of satisfaction at his attentive ministrations, but when his lips moved up to her thigh, she pushed his face away again with her other foot.

“…If you want to continue, tell me. That thing… where is it?”

Her flushed, even more bewitching face asked the question, and Jaedeckro, gazing at her as if entranced, began to divulge the information he had gathered in order to have her. When she had heard everything he said, Merina burst into a satisfied laugh. Then, spreading her smooth and supple legs to either side, she said,

“I’ll give you your reward. Enjoy yourself to your heart’s content.”

At the sight revealed between her parted legs, all reason vanished from Jaedeckro’s eyes. Before long, the room held nothing but the sounds of two bodies entwined.

****

The door opened quietly, and a black shadow entered Luciel’s chamber. Perhaps because moonlight was filtering in through the window, the room was not especially dark even without the magic lamp lit.

He — that is, Jacques — surveyed the room slowly, then tensed as he felt a gaze upon him and turned toward it. And he froze at the sight of the young man standing leaning against the window. The Young Lord was there.

How long had he been watching? Those emerald eyes, already unreadable at the best of times, caught the moonlight and rendered his thoughts even more impossible to discern. If anything, it was Jacques who had begun to waver.

With a clear ring, a sword was drawn. The blade in Jacques’s hand gleamed, but Luciel did not so much as stir, only watched him. Jacques took a slow step forward. Then he sank to both knees in prostration and raised the sword in both hands.

“Captain of the knights Jacques Rombel… for the sake of his own well-being, has betrayed the Young Lord. There are no words of excuse, even with ten mouths. I beg my punishment.”

The knight’s voice was low and grave. He was confessing his transgression to Luciel in all sincerity and begging to receive his due. Luciel, who had been quietly watching him, straightened himself from where he had been leaning. He walked to the kneeling Jacques, lifted the offered sword, and brought its tip to his throat.

“You ask punishment for the sin of failing to protect me when you should have, for the sin of failing to shield me when you should have?”

The blade’s tip at his throat was sharp. Yet Jacques felt no pain from it at all. What pierced deep into his heart and caused him true suffering was the cold voice of the Young Lord.

On the day the Young Lord was born, he had sworn at the request of the former duke to protect him with his life until the Young Lord came of age. He had watched him grow up from right beside him. And so, from the moment the Duke and Duchess had lost their lives in an accident, the Young Lord had been his sole liege. Yet that precious person he had turned away from, abandoning his knight’s oath out of the selfish desire to save his daughter. That alone was enough to strip him of any right to call himself a knight. Which was why he could not even lift his head.

“…That is correct.”

“Even if I were to take your life?”

“I would accept it gladly.”

Not a trace of hesitation in that resolute answer. A faint smile touched the corner of Luciel’s lips. But Jacques, with his head bowed, did not see it.

“If I take your life, what becomes of your daughter? As I understand it, she is the reason you betrayed me.”

“……!”

+++++

Side Story 2

My Little Crybaby Bird.

He had first met her when he was twelve years old. He still remembered it. On the day he had fled his father’s relentless drills, he happened upon her — she was in the middle of being kidnapped, and he used his wits to save her. But he soon came to regret his actions.

The eight-year-old girl with pale violet eyes he had rescued was a crybaby. No amount of coaxing could stop her tears, and she was still sniffling even when he brought her home to the marquis’s estate. And yet, when he tried to send her inside, she clutched the hem of his clothes and made him promise to come see her when she was grown before she would go in. As he watched her safely enter the house, he did not think he would ever meet her again. Their worlds were simply too different.

But remarkably, they met again as adults. When they happened to encounter one another at the ducal estate, he remembered her — but she did not remember him. In truth, it did not matter that she had forgotten him. Their worlds were still different, and the ways they lived their lives were still different, so he thought of it as nothing more than a childhood memory. That was, until he saw her crying.

When had it been… He had come to the ducal mansion at the Young Lord’s summons, and when word reached him that the Young Lord would be a little delayed, he felt restless staying indoors and set foot in the garden — a place he had never once visited. A cool breeze and a high, clear sky — the kind of weather one would wish to capture in a painting. And in that weather, she was crying. Slumped down amid the flower beds, her face buried in both hands.

He still remembered the tears streaming between her slender white fingers. Perhaps because she had been a crybaby as a child but he had assumed a grown woman would have no cause to cry — he committed the rudeness of standing there and staring at her.

She must have sensed his gaze, because she looked up, and her first reaction was a startled hiccup. He would learn later that she had a tendency to hiccup when surprised.

It was likely from that moment on. That she began to occupy his thoughts. And he came to know it — that from the time her father stepped down from the position of prime minister, Cheor had been flaunting his dalliances with other women and treating her with contempt.

He had always known Cheor was a mean and greedy man, but he had not known how base the man truly was. Tears never seemed to dry from her eyes.

Crybaby.

That was the nickname he had given her in his heart. She would never know, of course… A man blunt by nature, he had no idea how to comfort a woman. And she was not someone he had any right to comfort. But from some point on, every time he saw her tears, another stone began to settle onto his chest. When the weight of those stones grew too heavy to bear, he spoke to her for the first time.

[Is there any reason for you to remain in a place that causes you such suffering?]

He did not expect her to heed his words. She had once asked and he had told her his name, but to her he was still a stranger. Yet when he came to the ducal mansion again, she was no longer there.

The little crybaby bird who had wept in her cage had left the cage. She had spread her wings and flown off into the wide sky. With the bird’s departure, the stones piled on his chest crumbled and scattered away. He wished her happiness. He hoped she would never cry again… that a nickname like “crybaby” would no longer suit her… But when he met her again after several years, she was still crying.

He hopes. That she will cry no more. That someday he may see her smile.