Chapter 54
The villa was smaller than the Count of Simone’s estate, but its interior reflected current trends, suggesting it had been well maintained.
Ranje wasn’t particularly discerning when it came to interior design, but thanks to browsing the catalogs Erna had been reading, she recognized that the clean wallpaper featured a pattern released just this past spring.
“Alix said that Uncle spends more time here than at the capital residence.”
Interpreting Ranje’s glancing around as nervousness, Erna casually added,
“Aunt does too.”
It wasn’t especially interesting information, but Ranje nodded as if intrigued. Erna hadn’t brought it up for no reason.
“I didn’t say anything earlier because I wasn’t sure, but it looks like Aunt might be here today too.”
“Really?”
“I caught a glimpse when we came in. Her secretary seemed to check who we were.”
Ranje, now slightly uneasy, brushed back her hair. Erna, without thinking, fidgeted with her short bangs as well.
“Does Aunt Claire make you uncomfortable?”
“It’s just… I’ve seen Uncle a few times, but not Aunt. She rarely came, right?”
Despite all the time that had passed, Ranje had at least a passing familiarity with Eirik Swanheald.
But his wife, Claire, was different—Ranje could count on one hand the number of times she’d seen her, and they’d never even exchanged words.
She was known to mostly stay in the capital and was rumored to be disinterested even in her own children.
Ranje remembered the time Claire had come to Swanheald for the funeral of her youngest son.
While the pale Count and Eirik stood in dazed silence, and Xavier stopped wandering aimlessly, and Alix was said to weep quietly in her room—Claire stoically attended every scheduled event before returning to the capital.
And today, after all these years, her appearance remained just as cold.
Eirik stood by the window, making no effort to greet them.
Claire, on the other hand, sat upright, directly facing the entrance.
Beside her sat a slightly tense Alix and Xavier. Like them, Erna sat stiffly. It was Claire who spoke first.
“You brought a friend.”
Her tone wasn’t accusatory, nor was it merely stating fact.
Claire was asking why an outsider had been brought to what was clearly a family gathering.
Ranje glanced at Heine, who stood awkwardly beside them, then answered in Erna’s place.
“If it’s just the two of us, we’d be outnumbered.”
“…What?”
Alix and Xavier couldn’t hide their shock. Even Eirik turned his head, pretending not to listen but clearly having heard.
Erna and Heine, Ranje’s companions, were just as flustered. They had braced themselves for criticism or scolding, but Ranje’s answer hadn’t been part of the plan.
Only Claire remained expressionless. Without moving a muscle, she continued questioning.
“Were you planning to start a fight?”
“We’re not here to cause trouble first. But you never know with people. I doubt Aunt gathered us here expecting me or Erna to play nice, or hoping for some heartwarming family reunion.”
Ranje didn’t go so far as to say they’d never go along with such a thing, but it was implied.
Claire’s brow furrowed slightly—not quite in displeasure, but with a strange, almost amused smile.
“Yes, today… I called you here because there’s something I want to confirm.”
“Confirm?”
“The Count has been too busy arguing with you to ask the real question.”
Ranje thought back to the Count of Swanheald’s visit before the entrance exam. That day, he’d left after only a shouting match with Erna.
‘So there was… something more important?’
Still confused, Ranje stared blankly as Claire’s smile deepened slightly.
“Ranje, was it?”
“Yes.”
“If you truly are the rightful heir of Swanheald, then you have the right to claim the title and the inheritance.”
Unlike other nations, the succession rules for Prince-Electors were unusually complex.
If no heir was declared before death, the authority to convene a succession council fell to the emperor—a loophole the emperor had exploited during the Simone dispute.
Even so, common continental custom still held weight—namely, primogeniture.
In Swanheald’s case, the eldest son had died young, and the second son, Eirik, was made heir. But the circumstances had changed. Unlike the chronically ill Erna, the healthy Ranje now had every right to claim succession.
Ranje understood Claire’s explanation, but she had no desire to be entangled in more family matters.
“If you want, I can sign a renunciation.”
Only after she said it in a disinterested tone did she realize her mistake, and she quickly added,
“There are a few things I’d like to ask of you. If you can handle those, I’ll sign whatever you want.”
She almost missed a golden opportunity. It was better to treat this as a negotiation than to beg for favors to investigate the principal.
‘With luck, maybe I can get some money out of it too.’
While Ranje had already finished calculating her move, Claire hid her distaste behind a hand.
Manners aside, Ranje was far too indifferent.
Perhaps her breezy attitude came from ignorance—did she not understand what she was throwing away?
Had misfortune not intervened, everything Eirik now possessed would’ve gone to Ranje’s father, and eventually to Ranje herself as his legitimate heir.
If Ranje gave it all up so easily, that was convenient for Claire, but not satisfying.
Just then, a long sigh drew everyone’s attention. All eyes turned to Eirik, who had been all but forgotten.
“…I’ll speak with her outside. You handle the others.”
At last, Eirik moved. He touched his wife’s shoulder lightly and approached Ranje.
“Ranje.”
Though he called her name, Ranje didn’t respond. She simply looked up, waiting for what he would say next.
Erna, thinking her sister was being too rude, tugged lightly at her sleeve.
But before Ranje could speak, Eirik gestured to the door with his eyes.
‘What’s he want to say outside?’
Ranje nodded and followed. It didn’t feel promising, but staying wouldn’t accomplish anything either.
✧ ✧ ✧
Once outside the villa, Eirik didn’t say where they were going. He simply walked, and Ranje didn’t rush him.
Eirik had never been talkative, and his expression now showed he was deep in thought.
Ranje wasn’t unfamiliar with this kind of silence.
Though their relationship now was distant, she had sat with Eirik several times in the past.
Not close, but not strangers either.
It was Eirik who taught her the basics when she prepared to enter the officer academy in place of her deceased cousin. As a graduate himself, he’d been the most suitable instructor.
‘Even then, he only ever said what was necessary.’
Back then, he had treated her with cool indifference. The only emotion he showed was mild guilt—for making her work in his daughter’s place—but even that was overshadowed by quiet relief.
Bored of walking, Ranje glanced around.
Unlike other regions where public safety had declined, the southern suburbs remained a traditional retreat for the wealthy.
The clean road was lined with bare winter trees, but near the lake, the view became more picturesque.
Waterfowl, possibly ducks or geese, glided over the unfrozen lake. Sunlight sparkled on the surface like it could shatter.
Ranje took three deep breaths, remembering advice she’d received, giving Eirik a little more time.
Still, he said nothing.
“You didn’t bring me out here just for a walk, did you?”
Ranje finally asked the question she’d been holding in since they left the villa.
She wasn’t afraid or worried about Eirik’s silence, but she still hated wasting time.
“I already made my thoughts clear inside. If you brought me out here, there must be something else you want to say.”
Eirik pinched his brow. He didn’t seem to appreciate her pushiness but finally opened his mouth.
“You’re strange.”
“…What?”
Ranje raised an eyebrow at the vague opener, but Eirik continued without reacting.
He looked off into the distance as if the act of voicing his long-held thoughts was the most important thing.
“That night, before you took Erna away—I already thought it then. You’re not ordinary. You’re not a normal child.”
It wasn’t exactly an insult, so Ranje just listened.
“You just happened to open a vault you shouldn’t even have known existed? The Count trusts in old magic, but I don’t. It would make more sense if you found a weak point and used it as a pretext to show up in front of the Count with some hidden purpose.”
…She heard the words but couldn’t make sense of them.
‘Was he always this bad at explaining things?’
Blankly staring, Ranje didn’t react, and Eirik returned her gaze coldly.
“I don’t believe you are Ranje Baer.”
“…Believe what you want, but I have no idea what you’re talking about. Could you explain a little more clearly?”
She asked without expecting much, but to her surprise, Eirik didn’t stop.
“The person who knew Ranje Baer best, besides the late Ludia, was the head maid of the main estate.”
Well…
Ranje almost scoffed to herself.
The head maid hadn’t been cruel, but she certainly hadn’t paid much attention to Ranje either. The girl had been the family disgrace, and the maid had been far too busy.
Even the meals, clothing, and bedding that had allowed her to survive to sixteen were probably more effort than Ranje deserved.
The few weeks of literacy and arithmetic she had received as a child had been a rare kindness—but even that was only because someone too dumb to do basic math couldn’t be put to work.
Lost in those memories, Ranje didn’t immediately notice Eirik’s expression darken.
“She said Ludia’s daughter had brown hair.”
Eirik had already drawn a revolver.
“Then who are you?”
The black muzzle stared at her like an open mouth.
