Chapter 72
She didn’t actually say, “Are you crying?”, but Erne was in enough of a panic all the same.
Suppressing a sigh, she tried to soothe Winzard.
“Don’t cry. I’m sorry. This won’t happen again. I’ll take the tonic you gave me every single day without fail…”
Erne was patting his trembling shoulders when she suddenly couldn’t finish her words.
For the silently sobbing Winzard suddenly raised his head.
“Are you truly saying you will take the tonic every single day without missing a dose?”
“…Pardon?”
“You’re truly promising me this?”
Erne felt a pang of doubt at the sight of Winzard, looking far more vigorous than she had expected.
Could this entire display have been nothing but an act, just to secure this promise from her?
But the tears still wet on his cheeks had not yet dried, so she put away her suspicions.
Right. I almost mistook Winzard, who cried because of me, for a scheming second male lead.
Erne shook her head firmly, trying to banish such doubts.
He, still sobbing, pressed more tightly into her touch.
His tear-brimmed eyes and pitiful trembling made him the very picture of a frail, sickly male lead.
No one would ever believe he bore the keywords of a hidden mastermind’s lieutenant.
Winzard secretly hid the smile tugging at his lips.
With some of her strength restored, Erne appeared at a state council meeting.
The queen, showing up after five days looking no different than usual, was enough to quell the unease that had begun to spread among the nobles.
“I intend to amend Neshard’s constitution. I will need much of your assistance.”
She spoke the words she had rehearsed thousands of times.
Though she expected fierce resistance, she was startled when the nobles, who had until then been cordial throughout the meeting, immediately turned hostile the moment she finished speaking.
“You arranged your engagement like frying beans in oil, and now this? This cannot be allowed!”
“Why? The engagement with Duke Douglas benefits you as well, does it not? With Neshard’s weak finances now bolstered, your coffers must be fuller too. And if you had objections, you should have raised them the day the betrothal was announced, not now.”
“A-anyway! The constitution is out of the question! We cannot—must not—tamper with the laws decreed by the founding king himself!”
The depth of their aversion to constitutional reform caught her off guard. A flicker of dismay crossed Erne’s face.
With Marquis Horn leading the charge, others quickly joined in, echoing his stance.
“Indeed! This is no different from disregarding the nobles who have supported the Neshard crown for generations. Your Majesty, I beg you to reconsider!”
“And this is not just any law, but the constitution itself. Your Majesty, it will be most difficult to alter something that has endured alongside our kingdom’s history.”
Polite words, but their meaning was as good as don’t even dream of it.
Their united front was so strong that even her plan to override them with royal authority evaporated.
She had expected opposition, but not that they would leap to their feet in such fury.
Suppressing a sigh, Erne exchanged glances with Winzard.
Best to retreat for today.
With a deep breath, the queen concluded the meeting, saying it was enough for now.
Once the nobles had swept out, only Erne and Winzard remained.
Going over what had just transpired, he spoke bluntly:
“It seems my support alone isn’t enough. We’ll need the help of a great noble.”
“A great noble?”
“Yes. Someone with influence in Neshard, like your late father, Marquis Demian.”
At the mention of Marquis Demian, his absence felt especially heavy.
Erne smoothed her expression, feigning composure, and replied:
“What if I simply disregard the opposition and push forward by royal decree?”
“If we misstep, even the nobles who support you and me could turn against us. When Babylon seized the crown, many nobles were dissatisfied—but they now lend their strength to you. Yet, with the crown’s authority weakened, they’re beginning to reveal their true intentions. You saw today how forcefully they opposed you. If we press on with only royal fiat, many of them may abandon the crown altogether. And then the monarchy will face crisis once more.”
“…If only my father were still alive. How much easier things would be.”
The more she talked with him, the more she realized just how much sway Marquis Demian had truly held in Neshard. Unlike Douglas, who wielded money to bend the kingdom, Demian had the power to persuade the nobles—a man perfectly suited for it.
Well, persuasion suits Demian. Winzard, on the other hand, is more for threats.
The contrast nearly made her laugh, but she stifled it and instead straightened with resolve.
“Still, it’s all right. I never thought it would be easy. They say crisis is also opportunity. I’ll try persuading the great nobles.”
“I’ll meet with them as well.”
“Yes. Let’s work harder until the next council meeting.”
With no Demian to rely on, she would have to step forward herself.
The two exchanged smiles, acknowledging the road ahead would be long and difficult—but not lonely, for they walked it together.
“It has been a while, Your Majesty. I heard you were unwell, but seeing you now in good health brings me joy.”
Pashina had come to see Erne.
It was the first time, since Queen Esh’s accession, that she had personally requested a private audience.
Erne greeted her with a faintly tense expression.
“Thank you for your concern, Lady Shivir.”
“In truth, I feared there might have been a grave problem. But seeing you healthy puts me at ease.”
“It was only a light cold. As you can see, I’m much better now.”
“I won’t take up too much of your precious time. I’ve come to apologize to you, Your Majesty.”
“Apologize? For what?”
Tilting her head, Erne sharpened her gaze, probing for intent.
By now, after all the petty torments Erne had given her, Pashina ought to be fuming with rage or busy plotting revenge.
Yet here she was, eyes brimming with tears, expressing sincere concern for the queen’s health.
The affected display made Erne feel faintly sick, but she asked anyway.
With hands folded primly, Pashina began her apology:
“At the last tea party, I was rude. Please forgive me, Your Majesty. You so resembled the late Princess Erne that I was reminded of a dear friend, and I lost my composure.”
“Erne and I are twins. It’s only natural we resemble one another.”
“And… please don’t misinterpret my concern for the royal family. I only spoke out of worry, knowing how vital the royal bloodline is.”
“To personally come and apologize is commendable.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty.”
But Erne’s expression turned sour.
For Pashina—proud, headstrong Pashina—to humble herself and apologize was strange indeed.
Erne knew the apology was insincere, her motives impure.
And Pashina, who had always acted on impulse rather than calculation, suddenly choosing this new tactic—this was unexpected.
So. She’s finally starting to use her head.
She must have realized shallow provocations wouldn’t work, and so had changed course.
She still believed Erne was truly Erne.
Her aim must be to win her favor, only to stab her in the back later.
Erne sipped her tea, already lukewarm, and considered.
After a pause, she looked up at Pashina.
All attendants had been dismissed, just in case Pashina revealed her true colors.
“Since it’s just the two of us, Lady, I want to ask you something.”
“Of course, Your Majesty.”
Surely Pashina had already prepared for how Erne might respond.
And since she was convinced this was the same indecisive Erne of old, she must have thought Erne would grudgingly accept the apology and allow her to draw closer.
But that was when I was the old Erne.
She had grown. Much more than before.
Erne spoke:
“What if your suspicions weren’t just suspicions, but the truth?”
“…What do you mean by that?”
“What if your doubts were justified?”
She set her teacup down.
Pashina’s lips trembled. She clearly understood.
Her eyes, once mild, now glittered with malice.
The innocent face hardened into one of venom.
Her voice was slow but precise.
“…So it really is you, Erne.”
Erne smiled brightly, almost relieved to have her play recognized.
Before Pashina could strike back, Erne shrugged indifferently.
“Go on then. Step out of this palace and shout it to the world. Who will believe you? That Princess Erne, thought dead, lives on—and what’s more, has donned the mask of the dead Princess Esh to reign as queen? It’s a tangle of impossibilities even you can’t unravel. That’s my situation.”
“…”
“And either way, I remain of royal blood, don’t I?”
The teacup shook violently in Pashina’s hands.
Erne caught it at once and twisted the knife with mocking words.
With her own mask cast aside, Pashina no longer had reason to wear that of the virtuous young lady.
Her voice dripped with hostility as she asked:
“Why go to such lengths? What’s the point of this charade?”
“Who knows. Why do you think?”
“Is this about me and Derik? If this is some fit of jealousy, stop it at once.”
“Jealousy? You think I, betrothed to a duke far superior in every respect, would envy you over Derik Babylon, a mere baron’s second son? You aren’t as pretty as me, you aren’t as smart, and above all, you’re only the adopted daughter of a count.”
That was Pashina’s sorest nerve. Erne deliberately jabbed at her origins to crush her pride—a most effective warning.
Stripped of masks, Erne faced her directly.
Her lips curved in a smile, sharp and dazzling.
“Royalty and nobility—by blood, you belong to neither.”
