chapter 14
The Imperial Palace Office.
Blake lifted his head from the stack of papers related to the Order of Knights.
“His Majesty?”
“Yes, Your Highness. His Majesty is feeling a little unwell, and it seems he won’t be able to attend the Artwal Festival this spring.”
“He’s unwell? Is it serious?”
The messenger, bowing deeply, lowered his head even further.
“The court physician says it’s just a mild cold. However, since His Majesty has been busy with affairs of state lately, they believe it would be good for him to take some rest.”
“…”
Blake tapped his pen thoughtfully for a moment before speaking again.
“What did Her Majesty the Empress say?”
“She said Your Highness’s attendance would be a great support.”
“…Understood. Tell her I will attend.”
“Yes, Your Highness. May I ask if you have already decided on your partner for the event?”
“No… I will handle that myself.”
“As you wish, Your Highness.”
After another polite bow, the messenger quietly left the room.
Only then did Locke, who had been silently watching from the side, finally open his mouth.
“His Majesty being ill… that’s something you don’t hear every day.”
At his aide’s curious tone, Blake thought of his half-brother—the current emperor. Though not as blessed as Blake himself, the emperor had also inherited some degree of divine power and had never fallen ill before.
“I hope it’s nothing serious.”
“They said it’s a mild cold. It’s probably just fatigue.”
“You’re right. I was worrying over nothing. My apologies, Your Highness.”
“No harm done.”
“…Still, that means the frontier development project will be put on hold for a while. By the way, have you thought of which young lady you’ll be accompanying to the Spring Artwal?”
Blake paused mid-stroke with his pen.
“…Must I go with someone?”
“Eh? Of course, Your Highness! Attending a ball without a partner? People would say you’re incapable as a man in no time—”
“…”
Blake slowly raised his gaze, staring straight at Locke.
Locke’s words caught in his throat as cold sweat beaded on his forehead. He forced an awkward smile.
“—Though of course, such rumors could never apply to you, Your Highness! The mighty prince himself, how could anyone dare—”
“…”
“…”
“…”
“…My apologies.”
Under the prince’s burning gaze, Locke bowed deeply. Only then did Blake’s eyes drift away.
“Ahem. Anyway, if you’re attending the festival, you’ll need a partner. I suspect the reason the messenger even asked was because Her Majesty the Empress wants you to bring someone.”
“…I’m aware.”
With a sigh, Blake set down his pen. His aide’s chatter had broken his concentration.
If it were up to him, he would attend alone, stand in a corner, and leave as soon as possible.
But as a member of the royal family, such behavior would be scandalous.
And there were no suitable relatives who could stand in as his partner either.
Then suddenly—
—someone’s face came to mind. Someone he had met not long ago.
“…In any case, Your Highness, if you don’t decide soon, the Empress might start putting pressure on you. She may be neutral, but it could lead to complications—perhaps even with the Saintess of the Church of Iris—”
“Stop rambling, Locke. Send a letter to Duke Lockhart’s estate.”
“Yes, a letter—wait, what?”
Blake’s cool voice flowed through the air.
“Inform Lady Priscilla that I’ll be paying a visit soon.”
Having thought of a rather brilliant idea, Blake gave his command and returned his attention to the documents before him.
I carefully walked down the corridor.
Chelsea had offered to deliver the meal herself, but since it was something I’d prepared for my parents, I wanted to bring it personally.
‘I’m so glad Father liked it more than I expected.’
He had praised it, saying it was delicious, and even permitted me to take some to Mother.
Since he wasn’t one to offer empty compliments, I could tell he genuinely enjoyed the soup.
I felt proud of myself for putting in the effort.
‘Phew…’
Now, only the final hurdle remained.
—Knock, knock.
“Mother, it’s Priscilla. May I come in?”
“…Priscilla?”
A frail voice answered from within.
I hadn’t seen Mother once since that day, but I could tell from her tone what state she was in. I cleared my throat softly.
“Yes, Mother. It’s me.”
“Come in, Priscilla.”
At her permission, I carefully opened the door.
Mother sat on the bed, hastily wiping her face with a towel.
“P-Priscilla! How was your day, dear? I’m sorry to greet you looking such a mess. Give me just a moment, won’t you?”
Even at a glance, I could see her red, swollen eyes beneath the towel, and her forced smile only made my chest ache more.
I stepped forward and gently placed my hand over hers to stop her.
“You don’t need to, Mother. You might hurt your eyes if you keep rubbing them like that.”
“Oh… I’m sorry, dear. To show you such a face…”
“You’re still beautiful, Mother.”
I meant it.
Her delicate features were like a sculpture carved by a master artisan.
And her tear-filled eyes—clear and glimmering like rubies—were simply breathtaking.
‘So this is where I got my looks from…’
I silently gave thanks to my parents for the genetic blessing, though outwardly, I only smiled modestly and set the tray down before her.
“Priscilla? What’s this?”
“Mushroom soup, Mother. You haven’t been feeling well, so I made it myself.”
“…You cooked? Yourself?”
“Yes. And with the blessing of the god I serve, it’s imbued with divine grace. If you drink it, you’ll feel your strength returning.”
I lied without hesitation.
‘Though honestly, it would make her feel better. People here give the sick nothing but soaked almonds or peanuts. No wonder they stay sick.’
In the Empire, the most common patient food was soaked nuts—supposedly easy on the stomach. I seriously doubted the mental capacity of the doctors who prescribed that nonsense.
Mother hesitated a little, then whispered, “Priscilla made this herself…” and took a small spoonful.
“…Oh my!”
“How does it taste?”
“It’s so, so good! Is that… mushroom? I didn’t expect it to have such a wonderful aroma.”
Covering her mouth in surprise, she went on,
“The texture is so smooth, even though it’s got mushrooms in it. It feels so gentle on the stomach.”
“Right? And it’s savory too.”
“Yes! I can’t tell what else you put in, but it’s light and fragrant and… oh, just delightful.”
“…”
“…It’s warm, too…”
“…?!”
Her tone softened, her cheeks flushed—and then suddenly, tears welled in her eyes.
“M-Mother…?!”
“…I’m sorry, Priscilla.”
Sorry? For what?
I blinked in confusion at her sudden apology.
‘If anything, I should be the one apologizing…’
I had planned to tell her about the Amur faith after gauging her reaction to the soup.
But—
“For a mother not to understand her daughter’s heart… I’ve failed you. I’m sorry, Priscilla. For not blessing the path you’ve chosen.”
…I hadn’t expected that.
“I just want you to be happy, my dear.”
“Mother…”
“It’ll be difficult to serve another god in this Empire. I’ve lost sleep worrying about it… but seeing your face today, I know my daughter will overcome it bravely. The god you serve must be a good one.”
She smiled warmly, still holding the bowl of soup.
“After all, He gave you the power to make something this delicious, didn’t He?”
I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I set the bowl aside and threw my arms around her.
“Mother… I’m so sorry…”
“Don’t say that, Priscilla. You’ve nothing to be sorry for. Your family will always support you—always.”
“…”
In my previous life, I had no family.
When I was a child—though the memories were faint—I’d been abandoned at the door of an orphanage.
No note, no photograph, no record of birth. Nothing.
The headmistress who raised me was kind, and I grew up loved.
As an adult, I thought it was freeing not to be bound by blood ties.
But deep inside, perhaps a longing for family had always been there.
“That’s what family is, isn’t it?”
…Yes.
People who stand by you without expectation, even in hardship—that’s family.
“…I love you, Mother.”
“And I love you, Priscilla.”
For that moment, I let everything else fade away—the conversion, the system, all of it.
That night, I fell asleep in her room, after talking for a long, long time.
Clinging to her warmth like a child, listening to the gentle lull of her voice.
