TYND 96

Chapter 96

Masculinity, Rapi’s personality, his position as commander—perhaps all the things that had obscured the essence of the matter were nothing more than byproducts of prejudice.

Thinking about it now, worrying about how others might look at him, and even fretting over how she might react—none of it really mattered.

To begin with, what exactly was “being manly”?

Wasn’t being confident and forthright in any situation what truly made someone manly? By that standard, Napari—who boldly declared that he liked humans—was far more manly than he was.

Yeah.

If you like someone, then you like them. Why agonize over it so much?

I like the Queen.

The moment he acknowledged it, peace of mind came surprisingly quickly. At the same time, all of her charms that he had deliberately buried deep in his heart began to float gently up to the surface of his consciousness.

The soft, plump curve of her lips that unconsciously protruded slightly when she was concentrating.

The way she barely ate proper meals, yet broke into a wide grin whenever she saw dessert.

The way she wandered around in thin clothes, sneezing all the time—then, when she got cold, dashed over and clung tightly to him.

And the way her hands would slowly slip into his embrace, caressing his chest when he opened his arms to her…

All of it.

“She’s cute.”

Whis muttered to himself with a small chuckle.

Lucy was tall for a human woman, but to Whis, she was delicate and adorable.

When she lifted her head from his arms to speak, her gaze would meet his yellow eyes. In that state, she would open and close her mouth as if chirping, mumbling something softly.

Their gazes connecting in a straight line, warm breaths brushing against each other’s beaks…

The more he dwelled on it, the more something warm spread around his chest.

A strange sensation, like bubbles slowly rising and growing larger, pressing against his heart. It felt tight—yet that tightness felt incredibly good.

Truly strange.

In his half-lidded vision appeared Lucy, lying languidly with a drowsy expression. Each time he blinked, that image grew larger, drawing closer to him.

As Whis recalled her with his eyes closed, his body began to move unconsciously.

“Uh…”

Napari, who had been squatting nearby, felt his expression slowly twist. In his eyes as he stared at Whis, uncontrollable agitation spread rapidly.

Suddenly, the commander—who had been sitting on a rock—rose to his feet and walked toward the training grounds, then began to dance.

With his eyes closed, he half-sat and stood again on slender legs that did not match his massive build, spreading both wings wide and hopping here and there. It was such a bizarre sight that Napari feared it might haunt his dreams.

Staring at the commander with warped eyes, Napari finally realized what was happening, letting out a small gasp.

Judging by the closed eyes, it seemed the commander himself wasn’t consciously aware of his actions.

“This is… could it be…?”

It was clearly a courtship dance.

Like wisdom teeth that remained only as vestigial organs, Rapi no longer needed it—but instinct still lingered, surfacing out of habit.

A courtship dance that emerged unconsciously when thinking of someone one loved.

Napari had once seen an older cousin perform it while yearning for his crush during childhood, but he had never imagined that the commander would suddenly perform a courtship dance right before his eyes.

Faced with such an intensely private act, Napari’s eyes reddened slightly, and he quietly averted his gaze. Beneath the brilliant full moon, the soft sound of wings fluttering echoed gently.

White feathers softly illuminated the darkness, and leaving behind a stiff-faced Napari, Whis continued dancing for a long time, wearing a wistful expression, until the night grew deep.

The shimmering clusters of light beneath the curtains naturally drew the eye.

Lucy, who had washed the lingering drowsiness from her eyes with the clear light, leaned halfway against the headboard and stared at the curtains where the morning sunlight filtered through.

The faint fatigue remaining above her shadowed eyes stemmed from last night—spent sleeplessly lost in idle thoughts—and from the way the light beneath the darkness had stirred yet more reflections.

Memories may seem controllable at a glance, but those that cling strongly to the mind are difficult to restrain by one’s own will.

Last night, upon seeing the dried residue clinging to the tip of a fountain pen, Lucy had unintentionally recalled a memory she had buried deep, one she did not want to remember.

“Even now, I don’t know why that happened.”

When was it?

It must have been during her first life, back when she diligently supported Alec as the Crown Princess.

She couldn’t clearly remember the reason, but the Emperor had once given her a writing set as a gift.

A blotting paper made of exceedingly rare white calfskin, and a golden pen adorned with the tail feather of a platinum hawk.

But the most unusual thing was the ink.

Instead of black, it was a reddish-brown ink contained in a bottle bearing a gold-embossed label engraved with the name Arsinoe.

—

I heard your birthday is approaching. I find my Crown Princess most commendable, so I bestow this special reward upon you.

—

Ah… right.

It had been a birthday gift.

Her birthday itself wasn’t particularly special. The Emperor frequently bestowed rewards upon her.

Though he showed so little interest in his own son—the Crown Prince—that it bordered on indifference, he gave her, his daughter-in-law, an oddly generous amount of affection.

The reason was simple.

The Emperor was a man who loved beautiful things, and both then and now, he kept countless mistresses. His lecherous nature hadn’t gone anywhere, so Lucy suspected his favor stemmed from impure intentions and tried to keep her distance.

However, one could not simply discard a bestowed gift based on mere suspicion.

Lucy accepted the gift with a smile, and for the Emperor—who monitored whether she used his gifts well—she wore, used, and carried the items he gave her.

The writing set was used in the same vein. But the one who reacted to it when he saw it lying in her study was not the Emperor, but the Crown Prince, Alec.

—

Anyone would mistake you for the Empress, not the Crown Princess. You filthy woman.

—

The man who had always responded to her with cold indifference suddenly flew into a rage and hurled the ink bottle that had been sitting on the desk straight at her.

—

“Ugh!”

—

The ink bottle shattered into pieces upon striking her forehead. Brown ink and red blood scattered through the air.

Everything in her vision seemed to slow, and as her body fell backward, the red and reddish-brown hues that had painted the air fell with dull splats onto the carpet below.

—

“Y-Your Highness, why would you…!”

—

She remembered being utterly bewildered by his behavior, unable to grasp the cause or context.

Alec was always prone to sudden outbursts of anger, but then as now, she could not understand what he had been angry about.

From the start, he had never held even the slightest interest in her—there was no way he would suddenly feel jealousy toward the Emperor.

Was it simply a tantrum?

With no answer in sight, the incident ended inconclusively. Even if she wanted to question it, letting it go was the best option.

For a time, she tried to understand Alec’s psychology, but after realizing that his way of thinking was fundamentally different from that of ordinary people, she gave up.

People pursue different notions of justice, and good and evil are not always mutually comprehensible. Moreover, considering the countless tortures and pains Alec had inflicted upon her, that episode barely registered as unusual.

So she buried the memory.

Occasionally it resurfaced, but she forced herself to forget it, thinking, That madman just did something insane.

Yet yesterday, the memory lingered unusually long.

“It’s strange. This uncomfortable feeling won’t go away…”

Lingering thoughts were never a good sign.

Something must be off—something unresolved—keeping it lodged in her mind. The sense that she was close to grasping something but couldn’t quite reach it left her tossing and turning all night.

Why had that past event suddenly resurfaced? There had to be a reason…

“Your Majesty. It’s Walter.”

From beyond the bedroom door came a low voice, accompanied by a knock.

A beat late, Lucy registered the sound and jolted upright in bed. What time is it? she thought, pulling back the curtains—only to be met with sunlight so bright it nearly hurt her eyes.

“How late did I sleep in?”

Today was the day Walter was leaving for Antevasila.

For days, he had repeated the departure time like a parrot, and Lucy herself had told him to wait so she could see him off, even though he planned to leave at dawn.

The fact that he had come all the way to her bedroom door to knock suggested he had waited and waited, only to realize departure was imminent and had no choice but to come himself.

“J-Just wait a moment!”

She wrapped her hoarse voice in a dignified tone and called for the maids. She had intended to scold them for not waking her, but seeing their apologetic faces, she realized they must have known she’d spent the night tossing and turning and had chosen not to wake her.

Abandoning even the thought of reproach, she hurried to get ready.

Instead of washing with water, she wiped her face with a warm towel. With no time to properly style her hair, she hastily tied it into a ponytail. Throwing a straight-cut dress over her chemise, she finished dressing in a rush.