In the afternoon, Shichen lay on the lawn in the courtyard, lazily watching Crusch and Wilhelm practice swordplay.
He lay on his side in a very comfortable pose, his head pillowed on Rem's lap.
Rem was delighted. With Shichen's permission, she could now stroke his hair. Her small hand rested lightly on his head, fingers combing into his hair, an irrepressible smile on her face.
Half-dozing, Shichen squinted as Crusch and Wilhelm's figures crossed and recrossed to the clatter of blades. He wasn't much interested in their drills; what he cared about more was the soft, warm weight of Rem's thighs beneath his cheek.
Even through the skirt he could feel the smooth heat of her skin. Rem's legs had a very plush feel to them; if she wore stockings they'd be hard not to notice. He wondered if, if he asked, Rem would agree. It probably wouldn't be hard.
Blue sky, white clouds, warm sun—he had barely rested on Rem's lap before he was almost asleep.
Come to think of it, he'd been in this world over a month and it hadn't rained once.
Emilia was studying in her room—books she'd left with Shichen for safekeeping when they arrived. With no need to hurry back and business settled, she had nothing else to do, and after the royal selection her motivation to study was strong.
Esther and Beatrice were in Shichen's room playing chess; their treatment these days was first-class—fine food, fine drink, everything arranged. Crusch had even wanted to assign each of them her own room, but the two refused outright. Naturally, they would sleep with Shichen.
Crusch didn't think much of it, but Felix, that adorable "boy," couldn't help teasing Shichen for sleeping with two little girls. Even Emilia suddenly minded—though she'd always known he slept with the two of them. Still, that was a good sign: she was starting to mind; she was starting to get jealous; she was starting to recognize her own feelings.
The ring of crossing blades went on and on, keeping Shichen from truly falling asleep, until at last the sound ceased. The bout had ended.
"—Phew. Thank you for your guidance, Wilhelm-sama." Crusch took the towel a servant brought, wiping the sweat from her face as she spoke between breaths.
"It's no more than I should do," Wilhelm replied without so much as a flush, as if nothing at all had happened.
Which made sense. His strength placed him among the top tier in this world; a practice match could hardly exhaust him, even at his age.
"Shichen, you must have found that laughable," Crusch said at last, looking over. Her words said "laughable," but there was no shame in her face.
"What's there to laugh at?" Shichen yawned and sat up in return.
Rem opened her mouth without speaking, but the reluctance on her face was plain to see.
"Don't you think swordplay is ill-suited to women?" Crusch asked.
"Who told you that?"
"Pardon me, a joke. I've heard it since childhood—'the duchess's daughter is a frail girl, yet mad for swordsmanship; prefers breaking arms to admiring flowers; mention the Karsten house and you can't avoid the fool…' All that."
"You didn't hit them?" Shichen asked.
"Hit them?" Crusch blinked.
"If they say you're a frail girl, make them learn who's frail."
"Your way of thinking is…unexpected," Crusch said, eyes brightening.
"Isn't it normal? I don't see any problem with girls wielding swords. On the contrary, it's handsome—compelling. You were dazzling just now."
"Was I… Thank you…" Crusch looked a little embarrassed; it was the first time anyone had praised her swordplay as "dazzling." Felix said such things often, but she was used to those—the blind adoration that came with loving her.
"Don't be embarrassed. Trust your choices, your loves. Outside opinions are meaningless."
"You really are, as Ferris said, an extraordinary person," Crusch laughed.
"Rest easy. That's how I've always done things."
"I believe you," Shichen said, nodding.
"You believe me?" Crusch looked at him, surprised.
"Isn't that natural? From what you said in the hall, I already knew how firm your will is."
To dare speak of replacing the dragon the kingdom had relied on for ages—that conviction and courage were admirable.
"Shichen, if only I'd met you earlier," Crusch murmured. If she'd known him from childhood, perhaps the road to now would have been even better—he felt like a kindred spirit.
"It's not too late. And haven't you always had Felix's support?" Shichen smiled.
"True…" Crusch smiled as well.
"I'll take my leave," Wilhelm interjected suddenly. Without further word, he turned and departed.
"Forgive him, he…" Crusch began.
"I know," Shichen waved it off.
Wilhelm had already told them why he'd vowed to slay the White Whale—though Shichen had known. It was a simple reason, and a weighty one: his wife had been killed by it. He loved her deeply and sought revenge, chasing the Whale's shadow, and Crusch alone had agreed to help.
The Whale was hard to find and terribly strong; few dared face it, and most couldn't even track it. A false promise couldn't have won Wilhelm's service—he was not a man to be deceived.
"It shouldn't be long now before the old man fulfills his wish," Shichen said softly, watching him go.
"Huh? What do you mean?" Crusch asked quickly.
"Just a hunch. But my hunches are very accurate—it shouldn't take long."
"A hunch?" Crusch didn't doubt it. For a man contracted to two Great Spirits, his "hunch" carried weight—almost like prophecy.
Which meant…
"Um, Shichen…" Crusch suddenly grew a little bashful.
"What is it?"
"About what Beatrice-sama said at lunch…"
"What Beatrice—… ahem, she was talking nonsense. Don't take it to heart," Shichen said, mouth twisting.
She meant Beatrice's glib remark that Crusch would one day be his woman. Had anyone else said it, Crusch wouldn't have cared. But Beatrice was a Great Spirit, and her words weren't to be dismissed—delivered so matter-of-factly they didn't sound like mere teasing. She herself had never considered marriage, leaving such things to family politics. Yet if it were Shichen… she suddenly felt he might be a good match.
He was tremendously powerful, contracted to two Great Spirits—an ideal partner by any measure. The only pity was that he was already Emilia's knight and plainly liked her; and Priscilla was keen as a hawk, set on stealing him—competition would be fierce. But that only suited a woman like her.
She wasn't sure whether it was Beatrice's words that sparked this thought, or whether she truly had some interest in Shichen. She didn't reject the notion. Perhaps it was much like their earlier conversation: few people understood her for herself—most only saw status and house. But Shichen saw her.
"To have such a person at one's side would be very comfortable," she thought.
"Shichen, you denied it a bit quickly—is it because you don't see me as a woman?" Crusch asked before she could stop herself.
"How could that be? Your charm is great; even like this, you're captivating," Shichen countered at once.
"'Like this'… Forgive me—this is improper. I should bathe." Crusch, suddenly conscious of sweat and dishevelment, turned and left.
"This is all… Beatrice's fault," Shichen sighed helplessly.
"Hmph. Shichen, you seem awfully happy," Rem's unhappy voice chimed in.
"Do I?" He looked back at Rem's jealous little face and couldn't help laughing.
"Really? Crusch-sama seems quite taken with you," Rem pressed.
"So what? I care far more about you, Rem."
"R—really?" Rem's eyes blinked bright with happiness.
"You don't believe me?" Shichen cupped her face, leaning in slowly.
"Rem certainly… believes you. But, could you give Rem something stronger as proof?" she whispered, lips pursed.
"What sort of proof do you want?"
"If you care more about Rem… please…"
Rem closed her eyes, tipped up her chin, and puckered slightly. The meaning was obvious. He had no idea where she'd learned that—even asking for a kiss—but he had no reason to refuse.
He stepped forward, their bodies nearly touching, and bowed his head, cradling her face as he pressed his lips to her rosy ones. Rem suddenly lifted her arms, hugged him tight, and rose on tiptoe.
"Mmph…"
~~~
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