[269] Teraze's Bloodline (2)
Surprisingly, permission was granted easily, but Shirone had expected this outcome from the start.
The wealthy are free to do as they please. It had been the same when the Ozent family risked their lives to relocate the Great Library.
The stewards sorted the books with rigid adherence to the rules, but the nobles didn't care a whit if volumes went missing.
Eliza hugged Shirone and kept repeating something, but Shirone, lost in thought, heard none of it.
Suddenly Eliza remembered something and shot up.
"This is hardly the time. I can't stay dressed like this for my first meal with my son. My dear, I'll change."
"Do as you please."
Eliza left Shirone and headed for the dressing room. The female attendants fell into line behind her.
Shirone didn't think clothes would matter for a meal. But just as noble parties had dress codes, choosing an outfit for a reunion with one's son after eighteen years apparently mattered as much as the reunion itself to royalty.
Once Eliza departed, only Orcamp and Shirone remained. An awkward silence stretched between them. Whether he'd planned it from the start or the silence finally got to him, Orcamp spoke first.
"Shirone…was it?"
"Yes. It's the name my parents gave me."
Shirone emphasized that his parents had named him. Orcamp might have given him another name, but Shirone didn't want to abandon the one his parents had chosen.
"I see. It's a good name."
Contrary to Shirone's expectations, Orcamp said no more.
A thought crossed Shirone's mind: perhaps they'd never really given him a name at all. If so, they'd decided to abandon their child while he was still in his mother's womb.
"Do you resent me?"
"I did when I was little. But now—"
Shirone swallowed the rest. Saying it was fortunate he'd been born as Vincent's son would have been rude.
Orcamp read Shirone's feelings with his usual insight and gave a wry smile.
"So you don't, then."
"That's—"
"I know. Being royal looks splendid, but it's not a particularly pleasant position. There's a lot to be responsible for and a lot you must give up."
"You speak as if you gave me up."
Shirone's question hit home. Orcamp froze for a moment, then returned to a composed expression.
"I'm sorry. Not finding you—"
Shirone shook his head to cut him off.
He didn't want to hear it.
No—actually he did want to know. But he was sure whatever came from Orcamp's mouth wouldn't be the answer he wanted.
"It's fine. You found me now, didn't you?"
Orcamp felt Shirone's extraordinariness keenly. Despite eighteen years as a commoner, Shirone showed no hint of nerves inside a foreign royal palace. More than that, he had a steady mind that asserted itself even before the king and queen.
So...blood doesn't run thin.
Convinced of that, Orcamp turned to move matters forward and headed for his study. Then he paused, thinking Shirone would otherwise be left alone, and turned back.
"There's thirty minutes until the meal. Will you stay here?"
Shirone shook his head. One more minute in that room and he felt he might suffocate.
"No. I'll go out. May I look around the palace?"
The request was pure curiosity. Even for a noble, being invited to the palace was an honor. Setting aside prestige, it was a rare chance to see the place he'd wondered about since childhood.
Orcamp readily agreed.
"Very well. Look anywhere you like. This place will be your home now."
Shirone had thought of returning to the School of Magic, but now wasn't the time to bring it up, so he thanked Orcamp and left the room.
He walked the corridors with a fluttering heart. Where to start? The armory, the bakery, the chapel—anywhere would do, but the gallery of artworks tempted him most.
At a corner stood an elderly attendant. Shirone approached him to ask for directions, but before he could speak the attendant bowed.
"Lord Shirone, someone wishes to see you."
Shirone bristled at the announcement.
Normally he would have complied without protest, but he was tired of the royal family's arbitrary, self-centered ways. He didn't like being summoned.
"Later. I want to be alone for now. His Majesty said I could go anywhere until the meal."
He didn't know the attendant's rank, but Shirone made his displeasure obvious. After he had already spoken his mind before the king, he felt no need to curry favor with a steward.
The attendant, however, smiled slyly as if confident Shirone would have no choice but to follow.
"That's acceptable, of course, but wouldn't it be best if you met him?"
Shirone sensed menace in the smile and tamped down his irritation to regain his composure. It was blatant coercion. He was curious why someone would summon him so urgently with the meal not far off.
"Who is it?"
A sharp glint flashed through the attendant's eyes.
"Lord Teraje Jion. He's Kazra's First Prince. For now, at least."
The attendant stressed "for now." The phrasing suggested the First Prince's position might be unstable—but oddly the tone hinted at the opposite.
Shirone grew cautious at the name Jion. The faction to be most wary of in the palace was the Teraje clan. And the core of that faction had requested this meeting first.
He decided to meet quickly and size the man up. Knowing a person's disposition made their likely moves easier to predict. Jion had probably sent the attendant for the same reason.
"All right. I'll meet him."
"Excellent decision. This way, please."
The attendant led Shirone to the east wing of the private quarters.
Smaller than Orcamp's suite, but still ostentatiously lavish, it was the residential wing for royal family members.
A lion statue rose to the ceiling in the hall that marked the wing, from which four corridors stretched in each direction.
They walked twenty meters east to a gold-adorned door. The attendant opened it to reveal an indoor garden with white marble floors.
Shirone surveyed the interior before entering.
The garden was beautiful but felt ideal for plotting something. Though it was winter, palm trees with a southern air had been planted.
At the central table sat a boy and a girl younger than Shirone, drinking tea, while a sleek black cat and a fluffy white cat chased each other on the floor.
"Lord Jion, I've brought Lord Shirone."
Jion watched the cats play and barely raised his head at the attendant's announcement.
"Tell them to come in."
At the order, the attendant made a sly gesture for Shirone to enter.
Shirone set his chin and walked in with a stiff back.
Being underestimated from the start would ruin any strategy. The sound of the attendant closing the door had an oddly eerie air.
He approached the table and, ignoring courtesy, studied the siblings' faces with an intense gaze.
So these are—
Teraje Jion and Teraje Uorin.
They were the current First Prince and Princess of Kazra.
Of course they were Orcamp's children in blood, but they bore their mother Teraje's family name. The reason was simple: in the power game of a political marriage, Orcamp had come out on the short end. Among the public, it was regarded as Orcamp's humiliation.
Jion finally turned and looked down at Shirone. Seeing Shirone's serious face, he grinned as if amused.
"Haha! Don't be so tense. I'm not going to eat you."
Shirone didn't know Queen Teraje's exact appearance, but removing Orcamp's features from Jion's face gave him a rough idea.
Jion was striking: cold silver hair, deep double-lidded eyes, and a sharp, catlike jawline. From that alone Shirone could imagine how extraordinary Queen Teraje's beauty must be.
Uorin smiled and greeted Shirone.
"Hello, I'm Uorin. You're a mage, right? I saw you in a magazine."
The white cat leapt into Uorin's lap. Shirone couldn't take his eyes off the fourteen-year-old girl stroking its fur.
If Jion hinted at Teraje's looks, Uorin revealed the queen's nature.
She resembled Teraje far more than Jion did. In fact, it seemed Orcamp's blood was barely mixed into her at all.
She was beautiful, and beyond that beauty there was an almost spiritual, mystical quality to her appearance.
Shirone had felt something like this once before—when he first saw Ikael in Heaven. He hadn't expected to feel the same awe toward a human.
Uorin tilted her head slightly, then looked up at Shirone with nervous eyes.
"Why are you staring like that? We'll be family in a few days, you know. That look's kind of intimidating."
Shirone's face flamed.
"No, I didn't mean it like that—"
Uorin burst into laughter, clutching her stomach as if it were nothing.
"Hohoho! Just joking, just joking! I heard you're eighteen—so innocent. Come sit here."
Shirone steadied himself and took the seat Uorin offered. He had almost lost the initiative, but now the real conversation would begin.
A servant brought tea and they started talking in earnest.
Contrary to Shirone's expectation of a fierce psychological duel, Jion seemed sanguine about the situation.
From where he sat he could look down at Shirone.
"If you're not stupid, you know how things are at the palace. You know what weight the Teraje name carries. We called you here to settle things cleanly. I don't know what Father was thinking finding you, but you can't be king anyway. So don't go around with your head held too high."
For a First Prince candidate to bluntly urge someone to give up was practically a formal declaration of his own bid for the throne.
Having read every history book, Shirone knew precisely how blood-soaked dynastic battles unfolded.
Yet he was actually grateful Jion was so direct—Shirone had no interest in the throne from the start.
"Don't worry. I was invited, so I came. When this is done I'll go back. I have no desire to live here, and I don't want to be king."
"Hahaha! You talk well. Cunning types always say that and then stab you in the back. Typical slimy mage. Oh—wait, you're not even a mage yet? An aspiring mage."
Uorin admonished Jion.
"Brother, don't be so mean. Shirone had a rough childhood. It's amazing a commoner got into the School of Magic. They say he's a huge prospect now."
Uorin, unlike Jion, was friendly toward Shirone.
But from Shirone's perspective, Uorin's friendliness felt more dangerous than Jion's open hostility.
Uorin was also a Teraje. There was no reason for her to treat him kindly.
Smiling prettily, Uorin said, "You still seem guarded around us, Shirone oppa. It's all because of Jion oppa. Ah—can I call you 'brother'?"
Shirone couldn't get used to the atmosphere.
The Teraje siblings were like heaven and hell—polar opposites. Trying to keep track of both at once left his head in knots.
He suddenly noticed one thing they had in common.
They feared nothing.
Jion's blatant hostility and Uorin's incongruously warm attitude were both possible because they carried the enormous power of the Teraje name on their backs.