Chapter Text
This is it. I’m finally going to die.
Conrart, take care of Wolfram for me…and His Majesty… and Mother… and the country…
Even in my dying moments, I take a second to grieve for my second brother.
Splash!
“Bwaaah!”
Anissina throws the now-empty bucket over her shoulder, standing above me with her hands on her hips. As usual, her movements are so violent her high ponytail swings at 45 degree angles behind her.
“Come on, Lord von Voltaire! Surely a few electric shocks like that can’t take you down! Honestly, I’m disappointed in you!”
I sigh to myself, stalling getting up as much as I can. My head hurts like mad, and my hair is plastered all over my back now. If I stay drenched like this late in the autumn, I’ll surely come down with something, especially since I’ve been sleeping less and less these days, working on that project of mine whenever I got a chance. But I know better than to call it a day with her, or ask for some time to ch-change—
“A-ah-choo!”
“Oh, my, are you by chance catching a cold? Don’t worry, Gwendal, I have just the thing--”
The thing she pulls out was apparently inspired by a device from His Majesty’s world, something called a hair-blower. She seemed very interested in the idea, and recreated an almost-perfect replica, complete with wires and all--
“N-no----!”
Only we don’t have any sockets to plug in those wires, and thus they stay naked.
I only get days off when I fall sick.
That’s the conclusion I came to after even Gisela could recommend nothing more than a good week’s rest. On the other hand, I suppose I should be glad that His young Majesty volunteered enthusiastically to pick up the slack. I never thought young people at that age would actually do extra work of their own accord—When Wolfram was that age, all he did every day was try to distract us from our work.
“What are you thinking over there? You’re on leave, give those wrinkles of yours a break.”
“Conrad,” I sigh, massaging my brows and willing myself out of the subconscious habit of frowning, if for no other reason than to hear less of Mother’s squeals every time she drops by. “Is it just me, or are youngsters these days harder to understand? I can’t comprehend how a few hundred years makes it feel like a different world altogether.”
“You talk like you’re five hundred,” the second son smiles, deftly peeling an orange apple. “Personally, I feel Mother’s thoughts are even more confusing than His Majesty’s, so maybe it’s true what they say… A hundred years make a generation gap?”
That doesn’t sound too right, but my head hurts too much for me to figure why it’s wrong, either, so I just groan and fall back onto my pillow.
“My, my, that sounds horrible. Maybe I shouldn’t have visited after all?”
That familiar-yet-not completely similar way of talking… and the characteristic chicken cluck in between. I resist the urge to squeeze my eyes shut and pretend to be asleep as Lord Densham von Karbelnikoff pushes past the half-opened door with only a courteous attempt at a knock.
“Hmm, you seem to look as bad as you sound. Really, Lord von Voltaire, my sister seems quite disappointed in you.”
The siblings share more in common than just their fiery red hair, and definitely more than either of them will admit.
“However, there cannot be disappointment if there was no hope prior. Therefore, Gwendal, I’m afraid you only have yourself to blame.”
I crack open an eyelid, feeling too tired to take this man on in an argument, and yet my pride won’t let it just slide. “What do you mean by that?”
“Well…” Densham takes a seat on my bed, setting down his chicken—Minchey the 25th? 26th? He’s been going through them fairly quickly recently, a fact Annissina seems happy to ignore—and accept a slice of fruit from Conrad. “The way Anissina is now, to tell you the truth, is two thirds due to you*.”
I can’t help but frown again. That’s a very serious accusation to make. If I were to be credited for half of Anissina’s cri—I mean, ‘achievements’…
A shudder runs down my spine, and I push away the sudden, ridiculous notion to lock myself in a cell and throw away the key.
“On what grounds do you claim so?” Because if everyone else in the palace decided to place two-thirds of the blame on me, I would probably safer behind bars.
“So this is what they mean, ‘the people involved are always the blurrest’?”No, that doesn’t sound right, either. “Anyway, Gwendal, do you seriously believe my dear sister was born—the way she is?”
I give her brother a sideways glance. They had the same hair and eyes*-- and also that same brand of stubborn Karbelnikoff self-centeredness, though Densham’s showed in the way he tried to marry his sister off for money, and Anissina’s in the way she has no regards for experimental ethics*.
I sigh again. “What did I do to get involved with you two--”
“You played with us when we were kids,” Densham states matter-of-factly, rubbing his rooster’s comb. Conrad looks at both of us amusedly, having escaped this fate by: one, being completely without maryoku; and two, spending most of his childhood and adolescence wandering the human lands with his father. “Anissina was bad, sure, but you made her worse by being kind to her and never saying ‘no’ properly.”
“I always reject her!”
“You protest feebly. There’s a difference. Honestly, sometimes I don’t know how such a large, intimidating guy like you can be such a softie inside.” Yup, definitely siblings. “But—”
Densham whips around suddenly, pointing a neatly-manicured finger straight between my eyes—not unlike what his sister does. “—It is that very kindness, that convinced my sister she can get away with anything she wants by trampling over weak guys like you!”
“H-hey--”
“And now she can’t ever get married, because no other man can withstand her. They either run away to protect their manhood, or fall to their knees and beg for her mercy, both of which are unacceptable!”
“Then what--”
“You, Lord von Voltaire Gwendal, have single-handedly ruined my sister’s happiness!”
“N-now there, it can’t be as bad as--”
Conrad turns away, clapping his hand over his mouth, his shoulders shaking. I glance to him frantically for help, but Densham grabs me by my shoulders, forcing me to meet his gaze head-on—
“Gwendal. Take responsibility for your actions. For my sister’s happiness, for Anissina, I’m begging you—
“Marry her.”
After that my mind goes blank—I think I pass out.