WTBHI 31

Chapter 31

Crown Prince Severian waited endlessly for a messenger from the assassins’ guild, oblivious to the fact that none would come—Cheshion and Gremory had already taken care of them.

As he paced irritably through the palace gardens after lunch, Ibelia blocked his path.

“Brother.”

“What do you want? If you’re here to nag, piss off.”

“Shouldn’t you consider a prophet’s warnings a blessing?”

“You only ever bring bad news. That’s why I’m telling you to piss off.”

Severian tried to shove past her, but Ibelia stood firm and delivered her warning:

“I know what you’ve done. If you want to understand what it means, ask His Majesty.”

With that, she walked away.

“…What the hell was that?”

A chill ran down Severian’s spine. He tried to dismiss her words, but they gnawed at him.

‘I was just teaching that bastard who locked me up a lesson—what’s wrong with that?’

Defying his confinement, he went to the Emperor’s palace. The Emperor sighed heavily at the sight of him but didn’t scold him for breaking the order—it had only ever been a warning.

But the moment he heard Severian’s actions, the Emperor erupted.

“What you’ve done is tantamount to declaring war on the Grand Duke! You fool! Do you truly not understand why I’ve left him alone all this time?”

“You haven’t left him alone! I know you’ve sent assassins periodically!”

“The ones I sent were incapable of harming the Grand Duke’s household! They were for surveillance and posturing! But you—you sent real assassins! What if they’d succeeded?!”

The Emperor finally confessed the truth: After Iris’s witch hunt, Cheshion awakened his combat abilities and grew venomous toward the royal family. The Emperor, who could foresee death, had prophesied that everyone in the palace would die by Cheshion’s hand.

“So Your Majesty negotiated with Cheshion. You exiled him to the frontier in exchange for declaring witches extinct?”

“Exactly. Even then, I wasn’t at ease. That’s why I’ve been sending watchers—to monitor whether he’s preparing to strike!”

Cold sweat dripped down Severian’s back. If Luke’s assassins had caused significant damage—if they’d angered Cheshion—

“Father, I didn’t know! I truly didn’t realize Cheshion was strong enough to kill us all!”

“Damn it. There’s no choice now. We’ll have to placate him at the upcoming royal banquet. How long until then?”

“About two weeks.”

“Damn it, Severian. Write a formal apology and send it with the invitation. By now, the Grand Duke has likely eliminated your assassins and traced them back to you.”

“…Yes.”

Meanwhile, Ibelia, passing near the Emperor’s palace, scooped up a gray cat wandering the halls and murmured:

“What a mess. Right?”

She strolled leisurely through the gardens.

---

“…What is this?”

Cheshion stared blankly at Severian’s apology letter—a rambling, groveling explanation. Before he could finish reading, Gremory snatched it and tossed it into the fireplace.

“Wow. It burns well.”

“…Mori, that’s lèse-majesté.”

Just then, Anna arrived with jerky.

“My lady! Snacks for you!”

“Wow! Jerky!”

Cheshion shook his head as Gremory ignored royal crimes for dried meat. Thankfully, she didn’t burn the banquet invitation, too.

‘This invitation is unusually extravagant.’

Normally, Cheshion either received no invitation or a terse message: “Come if you want.”

‘I should brief Isollen and Mori. There’s something they’ll need to do at the banquet.’

Suddenly, Isollen burst into the study.

“Your Grace! Can we host a tea party this weekend?”

“Sure.”

“Yay! Mori! He said yes!”

Through the open door, Cheshion saw Gremory sampling jerky, Anna listening intently, and Isollen bouncing excitedly about tea plans.

‘What a circus.’

He smirked and tucked the invitation into a drawer. The headache-inducing discussion could wait until after the tea party.

Once things settled, Cheshion pulled Isollen aside.

“Isollen. I wanted to ask—”

“Yes?”

“You were badly injured by that assassin. Are you really alright? You seem too fine, which worries me. If you’re not, I can—”

“I’m fine. Getting stabbed is just part of being a black-haired witch. I’m used to it.”

She grinned, brushing it off. Relieved, Cheshion returned the ring he’d borrowed from her—its gemstone had reverted from black to emerald.

“Here. Thanks for lending it. It’s yours again.”

“Oh my, a ring worn by His Grace? How sentimental. I’ll treasure it.”

With another playful jab, she left.

Peace seemed to return to the Grand Duke’s estate. Severian had promised no more assassins, and the Emperor’s lavish invitation signaled reconciliation.

The problem, absurdly, arose at the tea party.

---

The tea party went smoothly—until it didn’t.

Isollen prepared everything meticulously, while Gremory lazed about, clueless about proper etiquette. Unbothered, Isollen happily taught her, though Gremory barely listened.

Isollen had handwritten invitations to four young noblewomen she sort of tolerated. Miraculously, all four RSVP’d with warm notes about wanting to grow closer.

Thrilled, Isollen secured premium tea leaves with help from her family, the House of Sien—excluding the infamous “Rilkana blend” from that incident.

On the day, six women (including Gremory and Isollen) gathered around a round table.

“Thank you all for coming! I missed you.”

“Of course we’d come to your tea party! We missed you too!”

“We’ve been waiting for an invite! But—who’s the short-haired lady beside you?”

“Call her ‘Mori.’ She’s new to tea parties, so be kind.”

“Hello, Mori! I’m Catherine.”

The guests quickly pegged Mori as a witch-hunt survivor with no surname or social graces, treading carefully.

“Hello. Pleased to share this moment.”

Gremory delivered a rehearsed smile. The ladies exchanged pleasantries, chatting about art exhibits and upcoming events—

Until an uninvited guest arrived, red hair swishing.

“My~ Isollen! How could you forget me? I knew it was a mistake, so I came anyway. You’d never exclude your dearest friend, right?”

Catherine Ortegà.

The second daughter of House Ortegà, who treated lower-ranked nobles like servants—and Isollen’s longtime rival over Cheshion’s attention.

She scanned the table, then yanked the least important-looking guest (Gremory) out of her seat and took it.

“This is clearly my spot. Right next to you, with my favorite apple pie—GACK!”

Gremory immediately seized Catherine by the hair.