Crossed Minds (4)

She likes me?

Theorad could think of nothing to say.

It wasn't that he hadn't expected the elf to want something from him. He simply didn't know what answer could possibly suit the sight before him.

She was holding out both arms, plainly asking to be embraced.

Her red eyes, usually so bright and sharp, were clouded and vacant. Her lips had dried, her silver hair was a mess, and stray locks lay across her forehead without bothering her in the least.

Nothing about her looked like the woman he knew.

“Hug…”

Theorad remained silent.

The elf's eyes narrowed. Tears gathered, and her shoulders began to shake.

“Hug me…”

It was an absurd request from someone who would never normally have asked him such a thing.

After watching her for a moment, Theorad sighed. He had a fair idea why she was revealing this vulnerable side of herself.

“All right.”

He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her.

The elf immediately hugged him back. She nestled against his chest, rubbing her face against him with a blissful little smile.

“Ehehe…”

Moments earlier, she had been crying. Now her joy was so simple and open that it was difficult to believe she was the same person.

Perhaps these feelings were more honest than anything she'd shown before. But they were coming from a mind that was not yet sound, and Theorad couldn't know how much weight to give them.

He patted her back with a bittersweet smile.

Hasty footsteps sounded down the corridor.

“Viscount Theorad!”

Professor Roylen hurried toward them, evidently drawn out by the commotion among the servants. The professor stopped short at the sight of the elf in Theorad's arms.

“Ah…”

Alarm turned to relief.

“I'm glad she's on her feet. I thought something terrible had happened.”

“Is this mana exhaustion?”

Roylen nodded.

“Yes. Treatment brought her through the night of isolation, but it couldn't restore all the mana she spent. Ordinarily, someone in that condition might hover between life and death for three days.”

Roylen regarded the elf with open astonishment.

“I don't know whether it's her strength of will or simply her natural constitution, but walking out of her room so soon is practically miraculous.”

“Then her physical condition isn't the problem?”

“Physically, she seems remarkably well, considering. Mentally, though, she's still behaving like a child.”

Theorad glanced at the bruises on her arms and thighs. She had plainly hurt herself in her efforts to find him. He could hardly let her wander about when she still couldn't stand steadily.

“How long until her mind returns to normal?”

Roylen took a moment to understand the question.

“Oh. Usually around a week. Natural recovery shouldn't take very long.”

A week.

At least there was an end in sight.

Theorad eased away from the embrace.

The elf looked up at him with an empty, disappointed gaze, as if wondering why he would stop holding her.

“We should go back to your room. You need more rest.”

She shook her head.

“No…”

“What if I stay beside you for a while? Would that do?”

“Theorad? Then yes. Good!”

Her wholehearted delight made the promise seem heavier than he'd intended.

He took her hand and turned to the professor.

“I'll look after her for now. I can't do it alone for an entire week, though. Could you find a reliable woman among the servants to help?”

“Of course. I'll choose someone experienced.”

“Thank you.”

Theorad bowed and led the elf back toward her sickroom.

Her steps were uncertain, but he supported her each time she faltered. By the time they reached the room, they had made the journey without another fall.

He helped her onto the bed.

Naturally, she refused to lie down.

“No…!”

She dragged herself upright against the headboard. If she fell asleep, she seemed to think, Theorad might disappear.

Such a troublesome patient.

Theorad drew his brows together, deliberately making his face stern.

“If I tell you to stay in bed, you stay in bed. Have you forgotten you're a slave and maid of House Deharem?”

Roylen had said her present state was like that of a child. There was little point relying on complicated arguments; she needed firm, simple instructions that would keep her safe.

“Until you're better, you are not to leave this room without permission. You mustn't strain yourself. That's an order, and it's for both our sakes. Understood?”

He spoke severely enough to make an ordinary servant nod immediately.

The elf only tipped her head and smiled.

“Yes. I love you, Theorad.”

She didn't understand a word.

Theorad gave an involuntary laugh. Yet it was difficult to dislike that carefree smile.

“I wish you'd smile at me like that when you're yourself.”

He shook his head and softened his voice.

“How about an old story? Father used to tell me stories when I was small, and I'd often fall asleep listening.”

---

The imperial palace in the capital.

Office of the Minister of Military Affairs.

Knock, knock.

“Your Highness. May I enter?”

Benelia recognized the voice. She looked up from an imperial edict announcing the beginning of war.

“Come in.”

An elderly officer in uniform entered with disciplined steps and bowed. His hair had gone gray, but his eyes remained as keen as any young soldier's.

This was Proban Otaflet, staff officer and adjutant of the Dawning Steps, the imperial combat formation under Benelia's command.

“What is it?”

“Your Highness, I have come to make a report.”

“Then report.”

“Count Leonberg of Pelgaroin has begun mustering troops. Approximately eight thousand are expected to deploy to the capital as promised, and command is to be transferred to Your Highness.”

Benelia tapped the desk.

A little late, but acceptable. The departure ceremony was only a month away. Neither the Emperor nor his ministers could postpone the northern expedition indefinitely now.

Even if the Pelgaroin soldiers followed her rather than her father, he would have difficulty objecting. In some ways, she would have preferred that he complained; it might have given her an excuse to separate from the main army as its vanguard.

“Good. And the logging in Grimund Forest?”

“It's proceeding quickly. The nomads on the outskirts have been more useful than expected. We feared attacks because the forest borders the Demon Lord's territory, but none have come. Did Your Highness make some arrangement?”

“I sent a letter to Baal.”

Proban went rigid.

It was one thing to suspect that the princess had dealings with demons. Hearing her admit it so calmly was another.

Benelia continued as though discussing an ordinary supply order.

“I told Baal that the Empire is preparing to attack. If our full strength advances, the demons in that territory will suffer. I offered to stop the imperial advance if they cooperate, and warned them what will happen if they disregard me.”

Her expression didn't change.

“That's the substance of the letter. They know what's going on, even if they pretend otherwise. Understand?”

“Why would you tell me such a thing…?”

“Because if I concealed it, you'd suspect me. Suspicion breeds fantasies, and fantasies become distrust. You're my lieutenant, Proban Otaflet. I'd rather you hear it from me.”

Benelia's golden eyes sharpened.

“You remained loyal when I spoke of creating a new Empire. You recognized my father's tyranny and the suffering of ordinary people. Does using the demons as one part of that plan suddenly destroy those convictions?”

Proban bowed his head.

“Never, Your Highness. I was merely—”

“If our revolution succeeds, we'll capture and exterminate the demons in imperial territory. Cooperating for a time doesn't make us allies forever.”

He lowered his head further, ashamed that fear had made him doubt his commander.

“Forgive me, Your Highness!”

“There's nothing to forgive. Go and have a position-changing magic circle prepared in the area that's been cleared. We'll be moving a great many people; I won't tolerate mistakes.”

“Understood!”

His vigorous answer was almost too much for the small office. Benelia gestured that the report was over.

Proban turned to leave, then hesitated.

The recent quarrel involving Prince Leonhard and a promising nobleman had been on his mind.

“Your Highness?”

“What now?”

“May I ask what Theorad Deharem means to you?”

They had met repeatedly, and since the recent raid she had posted guards at her private villa, where Theorad was recovering. If this was a political calculation, Proban wanted to understand it.

Benelia considered the question.

“I owe him a debt. I'll repay it. Is that sufficient?”

“Yes. I only wondered whether Your Highness might be fond of him as a man.”

Benelia's eyebrow twitched. She swallowed and fixed Proban with a hard glare.

“He has a fiancée. If you're going to talk nonsense, leave.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

He bowed and withdrew.

Alone again, Benelia picked up the imperial edict. There were preparations to make and a cabinet meeting at which she would need an argument for taking the vanguard.

Yet Theorad's face kept returning to her mind.

That damned old man.

How dared he leave his commander thinking about something so distracting?

She ground her teeth, then tossed the edict aside.

“Damn it…”

For some reason, she couldn't concentrate on politics today.