[V14C17] A Flower For You

Bridget remained in Valmbelk Castle for ten days after that tumultuous night. Then, on the morning of the tenth day, she paid a visit to Richard Konitz.

Richard was confined in a room on the fifth floor of Valmbelk Castle’s western tower.

Naturally, he was well-guarded to prevent escape. Even now, two Valmbelk soldiers stood watch at the doorway to ensure Bridget’s safety.

Richard’s room was a sparse one, containing only a single bed. It seemed to be originally meant for confining prisoners, as thick iron bars covered the windows.

He remained seated on the bed, bowing his head to Bridget as she entered.

Richard Konitz was only in his mid-thirties, but the stress of the incident looked like it had aged him an additional ten years.

Bridget returned a courteous bow before opening her mouth.

“I will be leaving tomorrow, so I came to offer my final greetings.”

“I see,” Richard muttered in a frail voice, with an equally frail smile. “Secretary Greyham, thank you for everything you’ve done for me. Truly, I cannot thank you enough.”

“You’re too kind, Prince Richard.”

Hearing that title made Richard twist his face into a bitter smile on the verge of tears. As if he tried to hide his emotions and failed spectacularly.

“…I see you still intend to address me that way.”

“I am a diplomat, after all.”

The title of Prince Richard was nothing more than a burden to him. It only served to prove the crimes of his father and the previous emperor, as well as the grudges of his mother.

And yet, Bridget consistently treated Richard as royalty. By referring to him as a prince, she could guarantee that he received proper treatment.

After all, General Strauss and his men had been locked away in the dungeon.

“Secretary Greyham, I have already admitted to everything during the interrogations over these past few days.”

“I see.”

“So, what I’m about to say… please take it as a mere mumbling of my regrets.”

Richard intertwined his fingers in front of his stomach, still seated on the bed.

Then, he continued in a suppressed tone.

“From the time I was capable of conscious thought… I was loved by my mother, my uncle, General Strauss, and everyone around me. I have no doubt that their love was genuine.”

His throat started trembling, as if swallowing back sobs.

“…Even so, I was terrified of them. Of their love for me.”

It wasn’t hard to imagine the expectations that came with their love.

—— “You are the hope of the Old Solyarg dynasty.”

—— “One day, you will be king.”

—— “Take revenge on the Kreving clan.”

Their love was more like a curse to him.

“It scared me every time they condemned the Empire, no matter how justified they were… Because one day, the same words might be pointed at me.”

Strauss claimed that the royal family of Old Solyarg was assassinated by the Kreving clan.

Setting aside the legitimacy of said claim, Richard must have been terrified. He shared the Kreving blood, so one day, they might condemn him as well.

“I just wanted to live my life without people scheming behind my back… Was that too much to ask for…?”

His murmurs were half-filled with self-loathing.

Richard Konitz knew about General Strauss’s plot. And yet he said nothing. He did nothing. He refused to fight, only shaking in his boots.

Surely, the masses will criticize him for his inaction. Knowing about a crime and remaining silent made him just as guilty. On top of that, he was a spineless coward.

…But Bridget viewed it differently.

If placed in the same situation, how many people would be strong enough to do something about it? Was being weak truly a crime?

Her goal was to become a diplomat who could hear the silent cries of the weak.

Even if listening to them was likely to cause additional complications.

(Even so, that is my wish… Your Highness.)

This incident had already been reported to the Black Lion Emperor.

The rebellion in Daguel that Henrik mentioned had apparently been suppressed, and it was decided that Richard Konitz, General Strauss, and their followers would be confined in a distant region of the Empire.

Bridget placed her hand on her chest.

“I pray that you can live the rest of your life in peace.”

This was all she could say right now.

＊　＊　＊

Bridget departed Richard’s room and walked down the corridors of Valmbelk Castle by herself.

She entered the hallway where Henrik had saved her from General Strauss’s men, and the pools of blood were gone without a trace.

Even so, the terror of that night came flooding back every time she passed through. The vivid red of their blood. The face of the soldier cut down by Henrik.

Six people died that night. All of them were subordinates of General Strauss.

Some fell at the hands of Henrik, others when the Valmbelk forces stormed the hall, and finally, two at the blade of the War Wolf.

According to Henrik, the number six was “relatively low casualties, thanks to you, Greyham-dono.”

Even so, Bridget took it seriously. She would never allow herself to forget this number.

Eventually, Bridget descended the stairs leading to the underground dungeon. An elderly guard stood in front of the slightly ajar door.

“Oh,” said the guard, looking slightly troubled. “Our guest from the Kingdom of Ridill… um, please wait one moment. The young master… erm, margrave is still inside…”

Bridget paused, hearing a faint voice from the other side of the door. Henrik’s voice.

“Reinmar, Willy, Konrad, Egmont, Volkhart, and…”

Henrik paused for a moment before saying the last name.

“…Teodor.”

The names of all the people who died during the incident.

There was a faint light within the dark dungeon.

Only the side of Henrik’s face was visible, illuminated by his lantern. The stern face of a man quietly mourning the dead.

Meanwhile, someone stirred behind the iron bars. The identity of the prisoner was too difficult to make out in the dark, but it seemed to be General Strauss.

“…You’ve always been that sort of man. You remember the enemies you’ve slain but not the allies you’ve saved.”

“That is usually limited to enemy generals though,” Henrik replied. “But I didn’t take your head, so I’ll carve those names into my heart instead.”

With that, Henrik made his way out of the dungeon. He spotted Bridget at the entrance and greeted her with a small bow.

“Pardon me. Did you have some business here, Greyham-dono?”

“No, not anymore,” Bridget replied.

He had already done plenty to mourn the fallen.

Henrik initially gave her a curious look, but then suddenly remembered something and started rummaging through his coat pocket.

“Oh, yes. You’ll be leaving tomorrow, right?”

“Yes.”

After Bridget nodded, Henrik pulled something out of his pocket.

It looked like a thin shard of red glass, a little smaller than the palm of Bridget’s hand.

“This is the scale of a fire dragon,” Henrik explained. “I did a bit of hunting while capturing the escapees. You can have it.”

“…”

The Abyss Shaman used his curses to immobilize the vast majority of the soldiers Strauss stationed outside the castle, but a few managed to slip away.

Thus, Henrik led his forces to find and capture the remnants.

Since Henrik had time to visit General Strauss in prison, he must have succeeded in capturing all of them.

Setting that aside, one does not simply hunt a fire dragon as a side job. Bridget could not help but be taken aback.

“Greyham-dono, I know I’ve caused you a lot of trouble,” Henrik said, scratching his head apologetically. “So I thought I should offer some kind of apology gift.”

“In that case, I’m afraid I cannot accept this. I am a diplomat, so personal gifts may be mistaken for bribes.”

“Oh, I guess that makes sense. What now…”

Henrik withdrew the scale with a frown.

Meanwhile, Bridget pulled out a handkerchief from her breast pocket, unfolding it for Henrik to see.

“This is already plenty for me.”

At the strong insistence of the creator, Helmfried Kollwitz, the handkerchief Elfriede was granted to Bridget.

Elfriede was a magical tool capable of deploying a powerful defensive barrier, but it could only be used once. In other words, it had returned to being an ordinary handkerchief.

Since it no longer functioned as a magical tool, everyone present agreed to “marry” the handkerchief to Bridget.

It went without saying that its maker shed tears during the event.

“Uh…” Henrik continued. “If I remember correctly, you asked for permission to receive the handkerchief during the report to His Majesty, right? Seems a bit overboard for a single handkerchief.”

“Kollwitz Lace can be worth as much as a national treasure, after all.”

“Eh!? Even though it’s just lace!?”

Given Henrik’s look of utter shock, he must not have known of the value of Kollwitz Lace.

Bridget put away the handkerchief and glanced at Henrik’s jacket. There was fancy embroidery along the cuffs, but it showed clear signs of heavy wear.

“As you can see, I have no need for additional rewards. Rather, I should be the one compensating for your jacket.”

“No, no, I cannot possibly accept that. In that case, I guess we can just call it even…? Hmm, but I’ve caused you so much trouble, so I still feel a bit guilty… I haven’t been much of a good host either…”

Henrik crossed his arms and muttered to himself in thought, until he suddenly came up with the perfect idea.

“I’ve got just the thing. Please wait here for a moment.”

Without waiting for Bridget’s reply, Henrik promptly ran out of the room.

What on earth would it be this time? Did he intend to bring a dragon horn or fang since she rejected the scale?

Even though it was physically impossible, Bridget couldn’t help but imagine the margrave cheerfully dragging back a whole dragon carcass.

She started getting a bit anxious, but Henrik returned in less than five minutes. He wasn’t dragging a dragon, nor was he covered in blood.

“Thank you for waiting. Here you go.”

Henrik held out his right hand, which he had been hiding behind his back. There was a single flower on his palm—a light purple flower shaped like a star.

“A single flower can’t be mistaken for a bribe, right? I offer this to my comrade-in-arms as a display of my respect and gratitude.”

“This flower is…” Bridget murmured.

“A potato flower,” Henrik said with a proud grin. “One of few strong enough to bloom even in these barren lands.”

Bridget quickly covered her mouth with her hand. The smile she failed to hold back slipped out through the gap between her fingers.

She could not help but let out a girlish laugh.

“Hah… haha… I see. In that case, I gladly accept.”

Bridget gently took the flower and pinned it to the buttonhole of her uniform. Then, she straightened her chest a little.

“How does it look?”

“A perfect fit.”

They looked at each other’s faces and laughed again.

＊　＊　＊

When Bridget returned to her room, Albert and Patrick were having tea. Both stared at her—or rather, the flower pinned to her uniform—with looks of surprise.

“I have returned.”

Bridget bowed in greeting, but Albert simply blinked a few times in response. He quivered his lips as if trying to say something, but he could not talk, as he had just stuffed a pastry in his mouth.

“Albert-sama~. You need to swallow before you can speak.”

“I already did!”

Albert snapped back at Patrick, then gulped down his tea and let out a deep breath. He tried, but failed, to maintain his composure as he asked the question.

“Bridget, w-what is that flower?”

Bridget lowered her gaze to the flower on her chest.

For a second, the blue rose made from a handkerchief long ago flashed through her mind.

The small hand of the kind boy, the emotion swelling in her chest—those were Bridget’s treasures.

(This does not overwrite my old memories.)

It was simply a new memory, and one just as precious. She would gain more of such memories as long as she continued onward.

It was a flower strong enough to bloom even in a barren land. A flower that sustained the lives of many. A flower of the land she protected. But also…

“This is the medal I earned, Your Highness.”

Outside the window, there were more potato flowers blooming in the fields of Valmbelk than when they first arrived. They dyed the early summer in vivid colors.

Bridget engraved that scene onto her eyes, caressing the light purple flower on her chest with pride.

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