A rather surprising missive had reached Varant, landing first on the desk of a certain Sir Fontaine. Stunned by its contents, and caught in a rather uncomfortable role as its first recipient, he turned to Renea for council.

She, too, was left speechless—not only by the letter's terse avalanche of revelations, but by the gall Sigurd had shown in addressing it to a knight before his own family.

'Sir Fontaine,

I am soon to return to Varant, with my daughter Béatrice and her mother Ciel, formerly of the Blanc household. Please see to it that my family is duly warned. We will arrive tomorrow.

Regards,

Sigurd eum-Creid'

"Is Sigurd… actually kind of stupid?" Renea murmured, the words slipping out before she realized how mean they sounded.

"...His Grace has always had his difficulties with expression," Fontaine said, coughing. "I merely feared that I was hardly the most suitable messenger."

Renea held her head, before giving Fontaine an apologetic glance. "I will see to it the news is delivered. You needn't trouble yourself further."

With a courteous bow, Fontaine departed the council chamber, while Renea cradled her growing headache. There were too many things to process at once. A surviving Blanc? A secret child? Where had this soap opera come from? He'd only been gone a week.

To share blood with those responsible for their mother's death…

Renea shook her head. She, of all people, had no right to judge another by their lineage. And yet, the memory of the attack on their carriage seven years ago still clung to her heart like wet, dripping snow.

How would Ennieux and Sophie feel…?

She waited until night fell, gathering the two in the ducal study just outside of the family's shared bedroom.

"Tell me, Renea—just what has you so anxious today?" Ennieux asked, arms crossed. "If Sigurd has sent a letter, then all our fretting over the brute was for naught! Is he injured? Surely there's no wound so dire the Saintess's divine blessing couldn't heal it."

Her aunt was already dressed for bed—hair loosely tied, slippers on, robe drawn snug. Ennieux was a woman who went to bed early and slept in late. Every minute was precious.

"Where has that fool been?" Sophie asked stiffly. "Ought he be thrown into the dungeons for dereliction of duty?"

She'd grown increasingly churlish with each day of Sigurd's absence. At first, Renea assumed it was due to the added burden to her duties at the northern wall.

Slowly, though, Renea realized the truth: that Sophie worried the most out of all of them.

On that fateful day seven years ago, Sophie had been left behind. And because of it, she learned a kind of helplessness reserved for the truly strong: to be powerful enough to save everyone within your grasp, only to lose someone the moment they stepped beyond it.

"Well, he's been um—" Renea faltered, as she held the letter out. "Honestly…? Just read it."

Both Ennieux and Sophie sat side-by-side on the bench, and spent a very long time staring at a very short letter.

Ennieux finally blinked. "He… what? Is this a jest?" She squinted at the ink. "Did Ailn write this?"

"No," Renea sighed. "That's Sigurd's handwriting."

"I've—never known Sigurd to joke—" Ennieux sputtered. Then, her face started to flush, as if her blood pressure were only now catching up. "He would have had Sir Fontaine inform us?!"

Renea shrugged, turning her eyes away as Ennieux began to rant about propriety. Her aunt's cozy, pre-bedtime mood had clearly been ruined.

Sophie, however, was quiet. Renea shot her a glance. Her sister was gripping the letter tightly.

"Sophie?" Renea prodded.

Avoiding Renea's gaze, Sophie passed the letter back. "For a man who always has so much to say," she said, her tone clipped, "his conduct is unbecoming."

"Ugh! This will drive me mad all night!" Ennieux fumed.

"Yes it's…" Renea sighed, pressing her fingers to her forehead. "Certainly a hypocrisy that undermines his years and years of lectur—"

She trailed off, noticing a scrunch in her sister's eye, and a tremor in her frown. "What's wrong, Sophie…?"

"Nothing is wrong," Sophie said. "I just found it strange that he would have an illegitimate child."

So she said, but her lip trembled and her voice caught, just barely. "What drove him to suddenly claim her…?"

Sigurd, Ciel, and Bea rode toward Varant in a lavish carriage they'd procured from Calum, a circumstance which left the knight commander feeling restless and confined.

When he'd been the duke, he'd often had to ride in the carriage of state. Yet he'd never taken such a prolonged journey on anything except horseback. Having Ailn and the Azure Knights guarding them from outside the carriage only deepened the strangeness of it all.

Not wishing to discomfit Bea nor Ciel, Sigurd crossed his arms and closed his eyes, feigning rest.

"Think of it merely as time you're spending with us," Ciel said gently, placing her hand over Sigurd's. She'd seen right through him. "This is Bea's first time riding a carriage and she gets to share it with her father. She'll surely remember this for the rest of her life."

"You're right," Sigurd muttered. He opened his eyes, letting his gaze settle on Bea—sitting on her mother's lap, her stuffed turtle in her arms as she stared out the window.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

"Our new home is gonna be cold, Aristurtle…" Bea said thoughtfully. "Will you still be able to swim…?"

Of course. Sigurd had almost forgotten. He rapped his knuckles twice against the front panel separating them from the coachman. After a moment, it slid open.

"What is it, sire?" the coachman called out casually over his shoulder.

"There's a tradepost not far off. We'll pass it once we're through the last stretch of the Singing Mountains," Sigurd said. "Bea and Ciel still need proper coats."

"Of course, sire," the coachman said with a nod.

They arrived at the tradepost a few hours later, just as Bea and Ciel had begun to shiver. A few of the Azure Knights had already gathered around the fur trapper's stalls, inspecting cloaks and boots they seemed half-set on buying. Others purchased pouches of dried meat, a small indulgence on the last leg of their journey.

Bea and Ciel now wore woolen coats lined with fur and faced in leather to block the wind. While Ciel looked quite at ease, even she couldn't suppress a faint smile at the sight of Bea, nearly swallowed up in hers.

Suddenly, Bea gasped, then started scampering as fast as her thick clothing would let her. She fell face-first into the snow, drawing a small gasp from Ciel.

"Oh, Bea!" Ciel scolded her. "Be careful!"

But Bea got to her feet fast, tottering toward a nearby stall where bundles of mittens hung beside a row of handsewn toys.

Her eyes were wide, dewy with excitement rather than tears.

"Mama…!" Bea pointed out a hawk, and another toy which looked like a strange cross between an otter and a duck. "Mama, Aristurtle's teacher's here! And his grandteacher!"

"Is that so?" Ciel murmured, wiping Bea's face and making sure she hadn't scraped her cheek when she fell. She pulled the girl's hood up snugly. "Then the two of them must have caught wind of our travels to Varant."

"I remembered this stall," Sigurd said, casually as he walked by, his coin pouch already in hand.

A broad-shouldered and ruddy-cheeked woman smiled, delighted and amused by Bea's excitement.

"Which'll it be, then?" she asked.

"Which one…?" Bea's brow scrunched, her eyes flitting back and forth between the hawk and the otter-duck. She bit her lip, caught in an impossible choice.

"Both of them," Sigurd said, placing down a few silver. "And if she wishes for more—"

"I believe two will be quite enough," Ciel said, with a soft sigh as she brushed a strand of hair from Bea's face. "Any more and we'll need another carriage just for your friends, won't we?"

"Aristurtle says… having too many friends is like having no friends," Bea nodded. Then she looked down at him. "Isn't that too unsocial, Aristurtle…?"

Soon enough, however, Bea had all three friends—and teachers—in her arms. "Papa," she began as Sigurd picked her up to take her back to the carriage. "Do you know the names of Aristurtle's teachers?"

How could he?

"...Robinson, perhaps?" Sigurd asked, with an air of uncertainty.

Bea shook her head. "This bird is named Hawkrateez," she said. "He's Aristurtle's teacher's teacher… But he doesn't know anything." She tilted her head. "...But then how can he teach…?"

How indeed? Bea seemed puzzled by a truth entirely of her own imagination, and Sigurd wasn't sure how to engage.

At that moment, Ailn came by, flanked by Sir Dartune.

"Dartune, all I'm saying is you don't know if you're better than me if we've never actually played a game," Ailn said, his tone irritable as he carried a small crate filled with jars of honeyed fruit.

"Your Highness, if I may speak plainly—when you walk through a garden path, is it sensible to fear being crushed by a caterpillar?" Dartune asked coolly.

Ailn stared at him speechless for a moment before scowling. "Just carry this crate back to the cart."

Dartune carried the crate away as Ailn muttered under his breath, watching him go. But soon enough, Ailn's attention shifted. He'd noticed Ciel and Bea nearby.

"Looks like you're all bundled up for Varant," Ailn whistled. "Are those new friends?"

"They're Aristurtle's teacher and grandteacher, Uncle Ailn," Bea said, nearly bouncing in Sigurd's arms. "This one is Hawkrateez, and this one…"

"Is Platopus?" Ailn asked.

Bea nodded excitedly over and over.

Sigurd frowned, glancing between the toys and his younger brother, trying to make sense of how Ailn could've possibly known their names.

Try as he might, he couldn't puzzle it out. Back in the carriage, with Bea dozing in her mother's lap and Ciel resting quietly against his arm, Sigurd kept staring at the toys, as though the answer might eventually reveal itself.

"Sigurd," Ciel mumbled. "You'll spoil her in your bids to make up for lost time."

"After all she's braved," Sigurd murmured, eyes resting on his daughter's sleeping face, "two toys feels more than fair."

"Then when the bed gets far too crowded, her friends will be certain to sleep on your side," Ciel said drowsily.

A crowd of knights awaited the carriage at the castle gates.

"I thought you said our arrival in Varant would be discreet," Ciel murmured, her hand tightening around Bea's.

"That was the intention," Sigurd said, eyes narrowing.

"They're all looking at us, mama…" Bea said, squeezing her stuffed animals.

The knights made no attempt to hide their curiosity. Though they knelt in formation, they kept glancing up expectantly, waiting for the carriage to open.

When they stepped down from the carriage, it was Ennieux and Renea who greeted them first.

"Goodness! So these are the two ladies you've hidden from us!" Ennieux scolded Sigurd, fixing a glare upon him before taking both of Ciel's hands. "We welcome you to Varant, Miss Ciel. I only wish we'd been given the opportunity to do so sooner."

"Yes, well, Bea and I are… honored," Ciel blinked, flummoxed by the warmth of their reception.

With the blessing of Ailn, the current duke, Ciel had felt assured that she and Bea would be safe in Varant, despite the wounds that existed between the Blancs and the eum-Creids.

That said, it wouldn't have been strange for other members of the family to harbor open resentment.

"What lovely traveling companions you have," Renea said gently, lowering herself to Bea's eye level. Her gaze lingered on the three creatures nestled in the girl's arms. "May I know their names?"

"These are… Hawkrateez, Platopus, and Aristurtle," Bea mumbled, in a shy and rasping voice.

Renea's smile faltered in confusion. She cast a brief glance toward Ailn, who gave a faint, confirming nod. At once, she softened her expression again, and gave Bea a gentle pat on the head. "We're delighted to have you and all of your dear friends with us."

Bea gave a small, but happy nod, a slight smile beginning to spread on her face.

There was just one member of the family who hadn't yet greeted them. The Saintess stood at the rear of the reception, lingering near the entrance to the foyer.

Sigurd sighed with quiet weariness, pinching the bridge of his nose as though steeling himself for a quarrel. His unease quickly spread to Ciel, who understood all too well that the Saintess's approval mattered just as much as the duke's.

An expectant hush followed, which left them little choice but to step forward.

Bea shrank behind her mother's leg, her small body trembling. At the sight, Sophie flinched and quickly turned her gaze away. It was almost as if she'd never seen a small child before. Her hands reached for the folds of her robe, tugging awkwardly as though she didn't know what to do with them.

"Why did you abandon your post without so much as a word?" Sophie asked.

"I left, believing I was saving the lives of Ciel and Bea," Sigurd said. "As it turned out… they saved my life instead."

Sophie's brow furrowed, and her lips pressed together thinly before she spoke again. She seemed dissatisfied with the answer.

But she let it go.

"I… see," Sophie said.

For a moment, she seemed lost in thought. But as the silence lingered, it became clear that she wasn't deliberating. She was lacking for things to say.

Finally, though, a thought seemed to occur to her. Her gaze lifted, and she gave Sigurd a weary, exasperated look.

"Surely, you don't intend to raise your family in that shack in the woods," she said flatly.

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