Chapter 47

The grand duke shifted his focus back to the paper before him. Coincidentally, at that very moment, the princess sensed his gaze and raised her eyes. The shock was evident on her face.

“You avoid meeting my eyes now…” she mumbled.

Hemel and the other servants discreetly closed the office door, creating a sense of privacy.

“No need for concern,” Hemel assured.

“Is that truly the case?” questioned another.

“Yes, the Princess appears to be in good spirits, and His Majesty is also in high spirits,” Hemel replied.

A fleeting emotion, as cold and unyielding as a wall of ice, briefly flickered across the stern countenance of the grand duke. Swiftly, it was veiled, but the warmth that had lingered in his gaze was undeniable.

They exchanged subtle smiles and then moved away from the door, continuing their conversation as they walked.

“Even though she’s adorable, His Majesty should be cautious not to tease her excessively. What if the Princess becomes genuinely upset and throws a fit?”

“Indeed, if His Majesty continues to provoke her in that manner, she might change her perspective sooner than expected.”

“With the way you dote on the child, it won’t be long before the Princess’s sentiments undergo a transformation. Despite her undeniable cuteness, His Majesty should exercise moderation.”

“On another note, it’s already mid-May. It has been over a month since the Princess arrived in Rotiara.”

“Does that signify a month has passed since the abdication? It’s still not entirely apparent merely from appearances.”

“She’ll likely require another month or two to acclimate completely. As summer arrives, she will probably conceive, and the child will begin to grow rapidly. Preparations for an ample supply of herbs are in order—harvesting and drying them in advance is advisable.”

And so, in the tranquil embrace of Rotiara, time continued to drift by.

***

Time had swept past in the blink of an eye; it felt as though April had just unfolded its days, yet now, May was drawing its final breaths. In the northern reaches, spring had reached its zenith, painting the world with vibrant hues.

Within the sanctuary of her bedroom, Elise’s gaze met her reflection in the mirror. Her thoughts had been occupied lately, and as she contemplated, a question hung in the air: “Should I give it a try?”

Moments stretched as she held her reflection’s gaze, until a decision solidified within her. Swiftly, almost impulsively, Elise unfastened the ribbon of her dress and began to disrobe. Ivetsa, taken aback, inquired with concern, “Your Highness? What are you doing?”

“Oh, pay me no mind. I simply need to check something.”

“Shall I offer assistance?”

“Just help me with the corset, and if you could set paper and pen at the ready, I would appreciate it. Beyond that, you may take your leave.”

Elise chose to omit the unspoken sentiment: “Since it won’t be within your sight, anyway.” Elise shed layer after layer of cumbersome attire, each piece relinquishing its hold on her form. In due course, she remained draped in a diaphanous chemise, akin to the delicate wings of a dragonfly.

However, assessing her back still posed a challenge. Resolute, Elise lowered the straps of the chemise without hesitation.

With a graceful sweep, Elise gathered her long hair, cascading it forward over her chest. With this move, her shoulder blades and waist were revealed, inviting her scrutiny. As her gaze lingered, geometric patterns gradually unfurled across her pale skin like secrets whispered by the cosmos.

From behind, Ivetsa’s voice drifted in, “Your Highness, here are the paper and pen you requested.”

“Thank you,” Elise replied, her focus resolute. “Your assistance is much appreciated.”

“Should you need anything further, do not hesitate to summon me.”

As Ivetsa retreated discreetly, Elise leaned in, her form practically embraced by the mirror’s frame.

“I’m afraid it’s not displaying well,” she murmured, the hint of frustration shading her voice. Guided by the magic circle’s presence within the mirror, she traced its intricate design onto the paper. The pattern, a labyrinth of shapes interwoven with indecipherable characters, resisted facile replication. The tip of the pen roved aimlessly, wrestling to capture the arcane intricacies.

After a considerable passage of time, Elise lowered her gaze to the paper, her expression a mixture of concern and vexation.

“…Appears rather scribbly, doesn’t it?” she admitted, acknowledging the discordant outcome. The circles seemed haphazard, uneven in form, and the unintelligible characters appeared as if they were ink smears.

“I didn’t expect it to work perfectly on the first try anyway. I’ll have to observe it closely every day and make improvements,” she affirmed, her resolve unshaken. Three more circles awaited her attention. Seizing the moment, Elise chose to survey her waist. Recognizing the impracticality of drawing while standing, she draped a blanket, settling upon it.

The grand magic circle, destined to envelop her waist in its elaborate embrace, seemed more recognizable, its contours bolder and its essence more palpable. Memories of Andrei surfaced—his ease in crafting such complex engravings, almost second nature to him. He had said that he had seen countless of them since childhood, so he was familiar with them.

“This could very well be one of the things that Sameshita imparted to Gallian,” Elise mused aloud, her thoughts drifting back to the mysterious teachings that Andrei had so diligently acquired. What could have driven him to invest such considerable effort?

Engrossed in her contemplation, Elise delicately lifted the fountain pen from the paper, only to find her fingers met with a peculiar, trembling sensation. A soft exclamation escaped her lips.

There was no mistaking it. The tremor that had begun in her fingertips reverberated through her body in subtle waves, sketching an almost imperceptible circle within her very being. The abruptness of the sensation caused her to fumble, inadvertently releasing the pen from her grip. And then, wonderment overtook her as her gaze fell upon a remarkable sight.

The doodles she had etched, with their imperfect lines and disjointed forms, embarked upon a transformation of their own. What was once crooked lines straightened into perfection, distorted circles smoothed into symmetry, and indecipherable characters rearranged themselves into eloquent cohesion.

Before long, Elise found herself staring in astonishment at a magic circle that appeared to have been meticulously crafted. The realization swept over her, accompanied by a bewildered question that lingered in the air, “Did I… just do that?”

However, though the intricate design had snapped into place, the anticipated transformation remained absent. Cautiously, she reached out, index finger grazing the surface of the magic circle. But still, nothing stirred. An unease settled in—she had undoubtedly enacted some change, yet the subsequent effect eluded her grasp.

With determined intent, Elise retraced her memory, parsing through each action with meticulous recollection. What had she said earlier?

“Sameshita…?”

The very utterance of the Great Dragon’s name ushered forth a surge of resonance, akin to the vibrations that had preceded. Suddenly, like a bolt of lightning illuminating a pitch-black night, understanding unfurled in Elise’s mind.

“The name!”

Incontestably, the name of the Great Dragon was a key, a catalyst that could set the dormant enchantment into motion.

A surge of vibrant energy surged through the intricate lines of the magic circle, an electric current igniting a symphony of light. Simultaneously, Elise experienced a curious sensation—a dull ache seemed to unfurl from her forehead and unfurl down to her heart.

Her breath hitched as she withdrew her hand from the enchanting pattern, and almost as quickly, the peculiar ache receded, leaving only a sense of wonder in its wake.

What kind of magic is this? 

Even though it appeared that the magic had indeed been set in motion, the true nature of its effects remained a shrouded riddle. The only perceptible outcome had been a tingling pain that had seemed to trace its path through her heart.

Yet, within this uncertainty lay a revelation—a discovery she held close. The name of the Great Dragon was a condition that activated the magical power within Elise’s body.

In truth, the separation of Sameshita and Gallian, dragon and magician, proved a feat unattainable. Despite the common perception of them as polar opposites, their relationship was far more intricate, a secret known to a select few.

A scarce handful understood the depths of the Great Dragon Sameshita’s legacy and his five esteemed disciples. The expansive tapestry of Gallian mythology was riddled with gaps and unanswered questions. The mystery of how the five human souls, Gallian among them, had become devoted disciples of the Great Dragon, and why Sameshita had bestowed upon them his exclusive draconic sorcery, was a narrative yet to be fully unfurled.

The enigmas of Gallian’s history unfurled like a scroll, each question unfolding into yet another labyrinthine puzzle. How had Gallian ascended to lead the quintet, anointed above the others? And why had Sameshita’s benevolence deteriorated into frenzied chaos? What twist of fate had turned the once-welcoming dragon into a harbinger of hate toward humanity, his transformation swift as a fleeting decade?

Yet, veiled beneath these riddles was the obscure lore, cloaked in shadows like secrets best kept hidden. This forbidden knowledge, woven into the very essence of Gallian’s blood, shied away from the light. A vast portion of these truths languished beyond mortal gaze.

Who, indeed, would credit such revelations? That the Dragon’s ruthless assault, unrelenting in its disregard for friend or foe, had swept across the continent, leaving devastation in its wake—an affront even to the gods themselves. All born of hearts ungrateful and thoughtlessly foolish.

In the annals of history, a crimson stain marred Sameshita’s legacy. He had ignited the flames that consumed half of Grandel, a macabre conflagration that claimed tens of thousands of innocent lives. Yet even amidst the carnage, the disciple who had ultimately severed his bond with the Dragon had somehow defied death’s embrace.

Was it regret that lingered in the shadows of Sameshita’s departure? Did remorse propel the cryptic words he left behind, an echo that resounded across time?

In the waning pages of the Gallian mythology, a final chapter told of Sameshita’s self-imposed exile, his voice echoing through eternity in a last exchange with his pupil.

[First of my disciples, illustrious scion of the mighty God Ordor, now the rising hero of Grandel. When you invoke this power, recall the name of your master who bequeathed it. As I am bound, so shall you never be free of me.

Throughout your existence, I shall never fade from your thoughts!]

“Thus, the meaning of ‘never forgetting Sameshita’s name’ resonates,” Elise murmured softly, the truth an epiphany unfurling before her. Even through generations yet unborn, the legacy of Sameshita would persist, an unending echo across the tapestry of time.

The bonds that tethered Sameshita and Gallian were an intricate web of unbreakable rules. Sameshita was bound by a decree to shield Gallian from harm, while Gallian was afflicted by an everlasting curse, ensuring he would never forget Sameshita’s name. Their story unfurled as a tapestry woven with melancholy.

Yet, the very taboos that had ensnared their fates now emerged as the protective armor and potent sword for Elise in the present.

“For now, I must practice drawing the magic circle, even if it’s crudely done,” she mused.

How long had she been lost within the labyrinth of her own thoughts?

Abruptly, Elise’s awareness refocused on her own reflection within the mirror’s embrace. The chemise, never intended to conceal much in the first place, had descended to her navel.

Unthinking, her hand drifted to her shoulders and chest, the touch unveiling a surprising softness.

“Perhaps I’ve gained some weight?” she pondered aloud. True, her condition had improved since her flight from Argan. The days of skeletal fragility had yielded to a healthier state. Nearly ten months had passed since her skin bore the rough, pocked marks of adversity. Ivetsa’s diligent care had nurtured her back to vibrance, each dawn heralding progress.

Her lips curved in a hint of self-contentment. “Not so bad at all…”

The reflection held no secrets from her. The echoes of admiration that had dogged her steps across time were bound to persist. But now, with this newfound assurance, could she not boldly confront the study’s threshold during the veil of night’s unrest, countering any advances with unruffled composure?