Fourier very much wanted to continue the conversation, but he was also all too aware that she had witnessed him in a most unprincely moment, and his feet had a strong desire to carry him far away from that spot. Perhaps he would have to be content with having met her a second time.
“Well, I’m quite busy with a great many things, so excuse me! I bid you good day—Huh?”
He waved and was about to step out of the flower bed, when he found his path blocked. The girl was standing in front of him and fixing him with a sharp stare. She spoke sternly.
“—You think you can weasel out of this with such flimsy excuses, intruder?” Fourier noticed how clear and strong her voice was, befitting her appearance. But astonishment soon replaced that feeling—thanks to the dagger glittering in the girl’s hand.
“W-whoa! A woman like you shouldn’t be walking around with a thing like that!”
“My father doesn’t like it, either, but as you can see, it’s good to have around sometimes. Don’t try anything funny. And don’t underestimate me just because I’m a girl. Just wait until you find out what they do to people who try to break into the castle.”
“Huh? Wha? Hrh?”
The girl’s voice had become razor-sharp, and she showed no sign of responding to Fourier’s attempts to calm her down. No hesitation appeared in her eyes. She really did think he was an intruder.
She couldn’t have been older than he was, and yet she had such courage. No, there was something else.
“—”
Her grip on the dagger hilt was so tight that Fourier could see her fingertips turning white. She had no experience pointing a blade at a person. This was simply what she felt she had to do, while trying not to shake.
Fourier had certainly not expected to be spoken to this way. He had never thought that when he met the girl again, it might be like this, or that this was the attitude she would take toward him. But there was one thing he hadn’t been wrong about—
“You are truly a good young woman, aren’t you?”
It was that he cared about the girl in front of him even more than he had imagined.
The girl’s expression wavered, thrown off by Fourier’s murmur.
“…You can’t trick me. My eyes can see right through lies and ruses.”
“An upsetting response, when I’ve revealed my true feelings. What is it you dislike so much about me? I should like to know!”
“…Do you think I’d trust someone who hides his face, just because he asks me to?”
“Hmm…? Oh! Oh, I see, I see! That was my mistake.”
Fourier finally realized that the reason for the girl’s suspicion was his own fault. He touched his head and found the bandanna he had used as a disguise. He hurriedly removed it, and his golden hair fell around his face. At that, the girl’s eyes grew even wider.
“I see I confused you,” Fourier said. “As you can tell, I am no intruder. I am the fourth prince of this nation, Fourier Lugunica! You may gaze upon my visage.”
Fourier wiped some sweat from his brow as he announced himself, trying to reassure the shocked young woman. Surely her suspicion would vanish, and that smile of hers would bloom like a flower…
“My deepest apologies, Your Highness! Even turning my own dagger upon myself would not atone for this!”
…but of course, nothing was ever that easy.
4
The girl with the dagger knelt in place when she realized who Fourier was. This would be an earth-shattering event for her. She had captured someone she thought was an intruder in the castle, and he turned out to be a prince. And she had even bared her blade—it would be too much for her poor heart.
“How could I ever ask you to take the blame? I disguised myself with the bandanna, well enough to make you suspect I was some dubious character. Am I a brute who would hold one of my subjects responsible for a misunderstanding that was my own fault?”
“But to have taken such a tone with Your Highness… It does not deserve forgiveness. Please, deliver judgment.”
“You are strangely stubborn, aren’t you? Your sense of duty is so demanding! Very well, then, do as I say. You feel guilt toward me and would do what you must to see my humor settled. Is that not so?”
Fourier was desperate to stop the girl, who seemed ready at that very moment to sheathe her dagger in her own belly. She replied, “Yes, my prince,” and handed him her knife. “Please, Your Highness, do with me as you see fit. I will accept any punishment.”
“Um—‘as I see fit’? ‘Any punishment’? Why is my heart pounding so…?” Fourier felt his heart racing in his chest at the sight of the severe girl before him. But he shook his head to clear his mind and took a deep breath to calm his heart. “Then I pronounce your punishment. You… Yes. I order you to help me pass the time for a while. Converse with me for my pleasure, until I have settled down some.”
“I… Your Highness, how is that a punishment…?”
“Stay your tongue! I shall entertain no protests! Did you not say you would abide by my wishes? Well, my wishes are plain. You cannot refuse so this matter is finished. Yes?”
Arms crossed over his chest, Fourier brought the conversation to an abrupt end. The girl stared at him for a moment and then touched her hand to the corner of her mouth.
“Hee-hee!”
A giggle slipped out, though she tried to hold it back. It was the first time Fourier had seen her smile in a way expected of one her age. A girlish and lovely lifting of her lips broke through her stiff and somber expression.
“I was worried for a moment, but all for nothing, it seems… Hmm?”
As he uncrossed his arms, Fourier happened to catch a glimpse of the dagger he still held in his hand. That was when he noticed it. The dagger was an exceptional piece of work, yes, but the hilt and sheath bore a distinctive mark. It looked like a lion with its jaws open, and it was very familiar to Fourier.
“This insignia—a crest in the shape of a lion baring its fangs. You must be a member of the Karsten house… Wait. You must be Meckart’s daughter! You are, aren’t you!” he said, pointing to the dagger after he suddenly realized who the girl was.
The girl gave a resigned sigh and a somber nod. “Yes. It is as Your Highness discerns. I am the daughter of Meckart Karsten, head of the House of Karsten. My name is Crusch Karsten. It was terribly rude of me to not introduce myself first.”
“It was my choice to give my name. And my choice to hide my face. There’s no need to start that again. But imagine my surprise—the daughter of the famous Meckart Karsten.”
Crusch. Fourier held the sound of her name in his ears, carved it into his memory.
Her father, Meckart, was a high-ranking nobleman of a ducal household. Though he gave a somewhat diffident impression, he was a thoroughly trustworthy servant of the royal family. It was simply hard to picture this girl as his daughter.
“Crusch. A fine name. It fits your gallant and noble bearing.”
“Your Highness is too kind. But I thank you.”
“D-do you take my words for flattery? Ah, yes. I must return this to you.” Unaware that he was staring enamored at the self-effacing Crusch, Fourier coughed. His cheeks felt hot. He passed the dagger to her in an attempt to focus on something else. She took it reverently, clutching it gently to her chest.
“It looks like something of a treasure to you,” he said.
“…It is a gift from my father. To celebrate my birthday, though he warned me to use it carefully.” Her voice was hesitant; perhaps she was still flustered at her episode of mistaken identity. Fourier deliberately tried to change the subject so they wouldn’t find their way back to that again.
“A dagger for his daughter’s birthday? Even for Meckart, that seems a tad tone-deaf.”
“I asked for it. Father asked what I wanted, and I said I wanted the crested dagger passed down by the heads of our house.”
“Hardly tone-deaf at all! Yes, a dagger is a fine gift. Convenient to have around, daggers!”
/>
“You need not bother yourself to spare my feelings, Your Highness. I understand that my tastes are not quite like those of other young ladies.” She gave a somehow ephemeral smile at Fourier’s furious attempts to change his opinion in mid-conversation.
Most girls Crusch’s age might have requested jewelry with which to adorn themselves. It was indeed an unusual child who, given the choice, would pick the family’s heirloom dagger for a gift. But, seeing how tenderly Crusch held the thing, Fourier sensed it would be superficial to rush to such a judgment.
“What’s wrong with it? It might be one thing if a girl were fixated on the blade itself, trying desperately to obtain it. But that is not what was in your mind, was it? You were taken with the lion crest, weren’t you? And how can I bear any ill will toward a girl like that? After all, I myself am a descendant of the Lion King!”
“—”
“Is something wrong?” Fourier asked. He had been so confident as he spoke, but Crusch simply stared at him. This girl had seemed so stoic at first, and now he had seen so many of her varied expressions—although he wished more of them were smiles.
“N-no,” Crusch said. “It’s simply… This is the first time anyone has thought I might have been interested in the crest, and I was surprised.”
“Ah, I see. But is it not true?”
“Yes…it is.”
Crusch seemed to want to understand why Fourier had made this guess with such confidence. So he stuck out his chest proudly and said, “So you know, there was no particular reason I thought that. No proof. Just my own certainty.”
“…I can see Your Highness is serious. You surprise me more with every moment.”
“Generally speaking, I am always serious. My eccentricities are of a kind not often detected by the common people, however. Heh-heh! Are you afraid of me now?”
“No, my lord. Only admiring.” Crusch pulled in her chin, raising the dagger so that Fourier could see it. Her delicate fingertips ran across the seal, and her amber eyes sparkled. “Is Your Highness aware of the reason that the crest of my house—the Karsten house—is a lion?”
“Um—yes, yes, of course I am! But…just for form’s sake, I wish to hear it from your own lips. I must see if we share the same understanding.”
“Of course. As Your Highness knows, the lion crest was originally the insignia of the Lugunica royal family.”
That had been four centuries earlier, before the pact with the dragon was made and the nation came to be known as the Dragonfriend Kingdom. In those days, the Kingdom of Lugunica had flown the lion crest, and its ruler had been called the Lion King.
Wise and strong, these lords provided guidance to all the people. The title was lost when the last Lion King made his pact with the dragon, and dragons became more revered than lions in Lugunica.
“By the dragon’s good grace, the kingdom became rich and prosperous,” Crusch concluded. “And with the Lion King no longer needed, the lion crest gave way to the one we have today, which bears the dragon.”
“That’s right—I remember now! The lion crest was not lost but gifted by the ruler to an especially valued subject. And the lion bearing its fangs—”
“—became the symbol of my family, House of Karsten.”
Miklotov’s endless chatter and those classes Fourier was always running away from had finally come in handy. But he had rarely heard the ancient title “Lion King” more than he had today.
“The Lion King…” he breathed.
“Indeed,” she said, “the Lion King.”
It was a title that had been all but forgotten by many. Fourier tried to speak it freely but found himself unable. The smile that played across Crusch’s lips had brought him up short as she agreed with him. It was not the smile of someone faintly recalling an old and faded name from the past.
—Rather, it bespoke an admiration, indeed a fondness, for the forgotten king.
“Eeyowch!”
“Your Highness?! Wh-what are you doing to yourself?”
Fourier had been on the verge of breaking into a vacuous smile. To prevent it, he had given himself a forceful slap on the cheek, startling Crusch.
“Are you all right, Your Highness? Has something happened?”
“N-nothing at all. A trivial matter. A bug landed on my cheek. It is my burden to be loved even by creatures as small as that!”
Fourier’s cheek was red and his eyes were watering, but Crusch looked suitably deceived and said, “I see…”
Convinced that the pain had been worth it, Fourier privately praised his own judgment. Then he tried to turn the conversation back to the subject of the Lion King.
“Crusch. I see you have an exceptional appreciation of the Lion King. Why is that?”
“No special reason. And is this something we should be discussing in the royal castle…?”
“What, would it become an issue if anyone overheard? Then let it be our secret, yours and mine. I, for one, certainly shall not tell anyone. I never betray a promise!”
He sounded so sure of himself. After a moment’s silence, Crusch smiled again. She was speaking to one of the primary members of the royal household. There was no such thing as a secret. To her, Fourier seemed to have forgotten that he was of royal blood. She looked at him, a little stunned.
“I have a thought sometimes. Even though, knowing the meaning of my house’s crest, and knowing of the pact with the dragon that protects our kingdom, I think it might be too much for this small body of mine.”
“What thought is that?”
“In the time of the Lion King, we did not have the stability we enjoy now. But they did not have this stagnation, either. The dragon’s blessing makes our lives easy—perhaps too easy.”
“—”
Fourier found himself swallowing heavily at her words. Seeing him fall silent, Crusch’s lips curled into a smile again. However, it was not the affectionate smile of earlier but a detached expression that somehow seemed adult.
“Will Your Highness punish me now for disrespecting the kingdom?”
“In all honesty, I’m beginning to think it is best to keep this between us. You’re right that this talk ought not to be shared with just anyone. And yet…”
Fourier could not quite see what Crusch saw. Call it a difference in intellect or in way of life. The young prince had only just begun becoming acquainted with her nature, and he was unable to offer an answer to what she pondered.
When she saw Fourier agonizing over what she had said, Crusch half closed her eyes, the strength draining from her shoulders. “Forget what I said, my lord. Think of it as the foolish mumblings of a girl who knows not her place. I have no brothers, but it remains that I am a woman. I am unable to choose a life befitting my house’s crest…the path of a lion.”
She spoke the words unable to choose in a tone of profound resignation. There was something she desperately wanted to do and couldn’t. Surely that was what set the young woman Crusch distinctly apart from other girls. It was why she had captured Fourier’s attention so completely.
He felt a rush of heat in his raging heart. He opened his mouth, revealing a fang-like tooth.
“Foolishness? Let others call it that. But you must never concede so yourself.”
“…Your Highness?”
Fourier knew all too well the pain of misunderstanding and dismissals with words like foolishness or nonsense. It had caused him to give up in the past—but even if he had to admit as much, it was difficult to allow this. To see the woman who had grabbed his attention forsaking the very thing that had sparked his interest in her.
“I don’t know what desires you harbor or what you wish to do. But I am sure that the girl standing here before me today is the result of her efforts to achieve that goal. It seems you now regard that time as wasted, but…”
He had been utterly captivated by the sight of her standing there—her face, the sound of her voice, and the time they had spent together. And all these things he had fallen for had surely c
ome about because of her constant striving to realize her wish, the wish she was now about to abandon. And so his pushback came from the fire of his own deeply seated passion.
—To let that wish go would be a grave mistake. This, Fourier knew with every fiber of his being.
“I’m convinced you are more intelligent than I. But intelligence has little to do with me. You are wrong! I know you are!”
“Your Highness…? You mean what I seek is wrong, as well?”
“I don’t know! I don’t know what is wrong. But something is.”
Crusch looked taken aback by Fourier’s blunt pronouncement. Her ideas had been amply criticized in the past. She had been repeatedly told she was wrong, different from those around her, until she had finally begun to doubt her own thinking. At heart, Fourier’s outburst was not the same as those other rejections.
“Don’t give me that resigned smile! Perhaps your words are foolishness, but they belong to you. I will not laugh, and anyone who laughs does not have the vision to see where you are headed. You never know what might come of it—what flower might bloom. You are still just a bud! And who can say what wonderful blossom might emerge before it has fully come into itself?”
Fourier was rather proud of having come up with this metaphor. He turned to the flower bed and pointed to the immature bud in the corner.
“I do not know what you were seeing, but when you looked at that sprout I knew your heart. Because, I am sure, it is the same as mine!”
“—”
“S-so… So don’t blame yourself for being different from others. It means nothing, and it is unimportant. We may have our differences, but if we see the same beauty in the same things, then all will go well for us!”
Fourier thrust his fist into the air, exclaiming, “How about that?” in a show of excitement. Crusch was wide-eyed, overwhelmed by his ardor. Silently, as if drawn along, she looked at the flower bed, too.
Then she said, “I came here today to see if that had flowered yet.”
“I thought as much. You were observing it with such interest.”
The Dream of the Lion King Page 2