The Knight Commander, Jerome Crown (2)
“What was your name again? Reina, wasn’t it?”
“It’s not Reina. It’s Rachel, Commander.”
His short-cropped red hair and bold, masculine features matched him perfectly.
Even now, his massive frame and the thick veins standing out on those enormous muscles made it hard to believe the man was well past forty.
They say women still flock to him at his age. I think I understand why.
The vice-commander who had followed him answered in my place, then glanced sideways at me.
“She is His Highness the Third Prince’s nanny.”
“Nanny?”
At the word, one of the duke’s eyebrows shot upward.
“So what brings the Third Prince’s nanny to see me?”
He must have just finished training; the duke was dressed in comfortable clothes and covered in sweat. He roughly wiped himself down with the towel the vice-commander offered, then dropped heavily onto the sofa.
There was nothing remotely aristocratic about the sight.
Not surprising to me at all.
The Jerome Crown I remembered had always been this kind of man.
“Ah, right. I didn’t even offer our guest a seat. Please, sit. You—bring some tea.”
“Yes, Commander.”
Having issued every order with a jerk of his chin, he fixed me with a look that asked why I was still standing. Without a word, I lowered myself into the seat across from him.
Then his voice drifted down from above my head.
“Well now, it’s interesting. The nanny has more backbone than my own subordinates.”
Only then did I realize I had completely forgotten the difference in status between the duke and myself. I started to rise in a hurry, but he waved a hand with an affable smile.
“Eh, skip the formalities. I couldn’t even remember your name properly, so we’re even on the rudeness.”
Then maybe don’t point it out.
Hiding my displeasure, I stood and bowed my head.
“…It is an honor to meet you. My name is Rachel Brown.”
“I already heard a moment ago that it’s Rachel, not Reina. I’m not that senile.”
Arms draped over the back of the sofa, legs crossed, he looked supremely arrogant.
“So. What is this request you have for me?”
He had called for tea but jumped straight to the main topic before it even arrived.
Still as impatient as ever.
I sat with perfect composure and met his grey eyes directly.
“It concerns His Highness Edwin.”
At the name, Jerome’s brow furrowed slightly. His discomfort was plain to see.
“His Highness…”
“Wait.”
Jerome thrust his palm out, cutting me off as if he already knew exactly what I was about to say.
“Let me be clear upfront. I have no interest in troublesome roles like swordsmanship instructor to a prince. I already refused my own sister’s request.”
Before I could even make my proposal, he swept his hair back with a thoroughly haughty expression.
“I turned down the position of swordsmanship master for my one and only nephew. So if that’s the kind of favor you’re here to ask, you’d best turn around and—”
“Please don’t worry. I did not come to ask you for any such thing, sir.”
“You didn’t?”
Apparently unexpected, one of Jerome’s eyebrows rose at an angle.
“Then what request could you possibly have for me regarding the Third Prince? There isn’t anything else, is there?”
Just as I opened my mouth to answer, the door opened again.
The vice-commander who had gone for tea returned with a young squire. On the tray the boy carried were a teapot and refreshments.
“I’ve brought the tea, Commander.”
“Ah, good work. Set it down here and you may leave.”
At the commander’s nod, the squire hurried to place the teacup on the table—
“Ah—!”
In his nervousness the boy fumbled. The teacup flew from his hand, straight toward my right thigh.
“Danger—!”
Both the squire and the vice-commander reached out in panic. But I shoved them both aside, snatched the falling cup faster than anyone, and moved to catch the airborne tea back inside it…
No!
A nanny must not know how to move like that.
With superhuman restraint I suppressed my reflexes. The teacup landed on my thigh, and scalding tea soaked straight through my skirt.
“A-are you all right?!”
“Quick, something to wipe with!”
The flustered knights floundered, at a complete loss. I took the towel the squire offered and diligently dabbed at my thigh.
“S-should I fetch an ice pack?”
“It’s not necessary. Thank you for your concern.”
“Th-then perhaps you should return today, wash up, and change your clothes…”
“No.”
I shook my head with a resolute expression.
“I came today to make a request of the duke. I have no intention of leaving until he hears me out.”
“You. Step back.”
Duke Crown dismissed the squire at my words. He frowned as he looked at my soaked skirt.
“My apologies. Are you truly all right?”
“I am.”
“You didn’t burn yourself?”
“It doesn’t seem so.”
I deliberately let a hint of agitation color my voice as I answered Jerome.
“Even if I had burned myself, the thigh is not a part normally shown to others, so it is truly fine. It would not hinder my marriage prospects, either.”
For an unmarried woman to suffer a burn on her body would have been disastrous. In the empire, women with scars were rarely favored as brides.
I had deliberately mentioned marriage to intensify his guilt, and it seemed to have worked.
“Ahem. Ahem.”
Jerome cleared his throat repeatedly, clearly bothered by my words.
“Right, then. Speak.”
Steam still rose from the freshly poured tea.
“What request is so important that you would be this stubborn about it?”
“…Will you truly listen?”
Jerome appeared to consider it for a moment, then sighed.
“I will. As long as it isn’t a request for an audience with His Majesty the Emperor or to become the Third Prince’s swordsmanship instructor.”
“Please don’t worry. I would never make such requests.”
I offered him a small, triumphant smile.
“Instead, I ask only that you allow His Highness to join the knights’ training for three months.”
“Commander, do you truly intend to grant that woman’s request?”
“There’s no reason not to. She only asked to let him join basic training.”
Gloria Knights Commander Jerome sat perched on the edge of his office desk, flipping through documents as he continued.
“She’s not even asking me to be his master, so it doesn’t matter.”
“But—!”
“Besides, she said it was a direct request from His Highness the Third Prince. That leaves me with no real grounds to refuse.”
“Her Highness the Second Consort will not remain silent. Once she learns you rejected her request but accepted the Third Prince’s…”
“You’ve gotten older and more fretful, Philip.”
He let out a short laugh at his vice-commander’s words.
The woman who, after being refused the position of sword instructor for her child, had dared to threaten him by mentioning his “real identity.”
He had certainly been surprised by her sudden threat, but he had never felt intimidated.
After all, his origins were an open secret—something everyone who needed to know, already knew. There was no reason to fear.
“When have I ever cared about that marchioness’s daughter?”
“…My apologies.”
“No need to apologize for something like that.”
Jerome waved his hand dismissively.
Yet Philip hesitated and refused to let the matter drop.
“Still, this feels wrong. It’s not the First Prince—it’s the Third Prince. It would be wiser not to get entangled with him.”
“Why do you think so?”
“You know as well as I do, Commander. There are still three years left before the crown prince is named. In this political climate…”
Jerome cut him off.
“Yes, in this climate, siding with the Third Prince—who isn’t even considered a candidate for the throne—could tarnish the knight order. Is that what you’re saying?”
Two candidates currently vied for the imperial throne: First Prince Adrian Sapiens Ventrum and Second Prince Lloyd Cataronian Ventrum.
Third Prince Edwin, ignored by the emperor and lacking any meaningful faction, had been eliminated from consideration long ago.
Moreover, the power struggle between the First and Second Princes had reached its peak.
In such a situation, the Gloria Knights—led by the Empress’s own brother—had declared neutrality.
“We swore to pledge our loyalty solely to His Majesty the Emperor, just as you wished, Commander. Yet now you speak of the Third Prince.”
“I understand your concern, but don’t overthink it. Even if we let the boy join training, how long do you think that young prince will last?”
Jerome continued in a detached tone.
“Train hard with the 3rd Division for a few days and he’ll collapse on his own. Then we simply send him away.”
At his decisive words, Philip finally sighed and stepped back.
“Understood. I will inform the knights in advance.”
“Good. And tell them not to act overly familiar when they see His Highness the Third Prince. I despise troublesome complications.”
“Yes, sir.”
The vice-commander offered a short bow and left the room.
Left alone in his office, Jerome recalled the woman he had met earlier.
The Third Prince’s nanny, Rachel Brown.
A painfully common name and an equally common surname. A frail body that looked as though it would topple with a single push, paired with an endlessly gentle countenance.
Yet there was something strangely irritating about her.
Jerome remembered how composed the nanny had remained even after being doused with hot tea.
“…For now, I should speak with His Majesty.”
Staring out the window with sharp eyes, Jerome rose from his seat. He stretched luxuriously, like a lion waking from a nap.
“Ugh—office work really doesn’t suit me. Time for a spar.”
Yawning and smacking his lips, Jerome picked up the sword he had set aside. It was easy to imagine his subordinates screaming again as they faced him in the training grounds.