"Rosie."
A low voice sounded just behind her ear.
"Today's tariff revision. Do you need my seal on it?"
Without even raising her face, Rosalind traced the figure in Item Seven twice with the tip of her pen.
The morning light cut diagonally across the desk. Half of it was blocked by the shadow leaning in from behind to look. The "Ice Grand Duke," first thing in the morning, peering down at his wife's hands.
This, incidentally, was what passed for normal these days.
"No, Your Grace. I shan't need to trouble you until the afternoon's agenda. And so, since my hand stops whenever you peer over it like this, might I ask you to step back just one more pace?"
"...You're merciless."
"It is working hours."
She could tell from the warmth at the nape of her neck that Lucas had let out a small breath of a laugh.
He took one step back. Rosalind gave a satisfied nod and returned to her documents.
Managing the cold is part of labor management. Managing distance is part of managing focus, naturally.
Quite well-drafted work regulations, if I do say so myself, she thought, nodding privately to herself, and went back to following the columns of figures.
At breakfast, the head maid brought in a silver tray.
"Lady Rosalind, I've made today's tea a little weaker. You retired late last night."
"Thank you. That's a great help," Rosalind said gratefully.
The head maid bowed deeply, then added, as if in passing:
"Lady Rosalind, might I accompany you on this afternoon's inspection?"
Lady Rosalind.
Not "Her Highness the Grand Duchess," nor "the one expected to provide an heir." Just her own name. In this country, butlers and maids and merchants and townsfolk all called her that first.
Across the table, Lucas, who had been tearing apart a piece of black bread, gave the head maid a nod with only his eyes.
"Permitted. Two carriages. Take the northern route along the highway."
"Very good, Your Grace."
The head maid withdrew.
Rosalind wrapped both hands around her teacup.
Back when she was Ritsuko Tanaka, she suspected the last time anyone at work had said her full name was the roll call at the new-hire ceremony. After that, it had always been "Accounting," "that girl," "hey, you."
The tea was weak, just as promised. And at a temperature gentle on the stomach.
"Rosie."
A voice from across the table.
"After the inspection, I've kept the evening free."
"Your Grace, would that be business, or...?"
"It's time with me."
"Then I shall note it down as an engagement of the non-business kind."
Lucas narrowed his eyes. It was a face he never, ever showed in public.
The inspection of the town went as usual.
That it went as usual was probably the greatest victory of all.
When they stopped the carriage on the merchants' street, a trader with spices heaped high bowed deeply.
"Lady Rosalind! Last month's tariff revision—thanks to that, I was able to pay my son's apprenticeship fee."
"Being able to pay an apprenticeship fee—there is no higher appraisal than that."
The merchant bowed his head, then suddenly lowered his voice.
"The refugees from your homeland are increasing again. If the intake quota could be raised just one more step..."
"We double the quota in next month's budget. Process it under Rosalind's seal."
Lucas answered briefly, and the merchant took his leave.
Rosalind glanced up at the man beside her. He was not looking at the town but at her profile. His eyes were satisfied.
"Your Grace, your good mood is showing."
"Your imagination."
"Then I shall let it be my imagination."
The two of them returned to the carriage.
In the carriage back to the Grand Duke's residence, Lucas opened a letter on his knee. Red sealing wax. The crest of her homeland—the Kingdom of Albert.
Rosalind spared it a glance, then returned her gaze to the window. It was no longer snowing. Only a thin layer remained on the roadside trees.
Lucas finished reading the letter in silence and tucked it inside his coat.
"Rosie."
"Yes?"
"The Saint candidate from your homeland has entered a convent, apparently."
For a while, Rosalind looked out the window. The sound of the carriage crossing a bridge.
"I see."
That was all.
She did not say the name Miria. Nor did she say, How unfortunate for her. There was no pity, and no triumph.
Just, "I see."
Hearing it, Lucas let the corners of his mouth lift, ever so slightly.
His wife no longer lives on that side.
To him, being able to confirm that was a far more important affair of state than this morning's tariff revision.
Rosalind refolded her fingers in her lap and rearranged the afternoon's agenda in her head. Item Three first, push Item Five back, and in between, the meeting with the head maid—
Then, without warning, her vision tilted and swayed.
"...Rosalind?"
Lucas's voice was suddenly far away.
Her shoulder struck the wall of the carriage. On reflex, as though bracing a hand against a desk, Rosalind clenched her fingertips hard in her lap.
"Pardon me. The carriage swayed a little, didn't it."
"It didn't."
Lucas immediately signaled the driver and had the carriage stopped.
"Get a physician. Now."
"Your Grace, it is merely overwork. Last night I was up late with the paperwork—"
"Rosie."
"...Yes."
"For now, stay seated."
Rosalind closed her mouth.
Lucas's voice was one note lower than usual. It sounded less like an order than something close to a plea. Only in front of her could this man use a voice like that.
How strange, she thought.
If it were overwork, tea would settle it, as always.
So why had this morning's weak tea tasted, somehow, sweeter than usual?
Outside the carriage, Lucas's voice rang out, sending his men running with orders.
Not footsteps down a corridor, but out on the open street—that Grand Duke, sending people running.
That alone was probably the most unusual thing to happen all morning.