Touch My Brother and You Die - Chapter 10

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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#Episode 22: Rosalite at Sixteen

Several days had passed since I discovered there was nothing in the Annex Basement. Whether I worried or not, Father worked diligently, Leon studied diligently, and I remained a fixture in the Office like some canned good.
Besides, if Father found something so ominous lurking in our home, he would have rooted it out ten times over. By this point, I’d begun to wonder if my conversation with that sword was merely a product of my imagination. Had I gone mad after ending my life so many times, hallucinating in my derangement? Yet the sensations had felt far too vivid for that.
“Aster.”
“Yes?”
“Do you think a sword can speak?”
“Would you like to take a walk, Miss?”
Never mind. I’m not asking you.
Don’t treat me like I’ve lost my mind. I’m not tired.
And don’t you dare drag me out of bed like that!
“Aster, I haven’t lost my mind. Please stop.”
“I don’t believe you’ve gone mad, Miss. You’re simply a bit fatigued, that’s all.”
Don’t be so considerate. It irritates me.
Besides, I wanted to breathe proper fresh air. Not that pittance of sunlight they give prison inmates during their brief exercise periods—I wanted to go outside the house and actually enjoy myself. Our Duchy is famous throughout the realm as a shopping paradise, so why have I never played here before?
“…Huh?”
As Aster and I bickered about going outside, I spotted a Royal carriage racing toward us through the window. That’s strange. Why is it arriving now?
If it were the Queen’s birthday, that would still be far off, and if it were a banquet to find a bride for the Crown Prince, one had just been held recently, so there was no reason for other news to arrive.
If it were about monitoring the Court Mage through a Maidservant connected to the Duke’s House, they wouldn’t bring a Royal carriage in broad daylight—the message would come secretly.
“Aren’t you going to run off this time, Miss?”
As I pondered, Aster asked. Hesitating at his implication that he was ready to carry me and dash off at any moment, I steeled myself and entrusted my body to him.
“Let’s go, Aster! Nothing ventured, nothing gained!”
“Yes, Miss!”
Carrying me in his arms, Aster bounded forward but slowed his pace as the Entrance Hall came into view.
Blast. Because I hesitated for just a moment, Father was already there. It seems I can’t escape him unless I run the moment I spot the carriage.
“You’re late, Miss.”
I already knew. Descending from Aster’s arms, I offered no reply to William’s grating remark and approached Father instead. He exchanged words with the attendant from the Royal Family, then had William move the luggage. He unrolled a parchment and scanned it quickly from top to bottom.
“May Her Majesty the Queen enjoy great fortune and prosperity.”
With the appropriate greeting, Father told the attendant he was dismissed, then rolled up the parchment and tossed it to me.
“This is your decision to make. I give my full approval.”
What on earth is this about?
After saying that, Father had William hand the luggage to Aster. The stack, layer upon layer, appeared to be nothing but a pile of portraits, and Father announced he would take some sunlight while he was out, walking away like a model prisoner.
I unrolled the parchment and slowly read the words.
“What is this, Miss? These are all pictures of men?”
With each paragraph of Her Majesty the Queen’s words, I could see the Crown Prince’s scheming hidden behind them, and I couldn’t help but furrow my brow.
Summarized, the Queen’s suggestion—or rather, command—written on the parchment amounted to roughly this:
Rosalite is still young, but she’ll have to marry eventually, won’t she? The Duke’s House is busy. If she’s going to marry anyway, it’s better to bring someone in now and put them to work. I’ve narrowed down some suitable men—pick one.
“This is exactly how this brat operates.”
I crumpled the parchment bearing the Royal Family’s seal.
The matter had already come to light, and now it was a question of damage control. Clutching the parchment tightly, I followed Father down the model prisoner’s walking path.
No matter how diplomatically the Queen had phrased her request, the fact that she’d written the document in her own hand, used premium-grade parchment, and affixed the Royal Family’s seal meant it carried undeniable force.
Moreover, the Queen was from the Edanelli Duchy, with whom we maintained close ties, and she had known Father since their youth, so perhaps she genuinely wished to ease his burden.
The Crown Prince’s son—even if I’d bombarded him daily with marriage proposals, construction fund offers, and scattered petition documents, would he really resolve his frustration this way?
At twenty-four years old, wasn’t he embarrassed to run crying to his mother? Though, admittedly, one’s early twenties is the age when one does miss their mother!
“Aster.”
“Yes, Miss.”
“Do you like your mother?”
Perhaps my sensibilities weren’t entirely typical, so I decided to seek the opinion of twenty-two-year-old Aster, who had been quietly following behind me. He nodded without hesitation.
“I may not care for my father, but I do love my mother.”
“Do you want to see her every day?”
“I may not care for my father, but even if I saw my mother every day, I’d still want to see her again.”
Indeed, one’s early twenties is the age for missing one’s mother. Satisfied that my assessment was correct, I fell silent and continued our walk.
To be honest, the time for getting excited or sentimental about romance or marriage had long passed. Once I made a marriage promise, I’d bring in the live-in husband, use him as an assistant, sleep in separate quarters, and once we’d been married long enough that the Queen wouldn’t suspect anything, I’d send him home with severance pay and alimony. If there were someone who worked well, listened obediently, read the room perfectly, and didn’t push their own agenda, I’d wholeheartedly support this marriage. But among the noble children of established families who could marry into the Duke’s House as heirs, where would I find someone meeting all these criteria…?
“…There is one!”
I sighed as I walked the path, then spotted someone and my eyes widened.
That someone was sitting on a garden bench in the sunlight, leisurely reading a book. When I called out, he straightened his posture, turned the page, and looked over at me in surprise.
He set down the book he’d been reading calmly, rose with the aid of a walking stick, and greeted me with movements so composed and austere they seemed almost ascetic. The very picture of a proper literary youth. Drawing closer, I imagined I’d catch the scent of old books and coffee.
“Is there anything uncomfortable about the Mansion?”
Normally I would have merely nodded in greeting and turned away, but today I had business with him. As I approached with quick strides, Glen looked flustered before offering his response.
“I’m living quite comfortably, but I’m always prepared to answer your call.”
Yes, this one’s instincts weren’t bad at all.
I barely managed to suppress the smile threatening to spread across my face by tensing my facial muscles. Though his frame was slender, his height was impressive, and his appearance—at least his face—was no inferior to the Crown Prince’s.
With him at my side, there’d be no shame in attending the Queen’s birthday banquet. In fact, I could even pressure the Crown Prince by suggesting he find someone equally suitable.
“Before you came to the Duke’s House, where did you belong?”
“The Hofen Barony. After the family head passed away, the Hofen name and territory were returned to the Royal Family.”
So he was descended from a baronial house that once held lands—though they no longer did. The conditions were quite favorable. A baron from a thriving territory, even of lower rank, could hold his own against an earl.
Hofen had its own specialty goods and was positioned at a crossroads on the main route from the provinces to the Capital, making it a prosperous area. With even modest investment, the city could expand significantly.
I couldn’t immediately grant him territory, but with Uncle Louis as his guardian, I could restore the Hofen name to him. It would serve as justification for protecting him, and it would allow me to eventually bring Hofen territory under the Duke’s House’s influence—nothing but profit.
“How old are you?”
“…Pardon?”
“How old are you?”
“I’m twenty this year, but…”
Perfect.
Very perfect.
Pretty good job.
Pretty good job.
I’m sixteen, and you’re twenty.
A four-year age gap is said to be incompatible.
“Come along. There’s something I need you to do.”
But settling on Glen was premature. There remained one obstacle before I could bring him into the family.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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