Ascendance of a Bookworm (LN) - Volume 5.5 - Chapter SS1

Schlaftraum’s Flowers

“Well, Solange, I am done for today. Let us meet tomorrow as the Goddess of Light rises.”

“Take care, Hortensia. As the Goddess of Light rises.”

After exchanging farewells with Solange, I started toward the central building. Now that the students had returned to their duchies, I would commute between my home and the Royal Academy instead of using the library dormitory.

My current duties included organizing the closed-stack archives and repairing damaged books—tasks we did not have time for during the academic year. There was no shortage of work to be done either; Schwartz and Weiss had been inactive for so long that many sections of the library were now neglected. There were also plans for the royal family and members of the Library Committee to start going through the documents in the underground archive during the Archduke Conference, so we would need to prepare for that as well.

I had only volunteered for this librarian job at the request of my husband, but now I valued and took pride in my work.

“I have returned,” I announced to my head attendant, as I always did upon returning home. But it was Lord Raublut who came to greet me. I could not remember the last time he had welcomed me home, if ever; as the Sovereign knight commander, he was at work more often than not.

“Oh my, Lord Raublut. Is everything okay?”

“There’s something I want to ask you in private,” he said. “Come to my room before dinner.”

Now this was exceptionally rare. I could only wonder what had caused all this. I went to my room to change, then hurried to see my husband.

“Attendants, clear the room,” he said. “Hortensia, hold this.”

I swallowed; we were at home, so his decision to clear the room of attendants and use sound-blocking magic tools indicated grave circumstances. Something quite severe must have happened.

“An ancient magic tool in the palace—one we stopped supplying after the civil war, since it appeared not to be in use—has completely dissolved.”

“A magic tool dissolved simply because it ran out of mana? That is...”

If one stopped supplying a magic tool meant to illuminate a room, the light would merely turn off. I had never heard of a magic tool dissolving from neglect.

“Magic tools formed purely of magic, such as foundations and those meant to protect buildings, apparently do break upon running out of mana,” my husband explained.

“Oh, how terrible!” I cried. “Do you mean to say that a building collapsed as well?!”

“Indeed. A small tower that was being used for storage dissolved into white sand. It threw the palace into a frenzy. The scholars are checking all of the remaining buildings to ensure that none of them meet the same fate, while the royal family is supplying any dangerous-seeming foundation they come across with mana.”

Lord Raublut spoke so flatly that one might assume there was no frenzy at all, but one of the palace’s towers crumbling was an enormously significant event.

He continued, “The king has declared that the magic tools in the Royal Academy’s library must be checked as well. Now that we know its archive contains valuable documents, we cannot afford to let it collapse. Could you complete those checks before the Archduke Conference? Stay in the library dormitory if you must. The royal family will supply any tools that need mana during the conference.”

“Oh, I should not need to stay there. The Royal Academy’s library is going to be fine. I investigated its magic tools with Raimund, at Lady Rozemyne’s request. Its foundation equivalent was in danger, but Lady Rozemyne refilled it using the mana left over from the Dedication Ritual. You may let the Zent know.”

I had hoped to ease Lord Raublut’s concerns, but his brow furrowed even deeper. “It was my understanding that magic tools like the foundations required royal mana. Ah, but I suppose the royal family did participate in that Dedication Ritual. Did a portion of the mana given belong to them, then...?”

I had desperately tried to restore the library’s protective magic tool myself, only to panic when my best efforts did nothing to change its color. Had the issue been my lack of royal mana, not the size of my offering?

As I mentally took inventory of the library’s magic tools, Lord Raublut raised an eyebrow in apparent realization. “Hortensia... Librarians are scholars too, correct? Can I assume you have the authority to enter the scholar building?”

“Hm? Oh, yes. Nobody who saw me enter would consider it strange.”

To be frank, I doubted that anyone would notice my entrance to begin with. The professors of the scholar course who stayed at the Royal Academy between school terms instead of returning to the Sovereignty were all too obsessed with their research to pay attention to anything else.

“In that case, my apologies, but I would ask you to check the scholar building alongside the library and the library dormitory. Professors of the knight and attendant courses are quick to respond to orders, but those of the scholar course still at the Royal Academy will refuse to do anything but their research.”

I gave a wry smile and nodded; he had good reason to be concerned. Ordering the scholars to check their building’s magic tools before the royal family arrived for the Archduke Conference would achieve painfully little. At best, they would procrastinate until the conference was already upon them.

“During the Archduke Conference, the royal family intends to visit the underground archive,” Lord Raublut informed me. “I am sure you have preparations to make, so I must ask you to stay in the library dormitory until then.”

“Very well. I shall accept this as an order from the Zent.”

The day after my discussion with Lord Raublut, I prepared to return to the library dormitory. I was to stay there until the Archduke Conference, but with help from Raimund, I had already checked the use and mana supply of the magic tools in the library. In the first place, each building only had one foundation-esque tool.

I did not have much to do in preparation for the Archduke Conference either. The rest area outside the archive would need to be cleaned, I would need to consult with Solange on how far inside the library dormitory the attendants preparing lunch and tea were permitted to go, then we would need to find a resting spot for the accompanying retainers. We librarians could not enter the archive ourselves, so we had to leave that to Schwartz and Weiss.

“I suppose that gives me more time to focus on repairs, and not having to think about my daily commute is nice, but... To be honest, there is not nearly enough work to justify staying in the dormitory.”

Staying in the dormitory meant I could only have one attendant with me, as even professors were limited in that regard. I had chosen Dirmira, and we had more than enough luggage between us.

“Do you think Lord Raublut might be inviting another woman to the house while you are absent?” she asked.

“Again with this? Have you forgotten just how long we have been husband and wife?”

Dirmira had served me since before I married Lord Raublut. We were the same age, and close friends. Her most unusual trait was her long-standing disdain for my husband and his head attendant. No matter how many years passed, her bizarre frustrations remained.

Immediately after my wedding to Lord Raublut, his head attendant had approached me and said in no uncertain terms, “You would do well to know that my lord already has someone he cannot forget.” His words had come as no surprise to me, and they had meant just as little; I was not seeking love to begin with.

Dirmira, on the other hand, was still angry about it. “What a thing to say to a bride visiting her new home for the first time!” she seethed, no less furious than when she had witnessed it. “When it comes time for me to ascend the towering stairway, I will raise a complaint with the gods!”

“And I am sure they will find your vindictiveness just as troubling as I do.”

We teleported to the Royal Academy via a circle in the royal palace, then started walking from the central building to the library dormitory. Along the way, we happened upon knights of the Sovereign Order. At their head was Loyalitat, the vice commander.

“Oh my. Lord Loyalitat.”

“Lady Hortensia. It has been too long. I... heard you were assigned to the Royal Academy’s library, but what brings you here with luggage and an attendant?”

“By royal decree, I will be staying in the library dormitory until the Archduke Conference. I am to investigate some magic tools.”

He nodded, having immediately understood me. “The commander did return home for that purpose, now that you mention it. We are quite busy ourselves; on top of all the incidents we have to deal with these days, we no longer have you to assist the commander with his paperwork.” He shrugged and added, “He always puts it off whenever he can.”

A smile crept onto my lips. “I wish you all the best of luck,” I said.

I had married Lord Raublut after losing both my lord and my life as a retainer. By then, I was too old to bear children, leaving me with little else to do but assist my husband with his paperwork and start brewing rejuvenation potions and magic tools.

“And what brings you here?” I asked. “It is rare to see you all at the Royal Academy.”

“We are revising our security in the run-up to the Archduke Conference. There is less to do compared to last year, when we had to keep our sights on Old Werkestock’s dormitory on top of everything else, but... as you may know, Lady Rozemyne is to perform this year’s Starbind Ceremony as the High Bishop. We need to review our plans with that in mind, and work out the details with the Sovereign temple.”

The Sovereign High Bishop was furious about the situation, especially because the Sovereign High Priest was looking to permanently replace him with a mana-rich archduke candidate for the sake of reviving the old ceremonies. The Sovereign temple had thus divided into two factions: those who supported the High Bishop, who refused to let the nobles steal away the last few duties they had; and those who supported the High Priest, who was determined to exploit the nobility for the sake of reviving the old rituals and restoring the temple to its former glory.

“Lady Rozemyne is coming to the Archduke Conference to serve as High Bishop?” I repeated. “Oh my. This is news to me.” I had known that she was coming to transcribe and translate documents in the underground archive, but this was my first time hearing about her plans to perform the Starbind Ceremony.

“At the royal family’s request, I am told. They wish for Prince Sigiswald to receive a true blessing during his Starbinding, since he is to become the next king. Accommodating this sudden turn of events has been no easy feat.”

“Hold on,” one of the knights interjected. “I thought Lady Rozemyne demanded to serve as High Bishop so she could show the Sovereign temple what real blessings were like.”

“What?! Who told you that?!” another knight barked. “Her only requests were for the royal family to obtain the Sovereign temple’s agreement and increase security for the event. It was the least they could do, after all.”

“Do you not think it presumptuous that she made demands of the royal family?”

“Come on. It’s obvious that Lady Rozemyne’s arrival will cause a stir of some kind. Anyone in her position would make the same requests.”

I stared at the quarreling knights for a moment, then said, “It would appear that even the Sovereign Knight’s Order is experiencing a communication failure. You share neither knowledge nor opinions.”

Those of the Knight’s Order were always given the same, consolidated intelligence so that they could obey the Zent’s will without hesitation. Public discourse meant nothing to them; they were only concerned with the opinions of the throne.

“The Knight’s Order is in partial disarray at the moment,” Lord Loyalitat explained. I was not privy to the details, but it had reached my ear that a few Sovereign knights had gone rogue during the winter. “It has become increasingly common for even the commander to act alone, I would assume as the result of confidential orders from the Zent. He wanted to perform the preliminary investigation of that villa on his own, and only a few of us were informed about his plan to return home to communicate the Zent’s will to you.”

“My, my... I understand the need to keep intelligence confidential, but how can you knights relax when your commander is acting in such a manner...?” It seemed that mutual distrust was running rampant throughout the Sovereign Knight’s Order.

“Lady Hortensia, perhaps you should be wary of staying at the Academy for such an extended period,” one of the knights said. “The commander might bring another woman home.”

“You believe so too?!” exclaimed not I, but my attendant Dirmira.

The knight froze. “Er, my apologies. I was only speaking in jest...”

“But you would not have said it without good cause. Am I wrong?” she demanded, causing the knights to all step back.

“Um, Lady Hortensia...” Lord Loyalitat said, “did something happen between you and the commander?”

“A few rude words were spoken more than a decade ago, after we married. That is all. Dirmira has been like this ever since.”

The vice commander stifled a laugh by clearing his throat, then turned to my attendant. “Fear not. There is nothing to be concerned about. Lord Raublut is a loyal husband.”

Lord Loyalitat went on to explain that, around this time last year, a horde of feybeasts had appeared while the Order was investigating Old Werkestock. The knights had participated in slaying them.

“We needed to do battle to progress our investigation,” he said, “but, well... There are some knights who require the comfort of a woman after such vicious fighting. Ahrensbach’s first wife informed us that Schlaftraum’s flowers were blooming wonderfully that year, then took us to a private location. As the knights chose their women, Lord Raublut pointed to a vase filled with white flowers. He said they were so beautiful that he would rather have them instead.”

“I think we can all agree that Lord Raublut would never take an interest in flowers,” Dirmira snapped, evidently skeptical. “Were they truly to his tastes?”

The knights scrunched up their faces, trying not to burst out laughing. Lord Loyalitat alone maintained a completely straight face as he said, “Most likely. It seemed to me that he had a strong sentimental attachment to them.” The vice commander certainly had an iron will.

I paused. “That said, I do not recall Lord Raublut bringing any white flowers home. Do you, Dirmira?” They surely would have stood out, but neither one of us had seen any.

“Perhaps he was hesitant to bring home flowers he obtained elsewhere?” Lord Loyalitat ventured.

“To think he was capable of such consideration...”

“Well, they were in a vase, were they not?” Dirmira said. “They must have just withered. He is trying to deceive you, Lady Hortensia.”

I came close to a chuckle but managed to stop myself.

Lord Loyalitat shook his head, wearing a guilty smile. “Believe what you will, but the commander is loyal to his wife. You have my word. Lady Hortensia, I will ensure that the knights do not speak out of turn again.”

After making the knights apologize, the vice commander took his leave, clearly eager to part with Dirmira. Even as we resumed our journey to the library, she looked entirely unconvinced.

As expected, it did not take long at all to inspect the magic tools in the library and the scholar building. I noted down and reported the location and mana quantity of each place’s foundation equivalent, then got to work airing out and repairing documents from the second closed-stack archive.

“Solange, these documents are frequently borrowed,” I said. “What say we move them to the reading room?”

“A fine suggestion. It certainly is time-consuming having to unlock the door every time someone wishes to borrow them.”

We had Schwartz and Weiss reregister the documents’ location, then arranged them on the shelves in the reading room.

“Several years ago, I would never have imagined that so many professors would one day return to prewar lesson plans,” Solange mused aloud. “Could it be that Professor Fraularm influenced them?”

“It speaks to how much Yurgenschmidt has calmed down that the coursework of executed professors can finally be used,” I replied. Indeed, it was wonderful, but the documents that had already been lost would never return. The archive was far emptier than when I was at the Royal Academy.

“User. Here.”

“Guiding user.”

The two shumils had suddenly spoken. Only the professors of the scholar course came to the library at this time; which one of them was here now? They often made unreasonable demands of Solange, who was only a mednoble, so I decided to step forward.

“I shall welcome them in the entrance hall,” I said. “Solange, continue your work here.”

I made my way out of the reading room and opened the door in the entrance hall. Then, after a short wait, a group clad in black capes arrived. But these were no professors.

“Oh, Prince Anastasius. What brings you here?” I asked, taken aback by his unexpected appearance. He had not given any notice and was with only a small group of retainers, which suggested that he was visiting in secret. “Could it be that you are here to supply mana to the scholar building?”

The prince shook his head. “No, there is something urgent I want you to investigate. Do you have somewhere we can speak in private?”

“In that case, the office would do better than the reading room.”

I guided them inside, at which point Prince Anastasius made his retainers step back and gave me a sound-blocking magic tool. He did not want even his own entourage to hear us, which made me understandably nervous.

“I do not want to involve the Knight’s Order in this matter,” he said. “I am aware that your husband was the reason you became a librarian, but first, I must ask you to sign these.” He put two magic contracts before me, one a declaration of my loyalty to the king and the other a vow of secrecy. How troubling.

“I am afraid that I cannot sign the contract swearing my loyalty to the king.”

“You cannot?!” Prince Anastasius barked, wide-eyed, his voice mixed with surprise and anger. “Hortensia...!”

“When I became a librarian and a guardian of knowledge, I vowed to obey Mestionora the Goddess of Wisdom. Swearing loyalty to another, even the Zent, would violate our contract. I have no intention of acting against the royal family... but I cannot sign that.”

“What is a ‘guardian of knowledge’?”

I did my best to explain.

“Thus,” I concluded, “I became a guardian of knowledge both to obtain a key to the underground archive and to assist the royal family with acquiring the Grutrissheit. Is my loyalty still not apparent? Will you have me executed as the archlibrarians were after the civil war’s purge?”

I went on to note that the executed archlibrarians had also been guardians of knowledge, which had prevented them from signing magic contracts to prove their loyalty to the Zent.

Prince Anastasius stared at me in shock. “That was not known to me... I shudder at our own mercilessness.”

“The librarians in question were from Old Werkestock, so they were quickly deemed to be threats when they refused to swear their loyalty to King Trauerqual. I am from Klassenberg, and my lord was the late Prince Waldifrid; I can at least partially sympathize with the royal family’s predicament back then.”

There had been a time when the royal family faced one betrayal after another, to the point that they could no longer trust any of the people around them. The circumstances had necessitated extreme caution toward those of enemy duchies, and it was reasonable to be wary of those who could not even sign a loyalty contract.

“In any case,” I continued, “while it was your family who ordered the purge, you were but a child at the time, not even old enough to have been baptized. Although it is important to remember the past, the blame for those deaths does not rest on your shoulders. But you are accountable for what happens next.”

Prince Anastasius glared at the contract. For most, swearing loyalty to the king was simple, so this was presumably the first time he had encountered an issue. It was clear as day that he was now racking his brain for how to deal with someone who was obedient but unable to prove it.

“Prince Anastasius, while I cannot sign your loyalty contract, I can at least sign this vow of silence.”

“That will do, then.”

Once the contract was signed, Prince Anastasius told me that Sovereign knights had interrupted a Royal Academy ditter game, even dragging students from lesser and middle duchies into the mix. It was suspected that a plant known as trug was involved.

“A dangerous plant that gives off a sweet smell when dried and burned, and which produces hallucinations, intoxication, and disturbing memories...?”

“Yes,” the prince said. “That is what Ehrenfest has told us, but we cannot act on their word alone. If we make our accusation without evidence, some will say that Ehrenfest orchestrated it themselves to move against the Sovereign Knight’s Order. Father has ordered me to obtain the proof we require in complete secrecy.”

Many viewed Ehrenfest with hostility and suspicion, but none more than my husband, Lord Raublut. His reason for sending me to the library in the first place was to investigate the duchy’s intentions.

Prince Anastasius continued, “We had the palace library scoured for information about the plant, but we found not even a single mention. We did come across a lead, though—a scholar older than fifty remembered being taught about trug by his herbology professor. The professor retired before the scholar’s graduation. I raised this with one of the palace librarians, and they replied that the Royal Academy’s library was more likely to have documents relating to a professor’s studies.”

That librarian was correct; there was a much better chance of a professor’s coursework being held in the Royal Academy than the palace library. Still, it was surprising that the latter had contained not even a single reference to the plant they were searching for; trug had to be rare indeed.

“It is possible to find course-related materials by specifying a professor,” I said. “And if we are fortunate enough for this herbologist’s disciples to have preserved his documents, then we might even come across the names of scholars who took his course. I do not expect many to have taken a class specializing in rare herbs, but surely there were some.”

“I see,” Prince Anastasius said. He appeared to be hopeful, which simply would not do; I did not want him setting himself up for disappointment.

“However,” I went on, “depending on where they were born, it is more than likely that the professor and his disciples were executed and the documents lost, especially with the complete lack of relevant materials in the palace library. I will search everything, including study guides left by students of other duchies, but there is no guarantee that I will find what you seek.”

The executed archscholars had dedicated their final moments to preserving as many documents as possible, but not everything had ended up in the third archive. Solange had said it was only natural that some would be missed.

“Just do all that you can. We are counting on you.”

After saying farewell to Prince Anastasius, I started identifying herbology professors with the help of Schwartz and Weiss. Because I already knew the generation in which he had retired, finding the man we were looking for was especially easy—as was finding the name of the disciple who had inherited his work.

It was just as I suspected, though. The disciple had already been executed.

Next, I went through every herbology document in the reading room and the second closed-stack archive, hoping to see whether anyone had continued the professor’s work. It appeared not. In fact, the new lesson plan incorporated nothing from its predecessor; there were very few descriptions of rare herbs, with the research instead focusing on how to grow each duchy’s specialty herbs in other territories.

“I can only hope for success in the third closed-stack archive...” I said to myself, making my way there with Schwartz and Weiss. This third archive contained research documents from those executed as political criminals.

Again, I searched through documents with Schwartz and Weiss, but not a single one belonged to the professor. There were no records about trug to be found.

“Hm... If the plant is so rare, could it have been known by another name?” I changed my approach, this time searching for records of anything that produced similar effects.

“Hortensia, here,” Weiss said, holding out a document—specifically a diary from two hundred years ago. It described a drug that seemed to tick the right boxes, most commonly used on women of a particular position. One of the ingredients listed was “Schlaftraum’s flower,” and that was it.

“Schlaftraum’s flower”? Is that still what they call it in Ahrensbach?

Once again, I updated my search, but there were no other mentions of Schlaftraum’s flowers being used as an ingredient for a drug.

To think this is all that remains... Just how many valuable documents were lost in the purge?

Once my investigation settled down, I sent word to Prince Anastasius, then began to contemplate the state of my home. As the commander of the Sovereign Knight’s Order, my husband was rarely ever there, and my own absence made me wonder whether our attendants were having any trouble guarding the place by themselves.

“I understand your concern,” Dirmira said. “It makes me uneasy to leave anything in the hands of that head attendant.”

“How many times have I told you not to speak about him like that?”

“You cannot count on him to tell you whether Lord Raublut is bringing another woman into your house, Lady Hortensia.” All of a sudden, there was an amused twinkle in her eye. “You know... This is an opportunity. You could return home under the guise of having forgotten something.”

She was right that Lord Raublut’s head attendant would prioritize his lord over me—but there was nothing strange about that, considering the length of their relationship.

Besides, Dirmira is exactly the same with me.

“I see no reason to do that. Go alone, if you must. You have grown rather tired of dormitory life, have you not? I permit you one day of leave to stock up on soap and makeup.”

After sending Dirmira home on business, I would spend the day she was absent working in the library’s reading room.

“Welcome back, Dirmira,” I said upon her return. “Was there another woman in my home, by chance?”

“Not a woman, no. The Sovereign High Priest.”

She had arrived to find my husband in some manner of negotiation, wherein the Sovereign High Priest had apparently said, “If you can promise me Ehrenfest’s flower in return, then...”

“I was only close when I poured them tea, so I don’t know what their negotiation was about,” Dirmira informed me. “But your husband was wearing a fake noble smile, even though he never usually smiles at all. It made me believe he was forming some kind of evil scheme. He looked like a villain, not a knight commander.”

I understood how she felt. Perhaps due to the scar above his cheek, Lord Raublut’s face turned into something fiendish whenever he smiled.

“For him to have gone to such lengths, it must have been to do with work,” I said. “Lord Loyalitat said just the other day that the Order has been engaged in more frequent negotiations with the Sovereign temple as a result of the Starbind Ceremony.”

“That’s true, but such business is always carried out by a group of knights. I thought it strange that Lord Raublut was acting alone.”

Indeed, the Knight’s Order always had several people take part in its negotiations and investigations; this helped to prevent any subterfuge or personal feelings that might get in the way. I found it hard to believe that my husband would violate that rule.

“Perhaps they were absent from the table during the brief moment you were there,” I suggested.

“The number of cups suggested otherwise, and the head attendant mentioned no other guests. Isn’t this suspicious?”

“You might think so, but why would he be speaking to the Sovereign High Priest if not for work?” The royal family’s relationship with the Sovereign temple had been strained ever since the civil war—and my husband, as a servant of the Zent, had never been on good terms with them either. The very idea that he had suddenly befriended and was casually meeting with someone of the temple was laughable.

“Lord Loyalitat did say that he has been operating on his own more as of late, which must have something to do with his work. At the very least, the exchange I came across did not seem romantic in nature.”

“Oh my, Dirmira. Whatever are you saying?”

We looked at each other and laughed. In any case, I was relieved to know that everything was okay at home.

Before the Archduke Conference, Prince Anastasius visited the library to ask about the results of my research. He looked especially busy. I was handed a sound-blocker as we entered my office, then I took a seat across from him.

“In conclusion, no records remain of the work done by the professor in question,” I said. “His disciple was from Werkestock.”

“I see...” the prince replied, his shoulders slumped. His eyes then wandered to the pile of documents beside me.

“I could not find any mention of a plant called ‘trug’ in the Royal Academy’s library. However, by investigating records of drugs and ingredients with similar effects, I was able to produce some meaningful results.” I picked up one of the documents and turned to a page I had bookmarked. “Prince Anastasius, are you familiar with Schlaftraum’s flower?”

“No. But I assume that the decision to name them after the God of Dreams, subordinate to the God of Life, is significant in some way. A code, perhaps. Or some kind of euphemism.”

“Quite. This is a record from two hundred years ago, when it seemed to be a euphemism for a drug ingredient. The drug was used on select women who served as partners to the royal family and the aubs.” I pointed at one line in particular. “The author of this diary wished to secure the ingredient but was unable, for it was grown in a place that was not easily accessible.”

Prince Anastasius looked it over, then frowned. “And you believe this could be referring to trug?”

“I do, but I cannot say for sure. This was the only mention of ‘Schlaftraum’s flowers’ being used as an ingredient for a drug. From there, I started to investigate the term. As generations passed, it went from being the name of an ingredient to a moniker for a certain group of women. There are many more records of this latter usage.”

I pointed to various examples in another text and read them aloud. “‘During the Archduke Conference, Aub Werkestock received an invite marked with a white blossom—an invitation from one of Schlaftraum’s flowers. How I wish to obtain one myself.’ And over here, ‘The second prince sought one of Schlaftraum’s flowers but was refused.’”

I continued, “As I understand it, a hundred-some years ago, there existed a facility where women would invite archdukes and members of the royal family to bed with them. Those women were known as Schlaftraum’s flowers. It is hard to say why they were named after an ingredient for a drug. One theory is that they used the drug themselves, but the truth remains uncertain.”

The prince grimaced in displeasure. Perhaps the tale was too extreme for him, or he was too virtuous not to automatically disapprove.

“Prince Anastasius, you might learn more about the drug and its ingredients if you research Schlaftraum’s flowers in the palace library. Or do you already have an idea? I was Prince Waldifrid’s scholar for a very long time, but not once did I hear of such flowers or see a blossom-marked invitation.” The records were only a hundred years old, but such information had never come up in the royal palace, not even as a tale of the past.

“Neither have I,” the prince replied. “I would assume they are connected to flower offerings. Could the facility have been in the Sovereign temple?”

“The Sovereign temple would not have had the authority to serve only aubs and the royal family. Even professors of the Royal Academy can enter as they please. Maybe things were different generations ago, but any changes of that nature would absolutely be mentioned in the Sovereign temple’s records.”

Any connection between Schlaftraum’s flowers and the temple’s flower offerings would not be recorded in the Academy’s library. Prince Anastasius must have taken the hint, because he smiled and said, “I will research Schlaftraum’s flowers in the palace library. Your assistance is appreciated.” But as he went to stand, I quickly called out.

“One moment, please. It would seem that the term ‘Schlaftraum’s flowers’ now applies to the women given to knights after battle.”

The prince frowned, clearly skeptical. “I have never heard it used like that.” Neither the Knight’s Order nor Klassenberg had ever used the term in that way either; it was new to me as well.

“I had not either until the other day. I was told that last year, after the Knight’s Order slew the feybeasts that interrupted their investigation into Old Werkestock, Ahrensbach used the term to describe the women it provided.”

“Ahrensbach, you say?” Prince Anastasius cocked an eyebrow. It was so unlike his previous reactions that I could not help but blink at him curiously.

“Do you know something?”

“No, its mention merely surprised me. Erm... what did the knights say? Did they see any rare plants in Ahrensbach or notice any sweet-smelling smoke?”

I was about to say that he could ask them himself when I remembered that he did not want to involve the Knight’s Order. “My apologies, but it came up only briefly during an exchange of pleasantries. That was several days ago, and I did not think it particularly important at the time. My memory of the conversation is far from perfect, but I think they said...”

Ahrensbach’s first wife had taken the knights somewhere, saying that Schlaftraum’s flowers were blooming beautifully that year. Lord Raublut had then refused to take part; he had wanted a vase of white flowers instead.

“Hm. My apologies, but could you see whether the term ‘Schlaftraum’s flower’ is common in Ahrensbach?”

“Would you have me ask the duchy’s knights?”

“No, nothing so blatant. Just, uh... broach the subject casually and see how they react.”

That was easier said than done. I could engage in pleasantries with fellow professors, Sovereign nobles, and those from my home duchy, but how was I supposed to speak casually with nobles who never visited the library in the first place?

“I do not expect anyone from Ahrensbach to visit the library during the Archduke Conference,” I said, expressing my doubts. “You want me to be discreet, but would it not be unnatural to ask them to visit or wait for them by the entrance to the meeting rooms? If you would not mind waiting until winter, I could ask the students, but I suspect the children are all too young to be of any use.”

“I shall ensure that Detlinde or someone from her retinue visits the library. Ask them when they arrive. And could you possibly make it so that Rozemyne overhears your conversation? That girl manages to pick up information from the strangest places.”

I could understand why he wanted to involve Lady Rozemyne; her insights were always so strange yet intriguingly nuanced.

“How am I to ask, though? I cannot just mention Schlaftraum’s flowers out of the blue.” To those from Ahrensbach, the term seemed to refer to women of a particular role. It was not something to mention lightly.

“Simply express your displeasure that your husband was introduced to and even took flowers from another woman. That would seem natural enough.”

“Would it...?”

“Hortensia. Your husband took flowers from another woman. Even now, I imagine you are struggling to maintain your composure.”

Oho, I see. Were he in my shoes, Prince Anastasius would surely be losing his mind right now. How cute.

I often heard rumors about the prince’s intense love for Lady Eglantine, but this was my first time actually witnessing it. It was so... innocent. And youthful in a way that warmed my heart.

“Perhaps I could mimic you and pretend to be envious,” I said. “Embarrassingly enough, I did not actually mind in the least; in fact, I was pleased that he received some flowers to his liking.”

“Why do Klassenberg women always react like that?! Some jealousy is important for a couple! Your husband received white flowers from another woman, and gazed upon them sentimentally! It is clear that...”

Thus began a passionate lecture from the lovestruck prince.

I cleared my throat, interrupting Lady Detlinde’s high-pitched cackling. “Lady Detlinde, if you would allow me to ask a question...” Then, in a voice clear enough for Lady Rozemyne to hear me: “Are Schlaftraum’s flowers blossoming as beautifully as ever this year?”

“‘Schlaftraum’s flowers’?”

“Oh, are you not familiar with them? They can only be obtained in Ahrensbach, and my husband is rather fond of them. Do ask Lady Georgine about them when you next get the chance.”

Lady Detlinde had not the only blank face; even her older, male guard knights were nonplussed. They wore looks not of outrage that I would mention such a topic to a young woman but of mild confusion, as though they had no idea what I was referring to. It was strange.

Is the term used only by those close to Lady Georgine, the first wife of Ahrensbach?

Immediately after my investigation, there was an incident in the underground archive. Then, during the Archduke Conference proper, a string of unexpected developments shook Yurgenschmidt to its very core. Suffice to say, I did not have a chance to report my modest findings to Prince Anastasius before the conference’s conclusion.

I imagine he will summon me again once things calm down.

Feeling more at ease, I cleaned the library with Solange, focusing in particular on the rest area by the underground archive—which had been especially busy—and the waiting room where the retainers unable to enter the archive had stayed. I also organized the office, tidied my room in the library dormitory, and supplied Schwartz and Weiss with mana. The entire process took several days.

It was not long before my time in the library dormitory came to an end. I returned home with Dirmira... and immediately upon my arrival, Lord Raublut summoned me to his room.

“Hortensia. Who told you about Schlaftraum’s flowers?”