Chapter 4
01. Unspoken Words (3)
“Your Highness, you must flee!”
The moment he heard those words—when he left the palace like that—Leonar Antoine de Charlroix regretted it for a long time. The Marquis Paul d’Antribier, who had escorted him out of the palace, resisted the revolutionary army’s occupation of the imperial palace to the very end and was executed by firing squad.
One of Leonar’s long-time hobbies was to disguise himself and roam the streets of Seine from a secret hideout he had established outside the palace. In doing so, he experienced much. One day, he gave a silver coin to a starving beggar girl who had tried to steal bread. Another day, he rescued a commoner boy who was about to be beaten by a nobleman. He enjoyed such deeds and earnestly wished that could be his true calling. That was why he coveted the throne, even in opposition to his elder brother, the Crown Prince. He could not tolerate a Reang ruled by his tyrannical father or by his brother.
Ironically, the nobles who defended the palace to their last breath during the night of the revolution—such as Paul d’Antribier—were those who had shared Leonar’s vision and stood by him. They were loyal to him, to the House of Charlroix, and to the Empire of Reang. In an instant, Leonar was left utterly alone, with nowhere to go except his old hideout, which could be discovered at any moment. He survived for about a month on the provisions he had stored there for times when he might be absent from the palace for several days.
By the time he left the hideout, forsaking the dawn, the world he had known had been completely overturned.
The revolution had triumphed, the republic was established, the class system officially abolished, Anzola Renicourt elected as the first Consul, the imperial family confined to the eastern tower, and the central nobility of Seine purged, dispossessed, or, if fortunate, exiled abroad.
And then, the resistance of the monarchist restorationists began in Basbourg.
Leonar was first grateful that his wanted posters were not plastered across the city streets. Given his tall and robust stature, it would have been nearly impossible to stay hidden had his face been posted everywhere. Perhaps the revolutionaries had kept his escape secret. Even so, he knew they must be searching for him, so he was, without question, a fugitive. He moved with utmost caution, disguising himself and gathering information as he roamed the streets—just as he had done before the revolution. The streets were brimming with optimism, full of stories about a new world. It was a sight Leonar had never encountered since he first developed his penchant for secret excursions.
Once he felt somewhat assured of his safety, his thoughts turned to the royal family confined in the eastern tower. His relationship with the emperor and the crown prince was hostile enough that he had openly denounced their tyranny and exploitation of the people. Yet he loved his mother, sister-in-law, sisters, and nephews. Leonar hoped the revolutionaries would treat them humanely and rationally—or, at the very least, that some of them had been lucky enough to escape.
He heard rumors that trials would soon be held. If that happened, the emperor and the crown prince would likely not survive. Leonar did not expect otherwise. But what about the rest? Though he had once dreamed of being emperor—and though he resented the revolutionaries—he still harbored a sliver of faith in their vision of a new world.
So, what now?
That was the next question before him. Among his possessions was a medallion proving his status as the second prince of Reang.
The first option was exile. He had heard that the Empire of Cladieff and the Kingdom of Plana had offered asylum to the deposed royals. Crossing their borders was one way forward. But Leonar did not want to leave Reang.
The second option was to head south to Basbourg, where civil war between monarchists and revolutionaries was raging. Count Catrine of Basbourg had been one of the crown prince’s staunchest supporters, but under the current circumstances, he would not be choosy. If Leonar reached the fortress safely, they would likely rally around him, intensifying the resistance.
Leonar thought long and hard and decided to go south.
But he did not go to the fortress of Basbourg.
Leonar Antoine de Charlroix simply wandered as if bewitched—drawn to the only land in this country, so full of hope for a new era, that was still drenched in blood.
And so he arrived in Dinan, unable to decide whether this was flight or something else. With no job or clear purpose, he spent his days helping with farm work in one home and tending to the wounded in another, simply aiding those around him. When news came that the royals in the eastern tower had all been executed, he was devastated and enraged, but still, he did not return to Seine or seek out the fortress in Basbourg.
Time passed like that—until something utterly unexpected happened.
He encountered the one person he never wanted to meet again.
And then, he heard that this very person had settled in Dinan and opened a clinic.
⚜ ⚜ ⚜
Philippe Ardinan had been right. In Anaïs Belmartier’s eyes, Dinan was, in every sense, a village in dire straits. The smallest and weakest settlement in Basbourg, and dangerously close to the combat zone, it was constantly ravaged by the fires of civil war. Death and injury were an unending cycle.
At this rate, the entire village would be reduced to ruins within months. Small as it was, Dinan was still a home for people—and other villages in Basbourg were hardly faring much better.
When Anaïs first witnessed the situation here, she burned with anger—anger directed squarely at Edmond Lambert. Despite surely having seen all this with his own eyes, he had hidden the truth from her.
“Seine needs you.”
That was one of Edmond’s endless refrains. He could not have been ignorant of how desperately this place needed a doctor—especially since Anaïs was the only physician among the revolutionary leaders. He must have kept silent, knowing she would rush here the moment she learned the truth.
After exhausting her fury at Edmond—who could deliver the most impassioned orations on the podium yet remain chillingly calculating—Anaïs turned her anger inward. She had believed his words without question and never thought to see the situation for herself. So drunk on the heat of revolution, the joy of victory, and the thrill of a new era, she had forgotten those bleeding lives—and yet she had dared to call herself a doctor.
Then she saw him. And in that instant, she wanted to die on the spot.
But a few days after settling in Dinan, she no longer had the luxury of anger or guilt. She spent her days running from one end of the village to the other, sometimes even to neighboring hamlets, tending to the wounded—every one of them a civilian victim of the war. Some were shot, others blown apart by bombs, others maimed by monarchists or revolutionaries alike. As she treated them, Anaïs began to doubt whether they had truly created a “better” world. But before long, she forced herself to set such thoughts aside.
This life—of healing people, again and again, without room for useless, harrowing guilt—was the life she had long desired.
⚜ ⚜ ⚜
What madness am I engaged in now?
Leonar thought this as he rubbed his face with dry hands.
He did not regret coming to Dinan.
Countless destitute nobles were selling their jewels and trinkets to bribe revolutionaries or fund their exile. And since the revolutionaries’ failure to capture the second prince was an official state secret, Leonar easily sold off his own valuables without arousing suspicion, using the money to survive. His frugal nature meant he never amassed a fortune, but it was enough to settle in this small rural village, bolstered by the locals’ generous spirit.
The people of Dinan never pried into Leonar’s past. More accurately, they had no time to. In a place where every able-bodied young man who could do the work of several and care for the elderly and children was precious, they welcomed his presence, regardless of who he was or why he had come.
“Doctor Belmartier, I brought some potatoes…”
And what of her? Of course he knew Anaïs was a doctor. That a renowned revolutionary figure would descend upon such a remote hamlet was enough to move the villagers to tears.
An old widow lived with her son, who had nearly died when shrapnel tore through his leg. These days, Leonar had been helping the widow in her son’s stead. When she suddenly appeared with a mountain of potatoes and insisted on going somewhere, he followed as a porter—only to find their destination was here.
And so, for their second meeting, Leonar and Anaïs faced each other across a doorway, both looking awkward and uncomfortable, while the oblivious widow beamed and handed Anaïs the basket.
“If it weren’t for you, my boy would be dead. I’ve nothing else to offer, so please don’t refuse these.”
“I only did what I had to…”
What she had to do. Leonar clenched his teeth for a moment as Anaïs, who had saved the boy’s life without taking a single coin, accepted the basket with an embarrassed smile. Her hands sank under the weight.
“This is… too much, ma’am. Your son still needs to recuperate, and proper nourishment is crucial for that. If you give all this to me, what about you and your son?”
The widow had brought so many potatoes that no woman could finish them in a season. Leonar could almost believe she had brought her entire summer harvest.
“Oh, we kept plenty for ourselves. Don’t worry. Serdieux, the doctor looks like she’s struggling. Could you carry that inside for her?”
“A-ah, no, it’s fine—”
“Of course.”
Leonar swept the basket from Anaïs’s hands and strode into the house.
