89.

“Of course, I intend to mobilize the navy to search the coastline… but it will take a little more time before we can actually deploy the ships.”

“What did you say?”

“Wreckage from the destroyed warship, along with wounded soldiers, is drifting ashore. Under these circumstances, launching ships might actually…”

“That’s an utterly ridiculous excuse.”

Rosetta snapped coldly. Nonsense has its limits—if you want someone to at least pretend to believe you. The officers now couldn’t even meet her gaze properly. That was a clear sign they were hiding something. Whatever it was, it reeked badly.

“That’s not an excuse. If naval personnel are diverted…”

“If you’re just going to spout nonsense, leave immediately. Otherwise, just tell me plainly—what’s the real reason?”

“…”

The officers merely glanced at each other, unwilling to speak. Damn it, they of all people should know this situation was far from normal. Sending both the admiral and his heir on a mission with missing-in-action risk? Until now, they’d clung to the golden promise that this would be an easy suppression operation. But now they knew it was all lies. Everything defied common sense. Let alone delaying the search.

Rosetta gasped for breath, then suddenly felt an intense dizziness. It was likely the delayed effect of three sleepless days, skipped meals, and now crashing down amid emotional shock. As she staggered, her face already deathly pale, one of the younger officers instinctively reached out to support her.

“My lady!”

Rosetta violently shrugged off his hand before it could touch her. The young officer’s eyes twisted with what looked like pity, which she found unbearable.

“Please, please, just calm down for now…”

“Calm down?”

Through the insignias pinned to their chests, Rosetta easily recognized that these men had once been scholarship recipients under Montrosa. Two officers caught her gaze and their faces flickered faintly with guilt. Rosetta spoke in a dry, strained voice.

“If you have even the slightest regard for me, then please—give me information that could actually help.”

“…”

“My husband is out there, dying somewhere in the endless open sea.”

The officers’ cheeks flushed with shame. Their consciences were locked in a tense tug-of-war between orders to remain silent and the gratitude they owed to the Montrosa family. They exchanged glances, then whispered among themselves for a long moment. Finally, as if reaching a decision, one of them spoke.

“This is still classified information, so we must ask you to keep it in strict confidence, my lady.”

“I will.”

Rosetta nodded quickly. Even then, the officers hesitated a moment longer.

“Truthfully… permission for the search has not been granted from above.”

“Above? Do you mean the Imperial Household?”

“No.”

The officer shook his head.

“The Crown Prince has appointed a temporary admiral to command the navy in Duke Montrosa’s absence.”

“A new… admiral?”

It was absurd. Was this how openly they were announcing they’d been waiting for the Montrosa men to disappear? And no one dared object?

“You said contact was lost five days ago. The damaged ship only arrived this morning. How could the Crown Prince in the distant capital possibly know and appoint a temporary admiral so swiftly?”

“They say that given how dangerous this mission was, preparations had been made in advance to ensure a smooth transition of command should anything go wrong.”

Damn it, not a single dog would believe that. Rosetta narrowed her eyes contemptuously and tightly crossed her arms.

“No matter who the Crown Prince is, can he just arbitrarily appoint a military commander?”

“His Majesty has been in seclusion for the second month now. All royal decrees are being relayed exclusively through the Crown Prince.”

“Damn it, what kind of…”

The officer slightly furrowed his brow, cutting her off.

“At present, the Crown Prince’s words are the Emperor’s will.”

“Imperial Princess has come down to the Cyclides residence as the Crown Prince’s proxy. The temporary admiralship was conferred last night.”

“The temporary admiral has judged that launching a search immediately is difficult.”

“They say a storm is expected in two days.”

Every word they spoke was jaw-dropping nonsense. As Rosetta stood frozen, the officers reverted to their stiff, formal demeanor. They seemed to regret having revealed too much in a fleeting moment of sympathy. Returning to rigid posture, they snapped sharp salutes.

“We will inform you at once if any news regarding your husband arrives.”

“We shall take our leave now.”

Rosetta watched them exit the reception room without the slightest movement. From that conversation, only one fact remained clear: the temporary admiral had absolutely no intention of organizing a search party. Slowly, Rosetta clenched her fists.

Now, truly, only one path remained.

* * *

The next morning, a heap of ragged corpses washed ashore in clusters. Most were pirates, but among them were wounded survivors clinging to rafts.

Cyclides was thrown into utter chaos—everywhere one went, it was all people talked about. Above all, the disappearance of the admiral plunged the citizens into fear. The pride of the Eastern region, undefeated even in minor naval skirmishes for the past thirty years, had suddenly collapsed.

Rosetta intuitively understood that public support was essential to forming a search party. She personally led soldiers to scour the coast and transported the wounded to hospitals. Every day, she visited the hospital as a volunteer. Mixing with ordinary women, she washed clothes and linens, changed bandages, and delivered meals to the injured. Using her busy schedule as an excuse, she frequently skipped meals, and her body grew thinner by the day.

Seeing her withering away, the wounded soldiers first felt gratitude, then guilt. One after another, they began sharing whatever information they had about the last sighting of Cardier. Near Portmuth, the archipelago bordering Saxen, close to a jutting cliff…

The information was all erratic and inconsistent, but Rosetta listened carefully to every word. At the end of their hesitant, mumbled accounts, the soldiers always tried to comfort her.

“Lieutenant Cardier will be fine. I trained with him myself—I know. He’s the kind of man who can’t be killed, no matter how hard you try. He’s like a monster. Please, don’t worry…”

Rosetta clung to each word as if it were a sacred incantation, imprinting them deeply into her heart. Somehow, her anxious mind felt a little lighter each time.

And finally, on the morning of the fifth day after the storm ended, Rosetta knew the time had come to act.

“Bring more. Bring more.”

Rosetta said, cramming avocado and soft-boiled eggs roasted with pepper and salt into her cheeks until they bulged. At her urging, maids rushed to the kitchen, quickly bringing out freshly prepared dishes—light, easy-to-eat meals one after another.

“Please eat slowly.”

Anna poured lukewarm brewed black tea into a teacup. Rosetta dumped generous amounts of sugar and milk into the tea and gulped it down in one go. Her increasingly gaunt appearance had earned sympathy, but at the cost of being utterly drained physically.

From now on, it would be a long and grueling fight. Most importantly, she needed to eat well and regain her strength. Just chewing and swallowing the food made her limbs feel a faint surge of vitality. She dipped soft bread into the leftover sauce on her plate and ate every last bit. After days of near-starvation, her stomach felt so full it was nearly bursting.

Resisting the urge to lie down and roll away, Rosetta gave orders to Anna, who had wheeled in the serving cart.

“Prepare the carriage.”

“Already finished? It’s such a proper meal for once—couldn’t you eat a bit more…?”

“That’s enough. I’ll eat just as much again tonight.”

“In that case, I’m relieved. If it’s the carriage, are you heading to the hospital again?”

Rosetta firmly shook her head.

“No. The naval residence.”

* * *

Rosetta arrived at the naval residence in full formal attire. Even Aven, who had previously refused to allow outsiders inside, now greeted her with polite deference. Before, she had been seen as an outsider, but now that her husband had gone missing while carrying out a national mission, a certain level of respect was due. The public’s favorable opinion of the Marchioness of Montrosa—who, despite her husband’s disappearance, prioritized caring for the wounded—was unprecedentedly high.

Thanks to this, Rosetta reached the temporary admiral’s office without getting lost, guided with extreme courtesy. The thought that some lackey of the Crown Prince was now freely occupying this space—Cardier’s own office in normal times—made her blood boil. But she forced herself not to dwell on it. After successfully steeling her expression, she turned to the page guarding the door.

“Tell the temporary admiral I am here.”