Chapter 3: The Nation’s Anniversary

“Ah, could you pass me that?” Altina called over.

“Princess, if you keep moving around like that, your hair will never be in order.”

“Yeah, but don’t you think that hairpin would look cuter?”

“Perhaps. Now please, face the mirror and sit still. And stop touching your hair.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

It was early in the afternoon, on their second day in the capital.

The commemoration festival had begun. The town bustled with festivities, while the palace erupted in celebration. In the midst of this, Altina fought an uphill battle. To be more precise, Clarisse was struggling hard to pretty her up.

“Hm... Maybe this one would look nicer.”

A blue headpiece in one hand, and a gold one in the other, she seemed to be mulling over which one to go with.

“You’d look cute wearing either, Princess.”

“You’re not helping, Clarisse.”

“Oh, that’s a shame.”

Altina shifted her gaze to a figure reflected in the mirror.

“What do you think, Regis?”

“All I can say is that you have ten minutes before the party begins.”

The party would begin at two o’clock.

“Ah, you’re no help... Eric, what do you think?”

The guard officer she suddenly pulled into the conversation was staring, entranced.

“How pretty...”

“That’s quite a peculiar way to praise someone, but thank you.”

“Ah! S-Sorry! I think you look lovely—very much so.”

Clarisse smiled at him.

“Would you care to try on a dress, Eric?”

“Me!? Ah, no, I’m... I’m a man, so... What a silly suggestion. Haha...”

Regis could have sworn that, for a brief moment, Eric’s surprised expression had been filled with glee. But he had to have been imagining it. Eric may have had the delicate facial features of a young woman, but he was the eldest son of the Blanchard household. According to his grandfather Everard, who was also the house’s current head, Eric had no siblings and his father had died in battle; in a few years’ time, he would succeed Everard.

“...Well, I do think it’d suit him...” Regis muttered, only to be immediately confronted by Eric.

“A-Are you serious!? Do you really think I’d look good in a dress!?”

“Eh? Err, yeah...?”

Perhaps that was too forward of me, Regis worried.

But Eric happily smiled, color touching his cheeks.

“Is that so...? H-How troublesome.”

“...Um...”

“Well, Mr. Regis, if you so fervently insist...”

“I’m not insisting anything!”

Altina shot him a cold glare through the mirror while Clarisse offered an amused chuckle.

“We’re in trouble now, Princess. Mr. Regis is crossing a dangerous bridge.”

“Right. It would be narrow-minded of me to comment on the preferences of a subordinate, so I won’t. I really won’t say anything, you hear? Not a word from me!”

“...I’m not crossing anything!”

“Then you were on the other side from the start?”

“Ms. Clarisse, please leave it at that.”

As their bantering continued, time seemed to pass in a flash.

“Ah... We’re going to be in trouble if we don’t leave now.”

“All right, you’re done,” said Clarisse, moving away her hands.

Altina teetered here and there as she stood, most likely due to the unfamiliar dress she was wearing. It was a deep red, the color of wine, and adorned with various soft-looking ribbons. The way its skirt was frilled made it look like a flower in bloom.

Regis was left speechless, entranced by the exposed pale skin around her nape, shoulders and chest.

“......”

“What? Do I look funny?”

“Err, ah... You look... beautiful. Very...”

“Woah.”

“You should hurry up.”

“Ehehe... Say it again. One more time, one more time.”

“...You should hurry up?”

“I didn’t mean that!”

Regis knew full well what she had meant, but was too embarrassed to ever say it again.

The party was organized by the Ministry of Ceremonies, and only those invited could take part. A large majority of the invitations, quite naturally, went to nobles. While Regis was able to accompany Altina to the palace as her staff officer, he wasn’t personally invited, so he very much intended to stay in the waiting room with Clarisse. Security for the venue was handled by the capital garrison, so Eric would likely do the same.

Her makeup complete, Altina poked Regis’s head.

“You could have at least put some oil in your hair.”

“...Dressing me up would be rather pointless.”

“You think so? But it’s a party and all. Just a little bit wouldn’t hurt.”

“You’re the one going to a party. We’re just going to the waiting room.”

“Oh, silly Regis. You’re coming too.”

“As much as I’d love to follow you, only those invited can attend.”

“And I’m saying I’m inviting you.”

“...Excuse me, what?”

Altina said it as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“I might not be able to bring you to the ceremony, but I should be allowed to bring a person or two along to the party. I’m not sure about the lower-ranking members, but the other nobles generally bring along family members, friends, and attendants.”

Now that he thought about it, Regis had read a number of books in which an outsider accompanied a noble to a palace party. Though he never imagined he would be placed in that position...

“...I’m really going? To a party of nobles where His Majesty the Emperor himself will be in attendance?”

“That’s right.”

“...How could this be...? This is all rather sudden.”

“Are you not up for it?”

“My heart’s not ready. Ah, my stomach isn’t either.”

“It’s fine,” Clarisse said coolly as she opened a trunk, “I thought this might happen, so I packed a full set of ceremonial clothing for you.”

“When did you do that!?”

“Then it all works out. Good job, Clarisse!” praised Altina, “Now, now. Hurry up and change.”

“But the party’s already starting!”

No sooner than he had said it, he heard a fanfare in the distance. But Altina paid it no mind whatsoever.

“It’s fine. Arriving a little late suits me perfectly. What royal stands around waiting for a party to begin?”

“...I see.” Her words did make sense, in a peculiar way.

Left with little choice in the matter, Regis changed into the ceremonial military uniform that had been prepared for him.

✧ ✧ ✧

Though it had been some time since Regis had been transferred to the Beilschmidt border regiment—a demotion, as he saw it—he had been far too busy for an enlistment ceremony, or even the New Year party, for that matter. He hadn’t worn anything this formal since his previous unit.

Marquis Thénezay, as a noble of the capital, would invite friends to his manor for whatever reason and host parties. Not because his house was particularly spendthrift; it was simply custom for nobles to frequently entertain one another.

Houses whose finances fell through due to expensive displays and parties weren’t rare. The conscious aristocrat might show self-restraint no matter the amount of mockery they may receive for it, but there were also terrible aristocrats who would use their right to command tribute to squeeze excessive sums of money from their fiefdom.

“That’s why... I’m not too fond of the palace’s parties...” Regis mumbled.

“If you really insist, I won’t force you to go.”

The conversation took place as they walked down the corridor leading from Altina’s room to the party hall.

Altina gazed at Regis, examining him from head to toe. The base of his uniform was a greenish blue, his chest furnished with a white cravat and golden chains, and red cloth dangled from both hips. To be blunt, he stood out. While the uniform was indeed for ceremonial use, it was far too flashy. He would instantly become a sniper’s target on the battlefield.

Altina nudged him playfully with her elbow.

“You don’t look half bad.”

“...I don’t have broad shoulders, and I’m not very tall at all. Plus I can’t imagine I’m much to look at. If I at least had some medals on my chest, I might be somewhat more presentable.”

“You want medals? You should’ve said so. I would have put in an application. You’d probably get some.”

“Mn... On second thought, if you made my coat any heavier I’d end up with stiff shoulders. Don’t worry about it.”

“Ahaha, I’ve never heard anyone turn down a medal for that reason before. Ah, if you’d rather not wear a uniform, should I get you a dress for tomorrow? You just might be able to pull it off.”

She pinched her frilly layered skirt and waved it back and forth. Regis did find the dress cute, but he felt absolutely no urge to try it on. He was very thankful for that.

“...I’ll have to decline. While I don’t like parties, we need more information to find a means to oppose Prince Latrielle. So long as I can get in, we should be set.”

“Then all’s well.”

“...But I’m so nervous I might embarrass you. I don’t know what to do with myself.”

“Are there no books on the proper manners for a party?”

“...I’ve read a few. Unfortunately, reading doesn’t make me any better at dancing.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. I’m terrible at it too.”

“I never would have expected that. When you’re holding a sword you seem so light on your feet.”

“My dance instructor was always fuming at me. ‘Your footwork is so sharp it’s like you’re fencing. It’s important to match your partner’s pace and to breathe as one, so why are you swinging the men around? Your dance partner isn’t a sword.’ And so on, and so forth.”

“I see... You had too much physical strength. But in that case, you should be able to dance fine with the rest of the royal family.”

“Latrielle is even more nitpicky than my instructor was, so he’s immediately ruled out! It’s rare to even see Auguste at a party, and Bastian’s been banned from them.”

What exactly had the third prince done?

“...Looks like you’ve got your fair share of troubles.”

Regis sympathized just a little with the emperor, who begot nothing but problem children.

The sound of the festivities grew louder. There were sentries at the entrance to the hall, and an elderly butler checking over invitations. They won’t turn me away for being a commoner, will they? Regis wondered, his stomach beginning to churn.

The butler took one look at Altina then reverently lowered his head. He immediately informed everyone in the hall of her presence.

“Fourth Princess Marie Quatre Argentina de Belgaria has just arrived!”

In an instant, a heavy silence fell over the hall. The music had stopped, and all eyes gathered on the princess. A year ago, she had been no more than a princess with a commoner mother; nothing more than a target of envy and disdain to the aristocrats. But now she held a position of power and had a number of military achievements. It was enough that she could hold her head high.

As Altina started to make her way through the hall, the ambiance kicked up again as if hastily attempting to smooth the situation over. Regis walked beside her, trying hard to keep up her pace.

“...Hm.”

“You keep fidgeting, Regis. What’s wrong? If you’re looking for a drink, they’ll come around soon enough. Just be patient.”

“...This is a world straight out of a play. No matter where I look, I only see nobles.”

“Well, that sounds about right. There are quite a lot of people here.”

“That’s not really what I meant.”

Quite a few had yet to arrive, but even so, there were at least a hundred nobles engaging in idle chatter.

The party was being held in a large hall at the center of the southern tower. The ceiling stretched even higher than the castle ramparts, and a number of chandeliers hung down from above, their warm glimmer creating what could only be described as a beautiful night sky in the middle of the day. Various embroidered cloths decorated the walls, while the floor was lain with tasteful carpet.

Toward the front of the hall was a platform large enough to be used for a stage play, and a sizable space in the middle of the room had been kept open for dancing. There were tables by the wall laden with food, and sommeliers poured wine at six separate counters. A line of sofas had been arranged at the very back of the hall, presumably for the nobles to rest on.

Fragrant scents wafted from every direction, but the most noticeable came from the vases on the wall-side tables, which were filled with rose-scented perfume. Regis felt as though he had stepped into a rose garden.

An orchestra in the corner was in the middle of performing a rather peppy tune.

“Looks like Latrielle is already here,” Altina said, glancing over the hall, “Do you think Auguste will come? Geh... And she’s here too.”

Among a large crowd of followers was the form of a woman in a conspicuously flashy dress that glimmered in gold. She was the elderly emperor’s sixth and newest consort: Juhaprecia Octovia von Estaburg. Though as she had already been taken by the emperor, her last name had since been changed to “de Belgaria.”

She was originally a princess of the neighboring kingdom of Estaburg to the east, and her followers consisted largely of the nobles who lived along their shared border.

The Empire had expanded eastward to a considerable degree over the last century; the lords who originally managed the territories would be granted a position of nobility within the Empire in exchange for a bloodless surrender. Incidentally, after only a single engagement with the Empire, no matter how quickly one surrendered, the lord would either be sentenced to death or exile.

While there was no clear distinction, the nobles of newly occupied territory were deemed nouveau noblesse, and were disdained and discriminated against for being upstarts and yokels.

Juhaprecia was bragging to everyone in earshot about the rather large gemstone dangling in front of her chest.

“Ufufufu. His Majesty himself gave it to me. He promised to give me an even larger jewel on my birthday.”

“Oh, as expected of His Majesty!”

“But I am growing weary of necklaces. I do hope he’ll give me something else next time.”

“How about an earring, my lady?”

“Dear me, but the jewel is going to be even bigger than this one. Can you imagine how much that would stretch out my ear? Ohohohohoh.”

She laughed, her followers guffawing in turn. The other surrounding nobles glared at them with ire.

Looks like the rumors of her debauchery are true... Regis quietly sighed to himself. A slow glance around the hall was enough to tell the Empire was harshly divided.

First, there was the faction supporting First Prince Auguste, led by his mother, the second consort Catherine; her household, led by Duke Touranne; and the other houses in the area. While they were some of the Empire’s oldest standing noble lineages, their territories were in the western countryside and so boasted very little in regard to wealth and military strength.

Then, there was the faction supporting Second Prince Latrielle, led by the great empress herself, and consisting of the high nobles centered around her house. Their territories were based around the capital; they were affluent, with great influence over the military.

However, the fourth princess wasn’t as detached from the factions as she thought. A certain someone offered her a deep bow. He was an elderly gentleman.

It went against proper etiquette for a noble to hold up royalty, so such a conversation would normally never happen unless Altina had spoken first. But there was no reason for her to ignore the man.

“Um... H-Hello?” said Altina.

“Pardon my great discourtesy, Your Highness Marie Quatre. It is an honor to meet you.”

“Yes, likewise.”

He was apparently a margrave with territory in the southwest who, upon hearing rumors of Altina’s heroics, wanted an audience with her by any means necessary. She had always been ignored at gatherings up to this moment and so wasn’t accustomed to being greeted. It was clear she was nervous.

Nobles with similar notions in mind started to gather, forming a ring around the princess. Many were either nouveau noblesse, or those who had reasons they couldn’t ally themselves with the other factions. They were the undecided column. Were they going to become a third faction?

Considering how there were other nobles standing back, watching to see how things turned out, their numbers seemed great enough that it was understandable why Latrielle was so eager to secure their support.

Even so, it seemed these conversations wouldn’t progress much beyond simple introductions, template greetings and generic flattery. Regis could tell he wouldn’t learn any new information by staying here.

“...Make sure you remember their names and faces. I’ll be taking a look around,” he whispered into Altina’s ear.

“Eh? Um... Regis?”

“...Yes?”

“Mn. I— No. It’s nothing. I’m counting on you.”

“...Yeah.”

Altina looked discouraged, having been thrown into a situation unlike anything she had ever experienced before, but sallied forth with resolution.

Regis paced the hall, a wine glass given to him by a waiter in one hand. Who was talking to whom? Simply observing this would be considerably informative. It was knowledge that would prove useful down the line, so Regis planned to find an official from the Ministry of Ceremonies so he could get a look at the guest register.

This was information that would definitely never be shown to an outsider, but as someone in attendance it was simple enough to get ahold of. In no time at all, Regis had managed to secure a look at the register simply by saying he wanted to know whether a friend was coming.

Second Consort Catherine and the House of Touranne were scheduled to come, but had yet to arrive. While there were many others who were absent without notice, her status was enough to pique his interest.

“Ah!”

He felt strangely restless to see “Regis Aurick, Commoner, Fifth-Grade Admin Officer” written in next to Altina’s name. It was a stark reminder of just how out of place he was in a setting like this.

Offering his thanks to the official, Regis returned the register. He turned away, ready to go back to loitering around when—

“Why, if it isn’t Regis.”

Regis recognized the friendly voice as the man he had exchanged rather heated words with just the day before.

“...Good day, Germain.”

“I thought I’d find you here. I mean, you’re practically a hero at this point.”

“...That’s the princess you’re talking about, I just work under her. I’m only tagging along today as her guest.”

“You humble yourself. Those noblewomen have been eyeing you for a while now.”

When he looked where Germain had gestured to, he saw three young ladies looking in his direction. They shared some bashful giggles. Two raised their opened lace fans in their left hands, using them to cover their mouths, while the other kept hers closed, delicately running her fingers along its tip.

Using fans as a means of conveying feelings had gained considerable popularity among this era’s noblewomen. Holding one in the left hand in front of one’s face meant, “I want to become acquainted with you,” while stroking the top meant, “I want to talk to you.” At least, that was what Regis could remember.

A honeytrap? Regis looked away and deliberately cleared his throat. There was absolutely no way he would ever be popular with women—that was what he believed. He had no doubts that this had been set up.

He knew Latrielle was trying to win him over; he knew his objective. Seduction tactics—in this case employing such lovely women to send him amorous glances—were as basic of a trap as it could get. Yes, no matter how hard the prince tried to lure him in, Regis refused to give in.

“...My humblest apologies, but... I have no interest in those women, you see.”

“Oh my, so your interests lie elsewhere?” Germain shot him a playful wink.

“Th-That’s not what I meant!!” Regis was terribly flustered. Germain was a tough one—as expected of Latrielle’s retainer.

“Fufu. Well, my only intention was to help you broaden your network, Sir Regis.”

“...Much appreciated.”

“Prince Latrielle is still rather anxious over what happened last night.”

“Eh?”

Was he referring to how the prince had summoned Altina to an isolated room, attempted to threaten her into becoming his wife, and then very nearly beaten her black and blue? After all that, Regis was sure he would’ve been holding his head high.

“Despite how he looks, he’s a delicate one. Not long after the exchange, he fell into a state of depression wondering whether he had come on too strongly.”

“...Is that so?”

“But regardless of his current emotional state, I imagine it’ll be quite some time before the princess lets him talk to her again.”

“Yes, it would be best to give her some time.”

“Personally, I was considering having you, dear Regis, mediate between them.”

“...Me? Mediate between a prince and a princess?”

For a moment, the image of being caught between the Armée Victoire Volonté and the Grand Tonnerre Quatre crossed his mind, sending shivers down his spine.

“You could start tonight, if poss—”

The end of Germain’s sentence was shaved away by a separate, much louder voice.

“Ladies and gentlemen!”

Germain turned his eyes to the front of the hall, clearly displeased. A well-built, elderly-looking nobleman and a few people who were presumably his followers had climbed up onto the red-carpeted platform.

Germain clicked his tongue. “Bloody upstarts...”

“Who are they?”

“The... up-and-coming Duke Tiraso Laverde and his house. They have a vast plantation in the south, but they’re cowards who surrendered the moment the Empire invaded.”

“...I see.”

It would have been pointless for a territory without any military backing to resist the Empire. If an invasion couldn’t be prevented through political negotiation, immediate surrender was the appropriate decision.

The burly old noble, Tiraso Laverde, unfurled a sheet of parchment, though his eyes remained fixed on the audience before him. His gaze met with that of a young woman whose dark hair and modest black dress made her look like a crow. Her eyes couldn’t be seen under her veil, but she carried a stern atmosphere about her.

The young woman nodded, and Tiraso Laverde started reading the parchment from up on the stage.

“Ahem... We are nobles who hold territories to the south, and many of us are what you might consider nouveau noblesse.”

His sudden words brought visible confusion to those listening, and even the nobles who had been deep in conversation began to focus on the stage.

“Ahem...” Tiraso Laverde’s voice was now the only one that could be heard in the hall. “Compared to the imperial nobles of ages past who boast a strong connection of blood to one another, we are alone, and we are weak. Ahem... That is why, here and now, we p-proclaim the establishment of the... new noble alliance, the Gaillarte Garden Party!”

At those words, the room was astir. Tiraso Laverde ignored this and read on.

“Ahem... We of the Gaillarte Garden Party... did not originally offer our support to any prince.”

Meaning they were part of the undecided column—and judging by their numbers, quite an influential part, at that. Now that they had gone out of their way to proclaim as such, Regis had no doubt they would now express who they had chosen to support.

Are they going to announce their support for Altina? Regis could feel the anxiety bubbling up inside of him.

“Ahem... The Gaillarte Garden Party... is counting on First Prince Auguste to become the next emperor. Ahem... We wish to voice our wholehearted support for His Highness. For a long while—ahem—His Highness was brought to his knees by illness. However, his good grace has forced the demons of disease to take flight. He has recently begun wracking his brain over matters of public office—ahem—and his future achievements shall no doubt have him revered as one of history’s great emperors. Hack, hack...! Hack! Ahem... That is what we believe.”

“You have my gratitude!”

Auguste appeared from behind the stage; this was quite clearly a rehearsed production. Approaching Tiraso Laverde with confident steps, he exchanged a firm handshake with the elderly-looking noble.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the Gaillarte Garden Party, I thank you all for your kind support. I shall become the magnificent emperor you so desire. If you would please accompany me along the way!”

Applause rose not only from those on stage, but from small pockets around the hall as well. Those must have been Auguste’s supporters. They were considerably numerous.

Some parts of the speech had fallen flat, but its intent was clear—the Gaillarte Garden Party was a gathering of new nobles from the south. They were neither the time-honored nobles of Auguste’s faction, nor the capital-centered nobles of Latrielle’s. They were, so to speak, the very embodiment of the unaffiliated column, and now they had gathered, formed an alliance, and proclaimed they would support Auguste’s first faction.

Regis hadn’t heard any rumors that the sickly prince had stepped back into politics. But given the events that had just unfolded, as well as the fact that nobody seemed to be denying it, it was probably true.

While the third faction supporting Altina was growing... had the situation taken a sudden turn? Had there always been a large number among those in the unaffiliated column just waiting to express their support for Auguste?

Those in the hall exchanged bewildered words. The faces of the high nobles were especially pale. With this proclamation of support for a political enemy, the most affected should have been Latrielle and his retainer... and yet, Germain’s expression remained neutral.

“Now this is a troublesome development, wouldn’t you agree? Just listen to them, Sir Regis. They haven’t even familiarized themselves with our basic rules of etiquette. What a noisy bunch they are.”

“...Y-Yes... Quite.”

“Is something wrong? You’re not looking too well.”

“...I’m just not used to parties. Perhaps I’m a little fatigued.”

At this rate, the emperor would have to recognize Auguste as his successor. This should have been a terrible predicament for Latrielle’s side, yet not only Germain, but Latrielle himself didn’t seem fazed in the slightest. The second prince resumed the pleasant conversation he had been in the middle of.

Was this just a front? Did Latrielle have some kind of plan? The fact that Regis couldn’t pinpoint what the prince was thinking made him feel somewhat unsettled.

“Oh, right.” Germain lowered his voice. “We were interrupted.”

“Hm?”

“Prince Latrielle wants to speak with you in secret. Could you come to the prince’s room at ten o’clock tonight?”

“...Is it really all right for the likes of me to approach him?”

“I’ll inform the guards, of course.”

To equate the situation to a chess board, the enemy had taken the initiative and already had them in check. What’s more, Altina’s side had no pieces that could be used for the counteroffensive.

Perhaps the enemy was slowly picking off pieces before approaching the king. He could run here, but then it would only be a matter of time before... checkmate.

“...Very well.”

Germain nodded self-evidently, his face making clear he had known Regis would comply.

“That’s good. Then if you’ll pardon me.”

And with that, Germain offered a polite bow and walked away.

✧ ✧ ✧

Regis’s throat was parched.

By the time he realized, the glass in his hand was empty. While it was surely quite a high-grade wine, Regis couldn’t even remember whether it had been sweet or dry.

He made his way to one of the drinks counters and gestured for the attention of the sommelier.

“...White, please.”

“C’est entendu.”

A pale amber liquid with a faint green tinge was poured into his transparent glass.

“Thank you.”

He raised the freshly poured wine to his lips. It was refreshing; easy to drink, as though the wine had soaked right into him, leaving behind a pleasant fruity fragrance and an indescribable sweetness on his tongue.

“...Incredible... It’s so delicious, even my non-refined palette can appreciate the flavors.”

“Fufu. That’s quite the compliment.”

“Hm?”

“That wine was made in my own house’s winery. I suppose you could say it’s like one of my children.”

It was the woman wearing the modest black dress. She was, perhaps, in her mid-twenties. Her black, ink-like hair flowed down to her hips, and from beyond the black veil draped across her face, two dark obsidian eyes drew Regis in.

“...In that case, thank you. It was beyond words.”

“I’ll take a white as well.”

She took the glass handed to her by the sommelier and delicately swirled it before taking a sip, savoring the taste. Regis watched her, patiently awaiting her next words. He was interested in this woman; unless he’d been mistaken, before Tiraso Laverde had proclaimed the formation of the Gaillarte Garden Party, he had looked to this woman almost as if seeking her permission.

“Yes, it really is delicious.”

“...It is a pleasure to meet you. My name is Regis Aurick, fifth-grade administrative officer.”

“A name I hear all too often in these parts. They say you’re a skilled tactician who has made meaningful contributions to the northern front.”

“Ah, our achievements have been solely down to the princess...”

“Humility is a virtue. The more a merchant brags, the lighter his pockets.”

“...Is that so?”

“I am Elenore Ailred Winn de Tiraso Laverde.”

“You’re from the House of Tiraso Laverde? Then the gentleman back there—”

“That was my grandfather. I often accompany him on his business ventures, you see. My family name is quite the mouthful, so please, just call me Elenore.”

“I see... Then Mrs. Elenore it is.”

“Though my firm negotiating skills have also earned me the moniker ‘Vixen of the South.’”

“H-Haha... I’ll be calling you Mrs. Elenore. Please, call me Regis.”

“A pleasure, I’m sure.”

Elenore raised her glass, and Regis joined her in taking another sip of wine.

“...Ff.”

“I’ve never heard the surname ‘Aurick’ before... What is your peerage?”

“My peerage? Oh, I’m just a commoner.”

Elenore’s eyes opened wide.

“Then... you’ve been knighted?”

“Oh, no. I’m just a commoner. Had the princess not invited me, I wouldn’t have been able to enter the palace, let alone this party.”

“A commoner? But I heard you were a talented tactician.”

“It is true that I’m working as a tactician, but... I hold no more than a military position. I have not been raised to the peerage.”

It was normal for senior officers to be nobles, so when one ascended to the post of strategist, it was common to also be knighted. But this was not a guarantee.

Elenore looked over Regis as if observing some rare novelty.

“I was sure that being clever was somewhat of a prerequisite for becoming a tactician.”

“Yeeeah... I’ve never thought of myself as particularly clever... but as I can’t ride a horse or use a sword, my mind is all I really have to offer. Though all I do is repeat plans I just happen to have read about...”

“Which means, Regis, you’ve got a good head on your shoulders.”

The fact she referred to him directly without using any courteous titles came as somewhat of a shock to Regis. Though it did make sense that a woman of such standing would see no need to respectfully address a mere commoner, and one younger than herself at that.

“...It’s not terrible... At least, I should hope not.”

“So there are smart ones even among the commoners. You learn something new every day.”

“O-Of course there are. There are commoner officials and teachers, even doctors—”

“Yes, there are commoners clever enough to learn trades. But a tactician with military achievements requires something more—to become one, you need to have proven yourself superior to an enemy general.”

“...That is generally how people see it, yes.”

“Am I wrong?”

“We have an amazing army on our side; I don’t think our victories were necessarily down to me being better than the enemy commander.”

For instance, in the attack on Fort Volks, the mission would have easily failed had their measurements been wrong, the tunnels dug any slower, or the infiltration team defeated. And even then, they had only succeeded because Altina had managed to defeat a formidable enemy general in just one strike.

The look in Elenore’s eyes changed to that of an appraising merchant.

“You’re an interesting man.”

“...A-Am I really?”

“How old are you?”

“...Eighteen. I’ll be nineteen soon.”

“Do you have any interest in business? A commoner like you shouldn’t be too optimistic about rising any higher in the military. Would you perhaps consider a job that doesn’t require you to risk your life so close to the battlefield?”

“Eh!?”

“How much are they paying you right now?”

“Well, I’m a fifth-grade administrative officer, so... a pretty normal amount.”

“My house will triple it— No, quintuple it. Four thousand deniers a month. Take it or leave it.”

Regis inadvertently found himself calculating how many books he’d be able to buy with that kind of money, but was able to drag his consciousness back on track with a sharp shake of his head.

“M-My apologies, but I’m not in it for the money.”

“I see... I already have three husbands, but would you care to be the fourth? Oh, or would you prefer my third husband’s little sister? She’s still only eight, but—”

“No, I’m not saying I want a wife either. Err, nor am I implying that I’m interested in men.”

“So you’re without greed. You’ll make a fine merchant.”

“How does that even...”

Elenore was in complete control of the conversation. It does seem I’m weak to older women, sighed Regis. But at this rate, he wouldn’t be able to draw any useful information out of her.

Let’s try probing a little...

“Still, the Gaillarte Garden Party... They sure made a drastic move. After all, those houses will have to oppose the high nobles of the capital. Those old houses in the west may have a decent amount of military strength and those in the south some considerable financial assets, but they don’t have too many options when it comes to actual armed conflict.”

“Politics is much too complex for a woman like me to discuss.”

“And yet you appeared to have discussed this very matter with your grandfather beforehand.”

It seemed she would sidestep any roundabout attempts to channel the conversation, so Regis tried a more direct approach.

Elenore gave a wry smile. “Good grief, perhaps I should have stayed out of the room entirely... My grandfather is great when it comes to judging worth, but he hasn’t the courage to act alone. Granted, I must admit, his charitable soul had already earned him some popularity.”

“...Then, Mrs. Elenore, I take it you’re the one who united the southern nobles.”

“We wouldn’t survive without a little cooperation. It’s those central high nobles who made this partnership necessary in the first place; they offer us transactions on unfavorable terms, demanding marriages that are akin to taking hostages.”

These were standard tactics used by nobles—those who opposed them would be pressured and stolen from, and those who allied with them would be bled dry.

The Belgarian Empire had once been a gathering of small nations to the west before they expanded across the continent. It had been three hundred years since the capital had been relocated to where it presently stood. But since then, the Empire’s nobles had exploited the nation for their own personal gain, gradually draining its strength. It was like a snake eating its own tail.

“...So you believe you can come out on top? Will Prince Auguste be the key to your victory?”

“We only had one hurdle, and that was forming the alliance. Now that we’ve done that, you could say it’s all over. This is our win.”

Elenore took a glass of red wine from the sommelier, raising it in what seemed to be a toast to herself.

“It seems Prince Auguste has overcome his ailment,” said Regis, “And now that he’s taken such an action where the emperor and all the lords can see...”

“Fufu. What now?”

Regis rolled the empty glass in his palm.

“...It means that Prince Auguste can now take up a position befitting his status. It’s possible he could reclaim the title of supreme commander that Latrielle has taken as proxy. Perhaps he’s already made a plea to His Majesty.”

While Regis had only ever spoken to Auguste once, his antipathy toward Latrielle had seemed notably intense—almost as if he had a desire for revenge that exceeded what one would usually expect of political enemies.

“...And if so, Prince Auguste’s enthronement will be a foregone conclusion. His ministers will be selected exclusively from the nobles who supported him.”

“Fufu. Well, I’ll give you sixty points for that. But remember, the prince’s top supporters are the old nobles of the west.”

“Yes...”

First Prince Auguste’s mother was the second consort, Catherine. She hailed from the House of Touranne situated in the west. Naturally, they were Auguste’s greatest supporters, and the ones who stood to gain the most should he take the throne—both financially and in terms of prestige.

“Even if we went through the trouble of eliminating the high nobles of the capital, the old nobles of the west would simply take their place; there’s nothing for us to gain.”

Elenore was right—in itself, Auguste becoming emperor would not benefit the nouveau noblesse to the south. That was precisely why they had been discussing forming a third faction in support of Altina.

But what if Auguste had promised some kind of reward to those unaffiliated nobles? Regis had a hunch. There were others who had hypothesized a similar predicament and secretly published books detailing the numerous possible outcomes. Such works had been disseminated for years now, so to Regis, such an explanation was far from unheard of.

“...You shared a desire to oppose the nobles from the west and center, so it can’t have been too much trouble to convince those from the south into forming the alliance. So this hurdle you speak of must have been because of another, separate objective, am I right?”

“Hm?” The look in Elenore’s eyes changed.

Regis continued: “...To the north is the powerful Germanian Federation, and to the west, the sea that separates us from High Britannia. In comparison to them, Estaburg to the east is far past its glory days, and the strength of the Hispania Empire to the south depends on naval warfare. It’s easy to see where our best chances for expansion lie, and one only needs to look at a map to see that there are far more convenient places the capital could be located. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Fufufu... You’d be wasted on my third husband’s little sister.”

“My point is that, were Prince Auguste to take the throne, wouldn’t he relocate the capital to the south?”

Elenore swirled the wine in her glass, its heavy fragrance tickling the nose.

“Fufu... Relocate the capital? If so, the prosperity of us nobles in the south would be assured. But would the western nobles really allow it?”

“Under normal circumstances, no. But it’s a different story if someone with sway over them approves. For instance, the one who wants nothing more than to make her son emperor—Second Consort Catherine.”

Catherine and the House of Touranne held tremendous influence over the western nobles, and this authority would only increase were Auguste to become emperor. With the added cooperation of the Gaillarte Garden Party, it would be possible to force the relocation of the capital.

“Fufu. A most intriguing delusion.”

“...Personally, I’m rather anxious over the impact such a large move would have on the Empire’s treasury.”

“Many high nobles have debts to be paid, which may be collected at a moment’s notice. ...But only if it comes to that, of course.”

What Elenore seemed to be alluding to, albeit in a rather indirect manner, was the use of extortion.

“...I can’t imagine Prince Latrielle will just accept defeat, though.”

“He is a military man, not a politician or a merchant. His authority over this situation ended when he failed to assassinate Prince Auguste.”

“...Don’t you think he has countermeasures in place?”

“If you have an idea what he might be planning, Regis, I’d love to hear it.”

“I don’t mean to come off as rude, but... from Latrielle’s position, I can think of something just as important as taking down Prince Auguste.”

“And what would that be?”

“...Eliminating the undecided column. They are a threat. Let’s say, for instance, the second prince were to take out the first prince. The nobles supporting the first prince would lose their authority entirely, as once they’ve picked a faction, they’re unable to change their allegiance.”

“This is true. Nobles who switch their allegiance the moment power changes hands are simply contemptible. They are people you would do well not to lend an ear to.”

“However, the undecided group—those who haven’t voiced clear support for one particular person—can still gather behind a new prince or princess. They might prolong His Majesty the Emperor’s selection process even further.”

“I hear the emperor is still very zealous about having new descendants. I presume he’s simply desperate to leave behind a son with red hair and crimson eyes.”

A completely meaningless endeavor, as far as Regis was concerned. The color of a person’s hair or eyes had no bearing on their skill nor their personality. It was hard for him to accept that this personal belief steeped in superstition was influencing the lives of over a million imperial citizens.

“...So what you’re saying is, considering his position, the second prince’s objective should be to either eliminate the undecided group who haven’t clearly backed anyone yet... or all his political rivals, the other princes and princesses.”

Regis nodded. “Right. Assuming he was able to get rid of the first prince, he wouldn’t want another rival to pop up and undermine all his hard work.”

After all, those without a clear allegiance would still be able to back a new candidate. This whole situation was because the elderly emperor had yet to name his successor, still grasping at the idea that he could leave a “true heir.”

“The second prince ultimately decided on eliminating his political opponents,” Regis continued, “but he failed to remove both the first prince and fourth princess from the equation.”

“And I imagine you played a role in one of those failures, Regis.”

“Ah, no... Well... Whatever the case, for someone in Latrielle’s position, what’s important is that he removes his opposition—and eliminating the undecided column would be just as effective in achieving that.”

“Is that so? So, as long as he can climb to the top of the succession chart, given the emperor’s old age, he will have secured the throne.”

“Yes, but Prince Latrielle seems impatient. I can’t imagine he’ll wait for nature to take its course.”

“What makes you so sure?”

While the emperor was old, he was clearly healthy enough to take a fifteen-year-old consort. There was no telling how many more years he had ahead of him.

“...It may be quite some time before the emperor passes.”

“But eliminating the undecided column won’t be an easy task. There are plenty of powerful nobles in the east and south.”

“...No, it’d be very easy.”

“Hm? What do you mean?”

“Were the undecided nobles to come out in support of Prince Auguste, they would simply become part of the first faction. The undecided column would no longer exist.”

Elenore fell into thought for a moment, then raised her glass to her lips, downing its scarlet contents.

“Fufufu. We’ve certainly relinquished the option of supporting another successor, but that doesn’t matter. Victory will be ours once Auguste takes the throne.”

“Right...”

“You sound disappointed.”

“...I just can’t pinpoint what Latrielle’s next move would be. This isn’t really a situation I’m used to, and unless I can predict what he’ll do I can’t come up with any plans of my own.”

“It’s simple—if someone outmaneuvers you, then you just outmaneuver them back. The loser is the one who can’t come up with their next move. Is that not what a tactician does?”

Elenore’s words, while spoken to him, seemed to be directed more at herself. Regis thought over whether he should reply or not, and eventually decided to swallow his words.

“...True enough... No mortal man is all-knowing. I’ll have to respond to his countermeasures as they come.”

“Yes, quite right. Incidentally, Regis...”

“Yes?”

“How about ten times your salary?”

“H-Haha... I really should be going. I’ve been gone a while, and, uh... I wouldn’t want to keep the princess waiting. But thank you for the wine, it really was splendid.”

Regis bowed and then swiftly took his leave.

...If I was in her position, I would have prepared for every possible move Latrielle could make.

Lives depended on a tactician’s wit. Regis could never accept the idea that victory was decided through a back-and-forth of counters—that a strategist should simply try to react to their opponent’s blows as they came. Being a tactician was about thorough planning; it was about reading steps ahead of your enemy so that every countermeasure was accounted for. Standing before the troops, before those who had entrusted their lives to him, before those marching to their deaths, Regis knew he could never just say:

“I never considered that.”

Or at least, that was how he saw it.

✧ ✧ ✧

That night, at ten—

The party in the palace continued. Surely it would carry on through to the next morning.

Altina and Regis had pulled out around eight, and the princess was now waiting with Clarisse. It was unlikely she would slip out again tonight, especially seeing as Eric was several times more wary of her now than he had been the day before.

Regis made his way to Latrielle’s room, alone, still wearing his ceremonial uniform.

I really am walking into the lion’s den...

The lord of the room sat in an expensive-looking leather chair, his elbow resting against a mahogany office desk. Latrielle brushed aside his magnificent golden locks, and focused his piercing red eyes on Regis.

“Fufu. You’re nervous, aren’t you?”

“...Of course I am. As a fifth-grade administrative officer, I never dreamt I would be granted the honor of an audience with the supreme commander of the Belgarian Army.”

“I already heard it from Germain, but Sir Regis, it seems you have quite a low opinion of yourself.”

“...Ah. Well, I don’t really have any particular strengths, and I don’t even know whether I’m being of any use to the princess. I’m sure things would have turned out for the better if she had a more skilled tactician by her side.”

“Would Argentina have taken me out by now?”

“...Please don’t even joke about that.”

He surely already knew of Altina’s ambition from their conversation the night before—she had loudly proclaimed it, after all. Even so, Regis intended to cover it up as well as he could. At the very least, he wasn’t going to be the one to confirm it. Such an intent should be voiced by Altina herself, at the right time and place, of course.

A chess board had been set up on Latrielle’s desk. Without a word, the prince moved a white pawn to d4.

“I don’t think my proposal to make Altina my queen was as bad as she made it out to be. Yes, while she might have other intentions... she doesn’t plan to lead her border regiment to attack the capital, does she?”

Latrielle gestured for Regis to make the next move, and so he moved a black pawn to d5.

“...Of course not. She has no intention of invading the capital.”

“There’s no way to know for sure, though. Common sense may make it seem improbable, but she has a habit of surprising me.”

Latrielle’s white pawn advanced to c4. Regis moved one of his own to c6.

“...It won’t happen.”

Though, as adamant as Regis was in his denial, he could feel himself growing anxious. Embracing her ambition to become empress, Altina had dueled an esteemed commander, General Jerome, to solidify her status in the border regiment. The barbarian attack had immediately followed, giving them no time to breathe, and yet the regiment had turned the situation to their advantage, forming a cooperative relationship with the barbarians to alleviate their dire need for manpower. And thanks to an unreasonable order from the capital, they had captured Fort Volks. Altina’s military potential had definitely grown. Did she really have no desire to attack the capital?

Latrielle moved a white knight to f3, which Regis matched by moving a knight to f6.

Regis shook his head. There was no way Altina would ever affirm a war that would cost so many lives.

“...The princess doesn’t wish for a civil war.”

“Is that what you think?”

Tap. Tap. A percussive rhythm accompanied their conversation as the chess game continued.

“...The present state of the Beilschmidt border regiment is the direct result of your order, Your Highness.”

“I would have refrained had I known they employed a tactician such as yourself.”

“...I am deeply honored to receive such excessive praise.”

“Shall I guess what’s on your mind?”

The corners of Latrielle’s lips curled upward. Regis’s fingers trembled, so much so that he nearly dropped his bishop.

“...Whatever could you mean?”

“With Fort Volks as their base of operations, the Beilschmidt border regiment has augmented itself to an extent the imperial army can no longer ignore. Now that Argentina makes her triumphant return to the capital, she will obtain authority befitting her military might, and will gain a say in military affairs. Her focus will be on pulling our armies back to a more defensible position and curtailing military expenses.”

That was definitely something Regis had considered.

Latrielle’s queen removed a black rook from the board. Regis unintentionally sighed. As long as he could continue concealing his bewilderment, he may be able to influence the situation, even if a definitive victory couldn’t be achieved. For now, he just needed to ward off Latrielle’s offense; Regis moved his king to a more defensible position, surrounded by other pieces.

“...I have no say... on what the princess thinks.”

“I had noticed Argentina’s desire to change the Empire. But she is an impulsive one; I was sure she would never hold any concrete power. It was my blunder to afford her a competent tactician.”

“...What do you intend to do?”

“Were I to allow Argentina to return to the capital, those loudmouth nobles wouldn’t let me hear the end of it. I could relocate her to another battalion instead, but that would only increase the number of armies that sympathize with her plight should something happen.”

“......”

Regis was careful not to say a word. His black bishop was taken, then his knight as his pieces disappeared one by one from the board.

“But regardless of what I do, surely allowing a competent tactician to remain by her side would become an inconvenience for me.”

Regis could feel Latrielle’s red eyes piercing through him. Regis was a soldier—all it would take for him to be relocated was an order from the Ministry of Military Affairs, who valued Latrielle’s opinion to the highest degree. More specifically, they possessed the authority to remove a civil officer from a border regiment.

But I’ve already considered that move, Prince Latrielle, Regis thought to himself.

“I don’t really have much of an attachment to the military.”

“Oh really?”

“Really. Say I was reassigned somewhere I didn’t want to be, for example. I would just have to resign. I’m not a royal or a noble... I have no military history to uphold, nor a house name to protect.”

“I see. So that’s your position.”

“Yes. So long as I paid off my student loans from the military academy, regulations would permit my leave.”

“Your student what?”

Latrielle seemed rather unfamiliar with the term. The system was set up so the tuition and living expenses required to attend the military academy could be written off as a debt, and a contract prohibited him from leaving the military until it was paid off.

“And truth be told, with this and that, I owe money to the princess too.”

“You borrowed money from her?”

“Although, as I already owe her money, I suppose I might as well just borrow the money to pay off my student loans from her as well. Then I can pay that off by doing grunt work at the fortress...”

He had read this in a book—The Champion of the Sylvanian Attic by Donativan Marqui Etna. It was a fictional novel in which a lowly grunt put various plans in motion, heaping great achievement onto a hapless foot soldier which culminated in his marriage to the princess. Though as it turned out, the one behind these plans wasn’t some debt-laden commoner, but rather a cat in boots who slept in the attic.

“Certainly.” Latrielle’s expression turned bitter. “If you’re not a soldier, I care not what floors you decide to sweep.”

“Sir.”

“But I could just as well bring you back to the capital.”

“...I’m a coward, you see. I fear what my current comrades will say about me.”

“I see. Then enough talk.”

It seemed Latrielle had given up on his plan to tear Regis away from Altina. Their game of chess was nearing an end. Piece-wise, Latrielle’s outnumbered his by and large, but position-wise, Regis had the advantage. Two white pieces in particular had taken the bait, and were now exactly where he wanted them. On the contrary, the few blacks that remained were stationed in the center, lurking precariously close to the white king.

Regis’s king had been moved to a defensible point early on in the game, and it didn’t seem as though that defense would crumble anytime soon.

Latrielle glared at the board as he stayed his hand, his teeth grit.

“Gn... Hm... You’re really quite something.”

“It’s only a game.”

“Look forward to the next decree you receive; Argentina will be the one handing it to you. Regis Aurick, you are to be promoted from a fifth-grade admin officer to a third-grade officer.”

Regis was at a loss for words. It wasn’t a completely unexpected development, but he thought it was more than he deserved. That said, he was unable to refuse it.

A promotion may have meant an increase in salary, but it also came with more responsibility. It was just as compulsory as a demotion—the person whose rank was being changed had no right to decline.

“M-My sincerest... gratitude.”

“Dissatisfied?”

“No, it’s just that... even my current rank feels beyond my capability, so...”

“If the imperial army was so blessed with talent that every third-grade officer and above was as competent as you, I’d be spending my afternoons taking naps and playing chess.”

Regis humbly lowered his head. Winning at chess was a hollow victory; Latrielle had managed to probe out Regis’s innermost thoughts, and if he returned to Altina with nothing but news of a promotion, it would ultimately be his loss. Unless he could take the offensive off the chessboard as well, his efforts would have been in vain.

Regis tried stepping in.

“...Prince Latrielle, are you paying me so much attention because I am the princess’s subordinate?”

“In part, yes. But I’m considering what will happen once I become emperor. To have a capable tactician by my side is a matter of course; the Empire has no future unless it continues to win its wars.”

Regis could feel an unwavering confidence in Latrielle’s words—the prince had absolutely no doubts that he would become emperor. But Elenore had challenged his ascension to the throne. Unless he had countermeasures in place, the third day of the ceremony would begin with Auguste proclaiming he had gained support from an overwhelming number of nobles, creating a situation where the emperor would be forced to name his successor. As things currently stood, Latrielle stood no chance.

“As I thought. You have measures in place to counter the Gaillarte Garden Party. In fact, you even planned for them to take Prince Auguste’s side.”

“Hm, who can say for sure?”

The prominent nobles who had expressed their support for Auguste were now no longer in the undecided column. A third faction—those who supported Altina—was now becoming more distinct, and while there were still nobles without a clear allegiance, their numbers were small. It seemed the complicated political situation was sorting itself out.

The problem was, just what sort of countermeasures had Latrielle taken? There was no way Regis could know beyond asking him directly, and even then the prince would surely never answer.

Latrielle rung a handbell. The door opened, and there stood Germain.

“Is your game over?”

That was it. Regis was out of time. He hadn’t learned any clear-cut information, but he had at least gained quite a few leads. Though the same could be said for Latrielle, too.

“...Then if you’ll excuse me.”

“Indeed. Look after Argentina for me. If she calls herself a soldier, then she should understand the nature of the imperial army. Take care that she makes the right decision.”

The imperial army rewarded appropriate status and honor to an immediate surrender. However, the moment a struggle broke out, even an early surrender meant death or exile.

“...I’ll pass on the message.”

Regis saluted before excusing himself from Latrielle’s room.

✧ ✧ ✧

“Fufu. Do you think you were able to persuade Sir Regis?” Germain asked.

They were the only ones left in the room. Germain stood beside his lord, who was now prodding his finger against the chess pieces still on the board.

“Hmph. It’s just as you said—he’s a tough nut to crack. Both his chess skills and his loyalty to the princess are rather impressive.”

“Oh, I heard about that from a junior in the academy. He’s remarkable.”

“I understand that now. But it seems he hasn’t managed to figure out my plan. He tried to probe into it, but... Hahaha! He won’t get a word out of me!”

Latrielle let out a laugh that looked as innocent and joyful as a young boy’s. It was an expression he would only ever let Germain see.

“Word just came in from my brothers,” said Germain, “It’s been secured. Arrangements have been made to bring it to the capital by tomorrow noon.”

Latrielle nodded, and Germain placed his hands on the table.

“It’s all going steadily, my liege.”

“I see.”

“Are you nervous?”

“...Yes, I won’t deny it.”

“Everything will be fine. Just leave it to me.”

Latrielle placed his hands over Germain’s. “Of course. I trust in you.”

“I... think that you becoming emperor is necessary for the future of our empire.”

Germain firmly believed that his lord was the only one who could save Belgaria—a nation that was slowly marching toward its own demise.

“This is my destiny,” said Latrielle, his eyes fixed on the chessboard, “I’ve made my resolve.”