Chapter Twelve: The Funeral, the Voice, and the Engagement

The church bells tolled, announcing the departure of the deceased’s soul. Dressed entirely in black, Herscherik and his men left the church after the service and stared up at the bell.

The melancholy breeze blew through Herscherik’s light-golden hair, and the copper-colored earring peeked through the strands, glimmering in the sunlight. The dagger had left a vivid scar on his cheek. The Holy Church that worshiped the creator god was tasked with sending off the souls of the deceased and held funerals for anyone, regardless of their faith. Herscherik didn’t know how to feel about the fact that the very Church that had killed Jeanne was seeing her soul off to the next world.

A week had passed since the incident at the Cathedral. The official story was that the extremist faction of the Holy Church had planned a coup, but had been thwarted by Herscherik and friends. Every member of the Church involved in the incident had been left to the judgment of the Church itself, since they were protected from the laws of individual nations. There were some within Gracis who opposed this decision, but they decided to respect the Church and their judgment. Since the Church forbade the execution of any member of its clergy, the expected sentence was life imprisonment.

Today, the funeral of a lady who had become a casualty of the attempted coup was held.

“How are you feeling today?” Kuro draped a black coat over Herscherik’s shoulders. Spring was near, but the cold air still stung.

“I’m fine.” Herscherik gave him a smile.

“You were out for a while. Don’t push yourself,” Oran said with concern.

Herscherik chuckled at his men, more overprotective than usual. “I haven’t even had a fever for three days, now.”

It was only natural for them to be concerned for Herscherik, who had been bedridden for three days after the incident—perhaps from taking in all of that Magic. After those days spent lazily in bed, though, he was now as healthy as he had been before. All of that Magic, as it turned out, had leaked out of him like air from an open balloon.

“Prince Herscherik,” a voice called from behind him. “Thank you for gracing us with your presence today.”

Herscherik turned around to find Volf Barbosse in a deep bow. He, too, was clad in black with a pained expression on his face, playing the role of the distraught father whose daughter had been tragically caught up in this terrible incident. Knowing that the whole thing was a façade, Herscherik only felt disgust.

However, he kept his emotions hidden as he answered with a pained expression of his own. “No words can express my regret for failing to protect your daughter.”

Barbosse shook his head. “Your Highness’ bravery protected our very nation. What more could I wish for, as a royal servant of the kingdom... Please forgive a grieving father for the time being.” Barbosse looked at the floor. Anyone unaware of the hidden subtleties of the situation would have been fooled by the performance.

A gust of wind passed between them.

“You won’t feed on this country for long, you decrepit fox,” Herscherik quietly spat out.

Barbosse’s shoulders twitched. “Pardon...?”

“I didn’t say anything,” Herscherik smiled innocently enough that Barbosse could not pursue the issue further. “I must be going. Please give my regards to my fiancée.” Herscherik turned on his heels, followed by his men of service. “I’ll tear that stupid mask right off his face,” Herscherik muttered, just loud enough for his men to hear. His smile had completely vanished.

Watching the prince leave, Barbosse snarled internally. I was this close to taking care of that prince... When he had first faced the prince when the boy was only three years old, Barbosse had the strange feeling that the prince was no toddler. After the drug trafficking incident, his faction had suffered—defectors who had disappeared without much of an explanation. There were also others who now simply refused to cooperate with him even though they remained in the capital. He had only discovered that the young prince had been the cause through a tip from the Church.

After investigation, he saw that very prince in the shadows of every incident that plagued him. That’s why Barbosse had schemed to take the prince into the fold or get rid of him altogether. If Herscherik would not marry Violetta and become one of his pieces on the board, he had planned to simply eliminate him.

That girl was nothing but a burden until the end. Even Barbosse, who ruled the kingdom from the shadows, couldn’t murder royalty with impunity. The best solution for him would have been to assassinate the prince during the recent chaos and blame it on the coup. However, the assassination attempt was foiled by Jeanne herself protecting the prince.

Even though the prince would formally be engaged to Violetta, Barbosse’s concerns remained. He feared that the risk of letting the prince live might outweigh the risk of taking him out now. And if he knows... Barbosse quietly clicked his tongue at the little prince leaving with his men. The latest development had not turned out well for him in the slightest.

A gust of wind blew again, kicking up a patch of dust. Barbosse shielded his face from the forceful spring breeze. Then, he caught a glimpse of the prince between his fingers. The little boy had four figures in tow. While the black-haired butler and the knight with twilight hair were still there, a man of noble bearing with mustard-colored hair and a lady with hair like polished copper walked with them.

Barbosse rubbed his eyes and looked at the prince and his party once more, but saw only three figures.

The room was lit by nothing more than beams of sunlight, or perhaps moonlight, seeping through cracks in the stone walls. Hoenir was now imprisoned in this cell ruled by darkness, his arms restrained with magic-canceling bands and a spell with the same effect cast on the room.

“I never expected to actually fail...” Hoenir muttered, sitting flat on the ground. Having lost his title of archbishop, he could only laugh. But then, he stopped himself.

“But how did the boy stop the ritual?” The Ritual of Transcendence, once activated, would continue until its completion. If unsuccessful, it was programmed to overload instead, turning the entire vicinity to rubble—including all available evidence of his crimes. As soon as the caster was gone, everyone in the cathedral was supposed to die.

As it had turned out, however, there had been no Djinn and no explosion. Did Noel control it somehow? Hoenir wondered, but reconsidered. Not only did Noel not become a Djinn, but he also constructed a spell that destroyed the barrier and neutralized everyone in the room in an instant. Hoenir expected that spell would have drained Noel enough to prevent him from casting anything else.

Then, who could it have been? Leaving aside his precious puppet, there were two other people of note in the room, and Hoenir knew that the noble’s daughter was unskilled in magic. “Could it have been...?” The youngest prince, with his blond hair and emerald eyes, came immediately to mind. Noel had told him, however, that the prince lacked any Magic Within whatsoever. “I see, the prince... Ah-hah! That explains everything!”

A lack of Magic power didn’t guarantee that the prince was unskilled at the casting of magic.

Hoenir knew full well that the power to intake and convert Floating Magic as though it were their own was not exclusive to the doll he had so carefully manipulated. That power had once belonged to those who lived in the Ancient Era—at least, that’s what Hoenir had been told. He now realized that the prince somehow held that very same ancient power, and it was a vessel large enough to withstand the abundance of Magic in that room, without the use of drugs.

Hoenir shook with ecstasy. The treasure he had so recently given up on was once again dangling before him.

Then, he jolted as if he was struck by lightning. He fell on all fours, screaming out, “Master! Oh, great master! Forgive me!” If anyone had witnessed such behavior, they would have concluded that the former archbishop had finally gone mad.

Hoenir looked up from the floor, bowing over and over again as he stared into empty space. “I have no words to excuse my miserable display of... After all the knowledge you had granted us...” Hoenir pleaded in apology. He listened to a voice no one else could hear for a moment before his expression brightened with bliss. “I do not deserve your kindness. I am overwhelmed by the honor you have bestowed upon me... But I have found a holy vessel for Your Magnificence! Not a counterfeit one, but a true Eucharist!”

Hoenir shook with joy, as if he had achieved salvation at this very moment. “Yes... Yes...” He listened, his expression euphoric, nodding over and over again. “I understand. Then, we shall wait... until the Eucharist is consecrated. Yes, Master... Saint Ferris.” Hoenir’s voice echoed in the ominous darkness.

Violetta checked her appearance in the full-length mirror prepared for her. Her light yellow dress, commissioned especially to match her fiancé’s hair, was dusted with countless gems, accompanied by a jade necklace and earrings that matched his eyes. They all glimmered in the light of the room with subtle excellence. Her hair and make-up were overseen by the best artists in the capital, completing her sublime look.

Herscherik’s seventh birthday party was to be hosted that day, where his engagement with Violetta would be made official. Violetta had not left the house since her sister’s funeral, where she had exchanged a few words with Herscherik. She had not seen him since.

She recalled how Herscherik had come to tell her of Jeanne’s death. “Stop lying to me!” she had berated him. She wept in his arms, pounding her fist into his chest. Even though she noticed the wound on Herscherik’s cheek and understood how dangerous it had been for him, she couldn’t accept that fact she could never see Jeanne again, and had been determined to blame Herscherik for it. No matter how many cruel words Violetta said or how many times she struck the prince, neither he nor his men stopped her. In fact, Herscherik had held her until she settled down.

When Violetta’s crying subsided, Herscherik looked into her eyes and whispered, “I will protect you with my life.”

Those words would have sent Violetta to the moon, if it wasn’t for her sister’s death. But what struck Violetta more than those words was Herscherik’s expression when he said them. Herscherik wasn’t crying, but looked more sorrowful than she could imagine. His face had made Violetta’s chest tighten.

“I’m sorry to keep you waiting, Violetta.” The voice called her back to the present time. Herscherik, dressed more princely than usual, was smiling at her.

Violetta was relieved to see that the scar on Herscherik’s cheek had faded, and she gave him a ladylike curtsey—keeping her back straight just like Jeanne had taught her.

“Your dress is beautiful.”

Violetta smiled at the unusual compliment, different from his ordinary repertoire. It made her happy that he still seemed pleased to see her after she treated him so poorly. “Oh? Is that the only beautiful thing you see?”

“No, of course not!” Herscherik rushed to deny, and Violetta let out a laugh for the first time in a long while.

“Prince Hersch,” his butler called. “It’s time.”

Herscherik nodded, and held out his hand to escort Violetta to the ball. “Shall we, Princess?” he asked, and Violetta took his hand.

An elegant melody played, as a couple (too young to be described as lovers) danced in the center of the ballroom. One of the partners was the Seventh Prince Herscherik, who had just turned seven and had already prevented a coup from within the Church with only himself and his two men. Both nobles and commoners alike were bewildered by the news, until an official statement of apology was issued by the Church and people began to see the similarities between Herscherik and the famous Prince of Light.

Furthermore, the girl who danced with him now only added to the credibility of the story. The girl was Violetta, daughter to Marquis Barbosse and his wife. Their engagement seemed to signify the importance the minister placed upon the Seventh Prince. A rumor that had once circulated—that the minister was pushing for the Seventh Prince to succeed the throne—had gained some traction again.

“Are you sure, Violetta...?” Herscherik asked, as they danced prior to the official announcement of their engagement.

Violetta twirled with a smile. “Yes, I’ve decided.”

“But—”

“I am an ignorant, foolish girl,” Violetta interrupted. “But, as ignorant as I am, I am not so shameless as to pretend I never learned anything.”

When she was going through her sister’s belongings along with the manor servants, Violetta had found a letter addressed to her from Jeanne, tucked into the stack of sheet music she had written. The letter contained details about Jeanne’s birth, their father’s sinister deeds, Jeanne’s confession of having taken part in them, as well as her feelings about Herscherik and her sister.

The letter had allowed Violetta to smile at Herscherik once again.

Herscherik closed his eyes. “You’re strong, Violetta. Jeanne was too...” Had Ryoko ever been as strong as either of them? Herscherik thought back to when Ryoko was in second grade, then to high school, when she had devoted herself to her hobbies. She had endured no real hardships and was self-centered. She had never thought that those days would ever end.

“No, Prince Herscherik,” Violetta continued, stepping to the music, “If I had never met you, I would have never learned to think for myself. I’m sure the same was true for my sister.”

“Do you think meeting me...” Caused Jeanne’s death? Herscherik didn’t dare ask. He still vividly remembered how Jeanne’s body had gradually lost its warmth. He simply hadn’t been able to bring himself to leave her, even after his brothers arrived. Marx had been compelled to move Herscherik by force.

For three nights after coming to see Violetta, Herscherik had the same nightmare of Jeanne dying, only for him to wake up in the middle of the night running a fever; he had to remind himself what was real by touching Jeanne’s earring.

“No, Prince Herscherik,” Violetta calmly said. “My sister was happy to have met you. I’m happy, too.” She sounded sincere. “Prince Herscherik, would you choose a life without freedom where you had everything you wanted, or a life earned with your own choices?”

“That’s why you made your choice.”

“That’s right!” Violetta answered with a brimming smile as the song concluded.

Herscherik led Violetta towards the most revered individual in Gracis Kingdom. They smiled at Herscherik’s siblings, all applauding them along the way. Once they came before the king, they each took a deep curtsey and bow.

Solye applauded their dance with a smile. “That was wonderful, you two.”

“Thank you, Father,” Herscherik answered.

Violetta maintained her posture in a curtsey, since lifting from a curtsey without the king’s permission was against royal etiquette.

“Please lift your head, Lady Violetta.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Violetta looked up, and was shocked by her first close encounter with the king’s beauty—his platinum hair that looked like solidified moonlight and the same calm eyes as Herscherik. More than anything, he looked too young to be forty years old, especially when he was dressed to the nines for the occasion. He really is Prince Herscherik’s father...

“Violetta,” a calm voice interrupted with a chuckle. “It’s rude to stare at His Majesty, especially when His Highness is standing right next to you.” Despite his joking tone, Volf Barbosse’s comment seemed to increase the tension in the ballroom. He bowed to the king and Herscherik. “An incredible honor to have His Highness Prince Herscherik engaged to my daughter, Violetta.”

“I’m very happy about it,” the king answered. “She seems like an intelligent young lady.”

Violetta tightened her grip on her dress. As she began to tremble from nervousness, she silently scolded herself.

“It’s all right, Violetta. I’m right here,” Herscherik whispered and smiled.

That stopped Violetta’s trembling. I’m all right, she told herself. Prince Herscherik is here. And so is Jeanne... “Forgive me for speaking out in Your Majesty’s presence,” Violetta started as she bowed her head.

A carriage waited at the back entrance to the castle after nightfall where there were otherwise no signs of life.

“Leave the rest to me, Your Highness,” answered the Marquis Roland Aldis, father to Oran and former ‘Blazing’ General of Gracis. In the carriage behind him waited Oran’s brothers, both knights, and his wife Anne stood beside him. A girl in simple clothes turned her back to the Aldis family and bowed. It was Violetta, daughter of the Marquis Barbosse, who had danced with Herscherik at his birthday ball earlier that night. Across from them stood Herscherik and his men.

“I’ll write to you, Violetta. I’ll wait for you.”

“Prince Herscherik. I’m Violetta Barbosse no longer. Just Vivi,” she proudly said.

“That’s right... Vivi.”

At the ball, Vivi had asked the king to break her engagement with Herscherik. This had taken the minister by surprise, and he had tried every tactic he could think of from gentle nudging to full-blown rage, but Vivi sternly refused to reconsider.

The non-royal party breaking a royal engagement was cause enough for the whole family to be punished for disrespecting the royal family, after all. When Barbosse finally declared that she was no daughter of his and commanded her to leave the manor, Vivi answered “Gladly!” with a brilliant smile. Herscherik would long recall Barbosse’s dumbfounded expression whenever he needed a little chuckle.

The plan to break the engagement had been secretly concocted while Vivi was still mourning her sister. She had refused to go through with the engagement, which would leave her still at her father’s command and a burden to Herscherik. Breaking the engagement at the very occasion where they were meant to announce it was the most blatant way that Vivi could defy her father in this matter.

In order to do this, Vivi forsook her title as the daughter of a marquis and even the name Violetta. She would live in an orphanage run by the Aldis family. The orphanage, however, was more of a private boarding school, which would provide Vivi with a comfortable life and proper education while keeping her out of Barbosse’s reach. All arrangements had been made by letter, hand delivered by Kuro and Oran coming to the Barbosse manor, which Vivi had replied to by writing on the back of that same letter. Not even Barbosse could have foreseen that the couple to be engaged were preparing to break their engagement in public.

“I must confess, Prince Herscherik,” Vivi said with a serious expression, having dropped her smile. “A small part of me still resents you for not saving Jeanne” Herscherik held his breath. “But,” she continued, “I still resent Jeanne a little, too, for stealing away your smile for so long.” Herscherik looked up at her. “Please smile, Prince Herscherik. Jeanne and I love your smile. It’s like a warm ray of sunshine. You must brighten our nation with it.”

“Thank you, Vivi.” Herscherik smiled. Although it was still forced, he was beginning to regain his old smile.

Nothing could bring back lost lives. As fantastical as this world was, there were some things that were irreversible. Herscherik knew that he would lose someone again somewhere along the way. Still, he would never just give up and accept that there was nothing he could do about it. Even if the sorrow tore him apart, he would carry it all with him. Herscherik renewed his resolve that this was the only thing he could do.

“Prince Herscherik,” Vivi called, as Herscherik felt a warm sensation on his cheek, followed by the gentle sound of a kiss.

“Vivi!” Herscherik held his cheek. Once he understood what Vivi had done, he could feel his cheeks redden.

Vivi proudly smiled. “I’ll protect you, Prince Herscherik, when I see you again!” Vivi turned on her heel and climbed into the carriage.

Roland laughed at Herscherik left standing there, and his wife smiled along. Oran’s brothers took their seats in the front of the carriage, jesting “Oh, to be young again!” to each other. By the time Herscherik had snapped out of his paralysis, the carriage was already rolling away into the distance.

“Hersch?”

“Hello?”

His men of service peered into his face. Herscherik, his face visibly red, even in the dark, looked at his men to and fro. “I don’t think I’ll ever stand a chance against girls...” he muttered, despite having been a woman in his previous life.

His men jested, “You’re just realizing this now?” in return.

Later on, Violetta Barbosse would earn a scholarship to join the academy. She would prove to be an excellent student and later a talented and devoted government official working in the castle.