Chapter 13
William cried out in alarm.
“Your Highness!”
“Oh. I’m joking, joking. You’re taking it awfully seriously.”
“…….”
“Come on, relax your face.”
Raphaella shrugged playfully. William pressed his hand to his forehead again and let out a deep sigh. He made a firm resolution never to get involved for long with a princess as unruly as this.
“Then that means I’ve granted your request, right? Let’s go see the Empress now.”
“…This way, please.”
William naturally took the lead toward the entrance of the Central Palace. Mark deliberately followed several paces behind them.
The imperial guards stationed at the entrance spotted the duke and greeted him.
“Duke Klimt, you have arrived at the palace.”
A sharp edge entered William’s expression as he received their crisp salute. Lowering his voice, he replied coldly.
“Do you not see that Her Highness the Princess is here?”
By etiquette, greetings were always to be offered first to the person of highest rank. This was common courtesy, known to anyone, noble or not.
Yet the very men charged with guarding the palace—those sworn to serve the imperial family—had omitted their greeting to the royal they owed their loyalty to. William was furious.
Only then did the guards startle and hurriedly bow to Raphaella.
“W-we greet Your Highness the Princess.”
Raphaella was used to situations like this. From the moment she left the detached palace and came to the Central Palace, she had not once been properly greeted. More often than not, people ignored her even when she spoke to them first.
That was why William’s anger on her behalf struck her as a little strange.
‘Come to think of it, he greeted me properly from the very first time we met.’
Raphaella looked at William quietly, but he failed to notice her gaze, too busy glaring daggers at the guards.
“Guarding the palace and protecting the imperial family is your duty. And yet you lack even basic decorum?”
“S-sorry. With so many people coming in for the weekly meeting, we were flustered and—”
“Is there truly any need for guards who cannot even recognize the master they serve? Mark.”
“Yes, sir!”
Mark, who had been standing at a distance, quickly approached at William’s call. William issued his orders to him in the same icy tone.
“These men require re-education. Send them back to the training grounds. This time, send a letter directly to the instructors so they come back with their heads screwed on straight.”
“I will see to it.”
Unlike before, Mark coolly wrote down the guards’ names. William crossed his arms and watched, then approached Raphaella and apologized.
“My apologies, Your Highness. I will ensure that this never happens again.”
Raphaella was so surprised she looked utterly bewildered. It was the first time anyone in this palace had not treated her with contempt. With the Emperor and Empress constantly belittling her, even the servants naturally came to look down on her as well.
It was unjust to fall overnight from a goddess to someone treated like cold leftovers—but she understood. Power worked that way. Such twisted situations were not unique to the human world, either.
But William was different.
“Worthy of being called the Empire’s last standard, indeed.”
William, having overheard her quiet murmur, scratched his cheek uncomfortably and replied.
“That title is a bit misleading.”
“Why?”
“I don’t understand why such a modifier should be attached to simply doing what must be done and walking the path one ought to walk.”
“Ah.”
Raphaella thought she understood.
For this man, the strength or weakness of power did not matter. There was only right and wrong as defined by his moral compass.
She let out a small chuckle. It was her first time meeting someone so rigid, and she found it interesting.
“There are far more people who can’t even manage what’s ‘obvious.’ That’s why.”
“Hm… I see. If more people receive that title, then mine would fade.”
“Planning to make everyone like that? It won’t be easy.”
“I’ll try first and think about it later.”
“But if the world were full of people as stiff as you, they’d snap instead of bending. You need people who are flexible too—people like me.”
“Your Highness doesn’t bend with flexibility. You seem to fly off wildly in completely different directions.”
“What—want me to fling you too?”
“I’ll pass.”
In the end, even William let out a small laugh. It was subtle, but surprisingly relaxed. He tried to recall how long it had been since he last smiled like that, then gave up.
The short-tempered princess, who didn’t even know the way, had already gone several steps ahead and was waving her arm wildly, telling him to hurry.
At that same moment.
Before attending the weekly meeting, the Empress was in the audience chamber. After moistening her lips with warm tea, she looked at Setrin, Sir Gerard, and Viscount Lorent seated before her.
Clink.
The sound of the teacup being set down broke the silence. Those seated opposite her followed suit, placing their cups down and waiting for her to speak.
The Empress asked Sir Gerard,
“So you’ve put someone on her.”
“Yes. It hasn’t been many days yet, so there’s been no notable activity so far.”
“I see.”
Countless thoughts passed behind the Empress’s expressionless face. Beneath the table, Setrin fidgeted anxiously with her fingers.
The white-haired old man, Viscount Lorent, who had been quietly reading the room, spoke up.
“What do you intend to do, Your Majesty?”
“For now, we watch. Raphaella’s changed behavior could be aftereffects of the poison.”
“But the poison we used has no such aftereffects.”
“I know. Still, in the present situation, that’s the only suspicious point.”
Viscount Lorent stroked his white beard and narrowed his eyes.
The poison he had procured caused paralysis and could leave one half-crippled, but it had no effect that could alter a person’s temperament. His intention had been to leave Raphaella as nothing more than a marionette, barely kept alive until her role was finished—but that plan had failed.
Lorent had fought continuously to seat his daughter in her current position as Empress, ruthlessly eliminating anything that threatened it—even Raphaella’s birth mother, the former Empress.
He had deliberately married the only remaining imperial woman of the time to the man who had impregnated his daughter. If that man became Emperor, then his granddaughter—who would otherwise have been a mere bastard—would become an imperial heir. Fortunately, the man came from a prestigious family, so matters proceeded smoothly.
The laws of the Henten Empire included the following clause:
“Special Law Upon the Passing of the Empress-Regnant
Article 1, Clause 1 — The consort retains their status only while a descendant of the First Imperial Blood remains within the Imperial Palace.
(If the descendant is a minor, the duty may be carried out by proxy.)
Clause 2 — If there is no descendant, the consort is to be deposed.”
Thus, Raphaella was born. Only then could their position and rights be guaranteed. Deposing the frail former Empress had been easy. After replacing the ministers with his own faction, even arranging her death had posed little difficulty.
When his daughter finally became Empress, he relaxed, believing wealth and glory would last for some time. From then until now, it had been the age of House Lorent.
But once Raphaella reached adulthood, there was much talk in the council about the “legitimacy of the throne.” Until his granddaughter Setrin ascended as Empress, Lorent could not afford to let his guard down.
Suppressing his anxiety, Viscount Lorent said to the Empress,
“Rather than tailing her, would it not be better simply to eliminate her?”
“No. There are matters yet unresolved.”
“How long must we leave a source of unease over a single reason? The political sphere is already filled with our people. There’s no need to cling to the council’s approval.”
“I will not tolerate even the slightest stain on Setrin’s ascension. Killing the Emperor and Raphaella can wait until we’ve extracted all possible use from them. Public opinion already leans toward Setrin; the council will have no choice soon enough.”
“The Pope is no easy opponent. We’ve been working on him for years, yet he hasn’t budged.”
“I have a plan for that, so don’t worry.”
As the Empress replied with sharp eyes, Setrin voiced her concern and continued,
“First, we must identify who stands behind Raphaella. Only then can we prevent anyone from daring to lay a hand on the other princesses in the future.”
“That’s true.”
Viscount Lorent nodded, finding merit in Setrin’s words. Sir Gerard, however, spoke with a hint of frustration.
“But is it really necessary to be that cautious? She’s young and has no connections in high society. Wouldn’t isolating her, as we have been, be more than enough?”
“Sir Gerard. What did you think I said back then?”
Annoyed, Setrin narrowed her eyes and shot back.
“I told you she was suspicious. Do I look like someone who can’t tell such things apart?”
“Ah, no, that’s not what I meant… I was simply suggesting that if you proceed with marriage talks with the ducal house and secure Your Highness’s position, wouldn’t that resolve the issue?”
As Gerard deftly redirected the conversation, Setrin bit her lower lip. Seeing this, the Empress let out a dry sigh and spoke.
“House Klimt has already rejected the proposal several times. Pressing the matter further would only damage the dignity of the imperial family.”
At the Empress’s words, silence settled over the table. Setrin, her pride wounded, did not relax her bitten lip.
Then Viscount Lorent spoke.
“In that case, how about bringing in a prince from another country as Your Highness’s consort? It would help solidify your position.”
“The prince of the Kingdom of Kaincantz? But isn’t he their sole heir? There’s no way they would give him up—”
The Empress asked in surprise, but Viscount Lorent continued with a meaningful smile.
