The king had passed away.
“They say he suffered from a chronic illness, but still… it was so sudden.”
“A heart attack, wasn’t it? By the time the court physician arrived, he had already stopped breathing…”
Because the entire nation was in mourning period for its King, black cloth had been draped throughout the monastery as well, and the same rumors about the cause of death were whispered everywhere. Dressed in her own black habit(1), Camilla let out a quiet sigh.
Her father had never been what one would call healthy to begin with. He ate only what he liked, and his body had only gotten rounder each year. He was better at holding himself back when he was younger, but during the several years Camilla had spent away from the royal capital, his weight seemed to have increased at an alarming pace. Even the court physicians had repeatedly warned him, from what she heard.
With the king’s death, her elder brother Gerald—formerly the crown prince—ascended the throne. However, the kingdom was required to remain in mourning for three months following the death of its ruler, and the grand coronation ceremony would have to wait until the mourning period ended.
Even upon receiving word of her father’s death, Camilla found herself surprisingly unmoved. Given his reckless lifestyle and constant ill health, it was hardly unexpected—and more than that, she had never truly regarded the king with filial affection.
(Had I been younger, perhaps it would have been different.)
Pushing back her black lace veil, Camilla gazed up at the late-summer sky.
It had been barely a month since Pamela and Lucrezio had come to announce their engagement. At this stage, preparations for the wedding could not yet have begun—and with all ceremonies canceled or postponed over the coming three months, the wedding would naturally be delayed as well.
Which meant, of course, that her sister’s marriage would be pushed back accordingly.
(Or rather… will they even be allowed to marry at all?)
As a sense of foreboding crept over her, Camilla gently covered her mouth with her hand.
She had heard that her brother had been vehemently opposed to Pamela marrying a knight of common birth. At the time, the engagement had gone through only because the king—with his absolute authority—had been alive. Now that Gerald had inherited the throne, it would be easy enough for him to annul his sister’s engagement.
Gerald already had a male heir of his own. With how ambitious he was, he might be trying to use Pamela to further strengthen his power. No, if anything, because of how much he cherishes Pamela that he would certainly arrange a more suitable match for her.
(I thought they suited each other so well…)
They were close in age, and spoke with the easy familiarity of friends. Camilla had hoped with all her heart that they might marry just as they were—and even if that proved impossible, she desperately did not want Pamela to be sent off to marry some man far older than herself.
(Dear God. Please grant your blessing to my one and only family…)
Clasping her hands together, Camilla prayed.
…She would learn that her prayer had, in fact, been answered—three months later, shortly after the period of mourning came to an end.
***
“Pamela will become a concubine to a prince of the Asshar Empire. And you, Camilla—you will marry that commoner knight.”
The one who declared this without even greeting her was her half-brother Gerald, whom she had not seen in some time.
Summoned urgently by a courier and having rushed to the royal castle, Camilla could only stare up at her brother in stunned silence.
She had sensed something amiss from the moment she was told to come at once—but it seemed her fears had been all too accurate.
(…What did he just say?)
“Y-Your Majesty… forgive me, but you mean for me to become Sir Lucrezio’s wife?”
“There is no need to attach honorifics to someone like him. You are still royal blood, however tarnished—conduct yourself with that awareness.”
Her brother let out a derisive snort. Beside him stood his wife—the queen—wearing a serene smile.
Born of a prestigious lineage, the queen was a gentle-looking noblewoman with a soft demeanor. Yet it was said she never once contradicted her husband; she merely smiled and observed whatever he chose to do.
Gerald—who shared Pamela’s blond hair and proudly bore the blue eyes inherited from their late father—crossed his legs and unfolded a document handed to him by an attendant.
“The engagement between Pamela and the commoner knight has already been annulled. Frankly, I would rather not even keep such a man in the castle—but it seems he possesses not only martial skill, but also the ability to command soldiers. Exiling him outright would be unwise.”
“…And so you intend to make him my husband?”
“It suits you well enough. A leftover like you and a commoner knight should make a fitting pair.”
Tapping the document bearing the royal decree with his finger, Gerald looked down at Camilla with cold eyes.
(This is absurd. Not only did they annul the engagement for their own convenience—now they intend to shove me in as a replacement…!)
Camilla had turned twenty-four at the beginning of autumn. Lucrezio, by contrast, had only just reached sixteen.
Marriages with large age gaps were not uncommon among royalty—but usually, it was the husband who was older. For the wife to be eight years his senior was simply cruel.
“Your Majesty. Sir Lucrezio has arrived.”
“Send him in.”
At Gerald’s curt reply, the sound of footsteps approached. Camilla was afraid to turn around.
(Sir Lucrezio…)
Glancing sideways, she saw a dark ash–haired youth take his place beside her. Dressed in a knight’s uniform of a different design from the one he had worn four months earlier, he did not look at her, but bowed neatly to Gerald.
“Lucrezio, reporting.”
“You are aware of the matter at hand. In the name of the King of Lapladia, I hereby command your marriage. I grant you the title of Baron Beresford—on the condition that you take the princess as your wife and pledge both your sword and your loyal heart to the Kingdom of Lapladia.”
(Baron… Beresford?!)
Camilla felt a shock ripple through her once more.
She had heard from Pamela that, lacking a family name, Lucrezio would be granted the Beresford surname and a title upon marriage. As a destination for a princess, that alone would have been acceptable.
But what she had heard then was Count Beresford.
Their indulgent father had declared he would bestow a county upon the young knight so that Pamela would never lack comfort. Whether that generosity had been reckless or merely extravagant was unclear—but at the very least, as a countess, Pamela would have lived in ease.
(They’re belittling him…!)
Anger flared in Camilla’s chest—and it seemed Lucrezio felt the same.
The brief falter in his expression made it clear: he, too, was hearing for the first time that the promised countship had been reduced to a barony.
In Lapladia, only viscounts and above were permitted to hold land. A baronial title could, if one had the money, be purchased even by a commoner. For a man celebrated as a hero of war, it was an insultingly meager reward.
And yet Lucrezio quickly composed himself and bowed deeply.
“I thank you. I swear to devote my sword and loyal heart to the kingdom, and to cherish Lady Camilla as my wife.”
Gerald likely cared little for the latter half of that vow. He merely replied, “See that you do,” and ordered him to sign the document.
At the bottom of the decree mandating their marriage, Lucrezio signed his name without hesitation.
When the document was then offered to Camilla, she accepted the pen with trembling fingers… and beside Lucrezio’s slightly crooked signature, she wrote her new name:
Camilla Beresford.
And so, without ever being allowed to voice her refusal, Camilla found herself married—by royal command—to the man who had once been her sister’s betrothed.
(1) Clothing wore by Nuns/Priests
