1
There was no hint of winter to be seen in that Monday morning. A visitor from the northern realms would hardly have deemed it a proper day of autumn either. The boundaries of seasons were less pronounced on the central continent. Air hung warm and windless over the web of long, winding streets of Bhastifal, and the sun was high and white. Not a flake of snow had reached land here within recorded history, although it did rain slightly more frequently in the months before the new year. The course of life for the common masses carried on virtually unchanged, with the exception of the week of midwinter fair, still two months off.
In the grand Imperial Palace on the hill of Selenoreion nothing was outwards out of the ordinary that day either. The only sun the Court followed was Her Radiant Majesty, and if she said it was spring in Ostaria, then the calendars were mistaken.
Yuliana said nothing of the sort.
She sat on the Onyx Throne, only a light, white wolf pelt for a cushion, absorbed in reading the day’s guest list. Towards right from the hefty seat stood high courtier Van Flecke in his colorful tailcoat, proudly upright, clutching his ornate brass staff. Towards left, adjusting to her new duties as the fifth Court Wizard of Tratovia, was Margitte. In her free hand, she gripped a slim staff of ebony, brand new, about as long as she was tall. She didn’t like to employ such cumbersome catalysts, personally, but the staff doubled as her badge of office and she was expected to have it while on duty.
Close next to Margitte towered the imposing figure of Brigadier General Martin Serif Monterey, the Commander of the Imperial Guard, in charge of the security of the palace. The man was over six feet tall, a broad-shouldered warrior with bronze hair and a short goatee. Stout as a roadblock, a chunk of rock in the shape of an anthropoid, no less formidable than the chair of stone near him. But the man was not half as harsh as his looks suggested. He wouldn’t judge the young mage for her inexperience or civilian background, and neither did he treat her like a child, but spoke to her frankly, in quite the jovial tone.
“Not everyone who comes through those doors is what they seem,” the General advised Margitte. “There are swindlers of many colors, impersonators, cutthroats, and madmen, who would try and manipulate her majesty to their own nefarious ends. We do a fairly good job at screening them beforehand, but some slip through from time to time. The Guard takes care of the threats man can grab with his hands, but it is your role to see that which can’t be seen. Keep a close eye on the guests as they come. Search for any signs of magical effects, charms, curses, camouflage, enchanted objects, anything that comes to mind. Anything you can imagine in your daydreams, you can be sure there is a deranged loon out there willing to try it in reality—often to their own embarrassment, mind you.”
Margitte nodded in understanding.
“It’s chiefly a ceremonial role,” General Monterey continued. “A deterrent, if you will. We don’t always waste the Court Wizards’ time on lowly grunt work like this. Most days, it’s a random Battalion cadet. Sometimes, it’s not a sorcerer at all, but we put a hood on Van Flecke—and it works! You don’t believe me? Ask the man himself! We do that, don’t we?”
The General turned his question to the high courtier, who answered him with only a sour “hmph!” and avoided eye contact. Margitte could vividly picture the official wearing a voluminous cloak instead of his frilly, peacocky outfit, looking convincingly evil with his hooked nose and perpetually disgruntled expression, and she could barely hold her laughter.
“A deterrent, as I said,” Monterey resumed. “We get into the mind of the criminal. The very sight of you standing there next to the throne does wonders. The guests don’t even notice your age or where you’re from, or anything of the like. They come in, all they see is your staff, and in their heart of hearts they go like, ‘Oh, by all that is holy, it doth be a real Court Wizard!’, and then their knees get wobbly and they start stammering, get mixed up with their words…Funny stuff. But you mustn’t laugh at them! Therein lies the true challenge of the job, you see? No matter how comical those people seem to you, you can’t crack so much as a smile—their ego would never recover from it!”
Margitte laughed nonetheless.
“It’s a serious spot, I tell you,” the General pretended to scold her. “I’ve been in their boots myself once, long ago, so I know this! I was still only a Lieutenant at the time, freshly transferred to the Guard, and came to introduce myself to his majesty with the others from my course. And as we came in, I saw old Master Yornwhal stand here—right where you’re standing now—staring at me with judgment in is eyes...the mere memory of it still sends shivers down my spine, no lie. It was like he could see straight through to my soul. Under that stare, I even began to doubt myself. Maybe I’d been charmed by an evil sorceress and just didn’t know it? But he would sniff out the deceit in me. At any moment, I expected he would suddenly raise his staff to fire a bolt of lightning at me, and I’d be reduced to ashes on the spot. I began to stutter like an idiot and royally messed up my introduction. It was the most terrifying experience of my life. Or, fairly close.”
“Did something happen?” Margitte asked, already absorbed in the tale.
“Oh yes,” Monterey said, raising his brow. “It was later, when we were already on our way out. Master Yornwahl came after us. He called for me, said, ‘you lad there with the flaming hair’, and blood froze in my veins. I knew I was done for. He took me by the shoulder, pulled me to the side and then asked me—what do you suppose he asked?”
“...What was it?” Margitte asked, holding her breath, unable to even imagine.
“’Lieutenant, do you like green tea or lemon tea better? I couldn’t quite tell.’”
The General burst into roaring laughter at his own story.
“’It’s going to bother me at night unless you tell me’—that’s what he said! Hahaha!”
Margitte broke into an uncontrollable giggle in kind.
Listening to their conversation from the side, the Empress smiled as well. Although, as she recalled the face of the late magician, the memory of his fate soon made the smile fade. Then they were all silenced by Van Flecke’s dry, meaningful cough.
“Ahem!”
The time had come for the guests of the day to enter.
One after another, either individually or in small groups with their closest retainers, guests of various backgrounds and origins came in.
The allotted time for each visitor was quarter of an hour by default, measured by the hourglass next to the throne. Some delivered their business quicker than that, others only understood to take their leave after repeated reminders, when the sentries posted along the aisle finally made their move. Of course, if the guests’ business was important enough to justify it, they were given more time, but such vital meetings were generally held elsewhere, privately.
Most were foreign nobles, lords and jarls from distant provinces, or otherwise prominent figures, (or figures who thought themselves prominent), presenting simple greetings along with invitations for her majesty to come see their lovely lands closer. News were slow to travel and people generally less so. Word of the change of leadership in Tratovia had reached the more remote governors on the continent late, and the last of them had come to pay their respects only now, on the doorstep of winter, well over half a year after the fact.
There were always a few, who had business entirely different from what they had claimed beforehand, but no one particularly dangerous appeared. The Imperial Guard did their job at weeding out suspicious individuals with commendable effectiveness.
As such, there was little actual work for Margitte to do. She surveyed the visitors mentally as they came across the throne room. She couldn’t probe a person’s mind deep enough to tell what flavor of tea they liked (it had to have been a joke), but she could gauge their general state of mind for any signs of hostility or underhanded intent.
Some guests carried enchanted items, accessories blessed for good luck, stones, amulets, bracelets, necklaces, rings, or beneficial glyphs drawn directly onto their bodies. Whether the spells were as harmless as they seemed or not, Margitte dispelled them remotely all the same, while their bearers noticed nothing. Rules were rules. Items of arcane nature were considered weapons and none were allowed in. The loss of such petty boons shouldn’t have inconvenienced anyone too much.
Over the course of the afternoon, Margitte took note of a strange phenomenon.
Many guests came in a state of agitation, with obvious protests on their mind for whatever injustice they had experienced and attributed to the Imperial governing. They cloaked their feelings to varying extent, wearing courteous masks of diplomacy, but on the inside, they clearly viewed the young Empress primarily as a foe to be challenged and defeated, for the sake of their own good.
Yet, as soon as they saw her majesty and exchanged words with her, their mentality underwent a most dramatic reversal. After their allotted quarter hour had passed, they would depart the room feeling only relief and contentment, borderline exaltation, thinking they had found fairness, even if none of their original demands were addressed.
How?
Instead of the visitors, Margitte began to pay closer attention to the Empress instead.
It was not exactly a secret that the current Sovereign of Tratovia originally hailed from the southern Kingdom of Langoria, where she had been a princess, but bringing the fact up needlessly was not considered good etiquette either.
Political marriages and trading of royals might not have been unheard of in the world at large, but for Tratovians, who valued strength above all, having to depend on a foreigner to govern them was a sore topic. Her majesty had won the masses’ approval with her politics and deeds, but the common consensus said she was a Tratovian now, and so would be her future husband, and her children, and this was not a matter worth discussing.
How did the Empress herself feel about this?
What was that person—Yuliana Da Via Brannan—really like?
Her majesty spoke very little of herself or the future. Politicians were masterful actors by necessity, and excelled in hiding their true selves. Otherwise, their careers would not have lasted very long.
This part had given Yuliana a lot of trouble in the early stages of her reign. Langorians were honest, earnest people by culture, but effectively managing the greatest nation on the continent took certain subtlety and cunning. In plain words, avarice.
Regardless of early difficulties, her majesty had evolved greatly in the craft in a very short time. Spending a couple of weeks in the custody of the pirate Confederacy two months previously had not undone her philanthropic nature, but it would’ve been wrong to say the experience didn’t change her at all. No, her attitude towards politics had undergone a profound shift.
The Empress wouldn’t outright lie to anyone, but if her opponent misunderstood her in a way favorable to her interests, she wouldn’t go out of her way to correct them either. Rather, at times, one could’ve sworn the misunderstanding was deliberately induced. Dirty jokes no longer flustered her, thinly veiled threats she regarded with nonchalance, as if she had heard and seen much worse. She depended less on her advisors, but answered each query directly and in her own words; cordial to all, polite and smiling, exercising no magic beyond that of a fair face.
Guests expecting to meet an inexperienced marionette were caught entirely off-guard. With the basis of their conversational strategy voided right off the bat, they were left in a state of mental disarray. But her majesty would humiliate no one. She helped the staggered envoys pick themselves back up again, and dictated both the arguments and the answers back for them in such eloquent ways that even after being entirely rejected, they departed feeling like things worked out better than expected.
Watching all this from a close range made Margitte’s fascination towards the Empress only grow further. She wanted to know more. But her majesty’s mask was unfailing, and none of her true heart could be seen. She sat within arm’s reach, but as if not really there at all.
For a magician, one dedicated to amassing knowledge, having an unsolved mystery close by was a most vexing situation. Vexing enough to make the young master begin to entertain some reckless ideas.
Probing her majesty’s mind was an ages-old taboo. Any mage caught in the act faced the capital punishment; no ranks or excuses would help. The fool would burn at the stake among lowly witches. But, on the other hand, telepathy was a rare skill, even among professional mages. The Empress herself had negligible arcane potential and no training. The probability of a light survey being detected was virtually non-existent.
Nobody would ever find out.
What was her majesty thinking in those quiet moments, when her gaze grew distant and her expression took on that slightly melancholic color?
Maybe, if just for a bit…
——Kang.
The throne room door was shoved carelessly open and hit its limit with a deep sound. Margitte withdrew her thoughts in a hurry and straightened her posture, and her pulse spiked. She hadn’t even done anything yet! Had there been some kind of an automatic ward in place, which she had failed to notice?
The interruption soon proved unrelated to her probing. The previous guest had only just left and there was supposed to be a brief break before the next one, yet a person of obvious impatience came staggering in, too busy to wait for the doors to be fully opened.
The visitor didn’t look like a diplomat or a trader, but an Imperial soldier. Not an officer, looking at his worn, standard-issue armor, but only a foot soldier, a legionnaire of few charms. Van Flecke wouldn’t tell them his name either, but only stood in dismay, disapproval all over his face, confirming this was not a scheduled visit.
Normally, military reports were reserved for the morning briefings, but the frantic looks of the troop suggested some urgency. Sentries moved to intercept the man, but General Monterey gestured at them to let him through. He had surrendered his weapons and didn’t look very threatening, on the verge of collapse.
The soldier came before the throne, carrying his helmet under his arm, and dropped on a knee without grace, catching his breath.
“Your majesty, General,” the man began, his creased forehead glistened with sweat. “My apologies for interrupting you in such fashion—I will accept any punishment necessary for my misconduct afterwards. But I bear urgent news that I took on oath to deliver to you as soon as possible.”
“Who are you?” General Monterey asked, frowning at the troop’s behavior. “You’re no man of the capital’s legions, are you?”
“No, sir. I am Corporal Haemov, from the Tossali garrison, near Principality’s border. I come under orders from Lieutenant Colonel Isaak.”
“Tossali?” the General murmured. “You have come a long way if that’s true.”
“Yes, sir,” Corporal Haemov replied. “I’ve ridden for twelve days with nary an hour of rest at night, changing horses in every town, to bring you the message entrusted by my superiors. Will you hear it?”
“Of course,” Yuliana told the soldier. “It’s plain enough to see yours is a business of grave importance. Share the news quickly then, and have your hard-earned rest. You have no punishment to fear, as far as I am concerned.”
“Very well, your majesty.” the Corporal nodded. “But is it fine for me to speak freely? What I’m about to tell is highly confidential.”
He glanced at Margitte, apparently unsure of if the young girl was an outsider, despite her staff. Not saying anything to the girl, Yuliana instead gestured at Van Flecke, who bowed and left the room. Palace workers heard all sorts of secrets alongside their duties, but they were still considered civilians, and not privy to military intelligence.
“Go on then,” Yuliana said after the courtier had gone, and the soldier obliged. He leaned heavily on his knee with a posture less than formal, but such could be pardoned, considering the length of miles behind him.
“I bring you the latest report that reached us last week—from Langoria, your majesty. Ill news, I’m afraid.”
The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
Margitte noticed Yuliana tense at that name.
The Corporal continued,
“According to the message, one of our agents in Walhollem was identified by the local authorities and arrested in the previous week. Presumably under torture, he gave away the names of six other key operatives of the Intelligence Bureau in the city, who were also apprehended soon afterwards in a city-wide operation by the Royal Army. All of the caught operatives were—executed, for espionage, on the King’s orders.”
“Oh no.”
In one moment, the mask had fallen from Yuliana’s face. The feelings visible on her face now were undoubtedly her own.
“The Bureau’s instructions were to stand by and observe the political climate in the capital,” the Corporal continued, “but the Langorian authorities chose to view their purpose otherwise. They broke into the Bureau’s safe house in a raid, where outdated correspondence was recovered, along with some sensitive documents. These documents brought our agents’ activities in the Kingdom in a...rather unfavorable light, I’m sorry to say. The case and all the related materials were later publicized, as evidence of Tratovia’s intentions to undermine the Langorian society.”
Her majesty could only shake her head in dismay at the stream of terrible tidings, while the soldier carried on,
“This development comes at a particularly bad time. The King of Langoria did not approve the news of the Empire’s recent truce with Luctretz. He seems to believe we’ve taken control of the Principality’s governance by treachery, as a preparatory step for our invasion to the Kingdom. Langoria already severed diplomatic ties with the Empire and banished our ambassadors during the Dharvic war three years ago, for which we’ve had great trouble communicating our side of things and seeking a diplomatic solution. To make matters worse, we have to assume all our undercover personnel and contacts in the Kingdom have been compromised in the raid. Even though it further impairs our ability to gather intelligence in the region, the Bureau has made the decision to withdraw all assets immediately. I was asked to convey our apologies for acting without your consent, but this concerns almost two hundred people. They could lose their lives if they stayed. It was judged that the decision conformed to your policies. Do you disapprove, your majesty?”
“Of course not,” Yuliana forced a subdued answer. “The Bureau did the right thing.”
“The situation continues to escalate beyond our worst fears,” Corporal Haemov resumed. “Anyone with even passing ties to Tratovia—friends or family—now faces persecution. The King has ordered watch on the northern border intensified. All traffic is closely screened, and many are turned away. By the report, motions to mobilize the army have also been made—under the guise of a mass training exercise, for the time being. However, Lieutenant Colonel Isaak believes the Kingdom is likely to attempt a preemptive maneuver to secure the full border, and station an active host on the Principality’s side. If they do follow through with the intent and occupy Luctretz, the conflict is unlikely to remain at that level.”
“Father…” Yuliana squeezed her eyes close with a bitter sigh. “What are you doing…?”
“Please accept my deepest apologies,” Corporal Haemov said, bowing his head. “It pains me to deliver such news. But my superiors ask your majesty and the Board of Generals to prepare, in the nearby future...to receive a formal declaration of war from Langoria.”
The listeners were left without a response.
That a war was not only a faint possibility, but now inevitability—none of them could foresee such a development coming so soon. The sense of helplessness and terror the prospect instilled seemed to take one’s breath away, even as denial yet battled it.
In the absence of other sounds, while the audience still tried to assure themselves it couldn’t be as bad as it seemed, the frazzled messenger’s voice continued,
“The way those agents were executed…It was—abnormal. It was inhuman. I was told the first man had his limbs broken with a wheel while he still lived, and was set up mauled on display by the city gate, to slowly expire in the sun. The second was flogged to shreds with bladed whips, then to be boiled alive in salted water. The third was bound between frenzied horses and torn asunder, after being force-fed his own feces. The fourth was hung upside down from a tree, arms and legs far apart, and was then sawed in two in the middle, while hot oil was poured on him. The fifth—”
“—That is enough, soldier!” General Monterey interrupted upon a glance at Yuliana’s expression. Her majesty squeezed the arm rests of her cold seat looking ill, and trembled.
“I beg your pardon,” Corporal Haemov bowed deeper and silenced himself.
The messenger was dismissed. The Empress and her retainers held still to digest the news, dressed in a mortified silence. Sand in the hourglass drained while none of them could tell what to say or what to think, though their minds likely followed the same paths.
“…I’d heard the King had not been himself, as of late,” General Monterey then spoke in a low tone, “but I didn’t know it was this bad.”
“I can’t leave it like this,” Yuliana said as stared down at her knees and made up her mind. “I have to go back.”
“Your majesty?” he replied with a concerned frown. “I’m not sure if that’s a good idea, under the circumstances…”
“—I’m not going to go to war with my own father,” Yuliana raised her voice, while one bitter tear like a shard of diamond raced down her cheek. “I have to make peace, whatever it takes. I have to try.”
It was not simple fear that spoke through her; there was force, anger in the words. Anger at her stubborn, hardhearted parent—a feeling she likely wouldn’t have ever exhibited in the open, if not for the long road she had come in this singular year. Recognizing her majesty’s determination, General Monterey swallowed further arguments, and bowed.
Through all this, Margitte stood in silence, gripping her staff. She was a little proud of how composed she was able to keep, against the horrifying tidings.
Yes, there was the essence of magicians.
They were not people. They were conduits of heavenly knowledge, servants of a higher cause. The temporal could not be reconciled with the eternal. Those who sought to become mediums of the Art had to be above mortal concerns, lest the worldly distractions would become their undoing. One incapable of comprehending such an elementary fact was not even fit for a disciple, let alone a master.
But had the Empress foreseen such a scenario, when she had spoken those words of caution in the inauguration? That the fulfillment of Margitte’s dream should be followed by a war…No, no human could boast such a gift.
“Rest assured, your majesty,” Margitte said aloud, forcing her tone aloof, “there is nothing to worry about, so long as I stand by your side. It is your role to dream, and ours to see the dream realized. That is all there is to it. Therefore, fear is not needed.”
She kept her face firmly forward, so that her majesty couldn’t have seen the faint blush that might’ve otherwise tarnished her dignified presentation.
The Empress smiled at the girl.
“What a dependable servant I have,” she said in admiration and wiped her eyes. “Thank you, Master Beuhler.”
Yuliana relaxed her shoulders, closed her eyes, drew a deep breath in and out—and was her usual self again.
“Right,” she said, “dwelling in apathy is a luxury too expensive for us now! We must move to counter the coming calamity as soon as we can. Were there more guests left for the day?”
“Um, only one, it seems,” Margitte answered, double-checking the list.
They called Van Fleck back into the throne room and got ready to receive the last of the guests. As easy as it would’ve been to cancel the remaining appointment, that person too had come a long way and deserved their chance the same as any other. Meeting the Empress could meant the world for them, and that innocent wish shouldn’t be so casually denied for any reason.
After the lengthier-than-expected break, the doors were opened once more. Happy to be back on duty, the high courtier knocked the floor rhythmically with his heel, followed by a strike of his brass staff, and announced the visitor,
“From the Barony of Ludegwert, the daughter of late Baron De Guillon, Sergeant of the Barony’s Guard——Lady Millanueve De Guillon.”
A young noblewoman walked in.
She was a tad shorter than the Empress, roughly the same age, or a little younger. She came not in a frilly dress despite her high heritage, but in a long, deep blue riding coat of chivalrous design; breeches of tough hide that firmly aligned to the supple curves of her legs; and long boots of black leather, with silvery adornments and metal heels. An altogether gallant vision of a maiden. Her hair was of the warm color of sun-ripened wheat, cut on the level of the shoulders; bangs were tidily combed to the right, to keep clear of her large, round eyes, which were like forest ponds reflecting the blue of the midday sky.
Yuliana didn’t think she had ever seen a girl as delightful before. The crowning feature was doubtless the maiden’s face, an exquisite blend of childish roundness and grownup grace; smooth little lips like cherry petals, and a nose that simply begged to be mischievously poked. As hard as the guest tried, she was unable to fully hide the nervousness anyone was bound to feel while approaching the seat of the Sovereign. But she did her best and that small bravery was altogether adorable.
The girl stopped before the stairs, near the very spot where Margitte had stood last week. She kept her gaze on the carpet and knelt uneasily, not even trying to sneak a peek at the Empress seated high above her.
Distracted by the girl’s unusual appearance, Yuliana registered the words of the introduction only with a considerable lag.
Then her eyes rounded in surprise.
“Eh?”
She had to doubt if she had heard the name right. No, there could be no mistake.
“Wait—Millanueve!?” Yuliana sprung up on her feet at once and exclaimed. “That Millanueve!?”
“Huh?” the girl from Ludegwert now looked up like a startled bird. “Yes? W-what is it…?”
Courtier Van Flecke looked no less dumbstruck and failed to explain the visitor’s business, or produce any understandable sounds in general. How could the Empress of the greatest human nation be acquainted with a random third-rate noble from a distant province? Margitte and General Monterey were none the wiser.
Ignoring the lost of them, forgetting her lofty position entirely, Yuliana hurried down the stairs to see the guest closer.
“It is you, isn’t it?” she excitedly questioned the girl on the way. “The one who journeyed to Alderia with Izumi! It must be! That hair and sky blue eyes—you’re exactly as I imagined you to be! Oh, I’ve heard so much about you from Waramoti! At last I get to meet you in person! What a happy day this is!”
“Ha…?”
“Rise, rise! Quickly on your feet now!” Yuliana caught the girl’s hands and pulled her up. “Let there be no titles between us! We may have never met before, but you are already like a dear old friend to me!”
Despite the brazen request, Millanueve seemed little easier, frozen stiff and rapidly blinking, looking like a rabbit that has by an accident dived in a den of wolves. Her face seemed unable to decide whether to turn red, or go altogether bloodless.
Holding onto her hands, the Empress carried merrily on,
“So, what brings you to Bhastifal? How has life treated you since that time? What has become of you after that terrible journey? Tell me, tell me all! Oh my goodness, aren’t you sweet!”
“Awawawa…”
Slowly and with great effort, the maiden from Ludegwert recalled her original purpose and gathered the remains of her shattered composure. Perhaps it was the somber nature of her quest that helped her get over her agitation? She ceased to fret and faced her majesty directly, although her gaze soon drifted aside.
“Uh, I…” she timidly began. “...I’ve come to bring greetings from the new Baron of Ludegwert. To congratulate you on your recent ascension, your majesty—”
“—Oh, don’t be so distant!” Yuliana interrupted, a look of deep sadness and appeal in her eyes, like an abandoned puppy. “I’m Yuliana! You must call me by name, I insist!”
“HA—?” In response, Millanueve turned bright red at once. “B-b-b-but…!”
“—And then? The new Baron? What does that mean? Why’s he new?”
“Eh, I...I had a letter with me, w-which I believe explains the circumstances better than I ever could,” Millanueve said. “I only meant to deliver it to the Palace, but then they suddenly told me to line up and come in, and—”
“—And full glad I am that they did,” Yuliana said and nodded. “I want to hear it directly from you. Please, do go on.”
“AAAaaa…” Like an overheating engine, Millanueve struggled to express herself under the Empress’s expectant, close-range stare. But though it appeared that steam would soon start to pour out of the pressured girl’s ears, Yuliana would neither let her go, nor take back her request.
Therefore, Millanueve could only give up resisting with a drained sigh, and do as was asked.
“…My father,” she began in a more solemn tone, “the previous Baron of Ludgewert...He’d been ill for many years, before at last succumbing in the summer. It’s been about three months now since we laid him to rest.”
“Aww, I’m terribly sorry to hear that,” Yuliana said, her brow contorting in a sad look, as if the deceased had been her family too. “It must have been hard on you…”
Millanueve shook her head. “No. I was ready for it. We already knew he didn’t have much longer left. Doctors eventually ceased to allow visitors at all, so as to not needlessly burden him. I can’t remember the last time I spoke to my father in person, when he was still lucid. Even his face had become vague in my memories. In a sense, I said my farewells already long ago…”
“Oh…” Yuliana restrained the urge to pet the girl, and listened.
“Without…” Millanueve resumed, looking down. “…Without a son to inherit him, my father had named his closest counselor, Michel De La Sanglouisé, as his successor. That...that man is the new Baron and governor of Ludegwert now. Baron La Sanlgouisé wished to send his regards, and assures that the Barony remains strictly loyal to the Empire, now and in the future. I volunteered to bring the message for him. And that is why I’m here.”
“But why you?” Yuliana asked. “It was a long and difficult journey, was it not? Across the Abserim. You’re still the Baron’s daughter, and a hero too. There was no need for you to come all this way in person, only to deliver a simple letter.”
Millanueve shook her head again. “That was not the only reason.”
“Hm?”
“I…Um, I had nothing left to keep me there anymore. No family. No friends. I told everyone about what happened in Alderia—I tried to warn them about the elves, what I saw on the island! But no one believed me. They thought my comrades were killed by beasts or ran off to better lands, and that I lied to hide my shame. They said we were stupid to ever go on such a fool’s errand. And, they wouldn’t outright say it, but...no doubt many would have preferred that I didn’t come back either.”
“That’s…”
“—So I resolved to start over,” Millanueve added, firmer, and looked up. “After delivering the letter, I was going to try and find work in the city. I’ll rent a small house, or an apartment, and...and see where that takes me! So. If your majesty would happen to know of a place that might take me—I’m good with horses! I think I could do well on a farm, or a stable. And I’m quick to learn, I’m sure I could do other things too, if only someone were to teach me...Maybe.”
Then her confidence faltered again. Her voice waned and her gaze drifted back to the carpet. “Ah, please forgive me. This wasn’t supposed to be about my problems, I’m overstepping my boundaries. My personal matters are far beneath you. I was only…”
“—That is completely out of the question!” Yuliana couldn’t bear to listen any longer. She let go of Millanueve’s hands and threw her arms all the way around the girl and squeezed her tight. “I’m not sending you to stables or farms, dear friend! Oh no! You shall be one of my closest confidants and live right here in the palace with me! Rest easy now! All your misfortunes are a thing of the past! Your brother you may have lost—but from this day on, you can think of me as your sister!”
“Awawawawa...!” Millanueve began steaming again, red as a lobster up to her ears.
But there was no changing her majesty’s mind when it was made, and no amount of counterarguments or excuses could change this fate anymore.
But, whether Yuliana had decided wisely or not in her generosity, remained to be seen.