Nothing Is More Frustrating
Some time after Burkhai had groveled before the Empire, begging for its life.
The Empire deliberated and deliberated (though the plan had, in truth, been drawn up long ago) before finally reaching a conclusion.
It swept aside every objection raised against it (objections that were, naturally, purely pro forma).
"Your Majesty. I shall go myself. I will go and carry out the mercy they have begged of the Empire. I will show them the magnanimity of His Imperial Majesty."
It was none other than the Crown Princess herself who stepped forward and said so.
Unsurprisingly, a chorus of ministers and nobles cried out in alarm and rushed to dissuade her.
Anyone at all could be sent in her place—why must it be the Crown Princess?
True, they were now begging the Empire to spare them, but until recently they had been enemy states.
These were people who had gone so far as to declare war; having been so suddenly brought low, there was no telling what desperate act they might commit.
As such worries poured forth, the Crown Princess merely smiled faintly and spoke.
"If they possessed the strength to harm me amid all this, they would do better spending it tending to their own people, would they not?"
These were kingdoms begging for the Empire's aid precisely because they had no strength, no resources left—
If they resorted to such filthy schemes, how could the three eastern kingdoms possibly survive?
With that single remark, the Crown Princess applied pressure to Burkhai, Kaden, and Porland all at once.
On hearing the news, Porland immediately began to squeeze Burkhai all the harder, as if to finish it off for good.
As if surviving the floods weren't already a daily struggle.
If you so much as show a hint of pulling something stupid, you die with them.
From Porland's perspective, this was only reasonable. They had taken the Empire's hand and were finally thriving.
But if that old enemy pulled some reckless stunt and cost them everything, they would see red.
Long before the Empire moved to devour them, Porland would tear Burkhai apart with its own hands.
Kaden was no different. They had profited handsomely without losing much of anything.
All they had to do now was play their cards well, and if Burkhai threw a wrench into that—not as furious as Porland, perhaps, but furious all the same.
And Burkhai itself, naturally, had absolutely no intention of attempting any such madness.
This was a world where even the scions of reasonably powerful noble houses were not safe. They understood all too well that the moment anyone broke the peace, what order remained would collapse.
Above all, they had finally grasped that the hilt of the sword was held not by themselves, but by the Empire.
They were not fools enough to invite a storm of blood in retaliation.
Yet the Crown Princess had spoken as she did for one reason and one reason only.
Just as Cael had done—to leave them not even the slightest possibility of banding together.
Divide. And divide again. Split. And split again, until only one remains.
Then fold them into the Empire's embrace, let them grow comfortable there, and let them melt into it of their own accord.
"Go, then."
At last, with the Emperor's permission granted, the Crown Princess set out for the eastern border.
Which produced one more convenient justification: the movement of the Eastern Army Corps.
When the Crown Princess herself—the Empire's second most powerful figure—was traveling, how could the military not accompany her?
Two of the legions already standing by at once began to follow in her wake.
Ordinarily, the three eastern kingdoms should have shrieked in terror at such a movement.
But the justification the Empire had constructed was to quell the eastern chaos and provide aid.
And the Crown Princess herself, of all people, was traveling with it.
The reality was that they could not even bring themselves to say, Why is an army coming with you?
"In the first place, all three kingdoms—Burkhai especially—are on the verge of collapse. They couldn't stop an army even if they wanted to."
Isabel sat across from the Emperor, sharing a brief tea with him.
There was much she wished to discuss, and the Emperor had summoned her besides.
"You've cultivated quite an eye for reading the political currents."
"The person beside me is simply so brilliant at it that I've learned a great deal without even trying, Your Majesty. Thanks to that, I've been able to do even more for the Empire."
Even as she said it, Isabel couldn't help glancing warily at the Emperor's face.
Cael had told her she had nothing to worry about—but worry came all the same.
What if she were seen as a rival to the Crown Princess? To her own elder sister? That would be a disaster.
"Second Princess."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"…"
Having summoned her, the Emperor, of all things, said nothing more.
He simply gazed quietly at his second daughter.
Why is he doing this? Just as Isabel began to grow uneasy—
"…Bel."
When a pet name left the Emperor's lips, she started in spite of herself.
She knew perfectly well there was no ill intent behind it.
But when the Emperor himself acted like this, being flustered was only natural.
"I hear you recommended your elder brother for the southern mission."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"May I ask why?"
"Because I believed the First Prince—my brother—would be better suited than I."
It was she who had drawn the southern kingdoms beneath the Empire's shadow.
But when it came down to it, Isabel herself belonged to the Empire's War Hawks.
For what came next, the Peace Faction would serve far better than the Hawks.
That way, the southern kingdoms could breathe a little easier.
For now they pretended otherwise, but surely behind closed doors they were anxious.
If the Empire's influence swelled too great, the kingdom's people might well rise up in revolt.
The script was simple: they would declare that living under the Empire's wing was far better than their current lot, and—
the Empire would pretend it had no choice but to accept.
Gnaeus could offer a fine answer to exactly such anxieties.
You will remain the Empire's good friends, always. That is what he would tell them.
And in truth, the Empire had no intention whatsoever of fully absorbing the southern kingdoms.
Perhaps in the very distant future—but not now. Not for a long while. There's no plan for it, and no way to manage it.
Cael had told her. The Empire's order had to be maintained as it stood.
In order to settle accounts with Dedorant in the west and bring its territory into complete subjugation—
the Empire must not be seen grasping greedily elsewhere.
The Empire would take Dedorant and Artria. For now, that was the extent of it.
Absorbing that land, governing it, and finally forging it into imperial domain would take considerable effort as it was.
Unless the entire South laid its kingdoms at the Empire's feet, "friend" was the appropriate relationship.
"So there was reason enough, it seems."
At Isabel's answer, the Emperor looked as though he already knew everything.
A faint smile played at the corner of his mouth, as if he took quiet pride in his daughter.
"Indeed. You're right—the matters of the Holy Nation and the neighboring southern kingdoms are best left to your brother henceforth."
"Thank you, Your Majesty."
"Then what will you do? Do you intend to remain here in the Imperial Capital, quietly letting the days pass?"
"…I had thought that was the proper course for some time, yes."
After a moment's hesitation, Isabel decided to show her true heart.
"Rather than that—I wish to remain at Lord Cael's side. To follow him, and, as I have until now, be of service to the Empire. Your Majesty."
"Hmm."
The Emperor studied his daughter, then tilted his head slightly.
"Is that all?"
"Your Majesty?"
"I ask whether 'to be of service to the Empire' is truly the whole of your reason."
In that instant, Isabel felt cold sweat trace a path down her spine.
She remembered Cael telling her not to worry—but even that memory blurred at the sound of the question.
The Emperor was asking whether she had any other reason for her actions.
Whether moving as she did, earning merit after merit, was done purely for the Empire and nothing more.
Whether there was, beyond that, some personal desire—no matter how small, an ambition for the succession.
Isabel could not help hearing the Emperor's question that way.
"Only that, Your Majesty. I merely wish to serve the Empire—"
"That is not how it looks to Jim."
Is he pressing me? Or offering me a chance to speak honestly?
But this was her own heart. She truly thought of nothing else. She wanted only to serve the Empire.
What should she do? What could she say to dispel his suspicion?
Isabel was just about to begin agonizing in earnest, wringing her thoughts over and over—
"'She is a fine woman.' That is what he said."
"Your Majesty?"
"Cael Clausewitz. That young man said it to Jim. To me. To this father of yours: Bel—your daughter—is a fine woman."
"…"
Silence. Silence. And more silence.
Even after the Emperor finished speaking, Isabel could not manage a single word.
Even knowing that only the Emperor had the privilege of such silence. Even knowing what a grave breach of etiquette it was—
her reason had simply short-circuited, leaving her with nothing.
"Hmm."
At the sight of her, the Emperor looked, if anything, rather pleased.
"What a relief."
"Th-that. What do you—"
"Had you calmly replied, Is that so? I suspect Jim's heart would have grown dreadfully heavy."
The Emperor did not joke. Not that he was incapable of it—but he did not enjoy it either.
Which meant every word he spoke to Isabel now was entirely serious.
"Then let Jim ask again. Bel—was that truly all? The reason you wish to remain at Cael Clausewitz's side?"
"I, that is—"
"There are any number of other ways to serve the Empire, if that is what you want. Say the word. Jim is the Emperor of this realm—you think he cannot manage so much as that?"
A loyal servant of the Empire. Children laboring for the Empire's sake.
To the Emperor, they were all wonderful people. Willing, devoted people.
But that was that, and frustration was frustration.
No—if they were a couple of dim-witted children, he could understand. But why is it that such brilliant young people turn into this the moment the two of them so much as brush against each other?
The Emperor had absolutely no intention of enduring this exasperation any longer.
"Why do you not answer? Must Jim truly do this for you?"
"N-no, Your Majesty!"
"Not so? Then you mean to say there is another reason—one beyond serving the Empire."
He would tolerate no further silence.
With that bearing, the Emperor fixed his gaze upon his daughter.
Sensing that pressure, Isabel whimpered for a moment before finally finding her voice.
"I—I also."
"You also?"
"I also… th-think he is a good person. Your Majesty."
"Is that the whole of it? You intend to recycle the very same words?"
Isabel shook her head hastily.
"It's not that. It's just—Cael is truly a good person. Clever, and deeply loyal. Peerless as an Imperial noble. But beyond that, he's warm. He looks after others. He knows how to humble himself, and at the same time he never fails to look around at the people beside him…"
She was speaking earnestly when a strange feeling came over her, and Isabel looked up.
There sat the Emperor, wearing a thoroughly satisfied smile, as if nothing in the world pleased him more.
"It seems the only daughter of the Chairman of the Novogord Council has gone to the Berthier Imperial Count Fief."
The eyes and ears of the imperial family were everywhere to be found.
What could be given away, and what must never be—the Emperor could hardly fail to know.