The War-Ending Delegation
Everyone envies what belongs to others. That holds doubly true when it comes to the station one is born into.
A slave covets the life of a freeman; a freeman, the nobility; and a noble, the royal family. It makes little difference if that royalty happens to be an unacknowledged bastard of dubious birth, neglected and talentless when measured against half-siblings. To those who possess nothing, even the bitterest taste of noble birth looks like a sweet, succulent fruit.
Ever since I was a boy, the glances cast my way carried more than just mockery for my shortcomings; they held envy for what I possessed and they did not. Because of that, despite the occasional hardship, I had been content with my lot in life. Or rather, I had tried to be.
“I'm seriously considering seeking asylum,” I said.
“And do you have anywhere that would actually take you in?”
Rattle, clatter.
While nowhere near as jarring as an unpaved gravel road, the neatly laid cobblestones still jostled the carriage, swaying my shoulders along with those of the maid sitting across from me, who was glaring in my direction with utter disdain.
“Why wouldn't they? Who do you think I am?”
“Prince Romul, son to the reigning monarch of the Kingdom of Remus.”
“See? When a prince of a sovereign realm asks for political asylum, shouldn't they jump at the chance?”
“What kind of lunatic kingdom would take in a prince treated like a bastard, who has no wealth, no renown, and no real status?”
“Have you ever heard of the crime of lèse-majesté?”
“Are you referring to a law that punishes a prince who babbles about defecting while traveling abroad as his nation's diplomatic envoy?”
Just as she said, the carriage we rode in—or rather, the entire procession of carriages—was on an official diplomatic mission. Having boarded this carriage, I was now leaving the homeland where I had been born and raised, journeying toward a foreign realm.
I was nominally royalty, and she was a maid bound to serve me as her master. Yet airing my grievances or raising my voice at this insolent servant, who talked back without conceding a single syllable, wouldn't accomplish a damn thing. The grandest protest I could muster was simply sighing, resting my chin on the windowsill, and sulking openly.
Crunch!
“Aargh?!”
Even that petty rebellion fizzled out almost instantly. The carriage must have caught on an outcrop of stone, because a violent jolt threw me off balance, causing me to bite my own tongue.
“Haah... Truly magnificent, Your Highness.”
As if she had foreseen this exact idiocy, Bell reached into the front pocket of her apron and produced a handkerchief without missing a beat. I took it and pressed it against my bleeding tongue. Perhaps because I was such a defective royal, the personal attendant assigned to me was quite the oddball compared to those serving my half-siblings. Of course, her attitude was merely a touch irreverent; in terms of competence, she lacked nothing. In fact, her slight insolence made her feel far more approachable, which was why I had never bothered replacing her.
“...If asylum is off the table, maybe I should just run away.”
“A splendid idea, assuming your lifelong ambition is to become a bandit. Of course, with massive bounties placed on your head by both nations, you'll never be able to settle down for the rest of your life.”
Granted, even if I wanted to replace her, I doubted the royal house would ever spare a genuinely prized retainer for someone like me.
The more I chewed over it, the more skeptical I became about suffering in a distant land for a kingdom that treated me like dirt. It was common enough among royal houses for low-ranking relations to be shipped off as envoys or hostages. As I mentioned before, I was a humble man who knew how to be grateful for what little he received rather than resent what he was denied. Had this been an ordinary delegation, I would have gladly complied.
Which was simply another way of saying that this procession was anything but ordinary.
“Want to hear a funny joke? Once upon a time, there was a big country and a small country. The big country was dozens of times larger in territory, and the difference in population was even greater. The small country, on the other hand, was originally an insignificant little speck of nothing. But thanks to a stroke of luck around the previous generation, its military power grew. Whenever it picked a fight with other petty realms, it swung its swords with gusto and bulked up a bit. Then, that small country got into an argument with another minor nation—one acting as a lackey for the big empire—and it escalated into full-blown war. When the big empire politely suggested it was time to wrap things up, the small country didn't like the tone of voice... so it went ahead and threw the first punch straight at the empire. Isn't that hilarious?”
“A truly hilarious tale,” Bell replied deadpan, “save for the fact that it happens to be about our own kingdom.”
“That's the funniest part! Your lack of a sense of humor is a real tragedy, Bell. And in case you were wondering, that big empire is the Fron Empire. That's right, one of the three greatest superpowers on the entire continent.”
“You've finally broken down, I see. Well, you lasted longer than expected.”
Broken down. That phrase captured my state of mind so flawlessly that I abandoned whatever shreds of dignity I had left, violently mussing my hair as I screamed at the top of my lungs.
“Aaaargh! Those crazy bastards! Fine, sure! The imperial bastards sounded arrogant, you got pissed off, and you threw the first punch! And once you traded a few blows and realized you couldn't hold out, sure, you might want to call it quits! But then the motherfucker who pushed for war should be the one going! Why send me?! I was against this damn war from the start!”
“Strictly speaking, Your Highness never even had the standing to voice an opinion.”
“Even conceding a hundred steps! If they just needed some expendable lackey to throw away his pride and grovel on his knees... fine! I could accept that! But what did they tell me?! ‘Do not bow your head to anyone other than the Emperor himself. We are coming not to surrender, but to seek reconciliation, so stand proud with your back straight!’ If they're feeling so damn proud, the Crown Prince or the King himself should have gone!”
“Haah... Without me around, Your Highness's head would have rolled at least five times over by now.”
Every single line of my tirade crossed boundaries that even a royal prince could not easily get away with, yet not a whisper reached the ears of the escort soldiers or servants riding outside. It was all thanks to Bell, who, as befitting an attendant to royalty, was capable of magic and had erected a soundproofing ward well in advance.
“Phew...”
Venting my emotions without worrying about who might overhear helped relieve the stress, and the bleeding on my tongue had finally ceased. Tossing the handkerchief soaked in blood and saliva into the corner of the seat, I settled back down and reviewed the situation rationally. The conclusion?
“Is there really nowhere that would take me if I defected right now?”
She was clearly sick of that joke. Bell didn't even bother replying; she simply picked up the handkerchief I had tossed aside, tucked it back into her pocket, and ignored me completely.
“Bell, seriously—”
“This is the fourth time today you've brought up defecting or deserting. If you're going to spout nonsense, please at least make it novel. Have some consideration for your listener, Your Highness.”
“Royalty doesn't waste consideration on underlings!”
“Are you familiar with the words ‘guillotine’ and ‘revolution’?”
“...What do you think the odds are of us returning in one piece?”
“I would say around sixty to seventy percent.”
A survival rate above sixty percent might sound higher than expected, but looking at it the other way around, it meant dying four times out of ten. We weren't heading out to gamble; we were on official state business. Who in their right mind would want to walk into a place where they had a forty percent chance of being slaughtered?
Even in a state of war, an envoy of royal blood was paying an official visit. The very fact that there was a chance the Fron Empire might fly into a rage and execute me was proof enough of how venomous relations between our nations had become. Of course, Fron didn't conduct diplomacy or wage war solely against Remus; with other continental powers watching, they wouldn't butcher foreign envoys over a bruised ego unless pushed to the absolute extreme... usually.
Yet even putting this current war aside, ever since our kingdom built up its military might, Remus had aggressively started wars every time the thinnest pretext presented itself. Our international reputation across the continent was already in the gutter.
“Bell, the Fron Empire is the wealthiest country on the continent, right?”
“It depends on how one defines wealth, but considering the treasury's reserves and the average standard of living for its subjects, it is certainly far above our own.”
“Meaning it's a nation that has zero worries about food, right?”
I poked my head out the window to inspect the column trailing behind our carriage. Aside from the four carriages carrying the ministers, decorated similarly to mine, the rest were plain wagons transporting senior officers and attendants, followed by a train of supply wagons. The large freight wagons bringing up the rear contained the gifts meant to appease the Empire—the bribes we, the shameless instigators extending an apology after throwing the first punch, were cramming into Fron's pockets in hopes of leniency.
The contents of those gifts were truly a sight to behold.
Whether it was tribute from a minor state seeking favor or the other way around, customary diplomatic protocol dictated that even hostile realms seeking a favor would load their wagons with regional specialties or luxury goods. And yet...
“Gifting grain and agricultural produce to the most food-abundant empire on the continent...” I muttered. “Could it be that our kingdom secretly harbors a passionate death wish?”
Am I the only one feeling anxious here? Am I just overreacting?
Sure, if things went south, I would be the first to lose my head. But if this war didn't stop, the rest of them would die too. Where on earth did they get this suicidal nerve? Before our departure, they gave me some long-winded briefing about the geopolitical situation and how we supposedly held cards to play, but none of it made any sense to me.
Clip-clop.
Lacking both the courage to turn the army around and demand answers from my father, and the nerve to abandon everything and flee with just the clothes on my back, I was about to let out another helpless sigh. Just then, the clatter of approaching hooves drew my attention. Someone had broken formation from the rear and was riding toward us. I pulled back the window curtain once more.
A burly, middle-aged giant with cropped red hair and an eyepatch over one eye was trotting closer. It was General Lucius, the military commander of our delegation.
“Your Highness, there is a small village nearby,” Lucius said, his deep voice carrying through the window. “Would you care to secure lodgings there for the night? Sleeping in a carriage for days on end must have taken a toll on your constitution.”
Despite losing his right eye in battle merely two months ago, General Lucius was overflowing with vigor. More than that, he was a man of remarkable character who treated a flawed prince like me with unwavering courtesy.
Glancing up at the sky, I saw the sun beginning its descent. Since we were a peace delegation trying to halt a war, haste was paramount, yet the front line between the Empire and the Kingdom of Remus was currently at a standstill. The imperial court had already received word of our crossing the border, so catching our breath for a single night wouldn't cause any diplomatic incident.
...Not to mention my personal desire to delay reaching the imperial capital—which might very well turn out to be my execution ground—for as long as humanly possible.
“A small village won't be able to accommodate everyone,” I replied. “I apologize, General, but you'll have to halt the march and make camp again tonight. Only this carriage will enter the village.”
“Understood! Halt the column! Secure a perimeter for camp!” Lucius bellowed to the troops before turning back to me. “Your Highness, I will assign an escort detachment to accompany you.”
“No need. A massive armed escort would feel like a bolt from the blue to a small village. We'll slip in quietly, sleep, and leave at dawn. I'll step out of the carriage, mount a horse, and take only my attendant. Bell, pack what we need.”
“However...”
The general looked conflicted, glancing back and forth between me and Bell as she promptly stepped down from the carriage to pack our overnight necessities. But I desperately needed some room to breathe freely. Knowing how stubbornly unyielding Lucius could be, I tapped him on the shoulder with a self-deprecating chuckle before he could protest further.
“It's only me, General. Even if something happens, it's not like the kingdom is losing anyone important.”
“...”
It was a grim joke that anyone familiar with my circumstances would find impossible to laugh at. Lucius fell into a troubled silence before giving a reluctant nod. We reached a compromise where he would send a minimal escort disguised as ordinary travelers, but even that was far more leeway than I had hoped for.
Under the pretext of traveling in disguise, I shed the stifling silk uniform for clean, functional clothes that any commoner with a bit of coin could wear. The moment I changed, breathing felt infinitely easier.
“Let's find an inn first.”
“Between your fondness for cheap clothes and your simple tastes, it's truly bizarre how unpretentious you are, considering you were raised in a royal palace your entire life,” Bell remarked. “Any other royal would have demanded an audience with the local lord rather than staying at an inn. Is it a flaw in your nature, I wonder? Constantly bringing suffering upon yourself...”
“Quiet, you.”
Bell, who had likewise changed out of her refined royal maid's uniform into the plain attire of a common maidservant, took the reins of my horse and led the way. Heading in the direction the general had indicated, we soon came upon the settlement. Small hamlets like this were often unwelcoming to outsiders, but situated as it was along a heavily traveled thoroughfare, we managed to find an inn sign that looked large enough to belong in a proper city.
“One room for two, just for the night,” I told the innkeeper.
“Certainly. If you'd like dinner, you can order from the tavern in the lobby.”
Leaving our horse with a stable hand who was sweeping the yard, we stepped inside. The tavern seemed to be the establishment's primary trade, as the hall was bustling with patrons.
“Go unpack our things,” I told Bell. “I'll order us something to eat.”
“Far be it from me to interrupt the young master's quaint little hobby of mingling with commoners. I shall take my time coming down.”
After sending my overly talkative maid up to the second floor, I found an empty table and ordered several dishes recommended by the server. Not long after Bell returned downstairs, the food began arriving, quickly crowding our table with hot plates.
“I suppose it lives up to the imperial name,” I remarked. “Tastes far better than the taverns back home.”
“The prices are even more outrageous,” Bell noted dryly. “Are you certain you weren't taken for a fool?”
“High-ranking nobles open their coin purses even when they know they're being overcharged. If the food's good, that's all that matters.”
Besides, it wasn't my personal coin anyway. If a prince got chastised for overpaying at a roadside tavern, that kingdom was practically bankrupt already.
Even so, deep within enemy territory, we couldn't risk speaking carelessly with so many prying ears around. Bell and I focused on our meal, choosing to listen to the surrounding chatter rather than talk among ourselves. The gossip of ordinary folks struggling day by day possessed a rough, spicy flavor distinct from the polished, insidious venom of aristocratic banter, making it entertaining to eavesdrop on.
“Hey, did you hear the news from Hannover out west? They're saying Adelheid refused to return!”
“Bullshit. Something must've held her up. Pitching camp in a city with an army of that size would be outright treason!”
“That's why everyone's losing their minds! You haven't been to the capital in over a week, have you? I just got back today, and let me tell you, the atmosphere is chilling.”
The problem was that among the banter, there was news far too volatile to simply laugh off.
After all, the only reason Remus could propose an equal peace rather than an unconditional surrender despite the overwhelming disparity in military might was one simple fact: fifteen days ago, the Emperor of Fron had died suddenly.