A Whispered Warning
“What thoughts are weighing so heavily on your mind?”
Reeling back to reality, Jeanne met the eyes of the ambitious man before her. The voice had belonged to D’ivin. The reason he had introduced Mathias—Duke of La Rochelle, the position of great duke—to her now felt faintly familiar. D’ivin had not impulsively offered her the throne after the war. He had wanted her to become king from the very beginning. La Rochelle possessed half the kingdom’s southern maritime power. Its vast plains provided fertile land, giving it a solid foundation for agriculture. It was self-sufficient enough to sustain a strong military. By placing her in charge of such a fief, he had forged the necessary connections. Looking back now, the purpose had been glaringly obvious. Why had she failed to notice at the time? Because she had never once considered that she might actually become king.
Jeanne stepped away from the pillar. “Hah—”
She let out a long breath. Recalling her encounter with Mathias, she now understood the full weight of his final words. The sea was no longer blue—it was stained red with the blood of both enemy and ally. While the king and his subjects fought over factional lines, the enemy kingdom had been preparing its war with unwavering diligence. Mathias had known this all along. Thanks to his early preparations, he had been able to guard the southern seas for six full years. “I was thinking about your friend.”
“You’re thinking of another man while I’m standing right in front of you. How jealous.”
“The one who made me think of him is you, after all. He’s been holding onto the sovereignty of the southern seas the entire time.”
Mathias had kept the southern seas firmly in his grip, and Jeanne mentally mapped the entire situation. Rotinzel’s forces relied entirely on supply lines from their home island. If she severed those routes, she could isolate Bluisol completely. With additional land forces fighting the enemy army head-on, La Rochelle would not face attacks from all sides. The situation would be far better than in her previous life. His end must not be the same as before. “If that happens, perhaps there will still be hope for this country.”
D’ivin, who had heard Jeanne’s words, retrieved a folding fan meant for noble ladies and tapped it against his palm. “Oh? If that happens, Your Highness?” “Are you giving up on defeat? You should have fought with the resolve to win, of course.”
Jeanne smiled faintly at D’ivin. “Of course. I intend to fight with the resolve to win. By the way, where did that fan come from?” “I picked it up.” “How utterly pointless…” “Truly, a scholar requires such items.”
D’ivin opened the fan and covered his mouth with it, his eyes crinkling in amusement. The sight was somehow mischievous, prompting Jeanne to click her tongue once. “Ch.” D’ivin paid her no mind and continued. “That man will manage on his own. So we must do our best. If everyone does their utmost from their own positions, we will definitely defeat Rotinzel.” “I believe that as well.”
Following negotiations with the ministers, the king immediately decided to flee to Blesk while remaining at Equite Fortress near the border. Though the imperial capital stood clearly visible across the river, crossing or not crossing that line made an enormous difference. The king divided his government into two parts: one under his direct leadership and another the temporary government led by Jeanne. Having two governments within a single country was a catastrophe that could splinter the nation in the worst of times, yet it was unavoidable for the sake of efficiency. If the king remained in the relatively safe Equite, someone would have to lead the army—and the country—from the capital. Without constant reports to the king, they would need significant authority. It was an unexpected arrangement, since he was not someone to easily share power. Sure enough, after dividing the power, the king left Louis and Charles, the brothers of Jeanne’s half-siblings, at Ileang Castle to keep Jeanne in check. Louis, as the eldest, would presumably stand in for the king’s role, but Charles was the fifth son of Philippe VII. The second princess, Marie, had been betrothed to the imperial prince of the Blesk Empire from the start, so her actions were indifferent to the fate of the country. In truth she would have preferred to cross into the empire, yet Jeanne had not scolded her as foolish. Whether the kingdom fell or not, the betrothal might not hold in the empire, and even if it did, the treatment would change dramatically. It was not idle enough to speak frankly about reality. Besides, what good would it do her mood? The fourth prince, Jean, was too frail even to make the journey to Equite. Jeanne prayed for her younger brother’s safety. Jean would collapse the moment he arrived at Equite—hardly surprising. So it was only natural that Louis and Charles remained behind, yet the sight of Charles especially left her deeply uncomfortable. “Surprising. You remained here.” “Is my name not Charles? I have received the name of His Highness the Crown Prince and intend to act accordingly.” “I hope you do.”
Louis had repeatedly voiced his displeasure before retreating inside. Charles, left beside Jeanne, chuckled softly, clearly enjoying the moment. “Sister, do you think we can survive here?” “We have to.” “I hope so too. Surviving would mean we can enjoy more of this life, wouldn’t it?”
Jeanne frowned at her brother’s words. Anyone could say something so ordinary, yet hearing it from Charles made it impossible to take lightly. Charles had always found joy in blood, screams, and the suffering of others. From childhood he had laughed while cruelly killing birds and animals. In the previous war he had wielded his blade not only against the enemy but even against his own people. ‘I must not show my suspicion so openly. But I cannot bring myself to get close to him.’ Jeanne sent him to the rear, praying that he would not harm their own forces. Once the preparations were complete, the king patted Jeanne’s shoulder. It seemed like encouragement, but only he knew how sincere it truly was. The gates opened, and the king and his entourage left Ileang Castle. There were far fewer people than when they had departed La Rochelle, and the exit from Ileang was especially quiet. The attendants and maids who served the king, along with the aides who had stood in his place, walked with their heads bowed low, as if they were criminals. Jeanne’s gaze lingered on the distant group. The king rode a horse rather than a carriage. The road was too rough for a carriage, and a horse was far faster anyway. He wanted to put as much distance as possible between himself and the enemy. ‘Just as it was before. Even though I saved the people of La Rochelle, the big picture remains unchanged. What I need most right now to change the future…’
The procession of those leaving was pitiful. It was hard to believe the king was truly there. The one standing before the war, they should have been filled with vigor, yet they seemed even more alive than before. ‘Victory here at Ileang Castle. I must win this, and this alone.’
Temporary commander Gaspar remained at Ileang Castle. D’ivin was surprised when he learned of it. “Unexpected. You are still here.” “I am the commander. It is strange for a leader of troops to leave his army behind.” “I can assure you His Highness will bestow a far greater reward upon those who remained to serve him in the capital rather than upon the generals who fought on the battlefield and won.” “I believe the same.” “Then why are you here? If you had followed His Highness, you would have achieved what you wanted.”
Even in such a situation D’ivin questioned him, leaving Gaspar feeling weary. Both Raphael and D’ivin were young men. They were too rigid and too stubborn. “Reaching the position above and below everything else is my life’s goal. But that will only be possible if this country still exists.” “Oh? I had no idea you thought that way.”
D’ivin opened his fan and waved it lightly. Despite the ornate tail feathers of a black duke, it suited him surprisingly well. Gaspar furrowed his brows in displeasure. “Forgive me for being so forward.” D’ivin had at least recognized the priority of the matter and apologized at once. From Gaspar’s perspective it might have seemed unjust, yet the image he had presented thus far to D’ivin and others appeared only to seek power. In truth D’ivin had realized his mistake the moment he spoke. This was not a place for politics—it was a battlefield. “Never mind. I do not like you either, but we will not fight each other here.” In politics one might be enemies, but in actual war they fought on the same side. Fighting over factions here would only cause internal division. Gaspar convened a strategy meeting to face the enemy.