Give One, Take One
"His Majesty the Emperor graces us with his presence."
The Emperor was a powerfully built man. He was not especially tall, but broad shoulders and a solid chest aside, every inch of him—arms, legs, abdomen—was sheathed in muscle. Skin that had once been pale had taken on an almost bronze hue, the natural consequence of a temperament that adored the outdoors.
"Let us sit."
The Emperor took his seat on the throne at the head of the hall, then lifted his sharp, heavy-lidded eyes and swept them once across the assembled ministers. When that gaze landed on Marquis Voytek, it softened noticeably. No one let it show, but everyone understood at once.
"Good morning. Did you all sleep well?"
The Emperor looked to be in high spirits. He was a magnanimous man by nature, but today the atmosphere around him was somehow different.
Vibrant, one might say.
It was true that his disciplined physical training kept him as youthful as a man in his twenties despite being well into his forties, but even so, it had been quite some time since anyone had seen him looking like this.
"Your Majesty, your countenance is positively radiant. Has some happy occasion befallen you?"
It was Duke Hector, asking a question to which he plainly knew the answer, feigning ignorance all the while.
"Haha. Does it show on my face so plainly?"
The Emperor looked faintly sheepish, but he did not deny it. He had never been a man for distance or pretense, and he was not the sort to hide what pleased him.
"A glow streams from Your Majesty's countenance. Might this humble servant dare ask what happy occasion it is?"
"Of course. As you all know, I am in the full bloom of courtship these days."
The Emperor's gaze lingered once more on Marquis Voytek.
"The truth is, work has piled up these past few days and I have not been able to see her often. Things have been so busy I've barely had time to sleep."
"Your Majesty, whatever may come, you must take your medicine on schedule. Only then can your precious health be preserved."
"As it happens, she seemed worried about that very thing. Last night she brought me a candle she'd made with her own hands, saying it would help ease my fatigue. That shy, outstretched hand of hers—how lovely it was. I felt every ounce of my weariness wash clean away."
At the memory of the previous night, a smile bloomed anew across the Emperor's face.
"Lady Catherine's thoughtfulness is truly exemplary. She anticipates things we ministers never even considered—caring for Your Majesty already, and so attentively. Once more I find myself convinced she is a match without equal for Your Majesty."
"It seems you have raised Lady Catherine exquisitely well, Marquis Voytek. Once this council concludes, how about sharing that secret with the rest of us?"
When Duke Hector and the other ministers joined in praising the Lady, Marquis Voytek waved them off with mock modesty.
"Oh, come now. What secret could there be? It isn't merely because she's my own child—consideration for others has simply been bred into her bones since she was small. All last week she seemed to be agonizing over what she might do for Your Majesty, and apparently that is how the candle came to be. Even I, her own father, only just learned of it. I pray it found favor with Your Majesty."
"Found favor? The subtle fragrance of it cleared my mind as much as it soothed my body—I slept soundly through the night. My body feels so light it's as if I've turned back into a man of twenty!"
When the Emperor burst into hearty laughter, Duke Hector and the ministers aligned with Marquis Voytek boomed along with him.
The only one who did not laugh was Duke Randert. His men at least made a show of forced laughter, but the Duke quietly sipped at the tea set before him. Duke Hector was hardly the man to miss it.
"And why, may I ask, does Duke Randert wear such a dark expression? Surely you have not abandoned your opposition to Your Majesty's marriage even now."
Duke Hector knew perfectly well that Randert had already concluded a private audience with the Emperor—and what the outcome of it had been. To raise the question so brazenly anyway could only be an attempt to remind everyone, once more, of the Duke's objection.
"Would I have cause to?"
The Duke set down his teacup—neither hurried nor slow.
"Your Majesty's marriage is a matter the entire nation ought to celebrate. I, too, as one of your subjects, offer my heartfelt congratulations. What concerns me is simply the state of our times."
Duke Randert lifted his head and looked at the Emperor.
"Drought and flood strike in quick succession, a volcano has erupted in the northwest, and in the east an early frost has frozen the crops dead—every corner of the Empire is suffering under natural disaster. I was merely pondering how one might hold a proper banquet amid such turmoil. There is no other meaning to my words, and I beg Your Majesty not to mistake them."
"Heh heh. Duke Randert! Would I ever mistake your meaning? Awake or asleep, your devotion to the stability of this Empire is deeper than any man's—I know it better than anyone. In fact, I had already resolved to order this marriage kept modest. You've raised the matter well."
Yet no one dared take him lightly. No—they could not. A youthful face did not mean a lack of presence.
A being who radiated quiet intimidation merely by sitting still. The only subject in the Empire whom the Emperor himself treated with deference. That was Duke Randert, the living legend of the realm.
"Your Majesty, however unsettled the times may be, this is Your Majesty's wedding. How can one who sits upon the throne of all beneath heaven speak so?"
"Quite right! This is nothing less than a royal marriage. It must be held with more splendor than any ceremony before it!"
As the conversation drifted away from the script they had intended, Duke Hector's faction grew flustered. To men expecting the grandest, most ostentatious wedding in living memory, the Emperor's words came as a genuine shock.
"I understand your sentiments well enough. But circumstances are poor at present. With my people dying out there, how could I laugh and make merry? Restraint is the wiser course for now."
"Your Majesty, that is truly a wise decision. And soon comes the eighteenth birthday of His Highness Crown Prince Lindemann, does it not? If the imperial family holds lavish celebrations back to back, the people's hearts will surely be thrown into great turmoil."
It was then that Liam's calm voice slipped into the exchange. Duke Hector's ministers had been frowning from the moment the man opened his mouth, and at the mention of the Crown Prince their eyes hardened into frost.
"Did you just say His Highness Crown Prince Lindemann's birthday? How could that possibly compare to Your Majesty's marriage? That hardly seems a matter for discussion in this hall."
"Do not read ill intent into my words. I was speaking only of the imperial family's consecutive events."
Liam added, his signature smile playing at his lips,
"And unless I am mistaken, it seems to have slipped your mind that this birthday is also His Highness's coming-of-age ceremony. I would venture to say it is every bit as important as Your Majesty's wedding."
In the Empire, one came of age at eighteen—old enough to drink, old enough to marry without a parent's consent. For a noble, it was the age at which one formally received a title and entered politics.
Lindemann, the Emperor's only son and heir, had shown a keen interest in state affairs for years already. Everyone was on tenterhooks to see what course the Crown Prince, now on the very threshold of adulthood, would chart thereafter.
"How the years fly, don't they? It feels like only yesterday he was toddling about, and already he's reached that age. Sometimes I can scarcely believe it."
The thought of his son drew a smile to the Emperor's lips unbidden.
"Since it's come up, let us discuss it. I find myself agreeing with Duke Randert's opinion that my son's birthday deserves as much weight as my marriage. He is the Crown Prince of this realm, after all, and a coming-of-age ceremony comes but once in a lifetime—it deserves a banquet to match. So long as it doesn't wound the mood of these troubled times—any good proposals?"
The Emperor looked toward Duke Hector's faction, but no good proposal was ever going to emerge from them. They were men lying in wait for any chance to dredge up the Crown Prince's failures.
With the marriage between the Emperor and Marquis Voytek's daughter now imminent, their goal was to see Lady Catherine produce a royal son as quickly as possible, sweep away the present Crown Prince, and seat a new heir in his place.
Which meant that anything capable of shoring up Crown Prince Lindemann's political standing—whatever it might be—had to be avoided at all costs.
"Your Majesty, how does this sound?"
Duke Randert spoke up once more. His air of having been waiting for precisely this moment put Duke Hector sharply on edge. As if he knew it, the Duke let a pause stretch deliberately before he spoke.
"We distribute relief grain."
"Relief grain?"
"Yes, Your Majesty. If we distribute relief grain to the people in celebration of His Highness Crown Prince Lindemann's coming of age, it would elevate His Highness's standing and at the same time offer warm comfort to a people drowning in hardship—would it not?"
"Duke Randert, forgive me for interrupting, but relief grain has already been distributed once last month. You know better than anyone that the prolonged drought has left the imperial treasury with nothing further to give. It is a reckless proposal."
"Is there not surplus funding set aside for Your Majesty's wedding?"
"...What did you say?"
"Did you not yourself declare, mere moments ago, that Your Majesty's wedding must be held in grand splendor? Surely I did not mishear you?"
"...!"
For just an instant, Duke Hector could not manage his expression. His gaze wavered, unmoored, searching for somewhere to land.
"Your Majesty, though it is presumptuous of me to speak—what if a portion of the treasury earmarked for Your Majesty's wedding were redirected toward His Highness Crown Prince Lindemann? For a young man stepping into adulthood, there could be no finer first stride. If only Your Majesty permits it, I will see to the matter personally."
"I will assist as well!"
"I shall join in the effort!"
The moment Duke Randert finished speaking, his men raised their voices in unison.
Damn it. Outplayed.
Thin veins stood out on Duke Hector's forehead. It was a counterattack no one had foreseen. In times as turbulent as these, relief grain distributed in the Crown Prince's name would inevitably burnish his reputation. If one meant to scheme for a new heir later on, blocking it was unquestionably the right move.
But far from blocking it, they now stood to surrender the wedding funds as well—what an utterly absurd position to be in.
That the Emperor's marriage would be held in modest form was, in effect, now a settled fact.
"If that is your ministers' wish, then I am glad. A coming-of-age for my only son—as his father, I ought to do at least this much. Duke Randert, do as you propose. I entrust the whole of it to you."
"This humble servant receives Your Majesty's command."
Give one away; take one in hand.
He had conceded the seat of mistress of the imperial palace, but he had succeeded in cementing the Crown Prince's position. He could not know what troubles might come next, but Duke Randert judged that this much constituted a warning delivered, loud and clear.
"Ah—how about inviting your children to the Crown Prince's birthday? If I recall correctly, they are of a similar age."
"Yes, Your Majesty. My son turns sixteen this year."
The veins still stood taut on his forehead, but Duke Hector's voice kept its usual cadence.
"Two years behind the Crown Prince, then. And you, Duke Randert? The name was Bayul, was it not? He must be turning sixteen this year as well."
"...That is so, Your Majesty."
"Wonderful! I have long wished to arrange such an occasion for the Crown Prince. How dreary must he find it, alone in this palace? A meaningful day deserves a meaningful meeting, does it not? I find myself looking forward to it already."
It was a request that could not be refused. To summon Bayul into the imperial palace itself. The mind of Duke Randert—who had not so much as flinched before matters far greater than this—grew suddenly tangled.
Bam! Bam!
The gavel rang out and the full council session began, but for once, the Duke found it difficult to concentrate.