New Year's Audience - 5

Recalling the Palace Minister's words once more, I forced the twitching corner of my mouth back under control. For the moment, the royal and ducal titles the Emperor necessarily held remained exactly as they were. Those could never be yielded short of an outright abdication, so there was nothing to be done about them.

In their place, however, several marquisates, a great many countships, and assorted lesser titles and honorifics had mysteriously gone missing. Naturally the discoverer of those vanished titles would be the Crown Prince, and the Emperor, recognizing that meritorious service, would have declined to reclaim the lost goods and simply handed them over to the finder. Picturing the Crown Prince accepting the titles with tears of pure emotion, I felt tears of my own welling up.

Mine, of course, were tears of joy. For father and son to be so close that titles could pass back and forth between them—the Empire's future was looking bright indeed.

Last year the Palace Minister's long-winded cry had felt endless and tedious; today it was pure music. Perhaps because I was busy calculating just how much free time the Crown Prince had just been handed.

At the Minister's words the assembled nobles drove their already-lowered heads still closer to the floor. Moments later came the sound of doors opening, followed by the measured tread of footsteps.

"Raise your heads."

The Emperor's voice rolled through the hall. Low yet heavy, not ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠especially loud yet so clear it seemed spoken right beside one's ear. That voice carried a crushing weight fully equal to the name "Emperor."

In truth it hardly mattered whether the Emperor spoke softly or not. Anyone who failed to hear him would have to shout, "This humble servant has in fact been deaf all along!" and then cut off his own ears of his own free will.

"To see the pillars that uphold the Empire gathered in one place fills Us with pride."

Fortunately the nobles chose to lift their heads rather than their ears, and the Emperor looked down upon them as he spoke those brief words.

I stole a glance behind him. There knelt the Palace Minister who had somehow already taken position; beside him stood the Crown Prince and Crown Princess who had entered with the Emperor; and last of all stood Ainter.

Oh.

The sight nearly wrung a gasp of admiration from me.

I had heard Ainter would attend the New Year's Audience, of course, but I had never imagined he would stand so openly in that place. Ordinarily the only members of the imperial family permitted to stand with the Emperor during the New Year's address were the heir apparent and, at most, a particularly favored child.

True, the present Emperor had only two sons—the Crown Prince and Ainter—but having only two sons did not automatically grant both of them that privilege. There had even been emperors who appeared alone simply because they found their children unsatisfactory.

There's no chance of restarting the succession struggle now.

Unless the Emperor had completely lost his mind, he would never put Ainter forward and spark a second succession crisis. The Crown Prince's expression was calm—no, faintly exhausted—which suggested he harbored no real objection.

It was not a succession dispute, and the Crown Prince had accepted it. That meant Ainter, who had lived under the constant shadow of purge simply for being the full younger brother of the former Second Prince, had been restored to the status of an ordinary imperial prince. From the standpoint of Ainter's advisor, the news could not have been more welcome. Suddenly the possibility that events might twist and force me to kill Ainter had vanished.

"Though the Empire has weathered many storms of late, those storms themselves are but a single page in its boundless history. The legacy built by Our predecessors and the loyalty of all of you have become the bridge upon which the Empire continues to advance."

And of course the other nobles would not have missed the change in the imperial household that I had just noticed. Even amid the subtle stir that rippled through the hall, the Emperor continued as though nothing were amiss.

"The Empire stands firm. It may pause for a moment and glance elsewhere, yet it will never fall. Even should it stray toward another path, it will swiftly find the true road again."

A short, blunt New Year's address. The faint unrest died as quickly as it had risen. After all, the Emperor's words brimmed with both absolute confidence and a quiet warning.

A declaration that, though they had taken a blow to the solar plexus from a Heaven-Defier and suffered no small losses thanks to the Second Prince's rampage, they had recovered nonetheless. Confidence that the Heaven-Defier's remaining spawn in the north was no cause for concern.

Yet all of it had been possible only through the Empire's unity; should anyone, like the old Second Prince faction, go beyond mere hesitation and begin to harbor other designs, they would be smashed to pieces.

Brutal.

The nobles stood so moved by that scorching New Year's address that they could not so much as twitch a finger. When the Emperor—the absolute master of the politician's art of indirect speech—chose to speak so bluntly, it meant he had decided to speak exactly that way. From this day forward any noble who showed even the slightest suspicious movement would have his skull cracked open in an instant.

"We have finished what We wished to say. Crown Prince, remain and attend upon the loyal subjects who have granted Us their precious time."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

Having concluded the address, the Emperor entrusted the floor to the Crown Prince and turned away. At once the nobles began to murmur again. Everyone already knew the Emperor had stepped back from the front lines. Thanks to the Palace Minister they had also just learned he had transferred the bulk of his titles.

Yet leaving the New Year's Audience after delivering only the address was another matter entirely. This was the single occasion each year when every titled noble gathered. To refuse to remain until the end and hand the entire affair to the Crown Prince was to declare that he himself no longer needed to be present.

"…Three years at the longest, wouldn't you say?"

No matter how I looked at it, this was a sign of abdication—and an imminent one. Even at the latest it would come within three years.

"It could even be next year."

Thankfully I was not merely panicking on my own. When I carefully put the question to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the Minister, he answered with a stiff face of his own.

What a headache. Watching the Emperor gradually hand over duties and titles had made some of us wonder, but many others had still believed it was merely preparation so that a sudden death would not shock the succession. After today's performance, even those people would change their minds. This was unmistakably the posture of abdication.

We're doomed.

What was I supposed to do about this? Once the abdication was declared, every official of director rank and above would have to bang their heads on the floor begging him to reconsider. Even if the Emperor's mind was already set, the bizarre customs of this world demanded that one try to dissuade him a few times first.

I was going insane. The original author must have been a Confucian-human, because Confucian relics kept popping up in the strangest places…

After the Emperor dropped three massive bombshells on the nobles in rapid succession and then vanished, the assembly split into three streams.

Those who rushed to the Crown Prince—whose succession now loomed immediately—hoping to leave even a small impression; those who sought to build moderate ties with Ainter, who had just evolved from "Third Prince in name only" into a genuine Third Prince; and those who simply preferred to mingle among fellow non-imperial nobles.

I belonged firmly to the last group.

"Joooooy—kyaaaaaah! Seein' ya with my own eyes after sooo long!"

"Yes, so it seems. A pleasure."

"Eheheheh, right? Nice ta meetcha?"

No. Not in the slightest.

I swallowed the words that had risen all the way to my throat and stared at the drunkard in front of me. The New Year's address was over; no one would complain if a duke simply went home. Yet here she was, glued to me of all people.

With a complicated heart I looked at the Wise Duke, then shifted my gaze to the man standing beside her.

"Uncle, it has been a long time."

"Indeed. It has been a while."

Unlike the berserk drunkard next to him, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the consort of the Duke of Salon wore a gentle smile. He shared my mother's soft brown hair and blue eyes—my maternal uncle—though the stress of living with his wife had already begun to silver his temples.

I felt a pang of pity. Remarkably enough theirs had been a love match rather than a political arrangement, yet even that overflowing affection had failed to conquer the drunken duke. Or perhaps it was precisely because he loved her that her drinking only made him more sorrowful.

Who could possibly rein this person in?

The Wise Duke was tipping an entire bottle of whiskey straight down her throat. Judging by the atmosphere she had been in this state not after the New Year's address but long before it. Considering that dukes stood at the very front to hear the address, such a thing should have been impossible—yet even the Emperor could not stop the Wise Duke from drinking, so what was anyone else to do?

In the past the Emperor, unable to watch her insane consumption any longer, had bestowed a cup upon her and urged her to limit herself to a single cup a day. Knowing full well that if given a small cup she would simply multiply the number of cups, he had chosen ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a rather large one; even so, drinking only that amount would still have been less than her usual intake.

From that day forward the Wise Duke began drinking straight from the bottle. The Emperor, of course, nearly fainted and carefully packaged the sentiment "You bastard, has your brain finally been pickled in alcohol?" into more polite language—

"My body is the cup itself, and I am merely filling a single cup!"

She had driven away the drunkenness just long enough to declare that with perfect composure. At that moment the Emperor had realized the truth: no words of any kind would ever break this chain of drinking.

"Mmh? Nephew, why're ya lookin' like that?"

The drunkard even the Emperor had given up on seemed to notice my gaze; she tilted her head and asked.

"He appears worried about his aunt. Drink moderately in front of your nephew."

"Eeeeeh~ darling, you're the one who said I shouldn't hold back from what I like~"

"I never imagined you wouldn't hold back quite this much…"

Uncle patted the Wise Duke's shoulder with a smile while she twisted her already ruined tongue into even more coquettish shapes and clung to him. So it had been Uncle himself who had encouraged the drinking. A disaster he had brought upon himself.

In any case I was losing my mind. Why did I have to stand here watching this spectacle…?

They always vanish so skillfully at times like this.

The dizzying light-headedness turned into resentment toward the Ministry of Finance executives.

My back felt cold. With no one behind me the space felt empty and exposed. When Count Flanbel, the Iron Blood Duke, and Baron Atini had appeared they had stuck to me no matter how I tried to shoo them away; yet the moment I actually wanted company they had disappeared like ghosts. So this was the "comradeship" of the Ministry of Finance? Disgusting beyond words.

"Wise Duke. A harmonious marriage is certainly cause for celebration, yet flaunting it so excessively is rather embarrassing."

But then an unexpected savior appeared, and my back grew warm again in an instant.

"Ah! Iron Blood Duke!"

At the Iron Blood Duke's sudden intrusion the Wise Duke giggled and waved; Uncle offered a polite bow of greeting.

It was moving. While my workplace colleagues abandoned me, my first father-in-law had come to protect me. So this was the "comradeship" of Valenti? Beautiful beyond compare.

"You seem to have quite a bit of free time. Once the New Year's address ends one ought to go straight to one's in-laws, should one not?"

Returning Uncle's bow with a nod, the Iron Blood Duke addressed me gruffly.

Yet I understood. Though the tone was curt and scolding, it contained the consideration of a man trying to extract me from the Wise Duke's clutches.

"My apologies."

"So long as you understand."

See? He let it go at a single word of apology.

"May I take this fellow with me? He is so busy he has scarcely a finger free; I cannot leave him alone."

At those words the Wise Duke's eyes dropped to my hands—more precisely to my rings. The moment she saw the six of them she let out a snorting laugh. Infuriating. The fact that it came from pure amusement made it even more so.

"Oh my, I've been botherin' my busy nephew!"

That was hardly news. She had always been a bother.

Naturally I did not say so aloud. One wrong word and she would start whining that her nephew's love had grown cold.

"Bye-bye, nephew! Go play with your preeeeetty wives instead of me!"

"Yes, Aunt. Thank you."

Still, it was a mercy that the Wise Duke was merely the bothersome type and not the clingy type.