When Spring Comes, Even the Honeymoon Melts - 1
The ear-fondling incident delivered a jolt of pure shock through a banquet hall that had been brimming with cheer. From the elves' point of view, a pair of little kids who looked no older than early teens had just done something far too embarrassing to put into words.
Thankfully they chalked the whole mess up to ignorance rather than depravity; otherwise the carefully cultivated goodwill would have plummeted straight through the floor.
I nearly got myself fucked.
I rubbed the back of my neck without thinking and let out a long breath of relief.
The Kpelleofen Empire was the sort of nation whose emperor openly called himself a friend to the other races. If a minister of that empire molested an elven elder's granddaughter right in front of the elves, and if that somehow wrecked relations between the empire and the demi-humans… the late Great Emperor Eimanka would rise from the grave just to drag me down with him as a companion.
"Since human blood flows in you just as elven blood does, I can understand the desire to touch… the ear. It would be too much to demand that a half-blood like you live by elven customs alone."
At any rate, once the banquet finally ended, Grandmother's face as she lectured Trixie was stern and utterly serious.
"But I would like you to restrain yourself while you are here. This is the elves' space, after all."
"Yes… I'll keep that in mind…"
Trixie's ears drooped as she mumbled the reply, looking half out of her mind—nothing like her usual self. Realizing that something she did every day counted as that kind of act among elves must have hit her hard.
I understood. Even I, who had only guessed at the meaning of ear-touching without hearing it spelled out, felt my head spin. Trixie had received the full, detailed explanation whispered straight into her ear; of course she was wrecked. If this hadn't been a visit to see Grandmother, she would have teleported away on the spot.
"I trust you understand as well."
"Yes, of course."
Grandmother pulled the dejected Trixie into a hug, patted her back, then turned her gaze on me.
Was it my imagination, or had the affection level in those eyes dropped from a perfect 100 down to about 90?
My fault, I guess.
Considering the humiliation her only granddaughter had just suffered, the reaction was only natural. The excuse that I was human and didn't know elven culture wouldn't fly. Sometimes reason and emotion simply go their separate ways; this was one of those times.
"Ah, Grandmother. Now that I think of it, there's something I've been meaning to tell you."
So I changed the subject with desperate urgency. Continuing down this road would only hurt me.
"Speak freely."
"I'd like to marry Trixie around this summer. If you and the other elves wouldn't mind, I was hoping we could hold a wedding ceremony here in the Sanctuary as well."
Grandmother's expression softened at once.
Thank the gods the diversion worked.
The wedding discussion wrapped up quickly. The elves, Grandmother included, had difficulty leaving the protected zone, and humans had difficulty entering it. The obvious solution was simply to hold two ceremonies.
Better that than forcing the guests to stand around awkwardly at a single wedding that was supposed to be full of blessings. And receiving blessings twice was better than receiving them once, right?
"In the old days we used to swear eternal love before the World Tree. The fairies would cling to the bride and groom and play tricks; couples even competed over who attracted more of them."
Once the practical matters were settled, Grandmother smiled, lost in memory.
"It would be wonderful if the World Tree fully revived before your wedding, but even if the timing doesn't work out, let us hold it before that tree."
"It feels like an honor far too great for a human."
"If not for you there would be no World Tree at all. What are you saying?"
By the time she finished speaking, Grandmother's eyes had returned to the warmth they held before the ear-fondling disaster.
Apparently resurrecting the World Tree locked elven goodwill permanently at 100. It might wobble for a moment, but unless you committed a truly spectacular blunder, the respect and affection never really faded. What an achievement.
"Summer, though. Everyone usually finds it too hot to bother going outside. This year we'll finally have something fun to look forward to."
Just like that our wedding had become the grand summer festival, but I certainly wasn't offended. A wedding was a festival, after all.
And if the ceremony could breathe life back into elves wilting under the heat, we would receive the most heartfelt congratulations and applause imaginable.
After finishing the overnight schedule we returned to the mansion.
"Welcome home, Karl."
Mar and the servants came out to greet us the moment we arrived, yet my eyes, regrettably, went somewhere else entirely.
What the hell is that?
A husband coming home and failing to look at his wife might normally wound her feelings, but Mar seemed to understand my reaction perfectly. She smiled bashfully and continued.
"Impressive, isn't it? Cardinal Alexandriana sent them while you were away."
"…Yeah. Impressive."
After a short silence I finally managed to speak.
Honestly I wasn't sure "impressive" was the right category. There had to be a more accurate word… but nothing came to mind. The pair of enormous portraits hanging on the wall that faced you the instant you stepped into the mansion, and the inscriptions beneath them, were more than enough to freeze my brain solid.
Blessed Karl Crassius of Tailglehen
A portrait of me wearing a stern, solemn, utterly serious expression.
Blessed Margareta Crassius
Beside it, a portrait of Mar wearing a faint smile.
I was going to lose my mind. They had claimed formal beatification was the Pope's sole prerogative and therefore impossible for the time being—so when exactly had they painted these things?
"I still don't know whether I truly deserve beatification myself, but knowing that husband and wife stand side by side as Blessed is a joy."
With that, Mar hurried over to Trixie. I caught the usual greetings—was the Elder well, you should have stayed longer while you were there—but my gaze remained fixed on the portraits.
I can't even take them down.
At last I closed my eyes and quietly bowed my head.
If these hadn't been official gifts from the Holy Kingdom I would have shoved them into a warehouse, but a cardinal had sent them personally; hiding them was out of the question. Ruining relations with the Holy Kingdom over sheer embarrassment would be ridiculous.
And only that evening did I learn that the Holy Kingdom had already gone so far as to send full saintly portraits in advance.
Damn it all.
A report arrived that the Minister and the Magic Lord had visited the demi-human protected zone and that a banquet had been held in the elven residential district.
Nothing particularly unusual. Ever since the World Tree incident the Minister had been little short of a savior to the elves, and the Magic Lord was blood kin to the elven Elder; a welcoming feast was only natural.
The divine presence has grown denser.
The letter from the Ausen Archdiocese, however, contained something worth noting.
Last year the same archdiocese had already reported sensing a divine presence other than Enen's within the protected zone. That presence could only belong to Constantina, the goddess who had once granted the World Tree to the elves. If her aura had thickened further, the Tree's full revival must be close.
This was excellent news. The Minister's wedding had received Enen's blessing; now the World Tree would return after centuries of absence. Even an ignorant observer would see that the gods favored the empire.
Authority simply accumulates even if I sit still.
A quiet chuckle escaped. The authority the Retired Emperor had labored so hard to build, the authority I myself had clawed for as a commoner-born, now arrived simply by breathing. How much easier life would have been if it had always been this way.
With that thought I set the Ausen letter aside and picked up another document. Regret was regret; the present was the present. No point clinging to pointless what-ifs.
Has it already come to this?
The moment I checked the paper my brow furrowed ever so slightly. It concerned the imminent arrival of major figures from the Three Kingdoms who were still enrolled at the Academy.
Students who had not yet graduated naturally returned for the start of term, yet I was startled to realize the opening ceremony was already approaching. The New Year's Audience felt as if it had happened only yesterday.
The Minister will have to return to duty as well.
Once the Academy schedule began, the Minister would again serve as Academy Inspector. The thought drew another smile.
I had actually considered sending someone else as this year's Academy Inspector. No matter that he was the "Minister-designate," long-term deployment of a cabinet-level official was excessive and beneath his station. Yet the more candidates I examined, the clearer it became that no one else measured up to the Minister.
Over the past two years he had already forged friendly ties with princes of every nation and with the next Saint. Changing the officer in charge for the final year would sow confusion among those key personages, among the Three Kingdoms' escorts protecting them, and among the Academy faculty alike.
Of course, as I had just reflected, foisting the inspectorship on the Minister was awkward—yet
He may be the designate, but he is also still a Director.
A slight shift in interpretation allowed me to treat him as a Director rather than the Minister-in-waiting. These things were always a matter of framing, were they not?
In the end, among every official of Director rank or higher, the only one with any free time was the Minister. While the rest of the bureaucracy sweated over the founding of the Inspectorate Ministry, he had simply delegated everything to his future chief secretary.
Therefore it had to be the Minister. If not him, no one would go to the Academy.
If he complains, I can always hand him the founding preparations instead.
Months of grinding work to establish the Inspectorate Ministry, or simply finishing the job he had already been doing at the Academy for two years. Offered the choice, the Minister would gladly take the latter.
Even the saintly portrait of the Minister hanging on one wall of the office seemed to agree.
"…Pfft."
I glanced at the portrait and promptly burst out laughing. How did the thing manage to be funny every single time I looked at it?
Saint Karl Crassius of Tailglehen.
I was going insane. Attaching "Saint" in front of the Minister's name.
The only pity was that it would not become official until after the man was dead.