Coronation -3: Fractured Vows
“Herbert.”
“Yes, Your Highness. Please speak.”
“Do you still hold the same opinion?”
“Of course, Your Highness.”
“What a pity.”
Richard spoke in a tone utterly devoid of regret. Herbert adjusted his miter for the third time. Observing the man’s discomfort, Richard asked without a shred of sympathy, “Doesn’t that heavy ceremonial robe make you hot?”
“It is not the clothing that warms me, Your Highness.”
Herbert turned his gaze away from Richard. In truth, the word “hot” felt insufficient. He was simply tense. It was not merely because this was his first time officiating a coronation as Archbishop of Clondel. Nor was it solely because he stood at the heart of the wedding ceremony that preceded it. It was not even because he had been appointed archbishop only a week earlier. What unsettled him most was the fact that he stood beside the man who had killed his predecessor.
He wanted nothing more than to escape this mad murderer, this knight among knights blinded by the throne. To do so, he needed to conclude the coronation as quickly as possible—which first required finishing the marriage sacrament and the enthronement. Naturally, it was not Herbert who would be marrying Richard.
Richard’s bride, Lady Marion, Countess of Zard, showed no sign of appearing. While Herbert kept glancing anxiously toward the entrance, Richard spoke again.
“Do you truly intend to retire after officiating only the coronation? If the Clondel Archdiocese is understaffed, I could grant you three more dioceses. If you wish, I could even bestow a county upon you.”
“As I have already told you,” Herbert’s miter slipped again. He righted it and continued, “I oppose this coronation.”
“Yet you are officiating it.”
“Because if I refuse, even more capable men than I will die.”
“You understand the situation well.”
“Then why do you insist on using me for such an important role?”
“Because I have no desire to kill those more capable than you.”
Richard delivered the remark with mocking lightness. Herbert avoided his gaze and looked back toward the chapel entrance. His expression eased. In his heart, he offered silent thanks to God and to King Philip. It was impossible, of course, yet when Philip smiled as though he had heard that very prayer, Herbert startled. Noticing the change, Richard turned. There stood Lady Marion, escorted by King Philip. At last the sacrament could begin.
And the wedding was merely the first of three stages.
There was no other word for it but horrific.
At first he had assumed it would be nothing more than the usual empty ritual—an ordinary ceremony with one additional woman inserted into it. The fact that this particular woman felt no particular goodwill toward him was an issue, but he had not imagined it would prove so monumental. Richard had never considered himself a cold man, yet he had always believed his patience surpassed that of most. He had been wrong. Terribly wrong.
He had exhausted nearly every ounce of his restraint simply enduring Marion’s behavior. She refused to cooperate with the rite. Her voice, when she was meant to swear love and devotion, barely rose above a whisper, and when it was time to exit she would not take his hand. He had wanted to sneer and ask whether his arm had somehow offended her; by the time they left the chapel, the words had already left his mouth.
“You should thank Prince Rio.”
“Why on earth are you bringing Rio into this?”
“Because he asked me not to hate you.”
“Hah. In other words—” Richard paused to keep his voice from rising. “In other words, Rio matters more to you than your own husband?”
“You were not my husband when those words were spoken.”
“The man questioning you now most certainly is.”
“Then question away.”
Richard drew another breath, this time releasing a sigh that might have been a scoff. Philip stepped between them.
“True peace can only be found through conflict—whether by sword or by pen. I cannot recall the source.”
“It is the preface to the Compendium of Tactics. And allow me to clarify: the current situation is nothing like what you imagine.”
“Have you no intention of becoming a harmonious couple?”
Richard jabbed a finger toward Marion, frustration spilling out. “I did. But our new crown princess appears to have no such desire.”
“If anyone wishes for a harmonious household, it is I,” Marion shot back, refusing to yield.
“Does that match the way you are behaving right now?” Richard demanded.
“I return those words to you, Your Highness.”
Richard was rendered speechless. Had Philip not seized his wrist, he would have struck her. Philip wore his usual relaxed smile.
“Now, now. I am, albeit temporarily, Lady Marion’s guardian. In other words, I am your temporary father-in-law.”
“I am aware. I must have taken leave of my senses for a moment.”
“Your Highness the Prince?”
The archbishop’s call brought Richard back to himself. Realizing how much time he had wasted, he strode toward the royal sanctuary without once looking back.
Philip turned to Marion. “Lady Marion?”
“Yes, Your Majesty?”
“Whew.” Philip brushed a hand down his chest in an entirely unexaggerated gesture. “You nearly killed me just now.”
“Whatever do you mean?”
“Did you truly believe I could have held back Prince Richard’s arm?”
“Ah.” Marion let out a small gasp. She studied Philip’s face. It had gone deathly pale, thick beads of sweat rolling down his jaw. The reaction was perfectly natural for anyone who had just witnessed Richard’s martial prowess firsthand. Philip spoke with genuine feeling.
“Do not provoke that iron-willed knight. I say this because I value your life—do not dismiss it. You may truly end up dead.”
“It is all right. Prince Richard would not go that far. After all, Your Majesty did not actually ‘hold’ his arm, did you?”
“Precisely why his intentions are impossible to read, and why he is all the more dangerous. The man acts entirely on whim—whether granting mercy or dispensing violence.”
“I shall keep that in mind.”
“We have delayed long enough. Go inside.”
Philip refrained from offering hollow congratulations on her marriage; instead he congratulated her in advance on becoming queen. Marion’s lips curved in a faint, peculiar smile at the odd phrasing. She lifted the sanctuary curtain and stepped inside.
“King Philip would do well to mind his position more carefully.”
The moment Marion disappeared into the sanctuary, Prince Rio spoke to Philip in a razor-edged voice. Philip remained utterly unconcerned.
“Which position? King of Derim? The one who holds the right to appoint bishops within the Derim diocese? Or the protector of Jihan? I doubt you refer to some count or baron title.”
With each mocking addition, Rio’s face twisted more visibly. Seeing the younger man’s scowl, Philip delivered one final barb.
“Or perhaps you mean my role as Lady Marion’s temporary guardian?”
“I mean your status as a prisoner of the Zylan Kingdom, King Philip.”
“Oh dear. Oh dear. Is that the extent of your brotherly love?”
Rio lunged forward and seized Philip’s shoulder. Had the man not been a foreign monarch, he would have grabbed him by the collar and silenced him. Instead he hissed in a low voice, “What are you implying!”
“What are you implying, Prince Rio? Surely you are not suggesting that a mere prisoner cannot demand the proper respect due to his sister-in-law’s guardian? Hmm?”
Philip pried Rio’s hand from his shoulder with a mocking smile, then draped his own arm around the prince’s shoulders instead. He leaned close and whispered into his ear.
“Fear not. I will not carelessly speak of your feelings outside these walls.”
“How could you possibly know?”
“Who can say? Perhaps God Himself revealed it to me.”
Philip spoke with light mockery and patted Rio’s back twice before sinking into thought. He had been in Venterum Palace only two days, yet nearly everyone except Prince Richard himself seemed aware of the strange relationship between Richard and Rio. Even Prince Rio appeared unaware that others knew. It might have been nothing more than the usual gossip among maids, but Rio’s reaction just now had erased any doubt. It was, after all, the sort of peculiar culture one expected from a nation where only women could ascend the throne. At least, it was something Philip could not comprehend. And what he could not comprehend, he could neither predict nor control.
To place a male king upon Zylan’s throne, Derim’s reputation and prestige had taken a considerable blow—yet that was a tolerable price if it granted the ability to foresee the kingdom’s course.
The only question is whether that man Richard can be predicted at all.
Philip had often told Richard he was unlike a son of Zylan. He was indeed different. He carried himself with perpetual looseness, paying little heed to details. Yet in his own way he was every bit as inscrutable as the rest of this strange island nation.
“…Do not insult the sanctuary of the Zylan Kingdom.”
When Philip’s silence stretched too long, Rio shook off his arm. Philip’s sneer remained firmly in place.
“It is a place where God speaks directly. How could I possibly insult it?”
“I cannot fathom why someone like you must be allowed inside this sanctuary.”
“The reason is simple. Only blood relatives may serve as witnesses to this rite, and among Lady Marion’s kin, the highest-ranking is myself.”
“A prisoner, nothing more.”
Rio crossed his arms and glared. He clearly believed the expression to be intimidating, yet to Philip it held no threat whatsoever. So he laughed—a genuine laugh, not a sneer. Realizing this, Rio clicked his tongue and turned his gaze toward the sanctuary curtain.
“Preparations are complete. Will the two witnesses please enter?”
The curtain parted. Archbishop Herbert called to Philip and Rio. It was time to conclude the second ceremony.