Chapter Text
After my distressing discussion with Being X—who denied being the Devil but did not behave like any capable deity—my memory went blank and black, save for the distressing feeling like I had been dropped into free fall.
My next memory did not arise until I was three: I had found myself propped up in a toddler’s fancy high chair refusing very dramatically to be fed “foul vegebles,” by an earnest seeming woman in a maid’s uniform.
“No! No vegebles,” I remembered declaring, and I thrust out my hand imperiously as I glared furiously at the offending bowl and spoon. Had I been in command of my senses, of course, I would never have assaulted a poor service worker only doing her job, and I would have consented to eat the bitter greens to ensure I had a healthy and well-balanced diet. However, at the time my mind was still the immature child who had no appreciation for the struggles of staff subject to the whims of the rich and powerful, and the child foolishly did not want healthy vegetables.
As such, the child rejected these healthy green vegetables with all his might, and the universe decided to oblige him (a sure sign that this world was not created by a genuinely competent force).
Motes of coppery orange light gathered around the child’s hand, and around the offending bowl, and the maid barely had time to shriek before the vegetables burst into flame.
Unfortunately, her flinch backward that accompanied the shriek sent the burning bowl flying toward me, and while she very quickly lunged forward to save her young charge I nevertheless ended up with burns on my outstretched hand.
As it happened, this was a hand which I had mildly burned several times in my prior life while smoking, and that was the impetus for my memories all to come flooding back to me.
I screamed in alarm, as befits the mix of pain and confusion which assaulted me, and then the next little while became a confusing blur once again.
I came to in a rather opulent bedroom, lying in the bed (which seemed to be my bed,) as two well-dressed people (who my memories said were my parents in this life,) sat beside me.
There were also several discreet servants and guards back by the edges of the room, which was a state of affairs I would become accustomed to in this new world, but for now I remained silent and scanned the room quickly before I focused on the two important people nearest me.
“Mother… Father…” I said carefully in the local language, which was nothing I had studied in my last life but which I had a three-year-old’s understanding of at least.
“Geordo,” greeted my father the king as he gripped my hand.
“Congratulations on your first magic, Jerald,” my mother the queen seconded as she swooped down to hug me.
My memories informed me that the name disagreement was a common theme between them, so I returned their embraces and waited for the discussion that had pulled these important figures from their daily duties, as my young self had rarely seen them during the middle of the day without other officers like tutors present up to now.
The gist of it was a mix of congratulations that I had displayed magic at a moderately young age and a cautionary lecture about how I must be careful, as fire magic could very easily harm people or incite a conflagration that burned out of control.
My personal effects and my bedroom were going to be treated with sorcery to fireproof them, and I was sternly admonished that I should not ever attempt to cast magic at another person (unless they had bypassed my guards in an attempt to harm or abduct me), which I agreed to solemnly as best as my three-year-old vocabulary allowed.
After this my parents took the time to give me a few anecdotes of their own experiences learning magic, and a few exercises I was to perform to better control my sorcery.
Then they departed, as they were both incredibly busy ruling the country, and I was left to my own devices with servants, guards, and tutors. This gave me a frustrating lack of privacy in which to figure out my thoughts and incorporate two conflicting lives’ worth of memories, but I nevertheless managed well enough with walks in the garden and dismissing the servants once it was time for bed.
Despite having a bookshelf in my room, I had not yet learned to read the local language, but I could organize my thoughts by writing on drawing paper found in my tiny desk, provided I made sure to dispose of the pages so no one would inquire as to why I had ‘made up’ a coherent language to scribble in.
My handwriting was atrocious, my muscles young and untrained, but my notes would serve.
I was the third-born prince of the kingdom of Sorcier, most commonly called Geordo although my royal name was prone to a few alternate spellings.
I was the son of King Owen and Queen Jennifer of Sorcier, with my older brothers Geoffrey and Ian and my younger twin brother Alan.
As could be expected of a feudal monarchy—with its violent in-fighting and jockeying for power and the time needed to rule without being overthrown—we were none of us very close emotionally.
It was undoubtedly very much like the kingdoms of pre-Industrial Europe, and while I was very glad of being born into a position of privilege over the poor serfs and peasants who no doubt struggled hard everyday to earn a living with the majority of their profits snatched away, I knew that greater heights led to more catastrophic falls.
While my experience with any exposure to the outside world would undoubtedly mirror that of Gautama—a prince kept safe from the ugliness of the peasants’ life—I expected that I was dropped here by Being X because the country itself was secretly a powder keg primed for violent revolt, and I would be fighting for my life before I reached my majority.
However, despite the similarities to historical Europe, there was one powerful difference, too: magic. In this world, it seemed that certain people were endowed with sorcery and the ability to control the elements with their will.
Naturally, as government must contain a monopoly on violence and it was often that might would make right in a violent feudal world, magical power ran almost exclusively in noble lineages and it was common for peasantry who exhibited sorcery to be educated alongside nobles, adopted or married into the aristocracy, or if all else failed they were knighted and then ennobled for various services to the government.
It was a very basic and traditional carrot-and-stick technique to bind valuable human resources to this kingdom rather than seeing them flee to other countries where there was a greater demand for the elemental magic that was most prevalent in Sorcier.
The idea of types of magic being more or less limited to certain national borders struck me as ridiculous, but my later research with my history tutor could not specifically find any amassing in the past few centuries of sorcerers who would move on to seize government power and provoke this type of centralization of power. That said, re-writing history was nothing new to me, and I resolved to not be swayed by rhetoric without thorough perusal of sources.
I also resolved to be exceedingly careful with my magic. Already I had injured myself once, and if anyone sought to remove me from succession, I imagined that pre-industrial investigation techniques would have no way to discern whether I set myself on fire or whether I was set ablaze by an assassin. It was better to keep a reputation for discreet magic practice until I could discover whether there were fireproofing spells I could employ to defend myself.
… … …
I threw myself into my studies after awakening my memories, determined first of all to learn to read.
My tutors were pleased with my diligence and my enthusiasm, but it also became clear that I was nothing special; I was complimented repeatedly on being very insightful like my eldest brother and diligent like my second brother, so I suspected that I would not be strongly considered for the throne.
The problem then became a question of how to avoid being covertly knocked off as a competitor for the throne, which I had learned was depressingly common here. Rather than primogeniture inheritance, the monarchy of Sorcier had a remarkably forward-thinking practice whereby the monarch would name his chosen heir from among the available candidates, and that heir would become the next king or queen.
However, without primogeniture inheritance, there was no distinct line of succession in case of irregularities, such as when the heir died uncrowned or when the monarch perished without a declared heir.
King Owen and Queen Jennifer had come to power at the end of a bloody civil war between the numerous offspring of the previous king, who had died supposedly without naming an heir.
Given the thoroughness of the bloodshed—there were literally two survivors out of more than a dozen claimants, one of which was my father and the other of which had been placed under an isolated house arrest in a wing of the palace I had not yet managed to access—I assumed that there had been no little historical revisionism about my parents’ entry into the civil war and their enthusiasm for the throne.
The stories basically portrayed my parents as trying to stay out of the fighting until they were attacked and then taking the throne as the only option at the end of the fighting. I found that course of events to be unbelievably doubtful
Given that I had four brothers, two of whom were older and more accomplished than I, it was all too likely that someone would seek to ‘clear the way’ if I proved too threatening to another’s assumption of the throne.
…but if I didn’t prove capable enough to be a contender for the throne, I might be cut off as ‘dead weight’ and pruned from the family tree.
And all that was without weighing the risks of a commoner rebellion or an aristocratic coup sending us all to the guillotine at a later date.
Curse you, Being X!
Chapter Text
From one point of view, I excelled in my studies over the next year, quickly learning to read and write and demonstrating great capability with figuring (which I already knew, of course, although I needed to learn the local number system).
This point of view seemed not to be my teachers’ perspectives, however, as I was constantly likened in my achievements to my elder brother, Ian and Geoffrey.
They were diligent, genius, talented… it seemed that my own hard work was insufficient to make me shine in comparison to those blessed with natural talent alongside the diligence needed to hone it.
Part of this, admittedly, may have been that Sorcier’s flowing alphabet still had enough similarity to languages from Earth that I would occasionally absentmindedly write in the wrong symbol, resulting in embarrassing spelling errors, but nevertheless I persevered and I practiced!
I could at least content myself that I was not the least accomplished of the four princes, given that my younger twin brother Alan was excused from most lessons due to being ill in bed.
I had barely ever seen Alan that I could remember, due to said illness, but while he was effectively a total stranger, he nevertheless was a young child and I found myself hoping (not praying) for his recovery, as any of my accomplishments would undoubtedly be overshadowed by a death in the Royal Family for years afterward.
As it was, my father was often too busy to spend time with me, and I had barely even seen my mother Queen Jennifer since my magical outburst awakened my past life’s memories, despite the fact that today was my and Alan’s fourth birthday today.
Still, I was able to meet someone new my own age for once: the son of the Premier, Nicol Ascart.
“I will be in your care, Sir Ascart,” I said with a politely formal bow.
He blinked and paused a moment before he answered me.
“It is a pleasure and an honor to meet you, Prince Geordo.”
He didn’t have a very expressive face, but he was a very nice-looking young child who took after his kindly-looking father.
Given that said father had been the Prime Minister before and through the Bastard War (as it was colloquially called), and he had helped to put my father on the throne, I felt that I couldn’t take the Prime Minister lightly.
As I discussed our lives and lessons with Nicol, though, it did turn out that the Prime Minister had a very different parenting style from Their Majesties.
“Father doesn’t always make it to supper, but as often as possible he reads Sophia and I a story and tucks us into bed every night,” Nicole affirmed indifferently.
“Sophia, Sir Nicole?” I queried. I hadn’t yet investigated all the families of high-ranking officials, just the officials themselves as best as a 3-year-old listening to servants gossip could manage.
“My younger sister. She doesn’t leave the house much.”
“It seems we share sickly younger siblings, then. Is she being well cared for, with good prospects to recover?” I inquired. ‘Although it does seem suspicious that younger children seem to be sickly… Could it be a magic thing, or a sign of some conspiracy?’
“Our mother likes to take her to the garden for lessons, although she gets sun sick easily.”
“I’m glad that she isn’t bedridden, then. It’s easier to recover with a chance to exercise and get the blood flowing,” I said. We let the silence sit for a little bit, enjoying the sound of other children playing.
There were not a large number of children at the birthday celebration, but I had duly greeted and mingled with my guests as instructed, and there had been childhood games appropriate for nobility, most recently croquet. After that game, I had moved to the corner where I found Nicole again, who had stayed by the side rather than mingling.
Despite how ruthless nobility could be, I expected that pre-school aged children had not wholly internalized it, and it sounded like the Prime Minister was at least a doting parent in person.
“I confess, I do not often get to visit Alan or Mother when he is bedridden,” I mused probingly. “If Sophia is not averse, I would be willing to visit with her at some point.” ‘After all, forging ties with the Prime Minister’s children ought to discourage him from having me assassinated and backing another prince for the throne.’
Nicol gave me one slow nod. “I will ask my father.”
“Geordo!” I suppressed a grimace as a larger body hurled itself upon me and wrapped an arm around my neck threateningly. “Is my dearest baby brother not enjoying his birthday party, lurking around the dark corner here?” Prince Geoffrey pressed enthusiastically. “Or is it simply that you wish to woo a pretty young woman and are making arrangements to visit her estate?”
Had I thought to act my age in the moment, I ought to have made some embarrassing protest about icky girls or cooties and Geoffrey would have expected.
Instead, however, I was preoccupied at the threat of seizing my neck from behind and the confirmation that Geoffrey had been spying on me; he often acted charming and gregarious, but in addition to our tutors’ commentary about his brilliance this served as another note to support my belief that Geoffrey was indeed our father’s son, scheming and ruthlessly preparing to push for the throne.
“Prince Geoffrey, it would be totally unsuitable for me to arrange any courtship attempts before you have done so,” I said formally in deference to his age and authority, so he would see me as pliable and unnecessary to knock off.
“So formal! You break my heart, baby brother,” he faux-wailed with ridiculous cheer.
Truly, I had to acknowledge his excellent mastery of Signaling Theory, presenting himself publicly as a fop despite our teachers’ great respect for his accomplishments while privately keeping me pinned with his weight and keeping his hand near my vulnerable neck.
I only wished that he wasn’t perceptive enough to turn it on me!
“Prince Geoffrey,” Nicol greeted, “it is a pleasure and an honor to meet you.”
“It’s a party, no need to be so formal, but that’s a very elegant bow,” Geoffrey declared, and I mentally declared that Nicole would be my friend for the next week or so in gratitude, as he had distracted Geoffrey enough that I could wiggle free.
“Thank you,” Nicole stated.
“Isn’t my baby brother just the cutest, though?”
“…I must say that my sister is more adorable,” Nicole said.
“Gasp! How dare you! I will have satisfaction!”
I mentally sagged at Geoffrey actually saying ‘gasp’ out loud. I couldn’t tell if he was signaling his ineptitude or if he needed more acting lessons. Nicole, at least, did not visibly react; I had to respect his poker face even if it made me wary of judging how he thought.
However, Geoffrey’s exclamation had got the adults’ attention, and ‘seeking satisfaction’ was apparently the terminology for a duel. Not any kind of official official duel, at least, but it got the kids and adults all excited for a show when the news spread.
‘The people here really are rather bloodthirsty,’ I reflected, imagining the older Geoffrey opening healable but painful and embarrassing cuts across Nicole Ascart’s skin with his blade to raucous cheers from the gathered crowd.
I thought about staying back, but Nicole had stepped in on my behalf, and if I wanted his help in the future I couldn’t leave him to hang in the wind.
“Prince Geoffrey, I feel I must agree with Sir Ascart. I am handsome, not cute, and thus Lady Sophia is superior,” I asserted as Geoffrey and Nicole were negotiating how to compete for satisfaction. “I feel that I too must defend her honor… and Prince Alan’s honor. I cannot be ‘the cutest’ unless you assert that he is less cute than I.”
“How horrible! But of course you two are equally cute, Geordo,” Geoffrey declared and Nicole’s shoulders relaxed in being spared from the duel.
“Have you seen Alan to compare us recently?” I challenged. “I have been barred from his bedroom, but perhaps you have visited?” ‘If so, I worry that you may have been dosing him with poison to make him fall sick so often.’
“Mother is so possessive,” Geoffrey griped. “I can absolutely help with air cleansing magic.”
“Then as the birthday boy, I suggest that you go do so and do not leave my brother alone.”
Geoffrey’s acting skills were superior, as he seemed to be devastated at my dismissal, and I hoped I had not made myself an enemy. Thankfully, the knights took advantage of the fact that there would seem to be no fight after all to bring out a troop of acrobatic jugglers for the children to ooh and ahh over.
I claimed a seat next to Nicole, willing my body to stop shivering from confronting someone twice my size, twice my current age, and capable of deliberate magic use with malicious cunning if so incited.
Nicole and I did not speak much for the rest of the party, but he took my hand in a firm grip and we remained in companionable silence for the remainder of the celebration.
One month later, I was invited to celebrate the Autumnal Equinox at the Ascart Estate outside the capital.
Notes:
Now we see the first specific Misunderstanding that Geordo suffers in the story, beyond the more general belief that his parents were power-hungry politicians who gleefully jumped into and won the civil war of the twins' infancy.
I haven't read the LN volumes where Geoffrey appears, but in the anime Geoffrey has a habit of lurking around corners to eavesdrop on his little brothers and check they're okay, either appearing on cue to comfort them or just staying there until they turn the corner to find him waiting.
The canon princes think this is a bit weird but aren't really off-put by it.
G-Salary, with a more adult mentality toward privacy combined with his assumption that Court is a nest of treacherous vipers, assumes that Geoffrey's snooping and handsiness are oblique threats under the guise of plausible deniability: 'You have no privacy. I can spy on you with impunity. I can grab you in public and you can't get away. You cannot stop me or even notice my presence, so do not dare to plot against me, for I will find out.'
Geoffrey would be horrified if he knew how uncomfortable he was making G-Salary, but Salaryman has never been the type to object openly about these types of things or to display any kind of weakness or uncertainty
Chapter Text
I had known that noble marriages were arranged young, but surely an engagement at age seven was extreme? Nevertheless, now that Geoffrey was engaged before puberty and 10-year-old Ian had been affianced to the daughter of Duke Burke, rumor around the palace asserted that Their Majesties were looking to engage Alan and I next.
A lesser man might have wondered whether Mother’s 35th birthday combined with the birth of our maternal aunt’s daughter earlier this year had foretold menopause and a desire for grandchildren, but I knew that this was in fact a cunning move to promote political stability: civil war had broken out due to our grandfather’s philandering, so getting the four male princes engaged and tied down before they hit puberty would discourage any similarly destabilizing actions on our parts in the next decade.
Assuming of course that all our fiancés survived, which given Geoffrey’s behavior I rather doubted. And the threat of one of the other three removing a ‘ball and chain’ to sow some wild oats without scandal was minuscule compared to the maneuvering and assassinations that would take place between rival women and their families to free up and secure such an engagement for their own benefit.
Not only would any pair who survived the next decade be well trained in the ruthless pragmatism needed for surviving as a monarch, but all this maneuvering over the princess consort positions would leave the King and Queen themselves comparatively unmolested!
Brilliant!
‘If only I weren’t on the receiving end of it!’ I mentally howled as I flipped through the summaries (provided by my capable aide Matheus,) of eligible girls my age that my parents were likely to consider.
The Kingdom of Sorcier had eight Ducal families but (due to my grandfather raising up a large number of cronies from lesser peerage,) a glut of roughly 100 families in the Marquis/Marquess ranking, and and then roughly 200 Counts. I felt I could at least dismiss the Counts’ daughters as candidates, but given that Geoffrey was engaged to the daughter of Marquis Randall, I was still left to review the daughters of roughly 100 families.
I was also pushed into private social meetings with a few of them, which I defaulted to escorting them around the palace gardens and discussing flowers, since 7-year-old children are not always the most ardent conversationalists.
Lady Frey Randall (I wasn’t sure what Marquis Randall had pulled to get marriage interviews with royalty for two of his daughters,) had been reticent in speech, but we had found some common ground discussing how our elder siblings liked to eavesdrop on us and I had been very impressed by her use of wind magic to tangle her spying sister’s hair in a rose trellis, presenting her with a rose when we parted.
Lady Marsha Cately was a far more conventionally stereotypical girl, clinging to me and batting her eyes as she went through the motions of flirtations far more appropriate from a woman twice or thrice her age. She had agreed fervently with everything I said, even when I disagreed with her or once contradicted myself, and she had bragged about the success of a recent tea party hosted by her dear friend Lady Lilia Hunt where she had wowed guests by singing a duet with the host to celebrate the spring equinox.
Both of them had been the daughters of Marchmen (a catchall term for the ranks between Earl and Duke,) and I did not expect their parents would cause much trouble if the engagement plans fell through, but it seemed that my tutorial period was at an end.
Today, His Grace the Duke Luigi Claes had brought his daughter Lady Katarina and several maids to the palace, and I was scheduled to be introduced to her a little before lunchtime. She had manifested earth magic and was two months my elder, so we would be attending the Magic Academy together in our teen years, which undoubtedly would be convenient for her to keep an eye on the engaged prince who was out from under the palace’s watchmen for the first time in his adolescent life.
Moreover, the current Duchess Claes was a younger daughter of the Adeth Ducal Household, whose late father had won many awards as a military general in his lifetime.
Neither House Claes nor House Adeth had declared for any of the candidates in the Bastard War that I knew of (though they had both bent the knee to my father once he was crowned), and between the Claes Duchy’s central position (their manor was less than two hours by carriage from the capitol) and the Adeth Duchy’s borderland position in the northwestern mountains, they could mobilize phenomenal resources or potentially catch the palace in a military pincer if they chose to move.
Were I to make a bad first impression, I doubted my father would dare make too great a fuss against any reparations that Duke Claes demanded, even if they were paid in blood.
‘I don’t want to die, so like that American manga character I will play the charming fop with all my might! Compliments, polite chit-chat, and then to remove myself as a candidate I will suffer an embarrassing yet understandable accident that leaves her too busy laughing to want to court me!’ I resolved as I checked my appearance in the mirror.
I needed something that would leave her unwilling to marry me without resenting me, and without making me look so unappealing that I would be removed as dead weight. My best ideas were to absentmindedly offer her a rose only to painfully slash my hand open on the thorns, or to show her the garden’s fishpond and arrange for her to ‘accidentally’ shove me inside. Both acts would best be performed after our luncheon, though, so that she had many memories of my charming compliments before I made a fool of myself.
“Your Highness, the Duke of Claes is here,” Matheus reported.
“Yes,” I acknowledged, and I rose to greet the blond man.
We exchanged polite niceties and I hoped that I passed muster by the way he would not stop smiling so much. It reminded me a bit of Geoffrey, truth be told.
‘Perhaps I should make an effort to smile more as well,’ I considered as we arrived at the door to the duke’s palace suite. On the flip side, it might make me seem conniving or threatening…
Through the door I heard a young girl’s shrill shouting.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about! I’m in the mood for a pink one! …You people are useless! You’re all fired!”
‘I should make sure to give Matheus a bonus for good work,’ I reflected. ‘He described Lady Katarina as short-tempered, prone to ‘firing’ servants over the smallest slight but also dim enough that she rarely recalls or notices whether someone ‘fired’ comes in to work again or not. Either she is dim enough that I should be able to easily manipulate her, or her acting skills are on par with Nicole’s poker face and I won’t be able to find any hints of her true self beneath the mask.’
“My adorable Katarina!” Duke Claes greeted.
“Father!” She returned with a running hug, and I noted that either he followed the Ascart parenting style or they were both fantastic actors, as she seemed to have missed him even though they’d undoubtedly taken a carriage to the palace together this morning.
‘Don’t compliment the ribbon that she was complaining about, instead compliment her dress, maybe compliment her voice so I can get her talking, and once she says something she seems proud of then I can compliment her mind as well,’ I determined as the duke gestured to me..
“It’s an honor to meet you,” she said formally with a careful curtsy of her blue dress. “I am Katarina Claes.”
“It’s an honor to meet you,” I returned formally. “I am Geordo Stuart.” I saw her begin to blush as she looked me over, so I went for the kill. “You have lovely eyes, blue like the sunny skies.”
I was sadly a bit too successful, as she had a hard time getting out a full sentence after that, but she nodded fervently in consent to a walk through the palace flower garden before lunch.
After I’d shown her round a few bed, she broke protocol to cling to my arm with both her arms, hands and elbows, and to press herself against my side.
“My feet hurt,” she demurred when I hesitated and scanned around to see if anyone was watching this breech of propriety that I wasn’t sure how to handle. “I can’t keep walking on my own. I might have blisters.”
I was briefly surprised that she knew what blisters were, and I glanced down to reassure myself that Sorcier did not practice foot-binding like China used to.
“Your shoes are very lovely, so it would be a shame to get them dirty with more walking on the path,” I agreed even though the gardeners went over this paths and the gardens in general once or twice a day to keep it all clean and orderly. “Shall we return to your rooms and begin our lunch?”
“As long as I do this, I’m all right!” She clutched me closer.
‘Am I physically strong enough to offer a Princess Carry?’ I wondered. ‘Better not to risk it unless she presses for it, as dropping her would be a catastrophe. I wish she weren’t walking so closely as to almost step on my shoes…’
I scanned around again as we continued walking, but I failed to find any sign of watchers, and there wasn’t even the rustle or flash of gray that would denote the presence of Geoffrey.
‘Wait, gray! Oh, no, that’s Alan,’ I reflected as my lazily dressed twin—for royal fashions, you looked sloppy if you were wearing a button-down shirt without a vest or jacket, and Alan had even rolled up his sleeves and loosened his tie—saw us, scowled, and snubbed us by wordlessly departing without a greeting even though we both knew that we had seen each other.
“What’s his problem? How rude!” Katarina huffed, releasing my arm and stepping away to peer after Alan with her hands on her hips.
“I apologize; relations are tense between my brother Alan and I,” I said.
“Your brother! He doesn’t look the slightest bit like you?” She pressed.
‘…Was that a genuine observation and question, or did she just obliquely imply that Alan is my half-sibling? It isn’t like you resemble your father very much either…’ I sighed and dismissed the thought.
Occasionally I had wondered if Alan’s illness and isolation was a cover-up for Mother faking the birth of twins and deciding whether or not eliminate one of Father’s illegitimate children, but I had no evidence in either direction and it struck me as a lot of trouble on her part for little purpose.
“Alan favors our father King Owen in looks, while I favor our mother Queen Jennifer,” I said instead as Alan’s back vanished out of sight around a corner. “Mother calls us her Frangipani twins, as the flower has both of our colorings in its petals. May I show you?”
I took a few steps away before pausing to remember whether the garden’s Frangipani were blooming at the moment—‘Curses, I should have asked if her parents had any nicknames to get her talking agin instead, now I’ll have disappointed her today.’—and the distraction proved disastrous.
“Ah! Wait a moment Prince Geo-!”
I spun around at Katarina’s cry just in time to see her falling over, arms flailing by her sides. I lunged to grab her, but the child-sized white suit I was wearing had not been tailored for ease of movement, so I had to stumble and abort the grab to keep from toppling over on top of her.
Despite having both hands free, Katarina Claes hit the ground face first with nary a word, just a wet thump.
“Medic, medic!” I shouted, and then I realized that I had fallen back into Japanese. “Injury! We need Light Magic! Get Duke Claes, get a Light Mage!” I called, and my left hand glowed for a moment as I shot a plume of flame into the air with a dull roar to get attention. “Head wound, she’s bleeding!”
I didn’t dare try to flip her over or touch her once I saw the red of blood. Head and neck wounds were serious, and if I made things worse I was almost guaranteed to be held responsible by the Duke.
I already planned to double-check my food for poison this week, since I hadn’t caught her before she fell to the ground.
‘Please be fine! Children are resilient, we have soft bones that can bend with such a blow, and our brains can adapt and heal. Magic can heal in minutes what modern medicine needed days to do, she should be fine,’ I repeated to keep myself calm as several palace staff and then Duke Claes himself ran up.
A maid flipped Katarina onto her back, and with the Duke dirtying his clothes by dropping on his knees beside her I felt it best to do the same. Lady Claes was breathing a blinking, but she did not respond when we called her name.
She also was not crying or even teary despite having a bloody gash in the middle of her forehead, and I let out a sigh that it looked shallow and ought to easily heal.
Duke Claes had been leaning over her and needed to pull back suddenly as she jerked upright, still silent but her eyes wide and her mouth open.
I braced for a shrieking scream.
“Uh… Ahh…” Katarina whined, and then she toppled backward again in a proper faint.
Duke Claes didn’t wait, he scooped her physically into his arms and ran to the healers; I followed as fast as my young legs could manage, but by the time I arrived she was already being seen to and one of my own servants pulled me away.
The rest of that day proved stressful, as both my parents (who were the King and Queen asking about injuries suffered by a Ducal Heiress!) interrogated me about events while we waited for Duke Claes to either stay the night or return home.
He returned home that evening with his daughter, but we got word the next day that Lady Katarina was still delirious with a brain fever (Light Magic had supposedly done nothing to soothe it) and the mark on her forehead was likely to scar (which I thought was ridiculous unless it was somehow magic-resistant, but this was not my place to say when I felt I was lucky to not be assassinated myself over this).
On the third day, while giving me a status update, one of my father’s minister’s informed me that since the wound was likely to scar, it would be a blemish to her face. Given that this would greatly impact her marriage prospects -- Sorcier had a taboo against physical abnormality or mutilation, which was worse for women and noblewomen than for males or commoners -- I was obliquely instructed by this minister to offer her an engagement as recompense, under the guise of being advised that she would likely demand it.
‘Aristocratic plausible deniability is so very tiring,’ I sighed mentally as I rode to the Claes Manor. ‘It’s like those yakuza who talk about fire insurance. Just demand protection money without offering false goods or services! Just tell me my royal parents want me to marry her without the excuses, it’s not like I can resist or refuse them!’
I exchanged words with the sharp-faced Duchess Claes (who looked much like an older version of her daughter) and then with the Duke before I was permitted into Lady Katarina’s personal bedroom.
I surmised that an assurance of the upcoming engagement had already been passed to the Duke and Duchess from my father’s ministers, as she was casually robed in her bed with only a single maid attending as a witness, rather than more formal, official, and numerous chaperones that would be required by nobles’ propriety paranoia (no matter that we were both seven, yuck).
Given that her forehead wound had been described as ‘disfiguring’, I was surprised that it seemed to be covered with only a small gauze pad.
“Lady Claes,” I began with a courtly bow at the foot of her bed as she turned her eyes to me, “I must formally apologize for the terrible harm that has befallen you at my careless hands. To let any injury mar your health and beauty is a shame I shall carry for the rest of our lives.”
Was it grandiose? Sure. But I figured I might as well do the verbal equivalent of a dogeza to defray her rage as much as possible. That spoilt brat was undoubtedly nursing a grudge...
Or so I thought.
I braced for her to shout or throw something at me.
“Aahhh…?”
After five seconds, I raised my gaze to her again and moved to her bedside.
‘I heard she was better… was the ‘disfiguring head injury’ a colloquial code for brain damage?’
“How are you feeling?” I inquired as she gaped, as much to check whether she was still capable of human speech as to find out how she’d been hurt and if any pains lingered.
“Oh! I feel much better,” she said far more pleasantly than I’d expected. “My fever has gone down.”
The lack of shrieking—and for that matter, she made no attempt to clutch at me—suggested that they had either given her drugs (I knew that morphine and opiates had been used as painkillers in the last century in my past life, let alone the possibilities that magic provided in this Renaissance-era kingdom,) or that the news of our engagement arrangement had already been explained and she felt no need to push the issue forcefully so long as I remained complaint with our parents’ plan.
Or so I thought.
I cut to the chase and uttered the lines I had been offered. “I am tremendously sorry I caused an injury to your face,” I began.
She cut me off.
“No, no!” I jerked my face up from my second bow to see her waving her hands in a panic. “I’m the one who should apologize! I’ve caused everyone such worry!”
“Ah?”
I had remained silent as I tried to process this new development, but the maid attending us had lost composure enough to give that little grunt. I checked my reflection in Katarina’s vanity mirror to ensure that no ominous figure was about to use my distraction to strike me down, but to all appearances there were only the three of us in the room.
“Besides, this is just a scratch,” she continued. “It’s nothing to worry about!”
So saying, Lady Katarina ripped off the gauze patch, and I saw that she was correct: the mark was roughly X-shaped and high near her hairline in the center of her forehead, but medical magic meant that it already had faded to a scar with no scabs or crusted blood.
I could not imagine how any medical magic could fail to vanish such a small wound completely, which…
‘Now that I see it, I wonder if Duke Claes gave orders for it to be incompletely healed deliberately, to seal the deal on the engagement. I suppose it would be easy enough to heal with additional treatments in a year or two either way, once the contracts are signed and there can be no backing out.’
Something about the scar still niggled at my mind, but I had other things to consider first.
For lack of any better options, I tried to stick to my script and see if she still deviated.
“You’ve greatly relieved my worries, Lady Katarina, but while I agree with your judgement, the rest of noble society can be rather more strict in these subjects. I’ve been told,” I said slowly, to re-emphasize that we were both stuck playing out our parents’ plans here, “that it may even hurt your chances of getting married, which would surely be a blow to your parents.”
I waited.
“R-right…” Lady Katarina agreed, finally remembering that we were caged by our superior parents' plans here.
She got a glazed, exhausted look in her eyes that heavily resembled what I felt when dealing with Ian’s stoicism, Alan’s jealous aggression, or Geoffrey’s two-faced malice and spying.
Still, at least for the time being we both had wealth, servants, security, and magic to make up for the costs of our living situations. This was far better than starving in a ditch or dying.
“I was thinking, and I believe you and I should get engaged,” I lied now that we were back on script. Although was it really a lie if you were acting out a script? Still, it hardly originated as my idea. “Of course, I will respect your wishes as well.” In our first meeting her main wish seemed to have been for my attention and affection. I expected she would have further demands, and said this to let her know that I would accommodate them without her going over my head to our parents to extort things from me. “Would that be all right with you, Lady Katarina?” It was simply a verbal agreement for now, with none of the financial paperwork for trades, rights, and privileges affiliated with an aristocratic engagement, but the verbal agreement was still an important step.
What’s the worth of your word is something every businessman must remember to consider.
“Uh, yes!”
At that, a footman poked his head in—I would need to consider later how closely our interaction had been observed by people outside the room, when I had believed us to be private other than the one maid—and I took this as a signal to depart.
“I shall return in a few days to present myself formally,” I declared before I stepped into the hallway. 'It ought to take that long to get the engagement document details ironed out, at least.'
The door closed as she waved farewell amiably, and as I followed the footman out again I pondered over all the discrepancies of our conversation.
Katarina Claes had in no way met my expectations, from trying to downplay the wound to the attempted deviation from our parents’ private agreement.
She had not clung to me, she had not shouted or screamed… she had seemed entirely unconcerned with gifts or demands…
Just as we reached the front door, the distant sound of a voice reached my ears.
“Whhhaaaattt-!?”
I knew it was undoubtedly Lady Katarina, once more acting the harridan. While my dispute with Being X left me unwilling to pray, I nevertheless offered my mental condolences to her poor serving staff.
“Haven’t heard that for a week,” the footman chuckled. “Guess she’s feeling back to her normal self.”
“I suppose,” I said blithely as I stepped out and back into my carriage.
I conjured a tiny ball of flame to play with for the first part of my ride, and then when we were ten minutes or so down the road my tiny, undeveloped, idiotically pre-adolescent brain finally collected the dots on what had happened.
“Driver, pull over to the lakeside. Please,” I added belatedly, as a reputation for berating the servants might see me guillotined in a future revolution. “I wish to practice my magic.”
Two minutes later I was perched on the bank, my hands glowing as I guided some tightly controlled flames around me.
Surrounding myself with fire was something that I had barely dared to do before I got some fireproofing and extinguishing spells down, but experiments with Nicol had shown that it could disrupt ordinary eavesdropping from the crackling flames and some kinds of wind-magic spying spells, as well as being a barrier of fire to ward off attackers.
Finally feeling secure, I could focus my mind on what I’d worked out.
1) Katarina Claes had acted like a stereotypical spoiled lady in our first meeting.
2) Far from doubling down on her previous behavior, Katarina Claes had acted apologetic and deferential in our second meeting even though I was clearly the one at fault. Why?
‘The first meeting was in public, in the heavily observed palace gardens. Our second meeting was in the privacy of her bedroom, with only a single chaperone in the room. Airhead my ass! She must be a prodigious master of Signaling Theory!’
My flames flickered for a moment. A wave and a push of will sent them spinning around me.
“Rather than signaling traditional virtues like kindness or patience, she signals common noble vices like sharpness or impatience, daring observers to try to take advantage of them. It might put off some people from making ties to her, but it…” ‘Put people off from making ties to her? Wait…’
I mentally added more notes to my list:
3) Rather than rejoice at the successful engagement snare, Katarina Claes had attempted to rebuff the engagement offer until I reminded her that our parents were overruling us.
4) Katarina Claes had immediately reverted to shrieking like a harridan at the servants once I had departed and we were no longer in private. In fact, she'd shrieked loudly enough that I had heard it as I departed, signaling the reversion to me deliberately.
In other words, Lady Katarina was signaling herself as an airhead to be rebuffed by ‘The Third Prince’ in public, but in private she personally did not desire this precious royal engagement either. She disliked to use of the scar as a motive, and she disliked lying to me about her true nature when she was smart enough to perceive and accept the unpleasant subtext of my statements about our parents’ plans.
‘Strife among the Claes family itself as well…? Was she trying to rebel but was ultimately too logical or cowardly to go through with it? But which aspect was the rebellion: her public persona of a stereotypically spoiled and unpleasant girl, or revealing her true face to me in private rather than maintaining the persona?'
I pondered that question a moment and then scoffed. 'If she was showing a harridan’s face to her personal servants in her own house, then she clearly was attempting to deceive almost everybody, including people that she would usually trust with her secrets.'
I made a note to get the name of the maid whom she had permitted to sit in on our discussion, who had seemingly been shocked by Lady Katarina’s willingness to show her true self but had also been trusted to conceal such a revelation from the other staff.
‘Possibly even concealing it from her parents, given how spoiled she acted around her father without him bothering to tell her off,’ I noted. ‘That doesn’t make sense, though. Duke Claes is an only child and Lady Katarina is his only child. She is guaranteed to inherit the duchy and-,’
My thoughts cut off there as the next realization hit me.
According to Sorcier’s standard inheritance practices, the lower-ranked member of a noble marriage would “marry up” unless contract provisions deliberately stated otherwise for some reason, even if the lower-ranked noble in the marriage was otherwise due to inherit a title of their own.
Geoffrey’s engagement to the elder daughter of Marquis Randall had resulted in Frey Randall becoming the de facto heiress to the title.
Rather than Prince Geoffrey becoming the next Marquis Randall by marrying Suzanna, Frey’s husband would be expected to take her name and marry into the family, so she would presumably be courting a younger son who would not take her out of the Randall March.
Katarina Claes was an only child, and with no direct paternal cousins the Duchy would be expected to greet a relative stranger as the Duke’s heir should she ‘marry up', undoubtedly causing strife as the Duke searched for an acceptable candidate and tried to train them.
“Unless,” I murmured grimly, “he already has an heir lined up, and he simply needs a legitimate reason to bring them in.”
Katarina Claes had resisted the engagement because she would lose her birthright inheritance of the Claes Duchy if she were to marry up into royalty. All the connections and resources she had grown up with would be stripped away and given into the hands of a distant stranger.
A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush, and would an aristocratic politician take the risk that a distant heir would not have their own agenda or seek to speed the line of inheritance? No way.
‘Duke Claes has for some reason deemed Lady Katarina unsuitable to inherit the Duchy. He has already located a replacement heir, but he requires an acceptable excuse to bring the replacement in and begin training them to take over the duchy,’ I concluded. ‘Lady Katarina was deliberately presenting herself to me as spoiled and unappealing to marry because she did not want to lose her birthright. In consequence, Duke Claes obliquely reprimanded her and went over her head by instructing the healers to deliberately leave a scar that would mar her face and make her seem socially unsuitable to marry.’
How immensely cold-blooded. It also showed impressively adaptable quick-thinking for the Duke to take advantage of the injury and instruct the Light Mage to deliberately leave a scar before-
A squirming feeling struck my stomach and I snuffed out my flames immediately before they could waver out of my control. Uncaring that I was getting mud and grass stains on my white clothes, I dropped down to crouch on the ground as the enormity of the situation became apparent to me.
“I’m blind,” I whispered. “I cannot believe I was so blind. The caretakers keep that path clear and smooth. It makes sense!”
I and many others had walked down that garden path countless days without issue. I had not seen anything for Lady Claes to trip over on the path. She had been flailing with both hands free, but she had been utterly unable to catch herself and hit the ground head first. Hitting the ground with her forehead—the strongest and most resilient piece of bone in the skull—somehow gave her an injury bad enough to leave her scarred and bedridden for five days despite the use of healing Light Magic.
The result of these utterly unpredictable events had allowed Duke Claes to strong-arm my parents into a marriage arrangement, and he had done so with immediately even though it deprived him of the only known heir to the Claes Duchy, suggesting that he had a replacement heir lined up and ready to step in.
I hadn’t read many detective novels, but I did know that when looking for a motive you should always ask ‘who benefits?’
‘That was no accident. That was an attack, and possibly even an assassination attempt. Earth magic…? Maybe someone used Earth Magic to trip her, and possibly even to ensure that her forehead landed on a particularly nasty spike of ground, but more likely it was invisible Wind Magic used to trip her feet and to keep her from catching herself.’
‘The series of events: Duke Claes has decided to remove his daughter from the Ducal succession, preferably by marrying her into the royal family for socio-political benefits. Lady Katarina learns of this and does not want to lose her inheritance, so she begins acting the brat to drive away those suitors rich and powerful enough that they can find a preferable match. Duke Claes then arranges our meeting and takes matters into his own hands, arranging an oblique magical attack that injures his daughter and frames it as the fault of my carelessness.’
‘At the low cost of injuring his own child, he can marry her into the royal family for benefits and simultaneously open the way for his preferred heir to be brought in for ducal training, all while keeping his hands apparently clean in the public eye as he merely seems like a concerned father trying to support his daughter’s wellbeing. The attack itself may even serve to chastise Lady Katarina for her own attempts at rebellion. If the scar was artificially preserved instead of healed, then was the 5-day fever real as well? Did he leave her incompletely healed as a lesson about disobedience? Did something else happen during those five days?’
As much as Japanese society tended to espouse ‘keeping it in the house’ in regards to types of disputes and potential abuse, there were limits where the police and other authorities were supposed to get involved for the protection of the children.
Sorcier had a few similar laws, but it was clear that the powerful considered these to be mere suggestion, which were to be worked around so long as the public perception of them remained positive.
‘That X-mark looked a little like a surgical scar from my past life, now that I think of it.’ The possibilities of what exactly had been done to her made me queasy. It was one thing to reconcile myself to the possibility that Geoffrey likely had plans to assassinate me and seize the throne. It was another thing to worry if the King would disappear me in some tragedy if I brought shame to the royal family.
But for a man to attack and mutilate his own daughter…
I conjured more fire and made it twist above the lake for a while. Then I returned to my carriage.
“Matheus, I need you to keep a particularly close eye on House Claes for the next few days. Check if Lady Katarina is behaving differently in light of her recovery. Check where the Duke and Duchess travel, or to whom they send correspondence that may be out of the ordinary. Listen to rumors from the servants and see if they worry. Pay attention to new purchases or activity in towns. What funds do you need?”
“With or without them noticing?” My trusted Valet checked. “Tracking correspondence is not cheap or easy, your highness.”
“They don’t need to open or read it, just count the envelopes and see how they’re addressed.” I figured any sensitive messages were likely to be encrypted anyway—I certainly had encrypted my own private writings using a mix of English and Japanese—but knowing which allies he contacted would help me map out a web of the Duke’s connections.
Matheus named an amount.
I grimaced.
“You’ll have half of that this evening to make arrangements with, and I’ll be writing Nicol Ascart to loan me the rest of it.”
I really needed to get some financial independence, but young royalty was expected to let the crown pay for everything so I didn’t have much personal allowance yet!
‘Of course,’ I thought, ‘now that I have a fiancé, I need to buy her gifts and fund our outings. That will require liquid assets for impulse purchases, and if a little happens to go missing… well, even if I’m audited, I can write it off as Researching Katarina’s Preferences or something.’
Then I realized what thoughts I had just been thinking.
First child marriages, then embezzling! Truly, this new life of mine was a path to delinquency.
Curse you, Being X!
Notes:
I'm going by the anime's depiction of the scar since I don't think we saw any other image of it.
In the anime, it honestly was a surgical looking X shape, likely just for simplicity, but taking that as canon means it can be seen as very suspicious to a canny paranoiac.
Chapter 4: Flashback chapter
Notes:
This chapter chronologically takes place before Geordo's meeting with Katarina, for a glimpse of Geordo as he was growing up.
Chapter Text
“Oh wow! Can you make them dance?” Lady Sophia Ascart begged as my magic manipulated the campfire flames.
“Observe,” I declared with the solemnity of a professional showman (in so far as a 5-year-old could manage). With a flex of will I thrummed the mental strings of energy, and the campfire bounced and danced like I’d tossed oil on it and fanned it with air. I’d made sure not to make it flare, though, and we were all several meters away because fire magic is dangerous and the last thing I wanted to do was end up in front of Being X again to have my personality erased because I had burned myself and several innocent children to death with reckless magic use.
(Or worse, achieving a reputation for reckless magic use that would make it easy for an assassin to frame me as having burnt myself to death.)
Thus when I had offered to display my magic for Lady Sophia and Sir Nicol, I had insisted on gathering around an outside fire pit on the snow-strewn ground for my performance.
Lady Sophia laughed and clapped ferociously with the joy of an innocent child, so I assumed that she was either not receiving or too young to begin the lessons in deportment and obfuscation that had given Nicol Ascart such a marvelous poker face.
“Can you make them change colors like the Solstice Dancers? Pleeeease?” she requested fervently.
“Blue flames for winter,” I declared, and my hands glowed as sparks of magical power flowed out to the campfire. The flames brightened and intensified, but despite having done this before in practice with candles, it took me several attempts before I could mutate the flames’ intensity to match the eerie blue of a gas fire, and the firewood was crumbling quickly under the effort.
Sophia squealed and applauded. “Now green! Can you make them green?”
“Sophia, be polite,” Nicol intervened gently.
“Please can you make them green?”
“That is beyond me,” I apologized, as I did not have whatever chemical additives I assumed were used to make fires change into unnatural colors, as were used in fireworks in my last life.
(Although this was a reminder that I needed to further study exactly what magic was capable of in this new world, and how it functioned. Utilizing my fire magic gave me an uncanny sense of loss similar but different from hunger and muscle exhaustion.)
“Poo,” Sophia pouted, which was probably the strongest word she knew. “If I can’t have wind magic like big brother, maybe I can have fire magic like you and make all sorts of pretty colors?”
I had not yet studied how magic was obtained or passed down, but I made appropriately polite noises of support and distracted her from her contemplations of her “awesome magical powers” that were highly unlikely to ever manifest in the future.
After all, Nicol and I had both manifested our magic at age 3 despite being not particularly special or powerful or talented, and I had come here to celebrate Lady Sophia’s 4th birthday. If she had not manifested the talent yet, then I felt sadly doubtful that the white-haired young girl ever would.
It was an emotion I was familiar with in my last life that had followed me into this one as well: compared to those who merely worked hard, a diligent talent could fly up the social ladder in leaps and bounds while the rest of us grudgingly climbed hand over hand as we grabbed at the heels of our superiors and kicked down at those who greedily wished to overtake us.
Truly, why could I not have been born a genius, instead always being compared to my superior elder brothers? Curse you, Being X!
In my past lifetime as a Salaryman, I had studied several languages. I had experience with languages. Japanese used three different pictographic alphabets but was phonetic in its spelling, English had so many loan words it was the exact opposite of phonetic, and despite its pretenses otherwise in practical use it had two-and-a-half alphabets: print face and cursive, and the half being capitalization. Chinese utilized pictograms with multiple pronunciations in addition to the issue of Cantonese, Mandarin, or half a dozen other dialects, but at least it resembled Japanese enough to be somewhat easy. German was very logical other than the language’s love of long compound words and a need to remember the gendered article use for nouns.
As I stared at my writing practice worksheet for Formal Surcease (I had no idea why it was called that instead of Socierese), I was suffering past experiences to the worst of my flashbacks.
Due to the mingling between the conquerors’ language of the ancient past and the native language that survived to this day, Common Surcease utilized a relatively simple print alphabet for daily life that I had learned quite well before my reincarnation and had all but mastered after regaining my memories.
As such, my education had progressed to the cursive-and-kanji-like formal alphabet used for names and the myriad official court documents I would have to handle as a prince.
‘Curse you diacritic vowel marks!’ I swore mentally as I stared at worksheet I had mostly filled out. The looping, flowing formal script used small marks to insert vowel sounds between the consonants and even to alter some consonant sounds (much like how Japanese differentiated between “ha” and “ba” and “pa”), and with Prince Geordo having not learned them before my reincarnation I was left relying on my own failure of an intellect to display how illiterate I must seem to be in this new life.
List the noble titles used in Sorcier from most to least important, my tutor had asked.
Duke and Duchess
Marquis and Marchioness
Marquess and Marchioness
Margrave and Margravine
Earl and Countess
Count and Countess
Viscount and Viscountess
Baron and Baroness
Baronet and Baronetess
Sir and Dame to denote Knights
Esquire
“Professor,” I called once I had deduced that I could alter my writings no further. My tutor took the page and hummed.
“You included esquire?” He prompted.
I mentally cursed as I was forced to defend my choices but could not tell whether they were right or wrong. “It is a title commonly earned by younger children of nobles, because they want education and positions to better their future. I know of no commoners who have earned it and it is derived from ‘squire,’ an apprentice knight. Commoners who are knighted for services rendered are technically considered members of the nobility.”
“Why include baronet?”
“They are less common, but they are non-inherited titles commonly purchased by paying high tithes over some years to the crown or other high nobles, commonly as a first move to attaining the inherited baron title.” I mentally cursed the need to increase my vocabulary, as I did not have all the word I needed to express myself eloquently.
“You listed Marquis, Marquess, and Margravine separately?”
“A Marquess family is a Count whose lands are on the border, so more rank and duties. A Marquis family used to be a Marquess family, but Sorcier extended our borders further. However, this means a Marquis is more senior to a Marquess and is not demoted unless they are disgraced. A Margrave is an individual noble appointed as a governor of a border territory, and they become a Count or a Marquess if the position is permanent and inherited.”
“You rank Earl as higher than Count?”
“They are the same rank except that an Earl is a Count who also holds an additional position on top of his territory, with how Earl Ascart is both a Count and the Prime Minister.”
“Very good. You have correctly listed Sorcier’s noble titles… except for Lord and Lady, the most basic titles used for any nobles who have not gained other merits or inherited lands.”
‘Blast it!’ I grimaced before smoothing my face out once again. “Thank you for correcting me, sir,” I said, as I had been told that princes were not supposed to casually apologize.
“On that note,” he said, handing me a blank piece of paper and a list, “I want you to copy down all of these titles with their proper spelling, as you have written the highest noble rank as being ‘Dike and Ditches’.”
‘Yes that would be the type of thing to get assassins sent after me over a formal document.’ “Thank you for correcting me, sir,” I repeated, and I set to it.
My name is Jennifer Stuart, mother to four brilliant young boys and Queen of Sorcier for almost four years. Most of the time, though, I wish the royal title could go hang.
“How are the boys’ studies?” I asked intently as my husband Owen passed me a snifter of brandy and poured himself some wine. “Is Alan…?”
“Prince Alan is far behind his brothers, but he is young and diligent, so he is improving quickly,” Jeeves assured me. “His tutors are taking it easy on the physical lessons until he gets up his strength, but he studies voraciously and he turns in his assignments early as a point of pride.”
“He will need to exercise and stretch himself a little to grow,” I worried, even as my mind pulled up countless frightful memories of my baby, bed-ridden and wheezing, as I ignored every other royal responsibility just to keep his lungs clear and keep him breathing despite his own water magic trying to turn against him.
If I hadn’t been a water mage and his mother as well, Alan likely would have drowned, as Light Magic healing could not replace oxygen, and pouring magic from a non-relative into his lungs and organs would have quickly killed him in a different way.
His condition finally took a turn for the better 14 months ago, shortly after the twins turned 5, but I still had one or two nights a week where I woke in the darkness and needed to go check that all four of my precious babies were breathing.
Owen was the same, though he had better self-control to not leave the bed and wake me.
“You’re leaving room for fun as well, I hope,” Owen added. “We don’t want to drown him in work when he’s barely had a chance to live and play.”
“He is exercising,” Jeeves assured us, “and his tutors are focused on dexterity exercises, rather than strength or stamina. For swordsmanship, he’s learning stances, grips, and practice swings without engaging in combat yet; for riding, simple rounds of the field and learning to care for his horse’s needs. Lady Eleanor has taken the lead in his physical exercises for the time being by teaching him several instruments ahead of schedule, as they require dexterity and effort without exhausting his stamina. Reportedly,” Jeeves added with a chuckle, “a room with a piano near Prince Alan’s suite has been turned into an impromptu study, as he will shift between essays and piano exercises intermittently.”
“I’m glad,” I sighed, relieved that my fragile youngest was beginning to find his passions. “The staff is authorized to move a piano into his rooms, if Alan requests it. What of Jerald?”
Owen gave a little huff, and I shot him a glare.
Alan and Ian were named after him, so Jeffrey and Jerald were supposed to be named after me, as we had agreed. Nevertheless, my own sons seemed to prefer alternate spellings of their names, and Owen was all too amused by my mild and reasonable dismay.
“Prince Jerald-,” I shot Jeeves a grateful smile for using the correct pronunciation, not the antiquated and outdated version. “-continues to exhibit brilliance, and to err only when he reaches beyond himself. He regularly makes some mistakes in formal script-,”
“But most people don’t learn formal script until they’re nine or ten, so learning it at age five is quite impressive, and a feat to be proud of,” I finished. “I remember some commentary about his essays?”
“He writes far more eloquently and cohesively than children his age, including his elder brothers, but the contents of his essays are noted as being a bit… flat. Although Messer Builliam has noted a suspicions that the essays bear into mockery or parody.”
“How so?” Owen wondered before I could ask, so I took another sip of my drink.
“His writing tends to be nationalistic and very pro-Stuart, to the point of claiming the Stuart Dynasty came to power by overthrowing the ‘tyrannical Blais dynasty’.”
I laughed as Owen winced; the first generation of Stuart monarchs had been power-hungry usurpers whom history did not remember kindly, and the modern generations had few problems admitting as much.
It was only after the Stuart kings and queen had spent a generation or two devouring their neighbors to expand that their royal greed settled down into governance and wisdom.
“Well,” Owen sighed, “we’ll see if he grows more perceptive with age; I suspect he may simply not wish to share a name with people such as them, so he deliberately misinterprets.”
“What of his other lessons, and his extracurriculars?” I checked. “Is he still interested in drawing and map-making?”
“I believe his Highness’s drawing interests have moved from geography to architecture, as he has transitioned from maps to desiring the castle’s structural plans and wanting to see the ‘secret passages’ that servants use to move and clean.”
“If he asks when it’s not too busy, then let him, but don’t let him get underfoot,” I decided. “I expect the idea of secret passages and hidden treasure must be very exciting at his age.”
“Quite,” Owen agreed. “His athletic training?”
“He is very cautious and careful in horseback riding, but he has reliably mastered the basics. In swordsmanship, he has keen instincts and an excellent understanding of how to duel, and his only errors are when he attempts to incorporate abnormal movements and stances, possibly brought about by trying to copy older fencers when his body is not yet developed enough to move that way. In magic… he demonstrates sharp, keen control of his flame magic, but his power output is far below what had been expected of him. I suspect he may be Class 2, edging into Class 3, which is below the other three princes.”
I sighed. “Well, princes rarely need to use sorcery in daily life, and no one will be good at everything. With fire, anyway,” I added with a grin at Owen, “it’s certainly safer to have more control than power, instead of the reverse.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “What of Ian, then?”
Chapter 5: Chapter 5 - Engagements and Earth Magic
Chapter Text
For all that I had been shaken by what I realized, the next few days were mundane. My lessons proceeded as usual, Alan angrily lost challenges in fencing and horsemanship (I was tempted to let him win, but if he progressed to challenging our elder brothers then he might get himself into trouble), Mother gushed about my own engagement during our weekly ‘family dinner’ that she insisted on despite us all barely knowing each other, Geoffrey sprung up from around three different corners to make quips or facetious comments, Father negotiated the engagement details with Duke Claes, and I convinced Nicol to spot me a loan once I confided to him that Duke Claes may be mistreating his daughter.
We did a bit of research about it during my visit, and while there wasn’t great legal precedent unless we could dig up some independently criminal actions or convince my parents to intervene, if nothing else the social pressure from this getting out might be enough to get him to lay off.
When I got the eventual report about House Claes, the good news was that there were no signs of Katarina being physically abused after our last parting. She had, however, acted very odd by frantically reading through a number of books and taking copious notes when before she had never been notably studious, as well as asking questions of the maids with better manners than usual.
Gossip among the servants was that the engagement was good for her and she was trying to live up to the responsibility, possibly because I had motivated her to do so.
I snorted at their portrayal of me as a miracle-worker: clearly Lady Katarina had been rattled enough by events to drop her spoiled brat facade, and I was lucky to be intelligent and perceptive enough to belatedly pick up on the cues that she had dropped for me. The main questions were 1) whether her parents had noticed anything amiss and 2) how she would choose to behave when we met in public and then in private from now on.
‘I have been granted a rare glimpse under her mask, and I cannot tell what she has glimpsed under mine. Given the stressors we will be facing, I expect that we will need to cooperate to avoid being torn apart by courtly intrigue.’
I would not learn more of her behavior until I was approved to visit again, but according to my spy’s report, her parents had not noticed anything amiss despite what had been reported to me.
Duchess Claes was reported to have imbibed a bit more than usual, but to no worse effects than retiring early to her bedroom one night—which was certainly some kind of red flag about their home life once I heard it, as my royal parents did not sleep in separate bedrooms even though the Queen kept her own suite—and sleeping in the next morning. She had attended to her administrative responsibilities quite well outside of that celebratory excess and had attended a few events where nothing notable happened.
Duke Claes similarly had not seemed to notice anything amiss, but he had sent out correspondence to several noble families to relay the news, including to his in-laws at the Adeth Duchy. Matheus’s agents could not have tracked the letters and reported back in good time, so I did not know the contents, how the letters were received, or even if they were delivered to the people they had been addressed to, but I nevertheless suspected that one of those letters would result in Katarina’s replacement arriving in the next few weeks.
I made arrangements with a steward to be able to invite Katarina to the royal family’s summer villa some time in the next month or two, in case she needed to get out of the house for a bit. Given that her parents kept separate bedrooms, I suspected that Duke Claes had a mistress or two stashed away, and that the replacement heir could be Katarina’s half-sibling, disguised as a distant cousin (or not).
Given that most nobles in Sorcier favored the Heir & Spare approach, and Katarina was an only child, I had my suspicions about how long her parents had kept different bedrooms and how close to her in age the replacement would be.
‘Actually, given noble fondness for arranged marriages and the politics in play, it’s very possible that the Duke’s new heir or heiress will be older than Katarina,’ I reflected. ‘Only time will tell.’
It took another few days for one of my staff to inquire whether I would be visiting House Claes again soon, which I took as my father’s way of surreptitiously telling me that negotiations were finished and I had best get a move on. I produced the letter I had pre-written and gave it over to be delivered, notifying House Claes of my intent to visit them tomorrow morning for a formal proposal.
I arrived to find the Duchess and her staff in a fluster, as it seemed Lady Katarina could not be found in Claes Manor and was not waiting to greet me.
My first guess was that she had objected to our engagement by running away, thereby avoiding her parents’ potential retribution without dragging me down with her; if that was the case, then I had to applaud her bravery and her discretion, although I doubted that she would get far at age seven when the resources of two duchies were pursuing her.
Then I looked out the window and saw the maid who had attended us previously (Matheus’s investigation said she was named Anne Shelley, the illegitimate daughter of a distant Claes cousin, taken in after some unfortunate event rendered her ‘unsuitable’ for a noble marriage,) rushing across the lawn.
I chose to step outside and follow her, whereupon I found that Lady Katarina was engaging in an entirely different form of rebellion.
Or so I thought.
I had sent my letter with plenty of time in advance, by current standards. Her decision to be caught doing messy gardening in disreputable work clothes—a bodysuit made of a tough, durable fabric in an ugly green shade, with a kerchief over her hair—could not possibly have been a true mistake, especially given that she would have needed to procure the gardening outfit in advance.
Given how I had misjudged Duke Claes (among others) until I put the hints together, I doubted my ability to read an adult noble if they truly didn’t want me to… but Her Grace Duchess Claes certainly seemed very sincere as she swooned in horror and fainted dead away at the sight of her daughter dressed so disgracefully before a royal prince.
Mostly, I found it confusing and amusing as I tried to suss out her secret game.
Lady Claes looked a little spooked as she eyed me, but she had also seemed quite spoiled at our first meeting, so I decided to let her decide the pace and tone of this meeting.
“Lady Katarina, I hope I haven’t come at a bad time?” I suggested.
If she was being directly rebellious, then she could send me away with instructions to return later: a snub which I would graciously accept without complaint to signal my understanding of the situation and my willingness to work with her.
If she wanted to be more conciliatory while we were in public with her mother and various servants nearby, she was free to apologize for her unsightly behavior and offer to change quickly.
If she had some other plot in mind, then I hoped she would drop me a clue about it.
“Prince Geordo!” She yelped in surprise, as though I had not sent a letter ahead and she had not been eyeing me for several seconds up to now. “I’m communing with the earth in order to strengthen my magic.”
I took a moment to process that. ‘The obvious assumption here is a verbal deflection or a cover-up, but if she is being genuine…’ “Is that so?”
“I felt that starting a farm would be the best way to do that,” she confirmed.
“Communing… with the earth,” I reasoned slowly. ‘Is that a piece of slang I have missed? I mean, this is a fantasy world… Is fire supposed to be sentient and I haven’t been communing with it, or is she speaking metaphorically about a telepathic hive mind formed by insects, roots, and bacteria in the soil?’
Given the existence of magic in this world, all of these seemed like possibilities, and I was struck once again by how little I knew or understood about my new life. For information about Sorcier in general, I had the approved government resources at my fingertips, but also a certainty that they had been edited.
Information about whether this world had the same acceleration due to gravity, or whether my young body still breathed oxygen instead of nitrogen? No clue.
“Is it important to commune with the earth?” I checked. Behind me, I heard people trying to revive the Duchess, but either she was very devoted to her dramatic act or she had genuinely fallen comatose.
Given that I had gone through high school with teenagers and then spent a year studying abroad in college without ever seeing anyone faint, I made a note to inquire about the Duchess’s health and whether she had any medical conditions (especially conditions which might actually be caused by slow poison).
“‘To boost one’s magical power, it is essential to converse with the source of one’s magic’,” Lady Claes said, reciting what was obviously a quote. “As an Earth Mage, I draw power from the earth, and I felt that starting a farm would be the best way to train.”
‘The logic tracks, even if I don’t understand the basic presence of communion,’ I acknowledged, nodding. ‘…Being X, if you dumped me in a world where we get magical power by praying in communion to the gods of natural elements, I will find some way to take horrendous vengeance on you. Praying to get reliable results when in danger is exactly what I told you to do, there is no reason to dump me in a nest of assassin-happy vipers if you already had that method working in this world!’
“To commune with fire, then… another day,” I dismissed. ‘If this is sensitive, then she would probably prefer to discuss it in private, so if she does not object then I will move on to my direct purpose here today.’ She sighed in relief that I had accepted her statement and dropped the subject, so I lowered myself to one knee, as was proper for our discussion before these witnesses who would be reporting on us. “Lady Katarina, I have come to present myself formally. Will you accept my offer of marriage?”
“Oh… yes,” she agreed. I took her hand and kissed it—so long as I didn’t lick my lips, it wasn’t likely to be much less sanitary than many other things in this medieval society—and while Duchess Claes maintained her fainting swoon, her and our assorted servants all burst into applause of congratulations.
I honestly had no idea whether they all were genuinely supportive, or even how thoroughly they understood or cared about the politics in play, but I presumed that demagogues would be far less common if they didn’t enjoy crowds cheering for them, no matter the logic or benefits of their work.
I did not stay long after having sealed the deal of our formal engagement, but Lady Katarina had given me an array of subjects to research and investigate, and I hoped that my perception would not disappoint her.
“‘Magical power’ is vague,” Nicol assessed once I had the opportunity to visit the Ascart Manor later that week to put my head together with him and Sophia. My new fiancé was clearly clever and inscrutable, and I wanted to have my own understanding of what knowledge she had handed me before I ran it by her for review.
Was I taking a risk by sharing it with Nicol and Sophia? Certainly. But neither of them were sociopaths, and betraying my trust would mean betraying the person who had shielded Sophia from as much social disdain as possible due to her albinism. I was certain that there was a price for which one or both of them would betray me, but I also felt sure that said price would be high and costly.
It was as close to ‘safe’ as I could be among courtiers.
“Aha! Sorcier commonly measures an individual’s magical power with a 5-point scale,” Sophia seconded, having pulled out several reference books from her family’s shelves. “Class 1 mages often have trouble maintaining a steady power output, while Class 5 mages are often prone to uncontrolled outbursts. A rule of thumb is that a Class 1 mage’s maximum instantaneous output is roughly on par with the magical power a Class 2 mage can steadily release over time, then 2 to 3 and all. You said your fiancé is an earth mage? This actually uses earth magic as an example. A Class 1 earth mage’s spell can only really move a shovelful of soil or so, while a Class 2 earth mage can plow a furlough across a field as easily as we’d draw a line on paper, and a Class 3 earth mage could do large swathes of the field at once.”
“Doing that repeatedly would strengthen her power?” I checked and then the discrepancy caught me. “Wait, no. She was digging with a physical hoe rather than using her magic. …Also, if magic training is useful and important in this method, why would Duchess Claes have been so scandalized?” 'Wouldn't she want to encourage useful training habits?'
The solution to what I didn’t know had to lie in the parts that didn’t seem to fit, such as my fiancé's outfit and her mother's reaction. I had to get a sense of the missing information, or else my fiancé would think I was stupid, too unreliable to be a worthwhile ally.
“Ahah,” Nicol declared placidly from over his reference book. “This says, ‘It is a misnomer to say that mages become more or less powerful with practice, age, or experience. An individual’s magical power is determined at birth, as seen with diligent adult mages who must use limited magic to the best of their ability, in contrast with prodigiously powerful young mages such as Karin the Heavy Wind, who could summon tornadoes capable of flattening buildings at age seven.’”
“Our age?” I considered the idea or Nicol or Sophia summoning a literal tornado. I kept my fire magic under tight control, for fear of burning myself to death or causing massive property damage, but unless I targeted a large stretch of flammable property I doubted that I could enact a fraction as much devastation with my magic. “How frightful.”
“Yes,” Nicol agreed as Sophia grabbed the book from him.
“Oh! It says that what people think is a mage growing more powerful is actually the mage gaining better control over their magic, being able to cast spells faster and with less waste,” Sophia declared. “Using wind or water to pick a lock takes a lot less power than using wind or water to smash the door down, but it’s more difficult and you need much more control.”
‘Given heat bloom and transmission, those would be incredibly useful skills for a fire mage as well. Burning myself through a loss of control is one of the greatest risks of using my magic… I can see why she might want me to find this information, but I still am not certain why she took to farming for her own earth magic or why it upset Duchess Claes. Wait…’
“Nicol, Sophia… Are there any records of mages who interact regularly with their element being more capable? A water mage who sails on the ocean, or a fire mage who works as a blacksmith?” 'An earth mage who works on farms, or in a quarry?'
They passed me a book and we all set to skimming, but nothing exactly like that was coming up. The closest Sophia found was testimony about capable wind mages being able to float and fly under their own power, but that rather seemed like putting the cart before the horse.
‘The other option… I have found plenty about magical power output, but little about magical stamina. Even if the faucet can only release a limited amount of water at once, that faucet is not releasing the entire reservoir tank’s contents in a single surge, after all. Could farming be the way that an earth mage increases their ‘gas tank’ of magical energy, rather than raising the 'engine output’?’
“Have we found any resources about magical exhaustion and magical stamina? How long someone can keep casting spells," I clarified, "rather than the strongest spell someone can cast?”
“I don’t think so,” Nicol said. “I found a warning about magical exhaustion and overstraining your energy, but the only other mention is that 'you should limit yourself to small spells if you need to cast for prolonged periods'.”
“Aha!” Sophia shouted, drawing our attention. “Prince Geordo, what you said about Duchess Claes fainting and Lady Claes trying to rebel against her father! I have it! Which parent does she get her magic from? Is it Earth Magic?”
“People don’t always get it from their families, Sophia,” Nicol warned her. “The four princes all have a different magical affinity.”
“I know, but sometimes it does, and the sometimes is important. Do you know if Duke and Duchess Claes have magic?” Sophia pressed.
I did know. “Duchess Claes has no magical power and did not attend the Academy; Duke Claes is a capable earth mage, but his merits relate more to his business sense than to any military or magical ability.”
Indeed, having done some research into Duke Claes, I was rather impressed with his financial abilities and his willingness to promote large-scale infrastructure projects to give a solid quality of life to his duchy while living in comparatively modest means himself (considering the lifestyle a duke could afford).
If he wasn’t ruthlessly manipulative enough to maim his own daughter and frame me for it to gain political benefits, I would have considered him an ideal father-in-law and financial mentor figure.
‘Curse you, Being X!' I sent in disgruntlement at the reminder of being unable to trust any adults here. Then I turned my attention back to Sophia, who was dancing and cheering.
“Yes, that's it! Family secrets! Like in The Pirate Prince and the Desert Maiden where Captain Trell has a specialized desalination magic passed down her family that she only will teach to her children, or to a few crew mates who are as good as honorary children. It’s not impossible for anyone to learn, but it’s specialized and other people are unlikely to stumble onto to it, so it’s unknown to the general public!"
"Family secrets," I repeated as my mind whirled, and Sophia kept babbling proudly.
"This thing with earth magic and farming must be a Claes family secret, and the Duchess fainted because Lady Claes deliberately got caught farming to share it with you. Lady Katarina doesn’t feel like she can trust her father, so she’s solidifying her alliance with you by sharing his secrets with you! Depending on how bad Duke Claes is, I bet the Duchess might not even tell him about the farm if she’s scared of his reaction.”
“That does make sense,” I conceded as several discrepancies fell into place.
‘The apparently improper garb and behavior were a cover for her to distract assorted watchers from the Claes Family Secret she was sharing with me. And… if there is not a popularly known method of increasing magical power, then it makes sense that she might want to obscure the secret method so it did not become public knowledge. If none of the servants had magic, basic prevention through confusing eccentricity could be enough.’
‘It’s an odd, twisted kind of a dowry,’ I reflected. ‘If I’m expected to provide resources and protection as my part of our contract, she has chosen to provide long-term knowledge and training benefits that will better enable us to protect each other while pursuing our own desires. Truly, Katarina Claes is an impressive partner with which to have this arrangement; she may be upset that I have shared this with Nicol and Sophia, but as neither of them are earth mages and they are sworn to secrecy, the risk should be minimal. I suppose I now owe her a similar bride price… except that I am not yet old or accomplished enough to be trusted with Crown secrets safe to share. Bother.’
“If it works for all four elements, what actions might I perform to best ‘commune’ with fire?” I wondered.
“Smithing! Definitely smithing, especially if you’re smelting ores! That way, you and Lady Claes get to combine your elements to make super-powerful magic metal for forging mythic weapons! Swords that can cut through armor, spears that can be thrown like a lightning bolt, helmets to turn people invisible… This stuff is in so many stories, it’s classic!" Sophia cheered eagerly.
‘It would be a good skill to possess, and it would provide me an understanding of the ways to use fire against attackers wearing armor. Magical weapons too, especially if I can make them myself with no risks of a third party sabotaging them…’ “Very astute, Lady Sophia. I will inquire at the palace about beginning to take smithing lessons. I can even use my sword lessons as an excuse, to maintain my blade.”
“Cool! …But I can’t think of anything we can use to commune with the wind. We’d already need powerful magic to go flying, it’s dangerous and exhausting and really easy to lose control. Big Brother, can you think of anything?”
“Cloud watching or kites.”
“Kites! Yes, we can fly kites and use wind magic to make them do really cool tricks in the air! Do we have kites in the cupboard or should we get some sticks to make them?”
That was the last of our productive brainstorming for the day, as Sophia set us all to flying kites in the afternoon breeze. Later, though, Nicol privately let me know that he had also thought of glassblowing or baking as an option for me, and wind options like wind-sailing or spending time in high places (cliffs, the tops of towers, tall trees, etc.), but he had been worried Sophia might try climbing on their roof or up a tower without supervision if she had that idea in her head.
I certainly appreciated the advice and could not disagree with his risk assessment, but I also told him I had another idea about exploring the skies.
I wasn’t going to introduce the idea of a hot-air-balloon to children until I had tested it a little bit, but a sky-lantern should be easy enough to re-create with minimal effort.
I could assume that hot air still rises in this new world, but I wouldn’t be sure until I tested it. It was time to relive my high school science classes.
Chapter 6: The Heir and the Air
Chapter Text
‘I need better spies. This should have been reported to me immediately, in person,’ I groused as I resisted the urge to set the offending letter on fire while reviewing it.
As expected, Duke Luigi Claes had recently adopted a son to replace Lady Katarina as the ducal heir.
Keith Claes, a young boy who had up to now been raised in the household of Viscount Coleman (the Duke's second-cousin-once-removed), had instantly jumped multiple noble ranks despite a lack of notable civil, academic, or military accomplishments to his name.
According to the missive, Duchess Claes had gone through a bottle of wine the night Keith arrived before retiring early to bed; there was no news of Katarina’s reaction to Keith’s arrival, but the missive had noted that she and Keith appeared to be the same age, give or take a few months.
My royal schedule made it difficult to visit and assess the situation in person for several days, so in the meanwhile I would have to busy myself with my lessons and my projects.
My reasoning of, “Lady Katarina can easily afford for herself any present I can buy her, so I would like to attempt to make her a gift in the future,” had been accepted with minimal skepticism once it was noted that Lady Katarina had taken up swordsmanship lessons recently.
I made another note that I needed better spies fast, because they had missed the sword lessons too.
A few days later, in addition to news about Keith himself that I had requested, I received news that there had been some kind of altercation resulting in a mild injury to Keith Claes, so I set aside my frustrated pride and headed to visit my fiancé even though my smithing lessons had not yet begun and my sky lantern was not yet functional.
Since I had little to show her for now, I thought I should at least bring a few failed prototypes to discern whether my canny and cunning fiancé had any insights about my failures.
So it was that I rode a royal carriage to Claes Manor with a few gifts—a neck tie for Duke Claes, a bottle of fine vintage for the Duchess, cufflinks for young Keith, and a necklace in Claes colors for Lady Katarina—to see the scene myself.
For the time being, I found only the Duchess present, already several cups into her morning, while Katarina had apparently taken her younger brother out to explore the nearby fields.
“I can have Anne sent out to-,”
“I appreciate the offer, your Grace,” I intervened as politely as I could manage, since I did not wish to interrupt whatever my fiancé was working on regarding her semi-usurper, “but I came to visit you as well. I imagine you must have been under more than a little stress with the unexpected arrival of Master Keith. I am young, but may I offer you a friendly ear?”
She tried to demure, but she’d been drinking her sorrows away and her heart was not in it. Shortly after, we were sharing a table in a sunny room as she griped over tea about how Keith himself was a quiet boy with no tendencies to ill behavior, but how much it hurt that Luigi had brought over his bastard child (though she said ‘illegitimate’, her tone made the meaning clear,) without warning her in advance, or even consulting her about the changes to their household with a new child added.
“It’s not- I suppose I had no reason to hold out hope that he loved me, not when Father got impatient and strong-armed his Grace into the marriage to see me cared for appropriately before he died, but I thought we both loved our daughter and that we had a solid- a solid partnership even if we were arranged…”
She trailed off, no doubt mindful of my physical age, and I nodded my comprehension.
“It may fail to succor your heart,” I warned, “but may I make a few observations?” She swirled her tea cup as though deeply wishing she had liquor to spike it.
“As you will.”
“First, the fact that he brought Keith here means that he has no intention to replace you as the Duchess Claes," I advised. "He waited to see that Lady Katarina would be assuredly cared for through our engagement as well, so whatever his faithlessness to marriage vows -- that he made under duress from your father, as you say -- I suspect that you have little to fear for your own wellbeing and position. Duke Claes may simply believe himself to be acting similar to your father, in seeing his daughter cared for appropriately.”
Her Grace shot me a withering look before she caught herself. Slowly, she nodded. “I suppose it is some relief that Keith’s mother… that my husband’s mistress has not darkened our doors. Although I must wonder if she will accept to not see her son for long.”
I smiled pleasantly at being able to answer this issue and assuage her anxieties.
“On that note, my information is yet incomplete, but according to the men I asked to investigate my brother-in-law's origins, it seems that Keith’s mother is a non-inheriting granddaughter of Baron Holls, who lacking an inheritance has turned to work as a prostitute by trading on her looks and her manners to allow her clients the illusion of defiling a high-class woman."
Duchess Claes was far too well-mannered to spit-take and spray me with tea, but I gave her a moment to grab her napkin quickly and cover a cough before I continued.
"To judge from her continued employment at the bordello where she resides, the relationship between her and your husband would have been an individual occurrence, not a lengthy love affair, and I extrapolate that he feels neither affection nor a need to support her financially. My investigations suggest that Keith was raised in the basement of her workplace until his magic manifested, at which time Duke Claes arranged for his illegitimate issue to be discretely raised in the household of Viscount Coleman, a distant relative who owes him fealty.”
“From his refusal to support Keith’s mother, or to make arrangements until his son showed magic, I can presume that Duke Claes is a pragmatic and methodical man. As he has not acted to remove you or his daughter from the household, but instead to see her and you cared for with respect, I doubt that there will be much more ill to come from this in the future.” I tactfully did not mention the possibility of Duke Claes having other illegitimate children. “Also, you may be reassured by your… by your step-son’s age. Do you know his birthday?”
Her hanging jaw shut with a snap as she scowled. “…December. I don’t know the date. But—as you appear to understand the delicate events of children being born—I must say that I am not enthused to be assured that my newly wed husband defiled our marriage vows while I was carrying our daughter, for Keith to be born six months later.”
“Six months later, or six months before?” I queried pointedly. “I have not heard any specific assertion of young Keith’s age, and a child conceived before his marriage to you…” I shrugged artificially. “If nothing else, you should discuss it with the duke and ensure that if he has been soliciting sex workers, he has not infected you with a disease.”
Duchess Claes grimaced, looking mildly ill. “I-? Your Highness, have Their Majesties already been so thorough in illustrating for you the realities of… of sewing stitches.”
It took me a moment to recognize this as an idiom. ‘I suppose that “plowing fields” would be an undesirable phrase when your family’s magic involves literal hoeing in fertile ground.’ “No one has thought to censor which books children might read in the royal library, and I have overheard enough crass commentary from gossip to fill in the rest myself, Your Grace. That said, I find people often underestimate children based on our age. I dare to guess that Master Keith and Lady Katarina might similarly have a surprisingly keen perception of recent events, beyond what we assume.”
She accepted that answer, and then the Claes children returned to the manor, so she left me to speak with my fiancé. (I noted that she had left the same maid as before—the one trusted with Katarina’s secrets—to watch and chaperone us, and I wondered to whom the maid was more loyal. A question for later…)
“I heard there was an altercation with your new brother?” I questioned over tea and sweets. Letting her present the events to me would tell me how I was supposed to take them.
“A what…? Oh, no,” she laughed. “I wanted to show Keith my favorite climbing tree, and I fell. I’m usually very good at climbing, but I got out of practice and fell.”
As I had expected, without a public audience, Katarina felt much more free with her words. ‘She isn’t considering it any kind of attack against her, or something requiring retribution. Good to know… “Usually very good at climbing,” she said? I suppose climbing trees would be a way to evade melee attackers in pursuit, especially if they were wearing metal armor. Good to hide from most wild animals, too. For that matter, it could extend to climbing out windows and scaling up or down a building, especially with earth magic to make your own handholds.’
“Milady…” her maid murmured warningly, only to subside when I shot her a curious look. It seemed like the woman still was unfavorable about my ties to her charge.
“I probably should practice climbing myself,” I acknowledged. “I have a working knowledge of the palace’s hidden rooms and secret passages, but those relate to its internal workings rather than the external knowledge of scaling its walls. If it wouldn’t be too much trouble, might I bother you for a lesson?”
“Sure!”
“Lady Katarina,” her maid intervened, “your mother will scold you much more harshly if you are caught galavanting around the trees with a prince.”
“R-right… Sorry, Anne.”
Katarina deflated, and for a moment I thought it was a genuine reprimand before I realized the true thrust: the outdoors were too visible to watchers, so revealing that Katarina and I possessed such skills would key in potential attackers on how to cut us off.
“You make a good point, Miss Shelley,” I complimented, committing the name of Katarina’s trusted retainer to memory. “Lady Katarina, I understand that you have recently taken up swordsmanship lessons? Perhaps a few passes with me?”
Her eyes flicked to my hands, then she leaned sideways and checked that I was not wearing a sword, which I took as a rebuke for coming unprepared when she demurred.
I was not supposed to wear a sword outside of training, but in the future I vowed that I would remember to carry small daggers so that I would not be unarmed in an emergency!
Truly, my fiancé was a thoughtful and canny young woman.
“I have also been scheduled to begin metal-smithing lessons,” I said. “Perhaps in the future I might forge a sword for you as a gift?”
“Oh! Thank you,” she said much more happily. “I thought a sword might be too expensive for a gift, but I guess not if you’re making it yourself.”
“Are expensive gifts not good?” I queried. I had brought a jeweled bracelet as an appropriate ‘courting’ gift, for lack of better ideas.
Lady Katarina laughed awkwardly, and then demurred again when I showed her the box.
‘Of course! The Claes Duchy is wealthy, so it makes sense that she can provide for her own funds and jewelry. I thought of it before as an excuse to cover embezzling for my own gain, but she would think of it as well, naturally. I will need to contemplate appropriate gifts in the future. …I read some article in a magazine, didn’t I? It was called something sappy, about “Love Languages”, as though the only purpose of communication and exchange was romance, but it mentioned how time, action, and attention can serve to deepen relationships and trust in different ways. I need to plan this out properly…’
“I will return with a more suitable offering in the future,” I vowed politely.
I had an arranged fiancé who had entrusted me with a valuable secret training technique after she was magically attacked in presence: my pride as a scrupulously honest company man demanded that I equally contribute!
…
It wasn’t until I was riding my carriage home that I realized I had been too preoccupied with discussions of adultery and gifts to bring up the sky lantern possibility with my fiancé. Blast it!
Still, next time I would offer it as a suitable problem for her intellect to assess, at the very least.
“This looks really complicated,” Lady Sophia assessed as I assembled my testing apparatus. “Are you sure it’s not going to explode?”
“Not unless magically altering the air pressure inside the jar causes the glass to shatter,” I assured her.
Nicol softly exhaled, which I took as an expression of doubt. After all, my first attempt at having him create air currents to swirl sand inside a sealed glass jar had not succeeded. Nevertheless, I was adamant that the theory was sound—water mages did not need to be touching water to control it, earth mages could use earth magic even when they were riding a horse or otherwise off the ground, and fire mages often generated their own flames—so Nicol’s inability to affect air inside an airtight container was most likely a result of his age or a mental block.
Thus, I had made this second experiment based on a middle school science project, seeking to demonstrate that air was in fact composed of multiple mixed gases, rather than being a single substance. I had found remarkably little literature on the subject despite air being one of the four elements controlled by common magic, and I hoped that a reputation for scientific insights would raise my name and make me inconvenient to disappear without making me seem a good contender for the throne.
After all, even if he got awards and made important discoveries, no one wanted to be ruled by the stereotypical absent-minded professor who left their lab a mess and was late with grades!
(I still had not forgiven Professor Satou for his shenanigans in my college chemistry course.)
As such, rather than seal the lid of a glass jar, I had created a water-based vacuum seal.
We had filled the Ascart bathtub with 5 cm of water and floated a wooden dish with a dusting of sand and a lit candle atop it.
With Nicol’s help, I carefully lowered a large glass jar (larger than either of our heads,) over the candle and into the water. The candle flickered until it had burned up all the oxygen in the jar, creating a vacuum which sucked excess water into the jar as the flame guttered out.
“It worked! It’s like the water flowed uphill to go higher, that’s so cool!” Lady Sophia chirped.
“I… see. It burned the burnable air, and sucked in water to replace it,” Nicol assessed, “but left air that would not burn. You were right, Geordo.”
I preened. “As a fire mage, an understanding of how things burn is important. Try to control the smoke and the sand.”
Nicol extended a hand, which began to glow green with golden motes as he focused. I waited, but the smoke and the sand did not stir.
“Big brother, try touching the jar,” Sophia said. “Or I can do it! Or if that doesn’t work, we can fill up the bath and I’ll try to control the air while I’m under water.”
“Please don’t offer to bathe in front of Prince Geordo,” Nicol murmured, and Sophia squeaked.
I chivalrously ignored the comment, as I would deserve to go to the special hell if I held lecherous thoughts about such a young child. Instead, I seized my notebook (Rikoukei-sensei had been insistent in my last life that proper science required a pre-determined hypothesis and copious notes,) and eagerly waited as Nicol touched his glowing hand to the inverted jar.
The smoke inside began to violently swirl.
“It worked!” Sophia shrieked.
Unfortunately, her enthusiastic hug of congratulations resulted in her brother toppling the jar, but the experiment would not be difficult to repeat with new materials.
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