Chapter 67
In the end, although the king had never seen through Gramis’s true intentions, he was nevertheless enraged to learn that he had been deceived.
So furious was he that he even considered seeking out Gramis—who had retired and vanished from sight for five whole years—just to hold him to account.
It had taken him far too long to accept reality, so unwilling was he to believe it.
And yet, even after all that denial, a wave of anger welled up again, his neck stiffening as he reached up with his hand.
“Your Majesty, are you very weary?”
A gentle touch, accompanied by a soft voice, rang in his ear.
“…My queen? When did you arrive?”
Startled, the king turned around. Unlike him—aged prematurely by years of worry—the queen was still young and beautiful, smiling gracefully.
“I came just a moment ago. The attendants announced me several times, but you did not hear. I was so concerned I had to come myself… Please forgive me for disturbing your rest without permission.”
“Hah, forgive? How could a wife’s concern for her husband be something to forgive?”
The king replied as though he were the most generous man alive. The queen, Esther, who was kneading his stiff neck and shoulders, gave a modest laugh.
As he chuckled with her, he soon let out a sound of satisfaction, closing his eyes. But at that moment, the smile vanished from the queen’s face.
Her hands remained tender, but in her eyes she could not hide her annoyance, nor her contempt for him.
For she too had now learned the truth of who had really made the Kingdom of Heyworth prosperous.
This man—this so-called king—didn’t even know who was filling his treasury…
That he had lived in such carefree luxury, thoughtlessly, was something she still struggled to believe.
Of course, she herself—as queen, along with Bridget and Raon—had enjoyed comfort under that same shadow. But unlike the king, she had never been in the position to receive the reports directly.
And from what she had heard, the royal knights would soon be bringing back beast materials of a quality and quantity far inferior to before.
The wealth of Heyworth, once just a small nation, had only been possible because the kingdom monopolized and sold the spoils of magical beasts.
If those spoils were no longer what they used to be, the future was all too clear.
And worse, the treasury might be emptied first to compensate the people harmed by beasts…
Grinding her teeth at the looming troubles, the queen forced herself to wear a smile again as she asked:
“Your Majesty, may I ask what conclusion today’s strategy meeting reached?”
“Hm?”
The king, who had been basking in her massage with his eyes closed, suddenly snapped his eyes open.
At once, his face darkened, his gaze sharp as an axe, and he irritably brushed her hand away.
Her delicate hands—unused to hard work—had begun to ache anyway, so she withdrew gladly.
“Forgive me if I have angered you, sire. But I only thought it proper that I, too, as queen of Heyworth, should know.”
Her words were sincere—for she was truly anxious about her own future. Her expression was the very image of a queen worrying for her country.
The king’s features softened slightly as he sank deeper into his sofa. She cautiously continued:
“Would it not still be possible to change the bride?”
It was not as though the king and his ministers had never considered that option themselves. His answer came quickly:
“To break an engagement once established, one must pay a penalty equal to one hundred times the betrothal gifts received.”
“What? A hundred times?”
“Yes. A full hundredfold.”
That was why, even after realizing the truth swiftly, it had taken them two whole weeks to discuss countermeasures.
In fact, the King of Heyworth had believed there might yet be room to negotiate with the Empire of Alcan, despite having already accepted the gifts.
Deep down, he instinctively knew the only way to dispel the dark clouds looming over Heyworth was to bring Anette back.
Admitting this was not easy—but in the end, he resolved to send Bridget as the Grand Duke’s bride in place of Anette.
And just as he was considering which envoy to dispatch to Alcan with this intention—without even bothering to ask Bridget’s opinion—Baron Verdi cautiously stepped forward.
〈Your Majesty, surely you are not thinking of sending Princess Bridget to the Empire of Alcan?〉
〈I beg your pardon, but I have been informed by their messenger that Princess Anette’s engagement to Grand Duke Harzent has already been formally notarized by the temple.〉
The king, who had been pleased with Verdi for exposing Gramis’s schemes, could only frown this time.
He had thought the man shrewd, but this struck him as astonishingly foolish.
〈Baron, I understand your concern for Bridget, since it was through the queen’s recommendation you entered court.
But what can we do now? And besides, it is not only for our own benefit.
Was it not you yourself who said that Alcan’s demand to punish our envoys was nothing but an expression of displeasure at our sending Anette?〉
What’s more, Alcan had endured even that displeasure while still desiring to keep an alliance with Heyworth.
Thus the king had no doubt they would be delighted if Bridget were sent instead.
But then Verdi, as though caught in his own words, faltered nervously before confessing the truth: the contract signed for the engagement specified that the penalty fee was indeed one hundredfold.
The king furiously denied it, but it was proven true.
Since the gifts received had been so extravagant, there was simply no way they could ever pay such a price. He had no choice but to abandon the idea of substituting Bridget.
The queen, too, could not hide her bitter smile.
“The imperial family of Alcan… they were truly hasty in concluding this affair.”
“Indeed. To rush the Grand Duke’s marriage so… Well, it doesn’t matter. That girl is injured anyway—what use is she now?”
“But still…”
“Besides, I’ve heard she was hurt again on the road to the Empire. There’s no chance she can ever return as a knight. None at all.”
Unable to have what he wanted, the king dismissed it as worthless fruit.
The queen nearly let slip an expression of disdain, but instead gave a worried sigh, veiling it in concern.
“Even so, I cannot help but feel uneasy. I heard Alcan asked us to send the sword Anette once used—Rubellino.”
That famed sword, gifted to Anette by Franz, had grown all the more renowned as her reputation spread. It was the only item of true value she had owned.
The queen had taken it from her without hesitation, intending to give it to Raon once he was ready to learn the sword.
But now Alcan suddenly demanded the blade back.
“Could it be that her wrist has healed…?”
“Absurd nonsense!”
The king barked so loudly that even he startled himself, clutching his chest. The queen, feigning alarm, drew back, and he quickly swallowed his anger.
Softening his tone, he soothed her:
“In any case, do not trouble yourself. The council has decided we will request that the ducal house of Harzent send us knights to aid in the beast-hunts.”
“The House of Harzent?”
Though her feelings toward the king were sour, she quickly hid them and asked sweetly.
“Yes. The marriage alliance was originally meant for mutual military aid in the event of war with the Empire of Bayendor. But if no war comes, what use is that?
Our true crisis now is not Bayendor’s invasion, but the calamities that will follow if we fail to subdue the beasts.”
He sighed.
“At this point, I almost wish Bayendor would march on us outright—so they could clear the beasts along the way.”
If that happened, there would be no need to compensate the people harmed by beasts, nor would Heyworth be derided again as a nation of “useless human shields.”
At these words, the queen went pale as death and trembled.
“Please, do not say such things… a war with Bayendor…”
“Hah, my queen, you are so timid. Fear not—it was but an idle thought born of frustration.”
He comforted her with a laugh. But secretly, he considered it not such a bad idea: if war truly broke out, Alcan would be bound to send troops in aid.
As for the suffering of the people, or the knights who would sacrifice their lives—that was no concern of his.
“In any case, Grand Duke Harzent will soon be my son-in-law. He cannot refuse my request. And Anette, too—having done so much for her country—surely she will not simply stand by while her homeland is in peril.”
Thus, sending a request for aid to the House of Harzent—this was the final plan the king and his ministers had settled upon in their council that day.
“Soon we will dispatch envoys to Alcan. All will be well.”
Though a few remained silent or uneasy, the king was utterly confident that the Grand Duke would agree.
Or rather, he trusted in Anette—who had never once disobeyed his command.
That this might put her in a difficult position within the ducal household never once crossed his mind.
To him, she was no more than a tool already spent; asking her for help now only felt humiliating, and the need to rely on foreign knights was galling.
