#139. The Answer Did Not Come Easily
“Elder Sister never received any education fit for a royal heir, and in this whole wide world, we only have each other. Just you and me. There’s no choice—I have to help.”
Blanche’s face, as she said this, was filled with sorrow. Pania felt an urge to show that face to everyone in the Empire who had been spreading absurd rumors.
What? That Blanche was involved in her own family’s deaths?
How laughable.
If that were true, how could she possibly wear such a pained expression?
“At the very least, I’ve learned more about governing a country than you have.”
Pania suddenly remembered—Blanche had once been considered a likely candidate for crown princess, even the next empress. Things had changed after the poisoning incident, of course…
Only now did Pania finally understand why the Grand Duke had come to her personally, asking her to look after Blanche.
At the time, she had bristled against his words, insisting she could handle things without being told.
“Blanche. I mean this sincerely.”
Until moments ago, her instinct had been to comfort Blanche. But now that she could see Blanche had already steeled herself, hollow words of consolation would mean nothing.
What she needed now was something real—practical help.
“I may not be a duchess or an heir, just the daughter of a duke… but if there’s anything I can do to help you, you must tell me.”
This was not the kind of statement Pania would ever have made back in the Empire. After all, ties between an imperial noble and a foreign princess were fraught with diplomatic consequences.
But she spoke despite the burden she knew it might carry.
“Because I will help you.”
Pania’s lime-colored eyes met Blanche’s jet-black ones.
As Blanche gazed quietly into the eyes so different from her own, a faint smile spread across her face.
“Yes. I’ll believe you.”
Her arm, thinner now than it had been when they first met in the Empire, reached out to draw Pania into a light embrace.
“I can’t tell you how grateful I am to have you as my friend.”
Only then did Pania realize how tense she had been. She had feared that Blanche’s changed position and circumstances would make friendship between them impossible.
But their bond would not change.
Even if their nations were different, even if their stations shifted, they would still remain friends.
“I feel the same, Blanche.”
Pania embraced her, certain this friendship would never fade.
During the belatedly scheduled funeral period, Langrisha found herself meeting more foreign envoys than she had in her entire life.
Though Blanche had arranged tutors for her, she had no experience in actual diplomacy. She had worried she might falter, but in truth, she did little more than greet the envoys—Blanche handled all the work.
Hadn’t it been only days since she returned from the Lalké Mountains? Wouldn’t she be exhausted? Concerned, Langrisha asked:
“Are you sure you’re alright? You’re even personally overseeing the military deployments. Should I at least handle receiving the mourners?”
Everything was unfolding exactly as Blanche had predicted after the deaths of their family.
The Empire and the neighboring small states had sent envoys to express their condolences, while the Kingdom of Cartian had done the opposite—raising suspicion about a death with no clear cause.
So Blanche, under the pretext that the new queen—Langrisha—was still too weak from lingering poison to hold the throne for long, received the mourners herself while simultaneously drafting replies to Cartian and stationing troops at the borders.
Langrisha longed to help her overburdened sister, who was managing both military and diplomatic affairs at once.
But Blanche, her twin in age, only forced a smile and shook her head.
“I’m fine. You need to look sick a little longer.”
Otherwise, suspicions might spread even further among the visiting envoys.
“It just feels like you’re bearing too much on your own…”
“Sister.”
Blanche approached firmly, pressing Langrisha back into bed.
“Even this is diplomacy. Think not of your discomfort—think of profit and loss.”
Her surprisingly calloused, steady hand pulled the feather quilt up over Langrisha’s shoulders.
“You studied kingship. A monarch must not indulge in human feelings for their vassals. No guilt, no pity—please, don’t let yourself think that way.”
But you’re not my vassal. You’re my family.
Langrisha wanted to say it, but the unyielding resolve in Blanche’s eyes silenced her.
Yes. Blanche, who had studied at the Academy, was far more skilled in matters of governance than she.
If Blanche said this was the better way, then surely it was. And if there were ever something Langrisha could do to help, Blanche would ask.
“Sleep well. I’ll finish reviewing tomorrow’s schedule before I rest.”
“Mm… don’t stay up too late…”
Though she thought she had already slept enough to last a lifetime, once she lay back in the soft bed, wrapped in the quilt, drowsiness overtook her again.
Once Langrisha’s breathing steadied in sleep, I returned to the table. There were too many documents left to organize.
I was busier still because I had seized power without contest—domestic and foreign matters alike needed immediate resolution.
Tomorrow or the day after, I would show my face to Sharkel again, maintaining ties with the Nikal tribe. Perhaps three more visits before Pania departed.
The Information Guild wasn’t urgent. Harold could wait.
Before Cartian made its move, I wanted to inspect their positions myself… but when would the stream of mourners ever end?
To prevent unrest, the Nikal forces should move alongside my own.
Once Cartian was subdued, would the Empire step in to suppress agitation among the northern nations during the second conquest? How far would His Majesty allow me to go?
Pania’s encouragement was surely not empty words—but if I went too far, he would surely try to stop me. His nature leaned toward diplomacy and pressure, not war.
Should I leave Tula in the capital to bend the nobles to my will? When should I be appointed Chancellor and Tula raised to an earl?
After Cartian’s conquest would be too late.
My eyes scanned documents as my mind weighed both domestic and foreign affairs. It was fine.
As Langrisha had said, perhaps some fatigue lingered, but my head was clear and my judgment sharp.
I thought of the warmth of Pania’s arms around me only moments ago.
Of her determined voice promising to help me however she could.
“I truly wish… that were possible.”
In my previous life, I could not have understood such words. Now, I could.
I, too, could lean on another as my support. Affection makes a person endure more.
When I saw Pania, who had no reason whatsoever to be here, standing at Duke Martina’s side, I had felt an unexpected joy.
When she embraced me tightly, the long fatigue clinging to my body seemed to ease.
When she insisted we were still friends, I was relieved.
Though in truth, the “Blanche” she thought her friend had never existed.
I considered Pania’s misconception. Even alone with me, she had shown no fear.
Surely rumors of regicide had spread in the Empire—yet she still chose to believe in me.
It was a sad truth: those who knew nothing of “Blanche” judged me more accurately than those who did.
All the more so if I cherished her friendship.
When war came, when Lamore became part of the Empire, Pania would realize the naïve child she thought she knew did not exist.
Would she believe I had never been that person at all? Or that the chain of events had changed me?
I wondered which would hurt her less.
Unlike the countless political, diplomatic, and military problems before me, this answer did not come easily.
The Kingdom of Cartian was the only nation on the continent to publicly question the King of Lamore’s death.
It was the only state powerful enough to ignore the Retaile Empire’s pressure.
An absurdly suspicious death. The enthronement of the Sixth Princess. The return of the Seventh Princess, once a hostage. The Empire’s swift pressure thereafter.
The evidence was too obvious. Cartian concluded that the Empire had orchestrated it all.
There had been strife between the Empire and Lamore; they must have wanted the king replaced.
But openly crowning Princess Blanche would have drawn too much suspicion. So they left the Sixth Princess alive as a puppet queen, while Blanche held the real power.
Seven royals—including the king and queen—had died, and yet the incident was officially closed as “unexplained causes.” Only an empire could enforce such tyranny.
Even a three-year-old could see something was wrong, yet the plan presumed everyone would remain silent out of fear. Such arrogance.
Whether the King of Lamore lived or died mattered little to Cartian—but the Empire’s arrogance grated.
And if Lamore was now little more than a vassal state of the Empire, it was troublesome for Cartian, who shared a border with it.
For those very reasons, the Kingdom of Cartian lodged its protest.
Unaware that this was precisely what Blanche had wanted.
