EEA Chapter 18

Ailea emerged from the water, dried herself, and put on the clothes she'd removed. Clint had brought a towel in the picnic basket, planning to come here. He was the best at consideration for women. As she put on her shoes, she said, "I'm dressed."

When Clint turned around, Ailea had pulled her wet hair forward and was wringing out the water.

The sun was gradually setting. Only then remembering they'd brought apple pie, Ailea brought over the basket. Coming outside after so long, she was full of smiles as she lifted the basket with both hands and asked, "Want to eat pie now?"

It was the first time since she was thirteen that she'd come out this far. She'd only gone out to play when she was very young, even before her father passed away.

Ailea felt like her chest was opening up refreshingly.

Sweetly curved eyes, a straight nose, lips you couldn't look away from when she smiled—all packed into her small face. When Clint stared at Ailea's happy face, she turned away in confusion, her joy faltering.

"I'm sorry."

"..."

Sorry for what?

In that instant, Clint felt the anger surging in his mind like it would start a fire. He'd simply been looking at Ailea. So what exactly was she sorry for?

Ailea sometimes acted as if she were some kind of terrible monster.

Because she was alone at the Imperial Palace? He was beginning to doubt that was all.

Or perhaps, beyond that, had Roylins humiliated her even more?

Having cut Clint's reason in half with a single statement, Ailea crouched down on the ground, took out apple pie from the basket, and said, "Playing in the water made me hungry."

"..."

"Here."

Ailea took out a piece and put it in Clint's hand. Looking at her, Clint asked, "Tell me something. That day I proposed—why were you so happy?"

At his sudden question, Ailea tilted her head and looked at Clint. He continued, "You didn't even know me well. You'd been annulled, and you had to marry some guy you barely knew because the Emperor forced it. So what made you so happy?"

"Mm... I was happy that I could finally write to my family saying I'd gotten married."

At Ailea's answer, Clint's expression hardened further.

'You don't know what kind of man I am. What if I'm a real bastard? How do you know how I'll treat you in the future? Why make a happy face for such a simple reason?'

Clint swallowed down such questions and asked, "Anything else? Isn't there anything else you want?"

"There is."

"There is?"

I thought there wasn't, but there is. Clint asked, "What?"

"After we marry, I hope you won't be unhappy because of me."

She took out her portion of apple pie and continued, "I hope you'll be happy."

Does this woman even know what she wants? In this marriage, all she hoped for was her family's relief, and that Clint wouldn't become unhappy because of her.

Clint also stopped looking at her further, worried he'd frighten her, and started eating the apple pie. Clint was furious but couldn't express exactly why he was angry.

A few days later, Clint made his way to the Emperor's office.

The Emperor himself had agreed to authenticate Clint and Ailea's marriage—a rarity even among the imperial family. And Clint found himself among the rare cases.

Emperor Murrey handed Clint a document confirming their union and asked, "Have you met Ailea?"

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"She's a fine girl. Rather too good for you, I'd say."

Clint managed a reluctant smile, wondering if the Emperor even remembered what Ailea looked like.

He was making an effort to maintain proper decorum in the imperial presence. Sitting without crossing his legs, without leaning back—it was driving him mad. All he wanted was to escape.

Roylins was there too, watching Clint with unsettling intensity.

Clint showed no particular reaction, even though he must have seen Ailea's face. He seemed to have accepted the Emperor's assessment without protest. Well, the man was someone who'd spent years playing the fool to avoid the Crown Prince's notice. He hardly had the courage to defy an emperor.

But watching Clint's calm composure, Roylins found himself remembering Ailea from two years ago. The way she'd accepted her banishment with the same composure. That strange calmness had stayed with him.

When they'd sent her to the Outer Castle, he'd expected tears, desperate clinging. Instead, she'd asked to leave early so she could properly greet the estate's master. He'd wondered about that then. The memory lingered.

Roylins's expression hardened for a moment. What if these two had already known each other for two years? What if that's why they both appeared so calm...

The thought made him laugh silently at himself. Impossible. Ailea would never show her true face to anyone behind that veil, and Clint Rishers—that type of man—would never interest himself in a woman like her.

Sitting in silence beside him, Roylins asked Clint, "Are you living together at the Outer Castle?"

"Yes, we are."

"She must be very beautiful?"

When Roylins asked with a mocking expression, Clint turned the question back. "Will you truly not mind giving me the woman you treasured so much?"

Roylins shrugged. "Of course I'll miss her. But if it's you..."

"Hmm."

"So please guard the borders well, Clint."

"I prefer the capital. Must I go? Ailea's health isn't very good either."

"How is the Duchess of Rishers?"

When Roylins asked, Clint replied flatly, "Her condition isn't poor enough to warrant Your Highness's concern."

Roylins felt as though those words had drawn a clear line, warning him not to approach Ailea. And he was right—that had been precisely Clint's intention.

The Emperor, oblivious to this exchange, asked, "When do you plan to hold the ceremony?"

"Since Your Highness must hold his first, we'll hold ours somewhat later."

"I see."

At that, Roylins smiled and asked, "You'll both come to the investiture ceremony, won't you? You're married now, after all."

Clint had never intended to bring Ailea to the investiture. But she'd shown signs of wanting to come, and had even suggested staying at the imperial residence for a time.

Was she already trying to play the dutiful wife? He'd said she was free to speak her mind, but this felt like surveillance. Then again, it wasn't entirely unwelcome...

"Clint."

The Crown Prince's voice pulled him from his thoughts. Clint looked up.

"She'll come if you let her wear a veil."

"Of course."

Roylins smiled. "But not at the ball afterward. I'd prefer she didn't. It dampens the mood."

Clint's eyes went cold without meaning to. Roylins seemed delighted by his reaction.

The Tiliph Knights and Ailea spent the days leading up to the investiture ceremony at a residence the Crown Prince had provided. It was convenient with servants about, but it didn't feel like home. Ailea felt it too.

On the day of Clint's investiture, Ailea woke earlier than anyone else.

She took genuine pleasure in preparing his uniform. Though the residence had maids, today she wanted to handle the preparations herself.

First, she removed the cape from his knight commander's uniform—there would be no need for it during the investiture, when a crimson cape would be placed upon his shoulders.

After removing every speck of dust and leaving the uniform impeccable, Clint emerged. He accepted the uniform and asked, "Are you really sure about coming?"

"I'm curious," she said simply.

He nodded. The moment he put on the uniform, he stuffed his hands into the pockets she'd just carefully pressed. Ailea wrapped a white veil around her head. She was afraid of the stares, but today—today she wanted to be part of this.

The investiture began in the afternoon.

"Viscount Kaiton Luranschten Prerry."

Four of the knights received their viscounties in turn. They were being granted territories that had once belonged to Teniac, then seized by the Kanna Empire, and now reclaimed.

And finally, Clint's name was called.

"Grand Duke Clint Rishers de Excalize."

There were only two circumstances under which someone received the rank of Grand Duke in Teniac: being the Emperor's son, or becoming the lord of Excalize Castle in Sutton. Historically, Teniak had granted the Grand Ducal rank to the masters of that castle—figures who wielded power equal to, if not exceeding, the imperial family itself. By granting the Grand Duchy to Sutton's new lord, the Emperor granted powers equivalent to a principality, which in turn justified his own title as Emperor rather than mere King. It was also a way of elevating him to the same rank as the imperial princes, acknowledging him as part of the imperial line while demanding his loyalty.

The tradition had born from those troubling centuries when the castle's lords had repeatedly rebelled.

But long ago, when the Kanna Empire had seized Excalize and annihilated the family there, the position of Grand Duke had sat empty.

A crimson cape fell across Clint's black knight commander's uniform as he walked forward. When he knelt before the priest, that venerable official passed him the Grand Duke's seal—a staff topped with a ruby set into its handle—a symbol that had lacked a master for far too long.

In that solemn moment, no one could look away from him. The extraordinary accomplishments of this young man reached their apex in pure, terrible beauty.

Among those watching was Rita Brea.

In Rita's residence lay several heirlooms—ancient magical artifacts passed down through her family.

Buried in the deepest recesses of locked chambers lay one in particular: a scale that measured imperial potential.

It was a balance with ten notches on its central pillar, with pans suspended from either end. When you placed a nameplate inscribed with someone's name on one of the pans, the scale would show, through its markings, the probability that person might become emperor. In a time when mages held little political power, Rita's ancestors had created it to protect their family's safety.

The Brea family knew the Emperor would seize it immediately if discovered, so they'd hidden it deep in their cellar.

However, since it measured only personal will and capability, not the potential for betrayal or the rise of equally ambitious competitors, it couldn't predict everything. But the fundamentals remained the same—whoever registered highest in power would likely be the strongest player in any struggle for the throne.

Rita had watched since childhood as Roylins Theresia de Calise's nameplate grew heavier and heavier, the scale's ten notches filling completely. He was such a certain candidate that even substantial rivals couldn't budge the needle—he was simply that dominant.

Then one day, the scale shifted by two notches. The movement came from Ron Elgar Yuliana, who had reclaimed Philio Castle and received his title. A meager rise, quickly extinguished when the Emperor sent him to the Excalize campaign.

For two years after that, Roylins's name remained equally weighted. Then, roughly two years ago, the artifact began behaving strangely. Roylins's nameplate grew lighter.

They hadn't been at war, and there was no obvious successor, so the Brea family's elders grew confused. They'd written down countless names, searching for possibility among those who might challenge the Crown Prince.

When they placed Clint Rishers's nameplate on the scale, the balance tilted noticeably in his direction. Exactly one notch shifted.

The Brea family began to panic. They'd always aligned themselves with the strongest power to ensure their family's survival, yet the artifact seemed to be pointing them in an unclear direction.

At that time, two years ago, Clint hadn't even seen battle yet. He was merely the newly appointed commander of five fledgling knights. There was no reason for him to be emperor.

Then, fortunately, Clint reclaimed Excalize Castle, proving the scale hadn't lied. His nameplate had already shifted three notches. Conversely, Roylins's had slipped to seven.

Regardless, Rita's position had become precarious. If the Crown Prince didn't become emperor, her life would be utterly predictable. She couldn't live like that.

So she'd investigated Clint. A libertine. A wastrel. From the moment Rita first met him, she was certain she could seduce him easily. Whenever she wanted.

And then, at the investiture ceremony, watching Clint, she fell for him completely. His strength, his ease, his innate beauty—with him, even danger would feel romantic.

Her gaze shifted to Ailea, watching Clint's investiture with quiet intensity. The woman still wore the dress from the broken engagement ceremony.

That veiled woman had always stood in Rita's way. Every man Rita desired seemed inexplicably bound to her. Rita looked at Ailea with cold eyes and made a vow.

She would never let that woman steal the empress's throne from her.