IYTTEPAAK Chapter 23

He immediately paid his respects to Sasha by dropping to one knee.

When he raised his head, his eyes met a pale sky-blue gaze, flustered by the abruptness of it all.

"If Your Highness must be likened to something winged, you are a silver hawk. Strong. Noble. Beautiful."

"......."

"If that insolent man ever sees you again, he'll kneel just as I do now, and beg forgiveness for having been blind."

"......Get up. Anyone watching will think I'm disciplining you."

Sure enough, murmurs rose. The Silver Bird Princess, so severe, they whispered, that she'd taken her own knight to task in full view of the hall.

Regen paid it no mind.

"It was never my intention, but if it has troubled Your Highness, then I deserve whatever punishment follows. And......"

"......."

Regen caught Sasha's hand and pressed his lips to it. He continued speaking against her skin, and the movement of his mouth, the vibration of his voice, traveled up through the back of her hand.

"If he sees me submit to you like this, he'll be pleased."

"He?"

She'd forgotten to shudder at the sensation on the back of her hand, too busy asking the question, when—

"Well done, Sasha."

"......!"

The grand staircase stood at the very back of the hall. From its second-floor landing, a voice rang out, and every head turned toward it.

"Glory eternal to the reign of the Great Emperor! Show your respects to His Imperial Majesty, the great and mighty Emperor of the Magnalorde Empire!"

Nobles bent deep at the waist, one after another.

The Mad Emperor had appeared, a screen of knights arrayed around him including Domynick—and, from the look of things, he'd been standing on that landing watching the hall for some time already.

While Domynick glared at Regen as though he meant to kill him where he stood, the Mad Emperor Axelion's voice, brimming with interest, rolled out across the hall.

"Knights taken as prisoners of war are famously stiff-necked—not the sort to kneel easily. And yet you've taught him submission so thoroughly, already. Worthy of the daughter with the finest command over the power of dominion among all my children."

"You flatter me, Your Majesty."

"Ho—so it isn't only the surface that's been polished up nicely, is it. That core, that looked like nothing but a shattered shard of pottery, has taken root well enough to serve its purpose. Sasha. Did you restore it?"

"A power far too poor to compare with Your Majesty's own, but I am doing my best."

Gasps broke out across the hall. It meant she'd opened the fifth tier of dominion power—equal to the Emperor's own.

"Is that so."

There was something in the Mad Emperor's smile that stirred unease for no stated reason at all. Several nobles stepped forward at once, hurriedly.

"Truly a power worthy of the daughter of our great and mighty Emperor!"

"Indeed! Her Highness's excellence only extends His Majesty's own greatness!"

"Long live the Emperor!"

The nobles turned the glory back onto the Mad Emperor. Not the common, throwaway kind of flattery—the kind engineered to steer the room's mood.

Regen guessed that the ones who'd just raised their voices were among the nobles who backed Sasha.

"Well then. As a father, my daughter's growth makes me proud indeed."

And so, at least on the surface, the moment closed with him performing paternal affection.

"As a mark of my commendation, I grant the Silver Bird Princess a chest of gold coins."

"Your grace overwhelms me, Your Majesty."

"Though—you may only take it once your knight has managed to walk out of this hall on his own two feet."

The air in the hall, which had begun to slacken, drew taut again with tension. It was, essentially, an announcement that the real competition was only now beginning.

The man responsible for the Mad Emperor's entertainment, Marquess Jaken Osbond, stepped forward, his spectacles catching the light with a cold gleam.

"Allow me to explain the rules of the first succession contest, starting now."

The nobles drew back to the edges of the hall like an ebbing tide. Only the eight princesses and their bound knights remained standing where they were, conspicuous now for it.

"Every contest, for the safety of the princesses, will be conducted in the form of a proxy battle fought by their bound knights. Depending on the results, the top three shall receive rewards, and the bottom three, punishments."

The word "punishment" was a lie. What it really meant, more precisely, was execution.

"Since this is our first contest, we've prepared something to be enjoyed lightly. This contest is called the Favor Vote. All of you were given coins upon entering—do keep them safe. They're called Favor Coins, and their use is simple. Place them in the ballot box of whichever knight has won your favor. You may give all five to one, or divide them however you please."

Attendants carried eight enormous boxes out to the center of the hall. Each bore the crest symbolizing its respective princess.

"Voting will run for the next thirty minutes. Once cast, a vote cannot be taken back—please choose with care."

A small hourglass turned over in Marquess Osbond's palm.

"Then let the contest begin. May today be remembered as the finest of festivals for you all."

Thirty minutes wasn't long, but she couldn't afford to move without a plan—not if she didn't want to waste the time and the effort for nothing.

Regen, conveniently, offered a good suggestion.

"For now, I think it would be wise to watch the other princesses and their knights."

"Good idea."

The youngest, Shumel, was flustering her way through introductions, presenting her knight and begging for votes. Her strategy seemed to lean on appealing to sympathy, hoping to scrape together even one coin apiece.

Sister Lilliana was textbook. She introduced Julis in the most flattering terms she could manage, and where necessary, promised personal rewards in exchange for votes. Julis's earlier feat of juggling had already built her a healthy stock of goodwill, so it went smoothly.

There was no need to worry over Nanaën. It seemed she'd told Killian only to stand still—he did just that, like a statue—while she dragged him from place to place, handling everything herself. In truth, she probably could have stood perfectly still and let her admirers bring the coins to her.

It was the third-eldest, Gwendolyn, who was the problem from the start. She had a timid disposition, easily cowed. Given how the nature of the Favor Vote had settled the room into a pattern of princesses currying favor with the nobility, one noble decided to push past a line with her.

"If Sir Heinz avoids the punishment, what will the Crescent Moon Princess do for us?"

"D-Do for you?"

"It would be better to settle on a promise than to simply say thank you. Show us some goodwill, on behalf of the nobles."

"O-Of course. If my knight avoids the punishment, I'll host a lovely tea party—"

"That's hardly enough. Say—what if you lent Sir Heinz out to the ladies here, one night apiece?"

"W-What is—!"

"Now, now, no need for anger. It's not as though we're the ones with something to lose here, is it?"

The man's oily smile made his intentions plain enough at a glance—he only meant to toy with her. And foolishly, she let herself be played.

"I— I'll think about it......."

She should never have answered that way. Showing weakness in the face of an insult earns nothing—not favor, not even pity.

It was practically the same as handing over her own dignity at a discount.

Regen must have noticed her concern, because he murmured, low:

"No one will vote for the Crescent Moon Princess."

"No. There's a high probability Gwendolyn will land in the bottom ranks."

Just then Regen fixed his gaze on some other part of the hall and muttered:

"Someone else is using a more drastic method."

"What?"

The mystery resolved itself quickly.

"Your Highness!"

"Eek!"

A massive statue decorating one side of the hall was tipping over. The person standing nearest was the eldest sister, Vivian.

Her bound knight, a black-haired young man, threw his own body over her and rolled them both clear. The statue crashed down, missing them by the narrowest margin.

"Are you all right, Your Highness?"

"F-Fine. Are you, Sir Belinger?"

"If Your Highness is unharmed, then so am I," Belinger answered, the perfect model of a loyal knight, and offered his hand to help Vivian to her feet. Applause broke out around them for the fine knight who'd protected his liege.

Meanwhile, a few unlucky bystanders picked up scrapes from the shards that scattered across the floor. I was within range too, but Regen had already spread his half-cloak wide, and it was that which kept the shards from touching me.

Regen's voice, assessing the whole sequence, was cold.

"Too many unnecessary movements. Dramatic, at least. I'll grant it that much."

"Are you saying it was staged?"

"Yes."