Reality was always singular, a manifestation of the events that actually took place. Truth, on the other hand, was as numerous and varied as there were people in this world. Truth could take different forms depending on each person’s thoughts and relationship to an event, changing the shape of their truths. Herscherik did not want to become the kind of person that simply took what one person said as the one and only truth. He had requested this of the count without looking away from him... Herscherik’s mature syntax and unclouded eyes made the count hold his breath for a moment.
Has anyone spoken to me this way in the past few years...? Ruseria thought. No. For several years, the count had never heard someone speak to him like that. If someone ever had, the count had paid it no mind, deeming it superfluous noise. The words the prince had just uttered, though, sunk deep into his heart like a drop of water in dry soil. So, Ruseria followed Herscherik’s request.
“...I fell into their trap.”
After a few moments, Ruseria began speaking with gravitas.
It had all begun three years prior when the count took notice of a particular noble’s illegal activities. When he discovered that a viscount was behind it all, Ruseria notified Legal Affairs with his discovery. It would not have been unreasonable for the viscount to be stripped of his title, but he remained unpunished. Suspicious of this, Ruseria investigated the wrongdoings on his own in pursuit of justice. In the end, he’d discovered that Minister Barbosse’s political group sponsored those activities and had all gotten rich in the process.
“If I didn’t take action now, our nation would be starved, then destroyed... That’s what I thought.”
Just to enrich the nobility, taxes would be raised. Impoverished citizens who couldn’t pay the tax would end up on the streets, then turn to crime and make the country more dangerous. To combat crime, taxes would be raised again. This negative spiral was sure to weaken the country.
“I had gathered some compatriots... When we were right on the verge of reforming our political scene, I lost my wife and son to an accident... My son had just turned three, Your Highness, like you.”
As the count was in mourning over what he thought to be an accident, an unsigned letter was delivered, warning him not to investigate any closer.
“I have no proof. But I know they killed my son and wife. Made it look like an accident. Just to make an example of them to me and my compatriots. Then, misfortune befell one associate of mine after another, until we could no longer remain united.”
Still, Ruseria could not give it up, overcome with the need for vengeance for his beloved family. Without it, in fact, he was sure that he would not have had the will to survive until now.
Ruseria held his pocket watch tighter as he continued.
“I was resolved to fight, all alone. Over the past three years, I collected as much evidence as I could and presented it to His Majesty... Well, you saw what happened.”
The unfamiliar letter must have been forged, seal and all. By close inspection of a sample of Ruseria’s genuine letters, his handwriting had been copied and a letter forged with incredible ease. On top of that, the count was now certain that all of the evidence he had collected was merely bait fed to him by Barbosse, after seeing the marquis’s attitude the previous night. Ruseria would now pay the price for losing himself in anger and falling right into Barbosse’s trap.
“Our country has been prosperous and strong for a long time. Our expansive territory and our military, as well as our foreign diplomacy, have forged a lasting peace.”
That’s how the enormous kingdom of Gracis had been protected, at least on the surface. Within its borders, the peace of Gracis had begun to rot. In recent years, some nations had been growing to become nearly as strong as Gracis was. If any of those nations were to find out the state of this kingdom’s internal affairs, they might use it as an opening to attack.
“Before you were even born, the period between His Highness’s birth and coronation was when the royal family and the nobles were most divided.”
Ruseria had been still young at the time and had only figured this out by piecing it together from various bits of information. The king at the time, Herscherik’s grandfather, had a keen eye for spotting corrupt nobles. Still, those nobles had cleverly concealed all of their evidence, preventing the king from stripping their titles or exiling them.
“Just then, our country was met with a series of tragedies. An illness befell one royal family member after another.”
In hindsight, Ruseria was doubtful that they were natural ailments. The perceptive king succumbed first, followed by the First and Second Princes at the time, leaving the throne to the Third Prince without any powerful supporters. Since the prince was only ten years old at the time, Barbosse became his patron and regent. By the time the king turned eighteen and Barbosse returned the regency to him, most of the minister’s opposition and powerful nobles loyal to the crown had been nearly wiped out, albeit not entirely. Before anyone realized, the minister and his forces had taken control of the political scene in Gracis.
“As a young boy living in the countryside, uninterested in politics, I didn’t notice it in time... I beg of your forgiveness, Your Highness.”
Lips pursed, Ruseria drooped his head. He appeared beaten down by his powerlessness, as though he was about to disappear. Despite being taller than average, the count now seemed much too small—a man robbed of everything. Now that his last hope turned out to be a false one all along, Ruseria had nothing left in this world.
“...I’m sorry.”
What came out of Herscherik was an apology. Ruseria slowly looked up at the surprising reaction to find Herscherik holding back tears as they formed in his light blue eyes.
“I’m sorry I didn’t realize. You were fighting so hard, and I didn’t notice anything. I’m sorry...” His words came out choppy from the effort of controlling his sobs.
After all that was taken from him, he kept fighting... He lost everything, and still fought on, alone...