As it stood, the students of Korinthsdaum were gathering information about Hannelore under my command. Their reports revealed that she had two suitors, both Dunkelfelger archnobles, but would not be formally engaged until the Zent gave her approval at the Archduke Conference. I could thwart them both by negotiating with Aub Dunkelfelger during the Interduchy Tournament. Surely, a fellow archduke would understand the positions we were in.
“Lady Hannelore aside, Lady Gentiane of Klassenberg—or perhaps one of Lady Adolphine’s half-sisters from Drewanchel—could make a capable first wife,” Nahelache said.
“Although we have much to gain from top-ranking duchies, Gentiane is far too young for the role, and Adolphine will surely interfere with any attempts to take a bride from Drewanchel’s archducal family. Not only is she shockingly heartless, but she also has an unquenchable lust for power. She would seethe with envy at the mere thought of one of her half-siblings becoming the first wife of a duchy such as ours.”
Nahelache’s head tilted at a curious angle. “If Lady Gentiane is too young, could you not take a third wife from elsewhere? It would give her time to grow.”
“A third wife, you say?”
“Indeed. Take a bride from a branch family of a top-ranking duchy—or an archduke candidate from a middle-ranking duchy—with plans to one day demote her to third wife. You have many more candidates for third wives.”
Given the urgency with which we needed to expand Korinthsdaum’s archducal family, focusing on taking a third wife was an excellent decision.
“Drewanchel outpaces other duchies in adoptions, and talent is so abundant within its archducal family that the seat of aub is fiercely contested,” Nahelache continued. “Brothers and sisters form strong bonds through their shared mothers, which leads to bitter rivalries among half-siblings.”
“I see. There is bound to be an archduke candidate among them who will give their elder or younger sister to me in exchange for becoming the next Aub Drewanchel over Adolphine’s brother Ortwin.”
My status as former royalty would prove advantageous in building a lasting and cooperative engagement with Drewanchel. I would soon gain the public’s sympathy once they learned that Adolphine was a power-hungry woman, unwilling to support a crown prince and so heartless that she abandoned her husband the moment he came upon hard times.
Even with Adolphine’s grievances, I could cultivate a productive relationship with Drewanchel through her opposing half-siblings. Its aub would surely cooperate once I made the value I could offer his duchy clear.
“Yes, this is a solution worth considering,” I said with a nod.
Nahelache’s face lit up at my response.
“Lord Sigiswald,” said my scholar from the meeting room, hurrying into my office with a board in hand. “Something terrible has happened at the Royal Academy.”
Just seeing the retainer’s expression, I could tell who was to blame. I thought back to my days at the royal palace, recalling the many times scholars had approached me with serious news.
Incidents during winter, when manpower is low, can usually be traced back to Rozemyne.
Her experience as High Bishop had given her a wealth of knowledge about prayers and religious ceremonies, which, combined with her obsession with books, paved the way for her to obtain the Grutrissheit. When it was decided that she would become the king’s adopted daughter—due to the high chance of her acquiring the Grutrissheit from the Royal Academy’s library—she attached conditions to her adoption as I informed her she would become the third wife of the next king.
Then, last year, she had vanished from the Royal Academy and returned with a body that was drastically more mature—the gods’ work, she had said. The next thing anyone knew, she had declared that she was going to rescue Ferdinand, treated the proposal magic tool I gave her as “proof of royal approval,” and then publicly reduced the tool to gold dust.
It was her abnormal actions and complete lack of consideration that made her stand out so much. Since her enrollment, she had become the Divine Avatar of Mestionora, disregarded my authority as crown prince by bestowing the Grutrissheit on Eglantine instead of me, and established her own duchy as the aub of Alexandria.
And now her rampage continues.
Letting out a short sigh, I accepted the board from the scholar and steeled my resolve. Its message was both far beyond and completely in line with my expectations.
“Dregarnuhr the Goddess of Time descended into Hannelore. She demanded to see Rozemyne, then departed with her.”
I passed the board to the other scholars in the room and sighed again. My thoughts raced for a solution, only to quiet as I realized that, as Aub Korinthsdaum, it no longer fell to me to fret about the affairs of the Royal Academy. It was, in fact, a relief to be free from the same breed of chaos that had caused a child to suddenly vanish before a statue and return transformed into a young woman.
“Um, what exactly does this mean?” Nahelache asked as she read the board next.
“It is more ambiguous than a report from the Royal Academy should be,” the scholar noted, also confused.
“We should take the message literally,” I said. “More likely than not, a blunt explanation was the only way to convey the absurdity of what happened. Suspecting falsehoods would simply be a waste of your time.”
My time spent navigating Rozemyne’s madness as a member of royalty had taught me plenty about what to expect from her. If my suspicions were correct, then a goddess truly had descended to summon her.
“The most important aspect of this news to me is that Dregarnuhr descended into Hannelore,” I continued. “It should be a cause for great celebration that a goddess chose someone other than Rozemyne.”
The gods have not abandoned me after all; they have created a new divine avatar just for me.
If she had served as a host for Dregarnuhr, then I suspected that Hannelore had the potential to invoke the Goddess of Wisdom as well. As the former crown prince, I needed to make her mine; she had too much potential to marry anyone else.
“Contact our students at the Royal Academy at once,” I said. “Have them spread rumors posthaste.”
“What kind of rumors?”
“Hmm... If we reemphasize the fact that archnobles are not worthy of one chosen by the gods, Hannelore’s suitors should give up on her for fear of what society might think. A mere archduke candidate could wed archnobles of a branch family within her duchy, but a divine avatar? It is only right for her to marry royalty.”