IN the Kingdom of San Luenne, it was said that the skill to make a fortune is of greater import than the skill to wield arms. “Those who cannot earn have no worth” was the Kingdom’s unofficial motto. So, naturally, Bertine questioned why the royal family couldn’t pay the reparations when they were such stalwart supporters of the sentiment.
After all, they were rich. Did this mean they handed over everything they had to the Empire in assistance of its war efforts? Impossible. There should have been plenty of capital left. She thought it more likely that the nation was reluctant to part with its own coffers, which was why it chose to offer her instead.
Geraldo, Bertine’s older brother, came back from the royal treasury in a panic and confirmed her conjecture.
“His Majesty was apparently of the opinion that the treasury should not be emptied. God, Bertie, I’m so sorry. I should have snatched you up and escaped with you when I had the chance. I’ve failed as your elder brother.”
Though she appreciated the sentiment, she knew that wouldn’t have helped. Her brother was merely a civil official. Even had they fled, it wouldn’t have taken them long to deplete any meager funds in his possession. Besides, where exactly could they have gone? The Empire? As if they wouldn’t have been captured almost immediately as criminals anyway?
“What’s done is done, brother dearest, for ’tis beyond either of us,” she said.
“What’s done is done.” Bertine murmured the phrase over and over again, as if chanting a spell. Otherwise, she would wail abjectly instead, something along the lines of, “I don’t want to go! I don’t want to be married off to the Federation!”
If only Mother were still alive. Then she would at least hold me in her arms and share my sorrow.
✦ ✦ ✦
INDIFFERENT to Bertine’s grief, the Kingdom proceeded insultingly swiftly with her marriage to a man of the Federation. Not two days after her father’s announcement, the process to end her five-year engagement to Andrew commenced. Both families were gathered in a special room designated for nobility in the government office, but only the count, Andrew’s father and head of the family, was in attendance. The countess, who had once told Bertine, “I already think of you as my daughter,” was markedly absent from the proceedings.
“I take it Lord Andrew won’t be joining us today?” Bertine asked.
“I’m sorry, Bertine. He’s in a right awful state. I just didn’t have the heart to drag him here, depressed as he was.”
Her fiancé loved literature, so much so that he’d spoken often of his dream to publish a work of his own while working as a civil servant. Yet clearly, he chose to prioritize his own feelings over any his despondent betrothed might have had about being offered to the enemy. Was she not to receive even a final goodbye from him? She wouldn’t be so bold as to say she expected him to rush to her side and spirit her away. But at the very least, she would have liked to know he held enough regard for her that he could deign to give her a few words of comfort, perhaps a simple farewell at the end.
What’s done is done. What’s done is done. What’s done. Is. Done…
Bertine’s lips curved in a poor facsimile of a smile as she signed the papers that would undo her engagement.
✦ ✦ ✦
TWO weeks later. Escorted by the royal guard and waved off by a throng of well-meaning but endlessly curious well-wishers, Bertine boarded a ship bound for the continent. As the Kingdom’s scapegoat, she shouldn’t have been surprised to attract such a contingent of people so keenly interested in her predicament. Everyone crowded at the harbor whispered to each other, knowing looks on their faces. Not a single individual congratulated her on her nuptials. Because her husband was of the Southern Federation, derided by the peoples of both the Kingdom of San Luenne and the Empire of Centaur as “The land of savages graced too late by the hand of civilization.”
For much of its history, the mainland’s southern half had been divided amongst dozens of houses, each claiming a small portion for their own. They had fought continuously with each other for centuries, but in recent years, a man named Cecilio Bonifaccio united the disparate territories under one nation.
“Cecilio is said to be a warmonger, one who enjoys repaying bloodshed with more carnage. He conquered all the other nobles by force alone.”
“I heard he’s an unparalleled womanizer.”
“A barbarian who ridicules culture and art.”
None of the rumors she caught wind of gave her hope. Which explained why her maid, Dorothée, who accompanied her on her journey, hadn’t stopped crying since they departed the marquess’s estate.
“Dorothée. Listen to me. Once I settle into my new life, you are free to return here with the other servants,” Bertine said. “I know your parents are terribly worried for you.”
“I could never, my lady! I shan’t leave you all alone in that awful place!”
“I’ll be fine. I assure you, they won’t kill me. For I shall endeavor to do my utmost to be loved by His Excellency.”
“My lady…my heart breaks for you.”
More sobs wracked Dorothée’s body. By all rights, Bertine should have been the one weeping hysterically, yet she somehow found herself consoling her maid instead.
✦ ✦ ✦
THE ship docked at a port on the continent, and the five coaches furnished by Bertine’s father for her bridal procession moved in a solemn line toward her final destination. Plunged to the depths of despair by her father’s initial announcement, Bertine had gradually recovered a measure of calm as the days passed by.
“His Excellency might very well be a kind man. Perhaps my life here will be more enjoyable than I imagine. Besides, nothing good can come from being pessimistic.”
Bertine tried to convince herself in her coach, determined to maintain a positive attitude on the last leg of her journey.
✦ ✦ ✦
TWO weeks later, Bertine’s bridal procession arrived at Ybit, a major hub in the Southern Federation. A large city, it boasted newly built stone buildings two and three stories high along its streets.
“Oh, my. This is quite different from the rumors,” Bertine mused. “Wouldn’t you agree, Dorothée?”
“Yes, indeed, my lady. I assumed we’d be met with wooden or even fur-lined tents.”
“Come now, Dorothée, that’s unconscionably rude, and you know it. Though I can’t deny the information I have about the Federation seems to be quite outdated as well.”
Bertine and her maid were able to laugh about such things up until their arrival at Cecilio’s estate.