“That’s hardly the most important part, is it?” Ras asked. “It’s just a kiss. Besides—”
As Ras prepared a flimsy excuse, a loud noise cut him off. It was the sound of Princess Fiarca slamming her hands on her desk and getting to her feet.
“That does it,” she said. “Kanalayka, make preparations for us to depart at once.”
“Depart, Your Highness? Wh-what do you mean?”
Even Kanalayka wasn’t sure what to make of the princess’s sudden declaration. But Fiarca quickly made her intentions clear.
“Isn’t it obvious?” she said. “We’re heading to Charlgia at once.”
“W-we are? B-but according to the schedule, we aren’t meant to depart until next week!”
“We must be at the conference sooner or later, and a week is nothing in the grand scheme of things. The work might pile up in my absence, but it’s better than being too late for what’s to come.”
“V-very well, Your Highness.”
Kanalayka acquiesced to Fiarca’s demand. She knew that once the princess made up her mind like this, not even a Greater Dragon could dissuade her. Ras was fully aware of Fiarca’s hardheadedness as well.
“And you’re coming with me, Ras. Not undercover this time, but as my escort; a Guardian of Silver.”
Ras said nothing in the face of Fiarca’s brazen order. Instead, he gave her a small, silent nod.
✦ ✦ ✦
Even if, in truth, she was only filling her brother’s shoes, the world knew Fiarca as Crown Prince Auriol. She couldn’t just saunter over to a different country as she pleased, even an allied one like Charlgia. There were bureaucrats and officers to be selected, escorts to be arranged, and schedules to be planned.
In addition, there was a magnificent send-off party, complete with a parade for the citizens, such that by the time Fiarca finally left Vif Arger, it was five days after Ras had returned to the capital. For all Fiarca’s efforts, she only succeeded in moving her departure date a mere two days forward.
Even after departing for Barlama, there were still several stops Fiarca had to make along the way. Whenever the crown prince left for foreign lands, it was common practice to lodge at every major city en route. In this way, the imperial family bolstered their reputation among the people while also providing a slight boost to that city’s economy. Bureaucrats and officers included, the entourage numbered over two thousand people. Even just a stay of one night meant an exorbitant sum spent on room and board. Keeping the nation’s economy afloat in this way was an important job of the imperial family, Fiarca included.
“Even so, I can’t help but feel this isn’t the time to be relaxing with a dinner party,” muttered Ras, standing at the bridge of the Rito, overlooking the town.
The Rito was a type of ship known as an octopedal transport, an enormous warship that moved across land on eight mechanical legs. All in all, it measured about 38 meters wide and 240 meters long. Its engine was similar in construction to a Chasseur’s core, and although it looked clunky, it could cross rough terrain at frightening speeds. Standing on the deck felt not too dissimilar to being at sea.
Fiarca’s imperial convoy numbered three of these land ships, with a combined total of forty Chasseurs aboard. Among them, of course, was Ras’s unit, Vildhjärta.
“I’m afraid you’re just going to have to accept it,” said Fiarca. She was in her disguise as Crown Prince Auriol, with the black mask covering her face. “The lord of the northern march is the most powerful man on the Council. This is one port we can’t afford to just sail past.”
The geography of Argyll divided the nation into four regions: north, south, east, and west. Among the Council of Seven, it was the four marquises who were tasked with ruling those lands. In addition, the empire was comprised of three more remote territories, which operated more or less independently. The counts of these lands made up the rest of the Council and were charged with securing the nation’s borders.
If the forces of Central Command were scored as a ten, then the combat potential of each of the counts sat around a five or a six, while the marquises each commanded a three. It was difficult for the counts, in their far-off lands, to concentrate their powers inward, but if just half of the Council joined forces, they could pose a serious threat to the throne. That was why visits like this were so important.
“Are you sure we can afford to leave these assassins alone?” asked Ras. “If they get to the princess before we reach Charlgia, it’s over.”
“Hmm… You’re awfully concerned about Princess Tishna’s safety, Ras. Did her kiss leave that much of an impression on you?”
“You’re the one who ordered me to protect her,” Ras shot back. Fiarca didn’t even try to hide her displeasure, and with a sullen look, she shrugged.
“We don’t need to rush. They won’t assassinate Princess Tishna for a while yet.”
“How do you know?”
“The fact that they employed assassins from the empire means they plan to pin the blame for this murder on Argyll. Otherwise, they could have just hired local hitmen, don’t you agree?”
“I see… You’re right.”
Ras didn’t know who was behind the assassination plot. But whoever it was, there was no doubt that their objective was to damage relations between Argyll and Charlgia. The kingdom was home to a grand total of seven unwed princesses. Even if Tishna was killed, there was always the chance that Auriol could marry one of the other six instead.
If whoever was behind this plot really wanted to sabotage the two nations’ relationship, it wasn’t enough to just kill Auriol’s fiancée. They also had to pin the blame for the murder squarely on the empire itself.
“Thinking about it another way, the mastermind has to be able to show beyond all doubt that the assassin is from Argyll. How do you suppose they plan to do that?”
“They need a witness, I suppose. Preferably a neutral third party.”
“That’s right. Fortunately for them, in just two weeks, representatives from all nations will be gathered in Charlgia for the Shrumland Alliance summit. If our mastermind wants witnesses, they simply have to strike then.”
“In other words, until the conference starts, the princess is safe.”
“I hope so,” Fiarca said.
She looked at Ras and heaved a deep sigh.
“That’s why we need to get to the bottom of this before the summit begins,” she said. “I can’t believe you let Princess Tishna send you away without even putting up a fight.”
“What did you want me to do?” Ras muttered under his breath. “How am I supposed to argue with a girl who knows the future?”
There were many personnel up on the bridge of the Rito, but the only one besides Ras and Fiarca with knowledge of the assassination plot was Kanalayka, standing guard by her mistress’s side. The constant, deafening noise of the octopedal transport’s engine made it all but impossible for anyone else to pick out the contents of Ras and Fiarca’s conversation, but an abundance of caution was nonetheless required.
“Under normal circumstances, you can’t.”
Fiarca accepted Ras’s excuse with surprising grace.
“Normal circumstances?”
“Yes. Which is why we’ll be pushing for abnormal circumstances instead.”
“What are you planning this time?”
“You’ll see. For now, let’s focus on how we’re going to get through the northern march.”
“Is the lord that much of a problem? You’re not usually this timid.” Ras turned to Fiarca with one eyebrow raised. The marquis was an experienced statesman, but he was ostensibly on Fiarca’s side. There was no need for a member of the imperial family like her to fear him to that extent.
Fiarca frowned and shook her head. “It’s not him. Pell lives here in these lands. I just can’t stand that woman.”
“Pernille, eh?”
Ras understood well the source of Fiarca’s ire. The princess let out a long sigh, just moments before the Rito ground to a complete halt. Three Chasseurs bearing large flags had suddenly appeared in the wasteland, blocking the land ship’s path. All of them were beautifully maintained custom models that clearly belonged to the noble class.
Their standards bore the emblems of both the empire and of the northern march, identifying them as envoys sent by the local lord. However…
“My name is Pernille. I am the daughter of Marquis Frédérique Auver Burndy. I come in his name to greet the crown prince of Argyll.”
When Fiarca heard the voice that came from the pilot’s seat, her face noticeably stiffened. The bearer of that voice was precisely the person that she was most afraid to meet.
It was Pernille Burndy, the eldest daughter of the lord of the northern march, and Auriol’s former betrothed.