The week following my success at the preliminary trials was one that was marked by an intense flurry of activity. Ed spent his time directing the Pyreborn hither and thither; Teodore expended his efforts subjecting Duke Arendt to a thorough interview (it might be more accurate to term it an “interrogation”); and Prince Gilbert, as the organizer of the trials, had his hands full dealing with all of the repercussions of that most eventful day. Despite the fact that I was still recovering, I myself had my own tasks to attend to—I busied myself with unwrapping and responding to the greeting cards and well-wishes from acquaintances far and wide.
As I finished composing another thank-you note, I looked up from my cluttered writing desk and scanned the room. Every available surface was strewn with over a hundred letters and parcels of all sizes—a peculiar sort of blessing, indeed. Given that up to now, few nobles in the empire had had reason to write to me, let alone wish me well, the trials seemed to have significantly boosted my social standing.
Perhaps a little too significantly...
After a quick sip of tea, I moved on to choose the next letter—maybe the one from Duke Blake? But as I reached over the pile of unread missives for the letter opener, a familiar wax seal caught my eye. The hyacinth emblem made my hands tremble with excitement. Setting aside Duke Blake’s letter, I picked up the one from my father instead.
Elated that he had written, I eagerly broke the seal and devoured the familiar handwriting. The letter began with heartfelt congratulations on my success, confirmed Celestia’s participation in the Faith Council, and relayed the news of the abolition of the Celestian system of Sainthood.
“The abolition of the Celestian system of sainthood?” I murmured to myself.
I could hardly believe my eyes, but I reread the sentence, and it was indeed the message contained in the words upon the page: “With the establishment of the Faith Council, and the crimes of Archbishop Mills brought at last to the light, the decision was made to abolish the Celestian system of Sainthood.”
I...supposed it was true that it might have been a little confusing if Celestia were to have its own Saint while supporting the Faith Council. Not to mention that the kingdom would undoubtedly want to avoid another tragedy like the one involving Saint Claudia. Yes, the more I pondered, the more I was able to convince myself that this was the right decision, even if it seemed a shame to dismantle such a storied Celestian institution.
Deep in thought, I folded the letter and returned it to its envelope. “Marisa, could you place this in the usual spot?”
“Very well, Your Highness.” She took the letter from my hand and tucked it into a specific drawer in my dresser. It was there that I kept every letter and gift from my father, safeguarding them like jewels in a treasure chest, my most precious possessions.
With a deep breath, I grasped my quill, pondering my response, but a knock at the door interrupted my thoughts. “It’s Teodore, Your Highness, along with Prince Edward. May we enter?”
His voice was muffled but clearly recognizable as Teodore’s all the same. Though one could never be too careful—just to be sure, I glanced at Owen for his approval. He nodded, and with my personal guard’s endorsement, I called out for my visitors to enter. The familiar duo walked in and settled themselves on the sofas, their expressions a mix of amusement and curiosity as they surveyed the cluttered room.
“Thank you, Your Highness,” Teodore said with a small dip of his head. “Please allow me to apologize for our unannounced arrival.”
Ed raised an eyebrow at him. “What for? We barge in like this every time.”
Teodore’s cheek twitched; he swiftly lifted his heel and brought it down on Ed’s foot with a dull thud. I winced at the sound, but Ed, ever the stoic military commander, showed no sign of discomfort. Had my own foot been the target of Teodore’s annoyance, I surely would have screamed.
“It’s all right,” I replied as nonchalantly as I could. “I was just about to take a rest from my correspondence, so you’re both very welcome to join me. After all, we are friends, aren’t we? There’s no need for such formality.”
In response to my assurances, Teodore let out a small breath. Ed looked relieved as well.
“So, what inspired your visit?” I asked, reaching for my teacup. “Is something the matter?” Both men were very busy individuals, and I knew they would appreciate my direct approach.
Curiously, it was Ed who seemed poised to speak. “The fates of Monica Arendt and the duke have been decided. Though you would have been privy to the official announcement soon enough, we felt it might be better if you heard it from us directly.”
I had expected this subject matter to yield good news, so I was surprised to see Ed look so somber. I had imagined he would be relieved to conclude a matter that had lingered too long, but his expression suggested otherwise. Had the duke managed to win a concession or two? Surely, no matter the circumstances, Teodore would have triumphed in that battle of wits, no?
Ed slowly raised his head to meet my gaze. “First, Duke Arendt... His degree of peerage has been degraded and a portion of his domain seized.”
“By all rights, he should have been stripped of his title entirely, given the severity of the crime,” Teodore jumped in to explain, “but considering his past achievements and contributions, he was merely degraded. And...it must be admitted that we have found no direct connections between him and the extremists.”
“None? At all?” I gasped, shocked at the news. Of course, I knew that if there had been conclusive evidence, the degradation of his rank would have been the least of his worries.
“Not directly,” Teodore clarified. “But we do believe him tacitly complicit in their existence and activities.”
My eyes widened. “Tacitly? You mean he had information about the extremists and their plans, but he never informed the imperial family?” My brow furrowed in frustration. Overlooking the existence of an organization actively antagonizing the imperial family was dangerously close to treason—at the very least, a severe abandonment of civic duty. What could have been his motivation? The duke possessed a powerful voice. If he had thrown his support behind the emperor, perhaps the extremists wouldn’t have spent so much breath slandering Ed as the “Bloodthirsty Prince,” and I might not have faced attempts on my life.