I’m on a luxurious passenger ship, sailing through radiant waters under a glaring sun.
“Here you go, Your Highness.”
As I endure the boat’s rocking and gaze at the endless horizon, feeling the sea breeze on my skin, a man with a white mustache that curls up at the corners calls out to me.
“Thank you.”
I bring a finger to my collar and adjust my clothing, then softly accept the bottle in his hands. The man is Sheera’s foreign minister, Louis Vega. Seeming rather confident in this domestically produced alcohol, he raises a glass to the sky and says with a broad smile that it’s made with the fruit of special trees growing in the mountains to the west.
I can’t exactly refuse it after he speaks of it so highly, so I put some in my mouth and roll it on my tongue. It does feel somewhat fragrant. My eldest brother would likely enjoy this taste.
As I give my honest impression, the man rubs his large belly and offers to let me bring the bottle back with me, laughing cheerfully. Then, he looks to another man standing beside me.
“Why don’t you give it a taste too, young lord?”
“I’d prefer you didn’t call me that... Please, simply call me Alois, Fodeuri, or some other name.”
Alois looks uncomfortable with the title. He straightens the collar of his blue formal outfit and shakes his head; his loosely bound blond hair shakes with it. Before we departed, Mislina wished for him to wear it in braids—it’s still amusing to remember how much she messed with it.
“But young lord, you are a member of royalty.”
As I smile from my recollections, Vega smiles for what is no doubt a different reason. It’s looking like this will go on for a while, so I take another gulp.
Alois is used to ministers of foreign nations looking into his lineage and the status of his family, so he lightly laughs in reply. There are only so many topics royalty and titled nobility can discuss on such occasions.
“As I live a carefree life, it would be improper for me to be addressed with such a title. I’ve even gained the freedom to marry whom I want.”
Alois forestalls the man’s questions, understanding where the conversation is headed. Vega was likely going to ask something to ascertain Alois’s circumstances—specifically, in regards to marriage.
“That’s just what I was going to ask!” replies Vega, leaning forward and looking altogether brazen despite his noble status.
Are most Sheerans this frank? It’s both admirable and concerning.
“For a kingdom to let go of its handsome young genius, why, he must surely have done a great deal of good?”
“I’m not that young anymore.”
“Perhaps the kingdom has made you pledge to remain within its borders?”
As Alois looks my way, his face seeming to signal an irritation over the minister’s persistence, I bring my lips to the glass in my hand and act like I’m busy with my drink, remaining silent as I watch the two settle it between themselves.
“Do you not plan to go abroad?” asks Vega with a bright sparkle in his eye. He really doesn’t know when to drop the subject.
“Abroad, you say...” Alois appears to contemplate the word.
Though it varies by country, lineage is considered more important than anything among nobility. It’s the first thing they think of on the topic of leaving offspring. However, if you restrict marriage to your own country’s nobility, it increases the rate of consanguineous marriages, making blood much too thick. Thus, one can marry foreigners instead. Naturally, the other party has to be of noble birth too. As long as the person is a noble and not the eldest son—the heir—they can emigrate. It’s hardly rare.
Allowing blood to get too thick is considered a bigger problem than introducing foreign blood because the excess proximity leads to kraive being born, which must be avoided whenever possible.
Another name for kraive is “inchoates.” Such fetuses enter an abnormal state upon leaving the mother’s body—for example, crystallizing or dissolving. There’s a record of a closely related water-type and fire-type conceiving a baby that then proceeded to evaporate. It’s not known what exactly causes this, but inspecting family trees has shown that this only occurs when the parents are closely related, so by now it’s a rare occurrence.
I hear Alois was suspected to be a kraive too on the day he was born.
“It’s nothing so special,” continues Alois. “I simply asked to be allowed to choose whom I want to marry.”
Despite his very obviously dodging the question, and his reluctance to answer showing on his face, the minister presses on, saying that if Alois doesn’t have a fiancée, he should consider this and that Sheeran woman, naming marquis and count houses at length.
It’s an ordinary conversation in high society, but having it right in front of me feels like he’s telling me in a roundabout way to settle down with someone already. I know it’s just me being paranoid, but those glances the minister keeps shooting my way tempt me to tell him to stop. I get enough nagging from the chancellors and ministers back home.
“Then how about my daughter? No lady would surpass her in looks. With the exception of today’s star, Princess Carolla, of course,” utters Vega, casting his eyes to the bride at the center of the ship, who stands dressed in pure white.
Alois and I gaze upon her too. She’s the woman of the day. With a smile on his face as though he’s looking at something dazzling, Alois nods at the Sheeran minister’s words.
“Certainly,” he adds.
It’s the year 3669 by Arland’s Reckoning. Today, the wedding of the fourth princess of Sheera is being held aboard the Seyre Willic, a ship bound for Coquille. Representatives of all nations, regardless of distance, have come here for what is the first joyous ceremony since the end of the continent’s peril. We seek to both express gratitude and make a courtesy call to the Land of the Sea by sailing across their waters, just as much as it’s supposed to be a royal celebration.
The official wedding was held yesterday in Sheera with the blessings of its people, so the ceremony here on the ship is an informal one. No kings are present on the ship, and instead it’s mostly those who didn’t attend in Sheera—the people who will take it upon themselves to create our future generations, including the various princes and princesses. There’s also chancellors and foreign ministers here.
Not only are we here to attend Carolla’s wedding, but we’re also hoping to establish contact with the lord of the sea, King Celestial, who has yet to show himself. The only country capable of contacting him is Seleina, which has acted as an intermediary between Sheera and the Land of the Sea and has secured a face-to-face meeting on the surface of the sea tomorrow at noon.
“I can’t wait for tomorrow... Some of us have such trouble waiting that they go sleeping in barrels, such as my chancellor.”
“There’s really nothing to do, is there?”
“I think he’ll wake up before tonight’s party, at least.”
Since that day isn’t upon us yet, we spend our time as we please. It may be a luxurious ship, but it’s still a ship. The tight quarters are frustrating many, and more and more people keep retreating to the so-called barrel rooms to rest. On the outside, they look like small, ordinary wine barrels, but once you set foot inside, you find yourself in a spacious room. It’s a handy artifact for voyages.
Mislina, who’s also here, enters one of the many barrels under the sail once the ceremonies are over.
“I’m sorry, Alois.”
He looks confused by my apology.
“I know you held out hope until the last moment.”
“What last moment? What might you talking about?” butts in Vega.
Alois faces the minister, looking like he neither has any idea nor cares what I’m talking about.
I invited Nanalie as his companion for this day, but she rejected the offer in a letter two months ago. It wasn’t really true that Alois needed a companion. Normally he would’ve been just fine on his own, even without Nanalie. I was just hoping it would be an opportunity to make their pairing known to both the citizens of Doran and everyone else, which would be good for their future. But you could also say it was a short-sighted idea.
She’s an ordinary citizen. In our correspondence, she talks about the mere fact of exchanging letters with a prince like it’s overwhelming. She tends to be very conscious of the difference in our statuses, and show a trifle too much reserve. Still, I’m on friendlier terms with her than with noble girls my age. It probably wasn’t a lie that she rejected the invitation because of her work.
But it’s one thing not to feel constrained in Nanalie’s presence and another to try to drag her to a place like this. I regretted my thoughtlessness once I read her letter.
“Zenon! Alois!”
“Hey, Bella.”
The princess of Seleina didn’t attend the official wedding in Sheera and came aboard with a personal guard when we passed through Seleina’s harbor. She approaches us, a smile like a flower in full bloom on her face.
“Ahh, did you see how gorgeous Princess Carolla was back there? That was so exciting! Ah, she was so lovely!” Bella expresses such a level of fascination that I have to suspect she’s never been to the wedding of a foreign princess before.
It’s not like I’ve been to many weddings of foreign royalty. Usually it’s the king and queen, or the crown prince with his wife. I can relate to Bella’s excitement though, especially as someone who knows Carolla’s circumstances—namely, that she fell in love with her servant and tried to give up on him.
“It’s good to see you!” continues Bella. “And you, foreign minister of Sheera. Congratulations on Princess Carolla’s marriage.”
“I’m honored you remembered me, Your Highness.”
“How could I possibly forget such a charming old man?”
Once he’s faced with the carefree smile of a woman whose radiant countenance has earned her the title of the finest jewel of the southern nations, Louis Vega’s cheeks go slightly red. On the one hand, it’s a shameful sight when a man his age gets led by the nose by a beauty, but on the other, this side of him is the most endearing he’s been all day and wrings a smile out of me.