“I heard Rovene visited the Class E boys’ room on the last day of the camp,” Marquess Serenade—the youngest of the group—said hesitantly in an attempt to change the topic, “and spent hours questioning them on their romantic involvements. The rest of Class A supposedly collapsed minutes after they reached the estate—not surprising really, considering the score they’d achieved—but Rovene stated, ‘The camp isn’t over until I’m satisfied with your answers.’ Indeed, he didn’t leave the room until he’d asked each and every boy about their prospective partnerships. I can’t quite figure out what he stood to gain from such a thing, though... I imagine you’ve all heard the same from your own subjects, correct? What are your thoughts?” she finished, her tone delicate.
Marquess Serenade’s region was in the northern part of the kingdom, sharing a vast stretch of border with the Rosamour Empire. Though relations between the two nations were tense at the moment, her husband, who held a prominent position in the Fourth Legion, had been permitted to safeguard their lands in her absence so that the Marquess could travel to the capital. Despite the name, the social season was not merely a time for tea parties and gossip. It was an opportunity to share critical intelligence, make trade deals, and discuss other matters of domestic importance.
No one answered her question, however. No one could. Whatever Allen Rovene’s true intentions had been, he’d hidden them well. It almost seemed as though he had been merely a curious boy begging for titillating gossip at a sleepover with friends. But after pushing himself beyond his limits for a week straight, there must have been a reason he’d forced himself to stay awake to gather such information. But as to why, exactly... Not one among them had figured it out.
Of course, there was nothing to figure out, but they didn’t know that.
“Ah, yes... Vesta did mention that when he and Rovene spent a night talking by the fireside, Rovene did question him concerning his engagement. The Rovene boy has quite a mind for politics, it would seem. In exchange for his openness, Rovene shared some truly fascinating intelligence of his own exclusively with Vesta,” Romario Dialemack said, fixing his gaze firmly upon Marquess Dosuperior.
The intelligence he referred to, of course, concerned Allen’s mother, Cecilia, and her alleged Dosuperior origins. Naturally, Vesta would have preferred to keep Allen’s secret to himself (or even more preferably, to not have heard it in the first place) but given his position, such secrecy was sadly impossible. If Cecilia’s supposed family history came to light by other means and it became known that Vesta had held on to such crucial information, the punishment would be too great to bear. The breakfast gathering presented Marquess Dialemack with a perfect opportunity to test the legitimacy—and therefore, the value—of what was truly an unbelievable tale. If by some miracle the information did have value, so would Vesta, as the only person Allen had told.
However, Romario suspected there was a very good chance the tale was false. After all, the information Allen had demanded in return was merely the identity of Vesta’s betrothed. The boy’s engagement to Canon Cainridge was no great secret; in fact, it wasn’t a secret at all. Any student from the Dialemack Region could have told Rovene of Canon’s identity. Obviously, it wasn’t the sort of information one would demand in exchange for such a monumental secret.
Marquess Dialemack didn’t blink as he stared at Randy von Dosuperior, watching for the slightest twitch of his jaw or flicker in his eyes that would indicate he understood Romario’s meaning. Naturally, none among those present were so ignorant as to fail to notice Romario’s penetrating gaze, even if they didn’t understand the context behind it. The atmosphere in the room grew heavy.
Randy, who until that point had been observing the proceedings with a thin, almost emotionless smile, returned Romario’s gaze with a serious one of his own—and then, the corners of his mouth curved upward. “I must say, I was surprised to hear Allen regards Vesta highly enough to declare him... ‘The Bulwark of Class 1-A,’ was it? It’s been nearly twenty-two hundred years since this kingdom was founded, and we Dosuperiors have proudly held the title of Yugria’s Shield for all that time. He’s caught my interest. In fact, I’d quite like to have a nice long chat with the Stocklode boy.”
The other marquesses—including Romario himself—somehow managed to keep their expressions neutral upon hearing Randy’s answer, but on the inside, each and every one of them was utterly bewildered. Randy von Dosuperior, captain of the Royal Guard and current head of a family well-known for their distaste toward the Royal Academy, had referred to Allen Rovene as simply Allen, as though the two were old friends or at the very least acquaintances. No one could even begin to guess at how such a relationship would have started, but the sheer familiarity with which he’d spoken Allen’s name had sent them all reeling.
Randy’s undisguised interest in meeting Vesta had also forced all present to adjust their evaluations of the young Stocklode heir, much to Romario’s delight. Upon realizing that Randy’s answer had been possibly the most beneficial one he could have received, Marquess Dialemack’s inward shock turned to joy as he smiled politely. “I’ll see to it that a meeting is arranged,” he replied, fighting to suppress the urge to laugh. Romario’s gamble had been a dangerous one, but it would seem he’d hit the jackpot. Based on Randy’s reaction, the information Vesta had shared with him was, unbelievably, correct—and if that was the case, Allen Rovene’s self-reported meeting with the king was likely just as true. Romario now had some very valuable cards up his sleeve.
It was then that Marquess Glaux first spoke, recognizing the advantage of playing a card of his own—information which had taken him significant effort to acquire—lest Romario get too confident. “My sources discovered Allen Rovene has apparently met with His Majesty the King once—an unofficial audience, of course—to directly request His Majesty’s support for the Sailing Club he started with Count Sardos’s son Daniel. The Rovene boy and Daniel are close friends, you see. Indeed, Rovene even made the long journey to Sardos County during the summer break so the two could practice sailing together. Furthermore...” Marquess Glaux paused for a moment. “My sources believe you were also present at that meeting, Randy. Is it true? What in the world did Allen Rovene say, for His Majesty to give his approval to a club devoted to something as outdated as sailing?”
Silence fell over the room once more, but one could almost hear the cracks forming in the icy tension. The marquesses wore their smiles like painted masks, their expressions frozen and eerie. Out of all the incomprehensible things Allen Rovene had done, forming the Royal Academy’s Sailing Club was perhaps the most perplexing of all. No one could even begin to guess at the club’s true purpose, nor why Rovene and the Sardos boy saw fit to put so much effort into it. They all knew the club used the Royal Academy’s naval docks, but they’d assumed Godolphen or one of the other teachers had somehow obtained the necessary permission. But for the king himself to have approved such an absurd request... Frankly, it changed everything. Allen Rovene had to have some secret goal in mind—a goal the king had clearly seen merit in supporting.
In reality, of course, Allen had merely kept the king’s support a secret to avoid the annoying interrogations that would surely follow if others learned of his encounter with His Majesty.
Seemingly unruffled by the piercing stares directed his way, Randy eventually broke the silence with a sigh. “The audience you speak of was held in strict secrecy at the Royal Guard Garrison, but you’ve clearly heard enough already to make any continued attempts to hide it meaningless. The meeting itself was a lighthearted one. His Majesty the King saw Allen’s performance at the Nova Cup, and as we all know, the king has something of a fondness for meeting new and interesting people. After exchanging a few pleasantries, His Majesty offered Allen a reward for his efforts during the Cup. Allen requested permission for the Sailing Club to utilize the naval docks and the restricted section of the River Rune as his reward.”
Still utterly lost as to why Allen was so fixated on the idea of sailing in the first place, the other marquesses remained silent, eagerly—but not openly—hoping Randy would continue.
“Obviously, His Majesty had the same question I imagine you all do—why start a Sailing Club in this day and age? Allen’s answer was simple. ‘Because I want to, Your Majesty. It’s fun,’ he said. There wasn’t a hint of deception in those words, nor in the way he smiled. His Majesty was just as surprised as I was, if you can imagine it. He laughed quite openly about it afterward.”
Their collective masks slipped in unison. For a moment, the marquesses merely gaped at Randy—and then, they burst into laughter.
“Because it’s fun?! Ha! The nerve of him!”
“To speak so brazenly in front of His Majesty himself... I can see why my Jewel’s got her eye on him! Oh, dear me...”
“And the king was laughing too, you say? Ha ha ha!”
“I’m surprised you didn’t know of this, Glaux! Perhaps the Sardos boy isn’t as close to Allen Rovene as he’d have you believe?”
“Oh, don’t start causing trouble, Vulcandor. After all, the boy went to all the trouble of making the journey to Sardos County specifically to visit Daniel, no? They’re clearly very close friends, just as Glaux told us! Ha!”
Marquess Glaux nodded. “Indeed, indeed... He simply must have forgotten to mention it,” he replied, smiling awkwardly as he scratched his neck. Out of sight beneath the table, his other hand was clenched so tightly it had drawn blood.