Interlude 1: The Duke of Hillrose
On a certain day in a certain parlor in the Royal Capital, a few dozen men gathered. They were all aristocrats of the duke’s faction, otherwise known as radicals. Safe in the knowledge that the parlor was soundproofed, and that none of their voices would leak out, they were discussing how they could make the second prince, Edwin, succeed the throne.
“The second prince still claims to have no interest in the throne,” one of them muttered.
Another scoffed. “That can’t be true! How could one not want the highest position of power in the kingdom?”
“He must be cautious of those in the king’s faction...” a third mused.
“Them, and most likely the king himself too. It appears he still intends to have the first prince be his heir.”
These men, who all chased after power to no end, seemed truly unable to fathom that Prince Edwin truly had no interest in claiming the throne—they were sure that the only reason that he didn’t participate in their gatherings was because he was wary of his political opponents. They could understand that reasoning, as even they, who claimed to be a part of the second prince’s faction, would answer “No,” without flinching if they were asked if their loyalty lay with Prince Edwin.
As their talk continued, their discussion shifted to how they could benefit from the plan themselves.
“If we assume control of the kingdom, we can sweep out those in our way,” one of the men said with a grin.
“Indeed,” another agreed. “Maybe we should go ahead and decide which of us get to become ministers?”
“You must be eyeing the minister of finance position,” a third man commented.
The second man leaned back in his chair, laughing. “Oh no, a greenhorn like me wouldn’t dare to become a minister... Though, I do have various things I’d like the new minister of finance to look past.”
The third man grew thoughtful. “Personally, I think I’d like a military position.”
“Well! If you were to become a general, uniting the continent might just be in our reach! Please do consider purchasing military provisions from my domain.”
The men grinned at each other, their smiles turned repulsive with greed. It was clear their imaginations were full of a glorious future where their names went down in history, one where they were cozy with the central members of the kingdom and could do whatever they pleased, could exercise as much authority as they desired. Some were even enveloped in visions of themselves as commanders of a massive army, built by the Kingdom of Valschein.
Spurred by the cheerful mood, the men brought out alcohol, ignoring the fact that it was in the middle of the day. One provincial aristocrat went around and served the others—he hadn’t been back to his domain in years, and had left its management entirely in the hands of a deputy.
“Here you go, please drink up,” he said cheerfully. “This wonderful bottle just came in.”
One of the men accepted a glass with a nod of thanks. “How thoughtful of you!” he said appreciatively. “But, going back to our last topic, what sort of position do you want?”
“Well... I would like to move my domain a bit closer to the Royal Capital, if possible...” the provincial aristocrat said, voice thoughtful.
The other man’s brow scrunched together in confusion. “Hmm? But you wouldn’t return to it regardless of its proximity, would you? Why not just increase the size of your domain?”
“Ah,” the man replied. “I could do that, you’re right. My domain is quite small, so I’ve been struggling to get a large enough sum out of it as far as revenue. It’s put me in quite the pickle. Maybe I should raise taxes again...?”
“Are you sure about that? I believe I remember you talking about raising them just a short time ago. You should be careful that a rebellion doesn’t break out.”
The provincial aristocrat waved the other man off. “Ha ha, all I have to do is make an example out of a village or two. Once I make it clear I’m willing to destroy their homes, they’ll fall into line quickly enough.”
Not a single one of the other men reacted to the provincial aristocrat’s statement. They accepted his view of his domain, as a place which existed purely to generate him revenue, without a second thought. And so, they continued making merry as the man gulped down a mouthful of the wine he’d brought—a wine that had been bought with the blood of his citizens.
The topic of their discussion changed once again, this time to the daughter of the man who led their faction, the duke of Hillrose.
“So, is it true that Lady Eleanora isn’t visiting the prince?”
“Yes,” a second man said. “I heard it from my daughter, so there’s no doubt about it.”
“Hm, well a girl like her with a few missing screws should just do as we say,” another man said, distaste in his voice.
“According to my daughter, she’s changed since meeting the Dolkness girl at the Academy,” the second man said with a shrug.
Thinking of the disobedient black-haired girl, the men in the parlor were filled with frustration.
Yumiella’s father, the previous count of Dolkness, had often joined their gatherings, but as he was just another provincial aristocrat with no official position in the Royal Capital, he hadn’t been in very good standing with the rest of the group. That was, until his daughter, Yumiella, was revealed to have a rare level of strength. After that, the men who had once looked down on the count had begun to fervently court his favor, imploring him to marry his daughter into one of their families.
But Yumiella had ended up eschewing her parent’s influence, and had gotten friendly with the king instead. The count’s status had plummeted once again, and as rumors spread that Yumiella would join the king in a war, his influence had decreased even more. With his back against a wall, he’d attempted to assassinate his own daughter, only to fail and lose his title.
“Damn that girl and her black hair,” one of the men spat. “That thing is on par with monsters.”
A second man’s lips curled. “I agree, she’s completely sinister. I’ve heard she graduated from the Academy, but I’m not sure what she’s been up to since then.”
“Well... She’s apparently returning to the countryside to work as a county owner.”
The first man blinked. “Just what is she thinking? Did she get on the king’s bad side or something?”
The men of the radicalist faction viewed the Royal Capital as supreme, and thought of nothing as more prestigious than working in an official position in the kingdom’s central government—they couldn’t even imagine that someone would choose to move to the countryside. Immediately, they decided to accelerate their plans, fueled by the thought that Yumiella had fallen from the king’s graces. Granted, their plans only truly existed in their imagination.
“This would be a good opportunity to draw her to our side, wouldn’t it?” one of the men said excitedly.
“It absolutely would,” another agreed. “It was only due to the king’s protection that she didn’t want to join us until now.”
A third man chuckled. “I imagine those in the king’s faction will be absolutely horrified if we invite her to join us.”
“What shall we bait her with though? Money? Status? Honor?”
The radical aristocrats’ discussion grew heated in a way it rarely did in their other sessions. As they all began stating their opinions and arguing with one another in the middle of the room, a lone voice called out from outside the circle, sending them all into silence.
“I shall take care of Yumiella,” the voice had said.
The men in the center of the room whipped around, their eyes darting to a corner which should have been unoccupied, but very much was not. The owner of the voice stood there, watching them all—it was their leader, said to be the most powerful man beyond the royal family itself: Duke Hillrose.
“I’ve been listening to your conversations for a little while,” the duke commented idly. “Sounds like you’re having fun.”
The men all went pale at the sight of their faction leader. They were all forcefully reminded of how badly they’d talked of his daughter, Eleanora, just a few minutes earlier.
“Wh-Why, hello, sir,” one of the men stammered. “Why didn’t you say something if you were here?”
“Come on, pour him a drink!” another man ordered. “You join us so rarely, sir, that I’d say this warrants a celebration.”
“There’s no need to panic,” the duke said, his true intentions hidden behind a plastered-on smile. “I’m not angered at all.”
And indeed, he truly didn’t seem to care about the rude comments the men had toward his own flesh and blood. Once they realized his apathy, the men let out a collective sigh of relief.
The duke’s eyes danced over the members of his faction, a wicked grin suddenly warping his lips. “As I was saying,” he continued, “leave Yumiella Dolkness to me.”
The men let out a cheer.
“The time for the duke to take action has arrived!”
“Finally, us members of your faction can feel secure!”
The duke watched the men as they courted his favor, his mind lingering over the plan he’d been preparing to execute ever since he was a student. He was determined to use whatever he could to realize it, and destroy anything that he found in his way—whether his obstacle was the aristocrats right in front of him, the royal family, or even Yumiella Dolkness.
Looking over the room once more, almost as if he was sizing up his men, the duke mumbled, “Looks like the time’s finally come.”
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