Isabella looked into her mirror. There were some dark circles beneath her eyes. She’d been having difficulty sleeping from the strain in her neck, the thoughts of the present, and the nightmares of days past. She simply didn’t like this place. It made her feel suffocated.

  Today ought to have been a day that she could smile boldly. She was temporarily rid of the advances of Duke Albert. She had something of an ally in Duke Valerio, though his objectives were of yet unknown to her. The happiness was darkened, however, by the fact that she had become the most notorious princess in all of Dovhain. The ambassadorial reception and her engagement thereafter would’ve raised some eyebrows, but never to this extent.

  It would be no exaggeration to say the entire kingdom would take notice of her now.

  “Are you alright, Your Highness?” Alice’s question broke her from her thoughts, the girl’s expression one of utmost worry.

  Everyone kept asking her that. From their perspective, they likely thought she blamed herself for Count Faust’s death. Some of them just wanted her to start talking so that they could have some information, but others were genuinely concerned. She took Alice to be one of the latter.

  “I will be,” Isabella said. It was as much a hope for the future as it was a statement for the present.

  “If… if you and the Duke of the Isles do…” Alice hesitated.

  “Speak freely,” Isabella urged.

  “If you really wed that man, I would… I would come with you,” Alice said. “If you wanted, I mean. To help keep you safe from the pirate.”

  Isabella was tempted to assure, but found herself unwilling to divulge the details behind their arrangement for fear that it would leak. “Much can happen in six months.”

  Alice walked closer, standing politely behind. “I’m scared, Your Highness. Hundreds of people are approaching me, asking me things about you. I don’t know what to say, what to do. People that wouldn’t even look at me twice are trying to invite me for tea, now.”

  Isabella turned from the mirror and looked at Alice. “Would it calm your heart if I called upon another personal attendant?”

  Alice’s face paled, and she lowered her head briefly before raising it back up with fire in her eyes. “I don’t want to stop serving you.”

  Isabella was surprised to hear that. “Why not?”

  “Because one of them might replace me,” Alice said. “And… and Her Highness is very pleasant. To serve, and to look at.”

  Isabella smiled. “You’re very kind, Alice.” She rose to her feet. “Would you like some advice?”

  Alice nodded vigorously. “Please!”

  “Tell them things that everyone knows,” Isabella suggested. “It’ll be enough not to offend them, but they’ll get the message.”

  Alice thought for a moment, then gave a more ponderous nod. “And if I want to help you?”

  “I don’t want you to get involved,” Isabella said.

  “But I want to help you, Your Highness!”

  Isabella closed her eyes. Alice could easily get hurt, just as she had in her last life.

  “Please,” Alice insisted.

  Isabella opened her eyes, and felt her resolve waver before that pleading face.

  “When you give them common information…” Isabella began hesitantly. “They’ll ask for deeper details. Start answering, but hesitate. Cut yourself off. Chances are, they’ll reveal who they’re gathering information on behalf of to encourage you to talk. If you can bring that information to me… it would be helpful.” She pointed at Alice. “But I don’t want you jeopardizing yourself, Alice.”

  Alice beamed. “Leave it to me, Your Highness.”

  Isabella walked over and retrieved a letter, then held it out to Alice.

  “Please deliver this to the majordomo. The recipient is Lady Abigail in the Archduke Felix’s estate,” Isabella instructed.

  Now that she had rid herself of immediate threats, it was time to begin spinning a web of connections. Others would surely be doing just the same, and she needed to be ready to stand tall against them.

  ***

  Prince Claude sat at the head of the table, looking at the various nobles arrayed before him. He was tall and well-built, but unlike most of the pale-skinned and fair-haired royalty of Dovhain, had darker skin and hair common in the peoples of the continent to the south of Dovhain.

  “He killed Faust just for that?” Claude stirred his tea with an expression of concern on his face.

  “Princess Isabella tried to argue for suspension and fines, but…” one of the nobles said, then shook his head. “Edgar called it treason. He cut off the count’s head then and there. He left his body in the throne room for hours before he allowed it to be cleaned.”

  “Do you know if the king was especially close with Isabella, Claude?” another asked.

  Claude shook his head. “I’d never heard her name before today. She was just one of many princesses as far as I was concerned. Do you think she was involved in the decision?”

  The nobles looked between each other, and then shook their heads. “No. She gave a fair ruling, and looked distressed when it wasn’t followed.” The others concurred with his assessment. “If anything, Duke Valerio might’ve been the one to encourage the king, but that’s rumor alone. None of my spies in the royal palace have any indication of the duke visiting the king before today.”

  “But now the duke has an excuse to visit whenever he wants,” another pointed out. “He’s secured an engagement with Princess Isabella. He’ll be a fixture of the royal palace.”

  “Faust was a dear friend.” Claude sighed. “What’s the wider reaction like?”

  “Count Faust had a lot of friends, Your Highness,” one of the nobles said simply. “Those that aren’t here today are banding together tightly, expecting the worst. Given how excessive the punishment was… they’re not planning on a simple protest.”

  One of the more eager nobility leaned into the table. “This is your opportunity, Claude. To seize your birthright.”

  Claude looked into his tea. “Do you know what my father often called me?” He looked up. “The Tribal Prince. He stole my mother away on a military campaign, married her forcibly, and when I was born, disinherited me and executed her for ‘adultery’ because I didn’t share any of his features.” He set his cup down. “He never wanted me as his successor for even a moment. I’m not sure he ever thought I was his son.”

  “Your father’s gone,” one of them pointed out.

  “What he branded me as remains,” Claude countered. “The Tribal Prince. A bastard in all but name.”

  “People could know you as the Savior Prince if you step in,” one of them insisted. “Do you think people will care about your appearance when there’s a tyrant on the throne, executing people arbitrarily?”

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  “Historically it’s been the case,” Claude crossed one leg over another then looked out of the window. “I don’t want to rebel.”

  “How about this, then?” an aged noble who’d been silent thus far leaned in. “You move closer to the capital. You do nothing. If I’m right… the king will soon be challenged. And if I know Edgar II, he’ll react to those challenges with violent oppression. It’s only a matter of time before someone deposes or assassinates him.” The wizened elder pointed. “And that’s when you step in. Not to rebel, but to restore order.”

  Claude looked out of the window thoughtfully. All of his assembled allies waited for his words.

  “I’ll move to my estate just outside the capital,” Claude finally said.

  The nobles breathed a sigh of relief, then expressed gratitude to the prince.

  “Perhaps I can do some good in this life,” Claude mused quietly enough that few heard him.

  ***

  Archduke Felix of Balat sat at the dinner table with his daughter Abigail. She had quite a large portion of food in front of her, but ate at it with the grace that was expected of a noble lady. She was picturesque in his view, with the dark hair and maroon eyes of House Balat. Without a shadow of a doubt, there was no figure more suited to sit beside the king than his daughter. He gave an approving nod, then turned back to his own meal.

  “Since you have difficulties making them, I’ve found you a friend,” Felix said.

  Abigail looked at him. “Thank you, father.”

  Felix tried not to frown at her abrupt, out-of-place response to his declaration. Despite her manners, the girl had no charm. Abigail would stiffly repeat what he’d taught her without timing or finesse. She was awkward beyond belief, like a wooden doll given life without the soul to express emotions. She hadn’t been able to make friends despite her position as the archduke’s daughter—and that said a great deal about her incapability.

  “Princess Isabella has sent you an invitation for a tour of the palace gardens,” Felix continued. “She’s close to the king, as he so aptly demonstrated. You’re going to get close to her, and she’s going to help you.”

  “Yes, father,” Abigail answered. “Thank you, father.”

  Felix stabbed his steak to vent his frustrations, then looked at her. “Pay close attention to the way Isabella acts. By rumor she’s like you: cold, shy. But even despite that, she can hold a conversation. She knows what to say, and can charm a room. She seems to have charmed the king, by my eye.” He tapped his knife against the plate, and it clanked loudly. “Study her, Abigail.”

  Abigail went silent a moment before nodding. “Yes, father.”

  Felix shook his head, taking a long drink.

  ***

  Arthur stood before his master, the Archwizard of Dovhain. Even Arthur didn’t know his name—he was just ‘the Archwizard.’ Though aged, he still commanded a formidable presence merely sitting in the chair behind his desk. He looked up at Arthur, and despite the fact his eyes were clouded and blind, it felt like they saw right through him.

  “Attending the ambassadorial reception was bad enough,” his master said. “But now I hear you’re at the nexus of the execution of a prominent count?”

  Arthur fixed his glasses, then said quietly, “All I did was send a formal complaint to the king.”

  “Why?” the Archwizard asked. “Why should it matter to you if some girl was abused? I don’t care if they beat her to death with napkins in that ambassadorial reception, and you shouldn’t either. Rather, I would expect you to stand by and watch them beat her with a look of disinterest on your face.”

  Arthur closed his eyes and inhaled, taking the words without response.

  “If we present ourselves as a political entity, then we become subject to political meddling,” the Archwizard continued. “You may think that merely because you can command ice and fire that you’re all-powerful, but the fact remains that we can and will be overwhelmed by the royal court if they will it.”

  “I apologize,” Arthur said. “But I secured valuable materials for study. I entered into an agreement with Master Ludovico to trade off our excess supply for theirs. It’s a mutually beneficial arrangement.”

  “Materials,” the Archwizard repeated, then sighed. “That was your trade with the princess? Your support for help securing materials for your studies?”

  “…I agreed to help her with a mana lock,” Arthur eventually admitted. “The complaint was my own initiative. I just didn’t think the king would…”

  The Archwizard laughed, then rose to his feet. “My boy… I’m afraid you’ve been manipulated. I can’t exactly blame you. I’m told she’s pretty and young, both of which are things that might make her appear non-threatening, especially to a man.” He walked around the desk and put his hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “She doesn’t care about the mana lock. She’s using you to advance politically.”

  Arthur looked at his master. “The princess could form a mana lock on her own. She showed it to me. All she wants is aid finishing one in her mind. I can’t go back on my word.”

  The Archwizard pointed. “You went back on your word to me, boy. You said that you wouldn’t get involved in politics, and here you are doing just that.”

  “I gave my word to her,” Arthur insisted.

  “Ask yourself which you value more: your connection with this girl, or your position as my successor.” The Archwizard shook his head. “It’s not happening. If you speak to her again for whatever purpose, I’ll cut you off.”

  Arthur’s vision narrowed in surprise.

  “You’re a promising student, but I can tolerate mediocrity in my successor if it means the preservation of the office’s neutrality,” the Archwizard said flatly. “This misadventure of yours is over.”

  The Archwizard walked out, his blindness impeding none of his ability to navigate. Once he left, Arthur lowered his head. This was the first time that he’d ever been seriously reprimanded, and it made him reflect. His actions had caused the death of one noble, and a significant stir among the others.

  Arthur respected his master a great deal, and so took his words seriously. Had Isabella manipulated him? He tried to think back to all she’d said and done. In his eyes, she came across as straightforward. But perhaps that was all a guise to make the pieces fall where she wanted them to. He honestly didn’t think so—he’d done what he had of his own accord. Lingering in the back of his mind, though….

  I killed that man, not Isabella, he told himself. I don’t want her to think that was on her hands. It was on mine. I’ll wear it gladly.

  If she had been manipulating him, so be it. But if she hadn’t? A man had died, and she might feel responsible. Just after, she’d immediately been forced into an engagement with the Duke of the Isles, a barbaric pirate lord. Would he continue that trend of miseries by severing all ties with her and reneging on his promise to help form her mana lock?

  Or… was he willing to risk his position as heir to the greatest magician in the realm?

  ***

  Knight-Commander Gaspar sat in the cathedral with Archbishop Pius. The man gave him a saintly smile. He had silverish hair like the royal family, but deep white eyes that gave him the impression of being beyond this world, somehow—removed from it.

  “Take your time, Gaspar. Say what you need to,” Pius encouraged.

  Gaspar looked at his hands. He stayed silent for a long while, choosing his words carefully. This had tormented him ever since he’d done it.

  “The king told me to kill a man,” he said. “Count Faust. He… he wasn’t a saint, by any means, but… he had done nothing deserving of death.” He rubbed his hands together, then looked at the archbishop. “I… I haven’t been able to sleep, just thinking about it. The Eternal Word says that no man should carry out an unjust sentence, even at the cost of their life. But I…!” he said, voice breaking.

  “The Eternal Word also says that none must rebel against the divinely anointed rulers of the realm,” Pius continued. “If the gods didn’t want you to carry out that action, they would not have allowed it.”

  “I can’t swallow these contradictions, father.” Gaspar shook his head in stress. “Will I burn in the hells? Is that my fate, to burn? I’m scared. It feels like I’ve been forced to compromise my faith with my position every second of every day since that man ascended to the throne. I’m not…” he hesitated. “I’m not cut out to be the knight-commander.”

  Pius ran his hand over his face, and the smile that he’d been sporting died. He grabbed Gaspar’s shoulder and jerked him around.

  “I’m going to say some things for your benefit,” Pius said. “Faith dies in the royal court.”

  “What?” Gaspar said, aghast.

  “The gods, the hells, notions of sinners and saints—they burst into flame the moments you enter the echelons of power,” Pius continued. “Faith is a political tool. It’s nothing more than that. It’s used to placate the people into thinking there will be some justice in the world in the face of the immense indignities they endure.”

  “Archbishop, what…?” Gaspar’s lips trembled.

  “I was hoping you would’ve learned this lesson by now,” Pius released his shoulder. “But instead you still come crying to me about these things. If you had stood up to the king, you would’ve been just another head rolling on the ground of an unjust world.”

  Archbishop Pius rose to his feet.

  “All that you need to be concerned about is how to strengthen the church’s position,” Pius said. “To intertwine the secular and the theological all the closer. Let this incident serve as a lesson to you.” The archbishop pointed at Gaspar’s face. “The church is only another player in this game. The time for our gambit is long overdue, and you’re going to be at the heart of that. So cease your whining, and remember your duty.”

  The archbishop left, leaving Gaspar alone with what had been said. The man lowered his head into his big hands. The expression on his face was one of profound despair.