Previously
Declan returns to his capital residence, feeling a profound sense of loss as he remembers the family and life he once had there. The next day, he meets with Joseph at the Imperial Palace, reporting on the dire conditions in Lopawell and Sienna's poor health.
How to Say Goodbye to You Completely - Episode 22
Declan set down his teacup without making a sound.
“Give me the details of the person you seek, and I will inform Count Monches.”
“No, you must tell no one else.”
The Emperor spoke firmly.
“Surely you are familiar with how an emperor's will is drawn up, Duke?”
Faced with the unexpected question, Declan recited what every noble took for granted.
“I believe that after the Emperor drafts the original, a copy is made to prevent forgery.”
“And it is customary to entrust that copy to a single witness personally appointed by the Emperor.”
The Emperor fell silent for a moment.
“By right, the proper order of things is for that witness to read the will aloud and for the remaining nobility to certify its contents. Yet after the late Emperor passed, the witness never stepped forward. Out of necessity, we put forward a baron as legal proxy, but the thought of the late Emperor's personal letter still lingering in the hands of an unknown stranger leaves a foul taste in my mouth.”
More than a year had passed since the late Emperor's death, and the division of the estate was already settled. What reason could there be to track down the witness now?
Regrettably, no matter which angle he considered, the conclusions pointed solely toward treasonous intent.
Yet whatever the Emperor's designs were, it was none of Declan's concern. He had only to carry out his duties; any thoughts beyond that were entirely superfluous.
Sweeping away the doubts rising in his mind, Declan inquired in a level tone.
“What do you intend to do once the witness is found?”
“Leaving no future trouble behind would be preferable, would it not?”
The Emperor said, the easy smile returning to his lips.
“All you need to do is deliver the will safely into my hands.”
The smooth phrasing was, in essence, indistinguishable from ordering an assassination.
The Emperor seemed well aware that his actions were hardly aboveboard, seeing as he took pains to insist the count, widely known as the Grand Duke's closest aide, be kept entirely in the dark.
A succession of thoughts followed in rapid order, but the answer that would leave Declan's mouth was already decided.
“I shall carry out your orders, Your Majesty.”
Only then did a look of satisfaction settle across the Emperor's face.
The time that followed was spent discussing peripheral matters, revolving mostly around the shifting continental landscape brought on by the war.
Declan played along tolerably well with the Emperor, who continued to speak with considerable fervor. Though the fatigue of the long journey still weighed on him, humoring the sovereign was hardly a difficult task.
At the very least, this emperor was far simpler than his deceased father. Being younger than the ever-severe late Emperor, he possessed obvious vulnerabilities.
“My word. Here I am, keeping a man who only just returned yesterday.”
Only when the dusk settled did the Emperor let Declan go, accompanied by a belated show of self-reproach. Even as Declan rose from his seat, the Emperor repeatedly reminded him to attend the upcoming council.
Declan paid his respects without showing the slightest hint of exhaustion, maintaining an upright posture until the office door drew shut.
Only after the massive door closed did a faint, soundless sigh escape his lips—the solitary moment his fatigue showed on the surface.
* * *
Leaning against his desk, the Emperor looked up at the massive portrait hanging on the wall. The bright smile he had worn while sitting across from the Grand Duke only moments ago had vanished, replaced by an expressionless mask.
Though painted some twenty years ago, the face was hardly unfamiliar. Every morning when he looked into the mirror, he was met with that very same countenance.
The period when this portrait was painted, right after ascending the imperial throne, had without doubt been the happiest time of the man's life. It seemed to have been right around the time he turned his back on his wife and children to finally claim the woman he had desired so desperately.
An emperor who had married his dead brother's betrothed. Truly, a sordid and revolting tale.
As he smoked his cigar with furrowed brows, his gaze fixed on the portrait, someone pushed open the door and stepped into the office. Only one person entered the Emperor's sanctuary—a place not even the Empress could enter uninvited—as though strolling through her own home.
The Emperor did not even bother checking who it was.
“You're here?”
“I heard the Grand Duke was here. I suppose I should have come a bit sooner.”
Marianne approached his side, her face laden with discontent. The Emperor chuckled idly and stepped aside to make room for her.
“He will be staying in the capital for a while anyway, so there will be plenty of chances to see him.”
Standing right beside him, Marianne cast a fleeting glance toward where the Emperor's gaze had been resting, then spoke in a puzzled tone.
“How unusual of you. You always kept it covered with a cloth.”
Her voice bore not a single trace of longing for her dead father. Standing beside her brother, Marianne stared with utter apathy at the painting of the man whose face matched her brother's so completely.
Joseph turned slightly and stubbed out the cigar butt in an ashtray.
“Word is the Princess's health is poor.”
“Well, that is welcome news.”
“It would be better if she simply dropped dead.”
Marianne murmured under her breath.
“We cannot leave her there indefinitely. Letting her die like that would be a waste of the blood the wench carries.”
It was true. Having inherited both imperial blood and that of one of the continent's most exalted high-ranking noble houses, her birth had undeniably been noble from the start.
“Even so, she's merely the scion of a ruined house.”
“The Ducal House of Licata may have been destroyed, but the power behind its name still endures, does it not?”
The Emperor spoke in a gentle tone, as though coaxing a child.
“Did you know that the Queen of Parma passed away last year?”
Marianne turned to him, looking perplexed.
Parma was a kingdom bordering the western edge of the empire. Though its territory was less than half the size of the empire's, its remarkable diplomatic prowess had made it one of the few realms to firmly preserve its royal name to this day.
Yet what did that country have to do with the Ducal House of Licata? The thread of the conversation was impossible to grasp.
“I am considering sending her to fill that position.”
Marianne frowned without realizing it.
“Her? As the Queen of Parma?”
Parma itself offered no reason for aversion. Forging proper ties with it promised nothing but profit, far from a losing bargain.
Granted, measured against Sienna's lineage, it was a somewhat paltry match, but such details were hardly Marianne's concern.
The trouble was that the King of Parma was an old man well past seventy. What was more, rumors that he had lost his mind were rampant across the entire continent.
The Emperor nodded as if understanding her reaction.
“I can hardly send you, can I?”
At those words alone, the color drained from Marianne's face.
“Dahlia is still young. What is more, the Duke of Lowell is so overprotective of his only niece that he didn't even budge when I subtly suggested finding a match now that she has reached adulthood.”
The Emperor clicked his tongue, a look of exasperation on his face.
“Yet the Duke must know he cannot shield her forever. Even if she remains unacknowledged, everyone knows she is the late Emperor's daughter.”
“True enough.”
“Did you speak with him while he was staying at the imperial palace?”
After stepping down from politics, the Duke of Lowell had been living with Dahlia in a coastal city far from the capital.
Having recently been invited to the palace by the Emperor himself on the occasion of Dahlia's birthday, he was staying in the capital for a rare visit, yet whenever the subject of Dahlia's marriage arose, he made a habit of deftly changing the topic.
The Emperor shook his head.
“Rather than needlessly upsetting the Duke, it is better to send Sienna.”
Though the Duke of Lowell had stepped back from the forefront, the reverence he commanded from the empire's citizens remained unchanged from his days in service.
Part of it was the influence of a lineage renowned for generations of brilliant tacticians, but the Duke himself was also an outstanding administrator who had maintained internal order, preventing rebellion while the empire was fiercely bent on territorial expansion.
Furthermore, as the only house to retain its ducal rank after the fall of the Ducal House of Licata, its influence was formidable.
At present, there was no need to make an enemy of the Lowell Duchy simply to make use of a half-sister. Above all, an incomparably better piece remained on the board.
“She has no maternal family to protect her. The only thing she possesses is a pretty face, so finding an advantageous match is the best outcome for her as well. Furthermore—”
The Emperor tore his eyes from the painting and lifted the glass of tequila from the desk.
“The farther she is from the capital, the better it is for us.”
Marianne nodded in silence, though an uneasy look lingered in her eyes. As if to soothe her anxiety, the Emperor offered a tender smile.
“I have ordered the Grand Duke to locate the notary for the late Emperor's will, so he will find him before long.”
“The Grand Duke?”
Marianne asked in feigned surprise.
“Did he accept?”
The Emperor gave a silent nod.
Then, as now, the nobles looked down on the Emperor, Joseph, for lacking a legitimate royal pedigree. And after his ascension, it was equally true that his authority fell short of his father's.
His mother's family were mere provincial counts, doing little to bolster his authority, and while he had cemented his footing by marrying a foreign princess, the situation was hardly secure.
It was a precarious position. That was why the Emperor had genuinely awaited the Grand Duke's return.
Even before Joseph's position as successor had been solidified, when other nobles were busy reading the room between Sienna and himself, the Grand Duke of Monferrato had never made a rash move. Rather than showing interest in the succession, he had devoted himself solely to his duties as a soldier.
And Joseph was rather fond of Declan, who remained steadfast in his station while everything around him shifted from moment to moment.
Even after Joseph ascended the throne, the Grand Duke's demeanor never wavered. Though the Grand Ducal House had long possessed enough power to threaten an emperor, Declan, unlike his predecessors, kept firmly to his place.
Yet for some reason, Declan never felt like one of his own men. If anything, he inspired an inexplicable unease and distance.
“What do you plan to do once he finds him?”
Still, it was not as though there was no way to bridge that mysterious distance. The Emperor's gaze shifted slowly toward Marianne.
His sister, who took far more after their sickly birth mother than the late Emperor, possessed an appearance as fresh and magnificent as a May rose. As the Emperor's only full sibling, endowed with striking beauty, no man would ever refuse her.
The lips that had been held tightly without emotion curved into a smooth arch.
“The very things you are imagining will come to pass.”