Chapter 40
Entering the castle is a ritual.
Names are read aloud, stride lengths are dictated, and countless gazes are directed at us. In the waiting room, we confirmed the angle of our bows and the order of our words, measuring the intervals of silence.
A small council chamber deep within the main tower.
The man who never removes his black leather gloves stood before the King. That man does not embellish his words. Because there is no need to. He is the King’s eyes.
What he saw at the hunting lodge becomes the King’s field of vision exactly as is. Stripping away emotions and speculations, he transports only facts.
The King spoke.
“Report.”
“There was no disorder in his etiquette. He refrained from alcohol, and while sensing the slight, kept his reactions to a minimum.”
The Chancellor asked.
“The informal discussion?”
“Declined. Citing the formal entry into the castle as the reason.”
The Knight Commander laughed low.
“He is young.”
The King interlaced his fingers.
“He shows no openings, then?”
“He does not.”
The black leather creaked slightly.
Those gloves are not meant to avoid touching with bare hands. They are a symbol that the King sees everything, even without touching it directly.
The King’s gaze turned to the First Princess.
“Elysia, what do you think?”
Elysia raised her face.
Her long black hair flowed over her shoulders, faintly gleaming as it caught the light. Her golden eyes, while cold, carried a majesty befitting royal blood.
The Princess answered shortly.
“It is likely just as reported. To understand it was a test and not show emotion…”
“His ambition?”
“He has it. He views the academy as a foothold.”
Silence. Eventually, the King nodded.
“Very well. Then assess him.”
Elysia bowed quietly.
“I have no intention of letting him do as he pleases.”
The grand hall in the afternoon.
The King did not move, the courtiers measured, and the Princess watched.
The King’s gaze was heavy. But there was no reason to avert mine. To look at the King means possessing the resolve to be looked at by the King.
Words of welcome were exchanged, but not a single true intention was dropped.
The audience concluded without delay. The formalities were perfect; true intentions remained silent. The corridor returning to the prepared private room was long, with only footsteps echoing.
—However, I am used to being observed.
Even in a space supposedly freed from gazes, it felt as though the castle itself was observing me.
—But they are not the only ones observing.
I, too, am my father and brother’s eyes and ears. I have come to measure the depths of this country.
I entered the room prepared in advance.
The guest wing of the royal castle. A stone building standing as if snuggling up to the shadow of the main tower. It does not reach the heights where the private rooms of the Royal Family are, but it is closer to the main tower than the guest rooms for feudal lords. The location itself speaks of the treatment.
The door is thick, reinforced with iron bands. Upon entering, there was first an antechamber. A space for chamberlains to wait. Beyond that is the main room.
The stone walls are painted white, and the coldness is softened by carpets. The ceiling is high, with crest carvings on the beams. The windows are long vertically, offering a view of the royal castle’s inner courtyard. It is not completely facing outward. A location easy to monitor and easy to defend.
The bed has a canopy. Deep green cloth hangs down, harmonizing with the colors of the Royal Family. The desk is wide, equipped with a reading stand and a candlestick. Parchment and writing implements were already prepared.
A welcome. At the same time—it is also a place of observation.
In one corner of the wall is a fireplace. The fire is lit, but not strong. It is arranged neither too much nor too little. Rather than warmth, it is function.
Marc closed the door and did a lap around the room.
The clasps on the windows. The back of the fireplace. Behind the bed. The creaking of the floorboards. Whether there are unnatural hollows behind the textiles on the walls. He confirms this in silence.
“Any problems?”
“For now.”
For now, indeed.
Normally, a close aide is not in the same room.
Marc is given the adjacent room. Right next to my room, connected by an inner door. This is courtesy, and at the same time, isolation. Always by my side, yet always separated.
The attendants are in a waiting room further out. The night watch is on a shift system. The soldiers of the royal castle and the attendants of a small country will be standing in the same corridor. It is a check in the form of friendship.
Normally, there are three things to do at this time.
One is adjusting attire.
One is letters. Sending a report of our arrival and the audience to our home country.
And the other one is—organizing information.
I headed to the desk.
Today’s words. The King’s tone of voice. The Crown Prince’s silence. The Military Commander’s reactions. The arrangement of the courtiers. Noting down the details.
Diplomacy is not memory, but records.
Marc stands beside me.
“The Military Commander is leaning toward vigilance.”
“The Financial Officer is calculating, I suppose. Weighing the costs and benefits of the academy.”
“Yes.”
A concise exchange.
Eventually, a chamberlain brought a light dinner. This time it is frugal. Close to the castle’s normal meals. Not a test. It is the everyday routine.
Night approaches. Footsteps in the corridor increase. A banquet is probably starting somewhere else. No invitation comes here. The formalities are over. Next is beneath the surface.
I stand by the window. Soldiers are changing shifts in the inner courtyard. Discipline is well-maintained. Training is also sufficient. Is the Military Commander excellent?
Night. I finish writing a short letter to my home country and seal it.
“Vigilance is maintained. No hostility. However, the assessment continues. The equilibrium is kept.”
Recording only facts.
Marc checks the door one last time.
“I will increase the shifts tonight.”
“I leave it to you.”
I turn down the lights.
Through the canopy, the faint vibrations of the castle transmit. The giant building does not sleep even at night.
This place is not an enemy. But it is not an ally either.
The smell of the stones is the same as the room in the main tower. An arranged space holding no temperature.
In the adjacent room, I heard the sound of Marc removing his sword.
Despite originally being a civil official, he is a man who can also handle a sword. Not an ornament, but one he can actually swing.
Marc is not a man who obeys just because he is ordered. He is a man who understands and acts. That alone is worth the reassurance of a whole castle.
That was the only certain thing.
Tomorrow again, we are the ones doing the testing.
The night quietly deepens.
The first day since entering the castle in the neighboring country ended like this.
