For better or worse, it looks as though I’m about to experience yet another thing in this other world of Santeneri that I never experienced in Japan.
I died unmarried.
So I have never been married.
Here, though, no matter how much I struggle, I am going to be expected to marry.
Because marriage is politics in its purest form.
Marriage itself is fine.
I have no firsthand experience, so this is nothing more than fantasy, but if things go well, I imagine it could make you happy.
It is everything attached to marriage that is probably going to drain the life out of me.
The wedding is still a year away and I’m already exhausted.
The mother-in-law problem.
I mentioned before that I inherited my family’s landscaping company in Japan.
Originally, it had been a small neighborhood gardening shop founded by my grandfather.
It grew and grew.
My father continued expanding it, and eventually the baton was passed to me.
I was the third generation.
Which means my mother was the wife of the second generation.
And my mother and grandmother were never exactly on friendly terms.
You know, founders and their wives tend to have this particular kind of resolve about them.
Bold, perhaps.
Forceful.
My grandmother was exactly like that.
Maybe saying this would count as discriminatory nowadays, but words like mannish or formidable woman suited her perfectly.
Then there was her son—my father.
An intellectual.
Founders who possess business instincts and nerve but lack formal education often make sure their children get one.
My father graduated from a fairly prestigious university in Tokyo, where he fell in love with a refined city girl.
That refined city girl was also an intellectual.
Her personality was logical to the point of being argumentative—the exact opposite of my grandmother’s bold temperament.
Of course they clashed.
Maybe that was why my parents never pressured me to bring home a wife.
My employees brought it up every now and then, but I never experienced any strong hints from my parents themselves.
Either way, it isn’t a particularly cheerful story.
And strangely enough, I have another mother now.
Well, not I, exactly.
Grois does.
In other words, my father Grois XII’s principal queen and the current Queen Mother.
Marianne en Leroy.
She is in her mid-forties.
A slightly plump beauty with blond hair like mine.
The fact that I can look at someone who is technically my mother and think of her in those terms might itself be evidence that I somehow moved into Grois’s brain—or that I’m some independently generated second personality.
She has a relaxed, gentle air about her.
I certainly don’t dislike her.
The young Grois probably loved his mother too.
And now that government affairs have finally settled down somewhat, I went to have tea in the Queen Mother’s rooms for the first time in a while.
◆
“Your Majesty, are you getting enough rest? That is what worries your mother more than anything.”
“Rest? Every day feels rather like a day off to me. There is no need to worry.”
Mother Marianne peered into my face with genuinely anxious eyes.
It made me feel strangely at ease.
There was none of the observer’s awareness that my health was a matter of state.
She was simply worried about her son’s body.
“I prayed properly for you again today. I prayed that Your Majesty might remain in good health for many years to come.”
She spoke gently as she gazed at my hands, now free of bandages.
“I am grateful. If it is Mother’s prayer, surely God will hear it. I am truly fortunate.”
Mother Marianne is a devout adherent of the Orthodox Faith.
Very religious.
In modern Japan, describing someone that way could invite all sorts of misunderstandings, but here in Santeneri it is perfectly ordinary.
Mother Marianne’s maiden name was Orlio.
She was born the second daughter of House Orlio and, upon reaching adulthood, married Grois XII—my father, then Crown Prince—as his principal queen.
House Orlio possesses territory in southeastern Santeneri.
It is a minor lordly house.
Compared with House Aquiane or House Gaillure—or even House Barois of the Royal Guard—it is tiny, with almost no political presence.
However, it is the most prestigious of all the cadet branches of House Leroy.
And so it retains ducal rank.
This is another long story, but southern Santeneri used to be a chaotic region packed with small lordships.
That famous Great King Grois VII absorbed them through one means or another and consolidated the area into a single territory.
Then he granted part of it to the third son born of his principal queen, thereby founding House Orlio.
Unfortunately, succession did not go particularly well for the house, and it became extinct several times.
Each time, the king sent one of his own sons into the family to preserve the house name.
In exchange, the Crown carved pieces off its territory and absorbed them into the Leroy domain.
The end result is a bizarre ducal house whose rank towers over most others even though its “territory” now consists of a single town.
In other words:
The Royal House of Leroy’s spare.
Fortunately, the main line never died out, so we never ended up with an Orlio dynasty.
Instead, House Orlio has frequently supplied the king’s principal queen.
I mentioned before that Santeneri has rather exclusionary tendencies, didn’t I?
The Royal House of Leroy generally does not like marrying into foreign royal families.
At least, the main line almost never does.
It marries domestic nobles.
And once you ask which nobles, the list of suitable candidates is surprisingly short.
There have been marriages with Gaillure and Aquiane, and with Delroise as well.
But having a powerful natal family can be troublesome.
Its very existence naturally creates considerable political influence.
If the king himself is strong, that is not necessarily a problem.
But if he is a little… less impressive, he can easily become overly dependent on his principal queen’s family.
Assuming the marriage is a happy one, of course.
That is where House Orlio is ideal.
Its rank is beyond reproach.
Its actual power is almost nonexistent.
As the natal house of a principal queen, it occupies an almost perfect position.
“Just the other day I went to the sanctuary at Iren and prayed for Your Majesty. The Grand Prelate was lamenting that you have not visited recently.”
Mother Marianne said it with a soft little laugh.
That is one of the things I like about her.
She does not glare at me with bloodshot eyes and demand, Why have you not gone to the sanctuary?!
She really is a daughter of Orlio.
She does not interfere in politics, but she understands the situation to some extent.
She probably grasps how delicate my position is.
This woman is truly a professional principal queen.
A professional queen.
The largest religious power on the Central Continent is the Orthodox Faith.
Its central seat lies on the Remul Peninsula, and beneath it stretches a network of churches covering the entire Central Continent.
Santeneri has plenty of churches too.
Naturally.
Our country’s formal name is, after all, The Sole Kingdom on Earth, Protector of the Orthodox Faith.
And the largest diocese in Santeneri is the Iren Santeneri Diocese of the Kingdom’s Isle.
Usually shortened to the Iren Diocese.
The name probably comes from the old honorific title for the lands of House Leroy: “Iren Santeneri, the Kingdom’s Isle.”
Though perhaps it was the other way around.
The Orthodox organization is far older than House Leroy, after all.
By custom, the seat at the head of the Iren Diocese, right beneath the Royal House itself, is occupied by a Grand Prelate.
The Grand Prelate is only one rank below the hierarch who governs the entire Orthodox Church.
In other words, almost the very top of the religious world.
The idea of a powerful religious figure instinctively makes me tense, but really, he is simply a seasoned politician.
You do not rise to the top of a gigantic organization like the Orthodox Church without political skill.
That does not mean I am calling the current Grand Prelate some worldly, corrupt priest.
He has studied doctrine properly, and he is skilled at preaching.
He has a good sense of balance between religion and politics.
“I owe the Grand Prelate an apology. We have had one troublesome matter after another recently.”
“I explained that to him myself. Including the fact that Your Majesty suffered an injury, making casual royal visits difficult.”
Mother Marianne knows what actually happened.
And she knows how we dealt with it.
Hence:
Injury.
“Everyone is making too much of it. I merely cut myself slightly with a little knife.”
I reinforced the story once again.
“It is not too much. Everyone—including your mother—is sincerely concerned for Your Majesty.”
Mother Marianne spoke as though gently scolding a small child.
Her usually soft mouth pushed forward just slightly.
Apparently she wanted to make it clear that she meant every word.
So I lowered my head a little and put on an appropriately chastened expression.
Apparently satisfied, she continued.
“Speaking of cuts, the Grand Prelate did have a request for a charitable contribution.”
“Mother… as you know, that is rather difficult in our current circumstances. Pathetic though it is, whether asleep or awake, all that dances through Grois’s head these days is red numbers.”
“Of course I know. Please do not worry. I made no strange promises.—But as a believer, it pains my heart very much.”
This mother is unbelievably good at looking sad.
It instantly makes you feel violently guilty.
“Is the situation truly so dire?”
“Yes. The sanctuary annexes are overflowing with the maimed. There have been so many wars.”
“Wounded soldiers… Yes. That must indeed be a tremendous burden.”
War produces enormous numbers of wounded.
If all you suffer is a deep cut somewhere on your body, you are still among the fortunate ones.
In worse cases, people lose limbs.
Their eyes are destroyed.
Their ears are ruined.
They suffer irreversible disabilities and cannot return to ordinary society.
For thousands of years, the Orthodox Church has provided relief to those victims of humanity’s so-called “necessary evil.”
Caring for wounded soldiers is one of the Church’s principal activities, alongside spreading the faith.
“The Grand Prelate and the other believers of the Orthodox Church do everything they can to treat them and provide food each day. But every facility is full now. He said there is nothing more painful than having to turn away soldiers who arrive seeking God’s salvation.”
This was probably one of the places where Mother and my father, Grois XII, simply did not fit together.
The former king was fundamentally a man of abstractions.
To operate the enormous corporation called the Kingdom of Santeneri, you have to turn people into numbers.
Because he understood how to do that, he was able to wage one war after another without hesitation.
But Mother sees people as people.
She is a genuinely good woman.
Thinking about it this way, the younger version of me really was a hybrid of my father Grois XII and Queen Marianne.
From Father, he inherited the ability to abstract things.
From Mother, he inherited the teachings of the Orthodox Faith.
And perhaps he could never reconcile those two extremes.
On top of that, his paternal ancestors obviously descended from the famous hero Grois VII, and his maternal line traced back to him as well.
And his own name was Grois.
Perhaps he felt the hand of destiny in that.
A yearning for the pure world envisioned by the Orthodox Faith collided inside that young boy’s head with a masculine hunger for the battles of heroes.
And the contradiction grew sharper and sharper.
“I understand. It may not be possible immediately, but I will give the matter some thought.”
“Yes, please do. You have a major event approaching as well, so there must be many demands upon the treasury. Just keep your mother’s words somewhere in the corner of your mind.”
The “major event” Mother Marianne mentioned so casually:
One year until my wedding.
“Oh, that reminds me. I hear Your Majesty has recently become rather close with certain noble young ladies. That is a very good thing. The Scripture itself tells us, after all: ‘Let those who dwell in the mountains remain in the mountains, and those who swim in the sea live in the sea.’”
◆
“And so, when the two of you next have some free time, would you mind visiting the Queen Mother together and relieving her boredom?”
During what had become our regular King’s Personal Attendants tea gathering, I timidly tossed the spark into the powder keg.
This is an exquisitely sensitive subject.
First of all, Mother Marianne does not welcome the idea of taking a principal queen from House Estburg.
She is Santenerian too, after all.
But she understands it.
At the same time, she does not exactly welcome the existence of secondary consorts either.
But this is not the usual “My husband’s mistresses are an eyesore!” sort of situation.
She herself was raised as the daughter of an ancient and prestigious noble house.
The existence of secondary consorts was therefore perfectly normal to her.
Moreover, among all of Grois XII’s many consorts, she was the only one who bore a child.
And that child was a son, so there was no need for any succession struggle.
Her position was unshakable.
As a result, her relationships with the other secondary consorts were never particularly severe.
Mother is not the reason Father’s secondary consorts no longer live at Palais Lumiere.
I am.
Even when I was Crown Prince, I hated the very existence of secondary consorts with a passion, and I made no effort to hide it.
Then, naturally, I became king.
Being personally despised by the new king is about as bad as it gets.
Fortunately, after taking the throne I became obsessed with preparations for war and never actually did anything concrete to persecute them.
Still, the atmosphere inevitably became awkward.
So everyone read the room and voluntarily moved out.
Incidentally, Mother Marianne still associates normally with Father’s former secondary consorts.
Apparently they occasionally get together for tea.
So why do I say she “does not welcome” secondary consorts?
The Orthodox Faith.
Orthodox teaching considers a single man and a single woman joined as a pair to be the highest ideal.
Secondary consorts may be unavoidable, but apparently they carry the sense of being just a little outside the proper path.
“Of course! To be invited to keep Her Highness the Queen Mother company—there could be no greater honor. Braune shall certainly go!”
Braune was impressively enthusiastic.
Ordinarily, you might expect someone to hesitate a little.
Or at least become nervous.
“Thank you, Lady Braune.—What about you, Lady Mary?”
I turned to Mary, who had fallen silent.
“Your Majesty… I would prefer to decline.”
“Why?”
I had a general idea.
I was about to tell her there was nothing to worry about when Braune cut right across me.
“Come with me, Mary.”
“But, Lady Braune, I…”
Mary lowered her head and hesitated.
The contrast with her usual crisp bearing was adorable, but this was hardly the moment to think about that.
Her guilt over failing to protect me as a member of the Royal Guard, allowing me to be injured, was not going to disappear so easily.
I could understand why she might be afraid of how a mother would treat the woman responsible for her son being hurt.
In reality, Mother Marianne does not blame her at all.
For better or worse, Santeneri considers martial matters men’s work.
Under its ordinary values, I should have been the one protecting Mary.
The special concept of “the king’s body” complicates things, of course, but if I had tried to use Mary as a shield back then, Mother Marianne’s anger would have been directed very heavily at me.
If I told Mary that outright, the issue would be resolved immediately.
Unfortunately, Mary has her pride as an officer of the Royal Guard.
If I told her, “You’re a woman, so no one was counting you as part of the fighting strength in the first place,” we might end up with a fatal incident.
“You are His Majesty’s lady-in-waiting, aren’t you, Mary? Let us go together. As ladies-in-waiting.”
Braune edged closer to Mary, who sat a little distance away, until their bodies nearly touched.
“Lady Braune is right. The Queen Mother specifically said she would very much like to meet the two women who serve as my ladies-in-waiting. What do you think, Lady Mary?”
I happily climbed aboard Braune’s exquisitely chosen phrasing.
Brilliant wording.
This kind of delicate consideration is incredibly reassuring to me.
Still, the relationship between these two is strange.
Sometimes the killing intent between them becomes alarmingly high.
And at other times they unite beautifully.
Even now, Braune had no particular need to throw Mary a lifeline.
Yet there she was, sitting close beside her like an older sister comforting a dejected younger one, gently encouraging her.
Braune continued whispering something.
Quietly.
Every now and then, both of them glanced toward me, then lowered their eyes again.
This was not especially comfortable.
I didn’t know what to do with myself.
By the time I had finished the tea left in my cup for lack of anything else to do, the two of them seemed to have reached some kind of understanding.
Mary suddenly raised her head.
Her expression was filled with determination.
“Lady Braune is correct. Our duty as ladies-in-waiting is to assist Your Majesty. The dangers facing Your Majesty are not limited to threats against your body. Driving away Your Majesty’s inner anxieties and guarding your heart are also among our responsibilities. We must certainly ask Her Highness the Queen Mother, renowned as the finest lady in all Santeneri, to instruct us in the proper methods.—I shall accompany you!”
“That is the spirit. We are His Majesty’s attendants, after all. We must fulfill our duties.”
The two of them were practically breathing fire together.
This was the first I had ever heard of Mother Marianne being renowned as the finest lady in Santeneri.
From every angle, she looks like a soft, easygoing middle-aged woman, and she is about as far removed from plots and political intrigue as it is possible to be.
What exactly do they intend to learn from her?
And what, precisely, are my “inner anxieties” supposed to refer to?
I have far too many anxieties to know which one they mean.
So I tried organizing the situation.
Braune and Mary, whatever things might look like on the surface, occupy positions that put them in subtle competition.
They are two women close to the king.
When they are alone together, there are moments when the temperature drops noticeably.
Yet now they are joining forces.
Generally speaking, under what circumstances do people unite like this?
Suddenly, Mother Marianne’s muttered words flashed back through my mind.
“Let those who dwell in the mountains remain in the mountains, and those who swim in the sea live in the sea.”
Basically:
Home is best.
Which means this is starting to look rather like the women of Santeneri banding together against a foreign woman from Estburg.
Probably.
Yeah.
This is absolutely going to become a problem one year from now.