For a noble house to bear the title of Duke, it must meet one of two conditions.
The first is that it was once an independent power comparable to the royal house itself.
The second is that it is closely related to the royal family.
House Gaillure traces its origins to the Duchy of Gaillure, an independent polity that emerged in the latter period of the Tide of Peoples. Its domain occupies the northwesternmost reaches of the Santeneri region. Though it formally swore allegiance to the King of Santeneri, in practice it could only be described as a completely independent state.
Open conflict with the Royal House of Leroy, which had grown stronger through military reforms, began during the Ninth Period—the last age in which knights still won glory on the battlefield.
After suffering defeat in several campaigns, House Gaillure was weakened and gradually ensnared by the Leroy dynasty’s marriage policies. In the end, it lost its independence and became an “official” part of the Kingdom of Santeneri under the Royal House of Leroy.
Because of this history, Gaillure remains famous even within the Kingdom of Santeneri as a region with an unusually strong sense of independence. Its language and culture differ subtly from those of the Royal House of Leroy—in other words, from the Santeneri mainstream.
Yet despite still retaining something of the character of a state within a state, nearly eight hundred years have passed since Gaillure’s integration, and its ties to the Royal House of Leroy have become surprisingly deep. Time and again, princesses of Gaillure have married kings of Leroy, and members of Leroy have married into Gaillure in return. Those connections extend even into the collateral branches of both families. At this point, calling House Gaillure a cadet branch of the Leroy dynasty would hardly be an exaggeration.
In other words, it satisfies both conditions for bearing the ducal title.
In both name and substance, House Gaillure is the greatest noble house in Santeneri.
And yet, despite its stature, House Gaillure holds no office at court.
At first glance, that might seem like neglect. The reality is entirely different.
In the Kingdom of Santeneri, where the royal “household” and the machinery of the state have yet to become fully distinct institutions, holding a court office effectively means being a “retainer” of House Leroy. One need only look at the office of Steward. In theory, it should amount to little more than the “head servant of the household,” yet in Santeneri it is also the title borne by the kingdom’s chancellor.
House Gaillure may be kin to House Leroy, but it is not its retainer.
Accordingly, it holds no official post.
That exquisitely balanced distance has granted the ducal house a freedom unavailable to the royal family’s “retainers.”
Because its lands face the Western Sea, maritime commerce flourished there, and the profits of trade accumulated over generations. That wealth became the capital behind banks and other financial enterprises, and today networks of Gaillure merchants stretch not merely throughout the Kingdom of Santeneri, but across the entire Central Continent.
And naturally, the power standing behind those merchants is House Gaillure.
Even if the royal house were dazzled by that enormous wealth, it could not simply wring it out of the merchants. Doing so would mean picking a fight with House Gaillure itself.
In raw military strength, the Royal House of Leroy held the advantage because it controlled the Army of the Kingdom of Santeneri. But part of the funding required to operate that very army came from Gaillure, and many of its soldiers were natives of the Gaillure region.
On top of that, House Leroy and House Gaillure were fairly close relatives.
House Gaillure had built a secure relationship with the royal family, amassed riches through commerce, and possessed unquestioned power as the foremost of Santeneri’s great lords.
Its blood ties also granted it a place—albeit a low one—in the line of succession.
The current head of the house, Xavier Ene en Gaillure, had therefore watched the existence of the new king, Grois XIII, with a certain sense of alarm.
Youth.
Ambition.
And religious fervor.
Most kings who ascended the throne at a young age possessed two of those three traits, to varying degrees.
The first—youth—was obviously universal among young kings.
The real issue, then, was what happened when that youth was combined with one of the other two.
Youth and ambition.
That combination tended toward territorial expansion.
Youth and religious zeal.
That tended to alter the relationship between the crown and the Orthodox Faith.
From House Gaillure’s perspective, the former was clearly more troublesome: youth and ambition.
Even so, it was still something that could be managed.
Youth came with a lack of worldly experience, but it could also allow for flexible thinking. So long as the Duke of Gaillure did not mishandle his approach, there would still be room for discussion between them.
If discussion was possible, compromise was possible.
The combination of youth and religious devotion was somewhat more troublesome, but it would not affect the Duchy of Gaillure all that severely. At worst, the king might build cathedrals all over the place or issue a few overly zealous prohibitions.
But if all three of those traits appeared together, they became House Gaillure’s nightmare.
Youth deprived a ruler of common sense and experience.
Ambition drove him toward policies that amounted to gambling.
Religious fanaticism made compromise impossible.
And if all of that were ever directed toward Gaillure itself, it could lead to the worst possible outcome: the use of military force.
Xavier had watched the new king, Grois XIII, since his days as Crown Prince.
The warning signs had been obvious.
A prince who idolized an ancestral hero-king and had immersed himself in extreme religious purism.
He had to be brought under control.
◆
Zofi en Gaillure was born the eldest daughter of House Gaillure.
Xavier had not raised her as a sheltered young lady.
He had introduced her to all kinds of people and given her all kinds of experiences. If she eventually married “somewhere,” it would be a problem if she became the sort of woman who simply obeyed everything her husband told her without question.
She needed the intelligence to manage her husband skillfully enough to ensure that he never acted against Gaillure.
Xavier’s educational philosophy had instilled in her an innocent, fearless disposition.
Rather than spend her days deep within a palace chatting with ladies-in-waiting, she traveled with her father and watched him work. Those days nurtured in the young Zofi a deep curiosity about everything unknown to her.
And there was one other thing.
Zofi admired her father from the bottom of her heart.
Her father showed her a world full of color.
Her father protected her from every danger.
Even as a small child, intelligent Zofi understood that it was precisely because Xavier wielded such overwhelming power that she could plunge fearlessly into new worlds.
When she had been very young, she had even thrown tantrums insisting that she wanted to become “Father’s secondary consort,” much to her mother’s distress.
As she grew older, that feeling naturally disappeared as part of the ordinary process of growing up.
But one thing did not disappear.
Her preference for men who possessed the same embracing sense of security as her father.
Zofi was ten when she first met Crown Prince Grois.
Grois was sixteen, and a six-year gap during adolescence was considerably larger than the same difference between adults.
For a girl whose only siblings were two younger brothers, Crown Prince Grois felt like a kind of “older brother.”
Because House Gaillure held no state office, the family had relatively few opportunities to remain in Strois, the royal capital.
Three or four times a year.
There were occasions when they stayed for extended periods, but those were rare.
Ten.
Eleven.
Twelve.
Thirteen.
Over those four years, she did not dislike the “older brother” she got to see a few times each year.
He was a different sort of adult from her father, one who felt closer and more approachable. And compared with her father’s dignity and composure, Grois was young, and his behavior could occasionally even seem rough.
At first, that freshness appealed to her.
Girls matured mentally faster than boys.
Each time they met, Zofi felt that little by little, the distance between herself and her “older brother” was shrinking.
Once she actually spoke to him at length, she discovered that he had a surprisingly childish side.
She had only vaguely sensed it beneath his friendly smile and energetic demeanor.
By fourteen, though, the shape of her future was beginning to come into view.
I might become this man’s wife.
A future that people around her had hinted at since childhood was beginning to feel real.
She might become queen, something every woman in the Kingdom of Santeneri dreamed of.
It was hardly an unpleasant prospect.
Still, there was something just slightly unsatisfying about it.
By then, the differences between Grois and her father had become obvious to her.
The prince lived in a world of ideas.
He made bold declarations, was rigidly puritanical, and constantly put on a show of bravado.
Whether one considered that “cute” or “childish” depended on the person.
In Zofi’s case, it was about half and half.
He had drifted rather far from her personal preferences, but there was little point dwelling on that.
Marriage among nobles was politics.
At fourteen, she was old enough to accept that.
And having accepted it, what she needed to think about was how she would deal with her partner—and how she herself ought to maneuver.
Zofi was the very picture of straightforward cheerfulness, her deep brown hair falling in gentle waves and gathered into an elaborate side braid.
And above all, she remained positive.
She was old enough to know there was no such thing as a perfect life.
◆
When her father told her that the prince had fallen ill and recovered after about a week, his expression remained as calm as ever.
Even so, Zofi somehow sensed the disappointment hidden beneath it.
At fourteen, her father remained someone she admired.
But she had also begun to understand that he did not look at her solely as his daughter.
In her father’s eyes, seventy percent of her was his “beloved only daughter.”
The remaining thirty percent was something hard.
The gaze of a man looking at a useful tool.
She had spent two months preparing to visit the prince after his illness when her father told her,
“This stay in Strois may be somewhat longer than usual.”
Then, after a long absence, she finally met the prince again—the prince who, after ascending the throne, now styled himself Grois XIII.
At first, what filled her heart was a faint sense that something was off.
Then came unmistakable surprise.
◆
“Lady Zofi, how did you find Rue Centre?”
“It was wonderful! There were so many shops we don’t have in Gaillure... I ended up walking around as though I intended to conquer every single shop on the street.”
“I’m glad to hear it. Did you find anything you especially liked?”
“I found a bird necklace made of goldwork and ruby! Father bought it for me. It’s simply adorable! I actually wanted to wear it today as well, but they stopped me because it would be disrespectful when I was meeting Your Majesty...”
House Gaillure, to which Zofi belonged, was one of the wealthiest ducal houses on the Central Continent.
It possessed large quantities of jewelry fit to be called national treasures, lavishly set with the finest gemstones.
To a girl who had grown up surrounded by such pieces, a necklace displayed in an ordinary street shop for commoners—however wealthy those commoners might be—was little more than a toy.
Yet the girl genuinely adored that toy.
Even if it had cost enough money to support an ordinary family for close to ten years.
After all, it was hers alone.
The enormous white gemstone necklace currently hanging around her neck, bright enough to make one feel as though staring directly at it might ruin one’s eyesight, was not truly hers.
Every piece like that belonged to House Gaillure.
“The necklace you’re wearing now is beautiful as well, but I’m sure that bird necklace is something very special too. You chose it yourself, after all. I would very much like to see it. If your family tries to stop you next time, tell them that I have given you permission.”
“Well... um... it isn’t anything so splendid that Your Majesty would...”
The king’s unexpected words left Zofi flustered.
Compared to the heirloom necklaces of House Gaillure, it was nothing remarkable.
What if it disappointed the king?
Or worse, what if he thought less of her taste?
Those anxieties passed through the girl’s mind.
“No, that’s not what I mean. I don’t want to see one of House Gaillure’s treasures. I want to see Lady Zofi’s treasure. I have something like that too. My family owns all sorts of treasures, but no matter how poor this may look beside them, I like it. I think that is what it truly means to like something.”
As Grois XIII spoke, he drew a small pocket watch from his coat and showed it to her.
It was an ordinary gold watch with not a single jewel set into it.
Even Zofi, who had no interest in watches at all, could tell that it was the sort of thing a somewhat prosperous commoner might just barely be able to afford.
The ruler of The Sole Kingdom on Earth, Protector of the Orthodox Faith was saying that he liked it.
He did not care what Zofi might think when she saw his pocket watch.
In other words, he was showing her, This is who I am.
There was confidence in that.
Quiet confidence.
Nothing she had ever sensed from the Grois who used to foam at the mouth shouting things like, “We will destroy Angran!” or “We must march on the Remul Peninsula and correct the teachings of the Orthodox Faith!”
The intelligent girl sensed it unmistakably.
He had shown her nothing more than one tiny watch, and yet the gentleman before her suddenly seemed larger.
Large enough, perhaps, that if she were to throw herself against his chest, he could simply catch her.
“I understand! Your Majesty has restored my confidence. I’ll show you the very special little bird I chose myself!”
He accepts me.
King Grois did not want to see the princess of House Gaillure.
He wanted to see Zofi, one girl in her own right.
It was a fresh sensation unlike anything she had ever experienced before.
“Did you find any other treasures while shopping on Rue Centre?”
Once the king gently asked that question, there was no stopping her.
Speaking a little too quickly for a proper young lady, Zofi launched into the story of everything she had experienced on Rue Centre.
She spread her arms, waved them up and down, and delivered an entire speech with exaggerated gestures.
The king listened with obvious enjoyment.
Only later, while riding home in the carriage after talking to her heart’s content, did something suddenly occur to Zofi.
Grois had been completely different from before.
At previous tea gatherings, he had always done most of the talking, and almost all of it had been martial in nature.
Even if she raised a different subject, he would brush it aside and soon return to “conquest” or “great kings” or something of the sort.
Today, though, Grois had barely done anything but respond to her.
Yet she did not feel that he had been merely humoring her.
The king had genuinely enjoyed listening to Zofi talk and watching the way she behaved.
He offered comments here and there.
When her voice began to grow hoarse, he encouraged her to drink some tea.
And when she reached the exciting parts of her stories, he laughed properly with her.
He had seemed, in every way, like a grown man.
Heat suddenly rushed into the girl’s ears.
Maybe he thought I was childish.
Maybe he thought I was improper.
A little anxiety crept in.
When I get home, I’ll ask Mother how to talk to a gentleman properly.
◆
Xavier had been Zofi’s father for fourteen years now.
She was sensible, cheerful, intelligent, and beautiful—a daughter he was proud of.
He also knew that, despite the impression created by her outward energy, she was actually a remarkably thoughtful girl.
For four years now, every time his daughter returned from a tea gathering with the Crown Prince, Xavier had watched her.
At first she came home looking happy.
Then merely somewhat happy.
Then she came home behaving as though she looked happy.
Year by year, the change had become more pronounced.
In all likelihood, true mutual understanding between them could not be hoped for.
But Zofi was intelligent.
She would find a way to make things “work.”
She had the ability to do so.
Even so, as her biological father, some part of him could not feel entirely satisfied with that conclusion.
Parents who did not wish for their children’s happiness were rare.
Like countless fathers in the world, Xavier sincerely wanted his daughter to be happy.
Unfortunately, as Duke of Gaillure, her happiness came second on his list of priorities.
“Zofi, was His Majesty well?”
“Yes, Father. He was quite well, just as always.”
“I see. That is good to hear. Did the two of you have an enjoyable conversation?”
“Yes. Very.”
Normally, his daughter would have launched eagerly into one specific example after another.
Today, she seemed distracted and gave him nothing but short answers.
When he asked whether something had happened, she immediately replied that nothing had.
Has something gone wrong between them?
It might become necessary to take various forms of “action” from here on.
The Duke of Gaillure was one of the kingdom’s most powerful figures.
If he began moving actively, the repercussions would spread in every direction.
He and the king had only exchanged a brief greeting the other day.
Perhaps because His Majesty had not yet fully recovered, he had seemed quieter than usual.
That was the extent of Xavier’s impression.
I should speak with him properly once more...
While Xavier lay in bed turning the matter over in his mind, his wife, the Duchess of Gaillure, spoke to him.
“Xavier? Is something troubling you?”
“Yes. It seems something may have happened between Zofi and His Majesty. It is even possible that she somehow incurred his displeasure.”
Zofi’s mother gave him a knowing smile.
“I spoke with Zofi earlier. She gave me quite an extensive report about today.”
“What? She told me nothing.”
“Well, of course she didn’t. There are some things a girl finds difficult to discuss with her father.”
“What is that supposed to mean? Zofi always tells me everything...”
The Duchess’s smile was impossible to describe.
Part wry amusement.
Part pity.
Men really are simple creatures.