Chapter 98#
Chaise a la ReineChapter 98#
Even in the current climate, where emerging factions like finance officials such as the Duke of Chirac, or the merchant-aristocrat bloc led by Debonnel, Baronet and father of the Countess Patrí, are gaining influence within the government, the highest honor for a noble remains the grant of land, and the second, the elevation of title. What moved the nobility, in the end, was prestige and honor. They held nothing in greater contempt than those who cast aside honor in pursuit of profit.
“I understand Your Majesty’s will, but it would be difficult to push through a matter of this magnitude by imperial decree alone.”
“Are you suggesting this is governance by expediency?”
“Not at all. How could a subject’s shallow insight possibly reach the depths of Your Majesty’s mind? However, in any world, fools outnumber the wise. What is right does not always prevail.”
When the Duke of Chirac replied in a grave tone, the Emperor let out a quiet laugh.
“From the way you speak, it seems you yourself are not opposed.”
Caught off guard, the Duke flushed, embarrassed to have his true thoughts seen through.
“I cannot bring myself to be one of the fools.”
Indeed. Though he had continued voicing practical concerns, the Duke of Chirac himself was in favor of the amendment. The new proposal was closely tied to the empire’s ever-growing financial institutions and was structurally stable in the long term. Moreover, as they had hoped, it explicitly acknowledged the contributions of the civil officials, which was a significant political gain.
“Then why do you persist in playing at reluctance?”
“… Pardon?”
“The subjects We despise most are not the unruly or the defiant, but the incompetent. Are you so eager to once again prove your incompetence to Us?”
It was not something that could be brushed aside lightly, despite being said with a smile. The Duke of Chirac had already displayed signs of disloyalty through his obstruction and exposed his lawlessness through personal misconduct. And yet, the Emperor had looked past that, even conceding a step to grant the Duke’s political aspirations. The Duke knew well that both his weakness and his legitimacy rested in the Emperor’s hands.
“What makes politics rightful is not honeyed rhetoric or the sway of public opinion, but the imperative of what must be. You have long forgotten that. This time, fulfill your duty.”
The Emperor cast a cold gaze over the assembled officials. How many among them could meet that gaze without flinching? Most could not bear it and lowered their eyes.
The Duke of Chirac, having received the command, went down on one knee. It was not one of those routine formal gestures, but a solemn and heartfelt bow. Behind him, his faction followed one by one, kneeling in turn. The two finance officers and the marshals followed suit with proper decorum.
They all understood that the command was not directed at the Duke of Chirac alone. Why else would His Majesty address such a grave matter in a restricted meeting of the imperial financial meeting? Every person gathered here today was a key figure in the reign of Ebroin V.
“We receive Your Majesty’s command.”
All the officials, led by the Imperial Chancellor, raised their voices in unison to accept the Emperor’s decree.
lt was a scene rarely witnessed.
*** Q GUAa
He truly is no ordinary man.
Marquis La Baijje fejt a shiver run down his spine and inwardjy shook his head. The way His Majesty had maneuvered that cunning ojd officiaj into a finejy woven net and adjusted him into the perfect puppet to achieve his wijj was nothing short of astonishing. Just when had he begun preparing this intricate board?
The Emperor’s strategy was meticulous, and at the same time, astoundingly bold. The Marquis had never seen another of his generation or even of the generation before or after, who could be compared to him. Among the younger talents, only Viscount Dériche or Vice Admiral Chastan might come close, and even then, only in the military field. When it came to political tactics, neither could hold a candle to him.
Even if that child were still alive, it would have been no different. Even if he had grown up safely, he could never have become what His Majesty is.
Suddenly, the Marquis La of Baille was overcome with a dull sense of regret as he recalled his son, now long gone. Though they were of the same age, there was not a single aspect in which Ebroin V and his son were alike. It might not be fair to compare one who had died so young, but even when they were both boys, the gap in ability had been clear.
Even through a father’s eyes, the child had been an utterly ordinary boy. Bright enough, but overflowing with curiosity and an even greater number of whims, his attention was always scattered. He was as picky with his studies as he was with vegetables, always wanting to learn only the subjects he liked.
He had loved astronomy and algebra, and disliked literature and the Disseor language. Like his father, the boy had always struggled with Disseor in particular.
… The Marquis tried not to dwell on it, but the shadow of his deceased son kept rising to the surface of his mind. Ever since the boy’s sudden death, he had kept the painful memory buried deep in a corner of his heart and never looked back. And yet, for some reason, today he found himself reminded of the child at every turn.
While he was lost in memory, the meeting had concluded, and the officials were taking their leave after bowing to the Emperor. Of them all, only Marquis La Baille remained. He had requested a private audience beforehand, never imagining such an event would unfold today.
“You said you had something to say to Us in private?”
The Emperor, rinsing his hands lightly with rose water after the long meeting, turned to him and asked. The Marquis bowed with courtesy and replied.
“I have a special petition, and I beg pardon for the imposition.”
“You have not had lunch yet either, have you? Well, at this hour, of course not… Let us go to the Petit Apartment.”
Contrary to Marquis La Baille’s intent to resolve the matter with a brief exchange, the Emperor instead invited him to share his midday meal. To be granted not only a private audience but also a seat at the Emperor’s own table was an honor not easily afforded even to high-ranking nobles. The Marquis could not refuse.
After drying his hands with a silk cloth, the Emperor led the way. The Marquis followed behind, his slow steps betraying his reluctance.
He had thought it a spontaneous gesture, but once he arrived at the Emperor’s private chambers, he realized it had been planned all along.
Two sets of silverware were placed on the table, where only the Emperor’s tableware should have been prepared. To his dismay, the Marquis La Baille, seeing that even a chair without a backrest was provided opposite the Emperor, lowered his eyes to hide his troubled thoughts.
The tension stiffened his shoulders, and a cold sweat formed at his nape. He had just witnessed firsthand what “a scheduled appointment” from the Emperor could bring. Forcing down the instinct to crumble, he stepped into the room.
“Be seated.”
The Emperor, already in his place, granted the Marquis permission to sit before him. The Marquis of La Baille bowed respectfully and took the seat the Emperor indicated. As if waiting for the moment, attendants began entering to serve the meal.
The Emperor’s lunch consisted of two soups, two varieties of hors d’oeuvres, and three dishes of different meats. A light dessert would follow. Compared to the grand dinners that were served to display imperial authority, this meal, being closer to the Emperor’s personal time, was almost modest. But for Marquis La Baille, who had to dine face-to-face with the Emperor, it was anything but light.
A young attendant brought out kir in a beautiful silver cup. The fragrant white wine base, accented by the sweetly bitter flavor unique to crème de cassis, stirred the tip of the tongue with a refreshing sharpness. Perhaps due to the heat, the next course was a light consommé made from five vegetables and two fruits.
“Come to think of it, We have not seen the Marquise in quite some time. How is she these days?”
Despite his less-than-cordial relationship with the Emperor, the Marquis had requested a private audience for a reason. However, it was not the kind of matter to be raised lightly over a meal. As the Marquis remained silent, quietly focused on eating, Emperor Ebroin V took the initiative to speak.
“My wife has gone down to the estate.”
“The Marquise has left the capital?”
As one of the most influential ladies of the court’s social circle, the Marquise of La Baille was a prominent figure who frequented the court as though it were her own home. She was also well acquainted with the Emperor, having long been close to the late Baroness Bouilhet, who was Ebroin V’s nanny.
While many nobles were indeed returning to their estates now that the season had come to an end, it was highly unusual for someone as central to court society as she to have left Michèle. Like any ambitious lady of standing, she had devoted considerable effort to maintaining her position and had not left the capital even once in the past several years.
The Emperor looked at the Marquis with a curious gaze, as though hearing something unexpected. Then, faintly furrowing his brow, he clicked his tongue.
“Is it because of the matter involving Louise de Dumont?”
The Marquis of La Baille felt troubled by the Emperor’s direct question. The incident surrounding Louise de Dumont, his wife’s niece, was closely tied to the honor of the imperial household and delicate to speak of in many respects. As always, he chose his words with care.
“My wife left the capital to recuperate. She has never been robust by nature and has long suffered from a chronic ailment. That said, she was able to wait until the end of the season to make the journey, so it is nothing grave enough to warrant Your Majesty’s concern.”
“She is a proud woman. If she endured until the season ended, the illness must have been worsened by sorrow.”
“…Your Majesty.”
“There is no need to make excuses. We have known her a long time. The Marquise also once left the capital for some time before, did she not?”
The Marquis, realizing which time the Emperor was referring to, felt a dull, heavy ache settle in his chest and lost his words for a moment.
“You said she took in her niece and raised her like a daughter, after losing her own child?”
The Marquis, recognizing that there was no longer any point in concealing the truth, replied with a dark complexion.
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“She has been wronged.”
Several years ago, the Marquise had also retreated to the estate for some time following the untimely death of their only child.
“To have failed in protecting the safety of a guest of the court, and to have allowed a noblewoman to be murdered within the palace grounds… That was a grave failure on Our part.”
“That was not Your Majesty’s fault.”
The Marquis, who knew more than most about the true circumstances surrounding his niece’s divorce trial, spoke sincerely. In his view, the one among the Grands who had held the most genuine regard for her was none other than Emperor Ebroin V himself. He had no doubt that it was the Emperor who mourned her death most deeply.
“We are well aware of the rumors circulating inside and outside the court. But We are not the sort to accept disgrace quietly, even for the sake of appearances.”
Ebroin V did not stop at mere consolation. He firmly promised that the matter would be thoroughly investigated and that, should anyone be found responsible, there would be no exceptions. Though the Marquis understood that this was a heartfelt apology, he could not feel at ease. ‘No one will be an exception’? It was far too pointed a phrase to have been spoken without intent.
At the time of her death, his niece had been entangled in the turbulent schemes surrounding the imperial succession. Though there was no definitive proof, it was not difficult to surmise who stood to gain most from her demise.
A storm of blood is coming.
Though he had drawn a line for political reasons, the affection he had felt while raising her as his own daughter had not entirely vanished. If he were honest, the Marquis harbored resentment toward the Emperor. The girl had made foolish choices, yes, but it was not solely her fault that she had lost her life, caught in the deadly power struggle among the Grands.
But even he could not deny that among the Emperor’s pieces on the board, she had been the most moderate. Now that matters had reached this point, a clash, near or far, was inevitable. As he himself had admitted, Ebroin V was not a man to overlook such brutality. Nor was Grand Duchess Alienor, who had gone so far as to kill her prospective daughter-in-law and unborn grandchild to secure her son’s succession, likely to retreat without a fight.
As they spoke, the second course was served. The new soup, a potage made with truffles and artichokes, had a richer taste. The distinctive aroma of truffles, despite their strong flavor, managed to stimulate the appetite. Even so, the Marquis of La Baille left most of his soup untouched. His mouth felt raw, as if blistered, and he had no appetite to speak of.
Meunière-style sea bass enriched with saffron cream, canard à l’orange flavoured with seasonal oranges, and rognon de veau, veal kidneys cooked until meltingly tender, scarcely needing to be chewed, served with a fine mustard sauce…
One after another, dishes reflecting the chef’s thoughtful consideration for the season made for a splendid course. But the Marquis of La Baille scarcely touched his food. What held his attention was not the delicacies before him, but the turmoil within his own thoughts.