Chapter Text
“Demoiselle has just returned from the Palais Mermonia. She said she’ll be able to receive Your Grace in about ten minutes.”
“Great news. Thank you.”
Despite the clear instructions he was just given, Wriothesley stood up from the bench he’s been waiting on for over an hour as soon as Spina di Rosula’s henchman disappeared inside the giant ship that served as its headquarters.
Contrary to popular belief, the Duke of Meropide did not have an excess of free time to spare. He seemed to have an ongoing terrible luck when it came to scheduling meetings, however; Demoiselle Navia could be found working in her hometown more often than not, and he just happened to come during one of those ‘nots’. Again! He would’ve assumed she was avoiding him, but both of them knew that it would be completely pointless. It wasn’t so easy to get rid of him.
He was never the most patient of men, but the situation had become so dire he’d wait outside of her house for three days and three nights if he had to. It was rather pathetic.
The town of Poisson has never felt this oppressive before. He was usually quite fond of it, actually. While its aesthetics were divisive to most, to him it certainly felt more hospitable than the pristine streets of the capital, but even the most perfect of views would’ve become tainted with the amounts of stress he found himself under.
Wriothesley loitered around the area for a while, walking up and down the stairs with hands stuffed in his pockets, until the time for his funeral has come, that is when the henchman finally invited him in.
“Alright. You already know what this is about anyway, so I can probably spare you the fluff.” He said as he took a seat – much to his sore backside’s dismay – in front of Navia’s desk.
“Really, Wriothesley?” She squeezed the bridge of her nose, looking exhausted, even though it was only a few minutes past noon. “You come to me on the day my fiancée is to be facing off against some man whose body count is longer than my list of problems, when I’ve got two tons of building materials to inspect, and after I was summoned to the court first thing in the morning, yet you won’t even give me a proper greeting?”
She sighed.
“My apologies, I didn’t know Demoiselle cared so much about etiquette. Should I kiss your hand or something?”
“Please, keep the lips to yourself.” She said, and dragged her hands across her face. “Go on, let’s hear it. I need to head back to the capital straight after lunch.”
“Money.”
“Don’t have any.”
“What do you mean ‘don’t have any’?! Then what is all this? You’re the head of the...” He cleared his throat mid-sentence, remembering she wasn’t fond of the term that he preferred to call it, “...ahem, organization, are you not?”
“And all I have is already going towards rebuilding Poisson after the floods. Even then, we’re barely cutting it. People have been less generous with donations since the disaster, and I can’t really blame them. We don’t have much left for any extra major expenses, let alone the millions of mora the Fortress needs.”
“We don’t need millions. A few hundred thousand would be a great start...” Wriothesley did his best to put on a lighthearted façade – they all did, unless they wanted to curl up and cry about the utterly shitty situation their entire country was in – but the truth was, he has never been so terrified in his life.
With each week, the prospect of losing the Fortress of Meropide was becoming more and more real.
Well, to be fair, it was unlikely the prison itself would cease to function completely. Rather, it would cease to exist in its current form, which he has been hand-crafting for so long. As it was presently, in order to keep up with its debts Wriothesley would have to kick out every mouth to feed that wasn’t directly incarcerated, fire a part of the staff, double the working hours in the production zone, and remove any welfare services, and even then they’d barely dig themselves out.
The sudden bout of persistent and violent floods took a heavy toll on every aspect of life in the Kingdom of Fontaine, economy included. Months later, things were just barely starting to pick themselves back up, but the process was much easier for some than it was for others.
“It does need millions. You showed me the records. And believe me when I tell you I’m just as upset as you are. What you’ve done to the Fortress is amazing, it went beyond anyone’s expectations, and the kingdom needs it. We need it exactly as is, I know, Wriothesley, I know, but...” She paused, taking a deep breath before her voice could break. “I truly gave you everything I could.”
Wriothesley felt incredibly guilty about it, too. The state of the Fortress was nothing but his personal failure and at the end of the day, though noble-born and powerful, Demoiselle Navia was also just one young woman. Over the past few months everything collapsed directly onto her shoulders. She was good-natured and wanted to help everyone in need, but there was only so long anyone could go on like that before getting pushed against a wall – a wall that was already cracked and could fall and crush them any moment.
He would know something about it.
“Understood.” He said, a bit dryer than intended. “But tell me, what am I supposed to do in this situation? Start tearing down what I’ve built so far? I tried everything at this point. Knocked on every door. You have even more connections than me, surely someone’s got an answer to this. I swear to you, I would do anything. I’ll beg if I have to.”
He wasn’t lying. The Duke was ready to abandon all of his precious dignity in order to save the Fortress, as long as it didn’t remove him from the position of the administrator, and that was only because he was yet to meet another soft-hearted fool who’d sacrifice so much for it. Leaving the prison behind however, was pretty much equivalent to letting the bulk of his work go to waste, just a little faster.
Wriothesley would not give up so easily.
Lost in his own thoughts, he didn’t notice Navia also went silent for a significant amount of time. Suddenly, she stood up; the scraping of her chair against the metal floor made Wriothesley jump.
“What?”
“Anything, you say... Well... I wasn’t expecting things to get so awful so quickly... I suppose... that may not be so ridiculous anymore...” The woman mumbled, walking back and forth behind her desk, finger pressed against her lips.
“What’s ridiculous?” He repeated his question.
“But to seriously consider... something like that? Ridiculous! Oh, I just can’t imagine it!”
“Are you going to explain or not?!”
Navia quickly sat back down.
“You might be lucky enough to have come at just the right time. Earlier today I had a somewhat... eventful brunch at the Palais Mermonia with Princess Furina and crème de la crème of Fontaine.”
“Huh... could you be talking about this?” Wriothesley dug up a crumpled piece of paper from one of his pockets, once a formal invitation with the royal seal on it. Navia sent him a rather unimpressed glare over the desk.
“I don’t really do parties like this...” He explained.
“Well, too bad, because your name was brought up quite a few times over there. Among others, of course, but you are always one of the more sensational ones.”
“I don’t like where this is going.” He murmured, feeling the last remaining bits of hope drain from his body. Wriothesley didn’t just dislike those bland little vanity fairs that went under the guise of the Princess’ tea parties, no, he absolutely despised them. While he enjoyed some of the privileges that came along with his title of a Duke, he typically kept to himself at the Fortress, focused on what he believed mattered the most, and that rarely included prancing around in the high society. That, paradoxically, was his demise – the more reclusive the Duke of Meropide was, the more fame and gossip he attracted.
“Yeah, so... speaking of connections... I may have an offer that could potentially help your situation. Maybe.” Navia sounded about as enthusiastic as him, weighing her words like she was stepping on a minefield.
“S-Seriously? Huh. I’m all ears.” His eyes brightened; it seemed that just one last drop of hope may have stayed with him.
“It needs some extra context, though, it’s actually super convoluted. So please, be patient and listen.”
“Tsk, why does it feel like Demoiselle is underestimating me?” He bounced back but quickly went silent, curious on what he was about to hear.
“You know how the kingdom’s administration has been one giant mess since Queen Egeria passed away?”
“Hard not to notice.”
Fontaine’s problems didn’t start with the flooding, but rather were amplified threefold by it. The first sign of instability came over ten years prior, when King Remus perished on the battlefield during a war with another nation. For a time, the kingdom was successfully ruled by his wife, Queen Egeria, although she had become noticeably more withdrawn and depressed after his death. Tragically, the Queen fell ill and died just a few months before the flood, leaving their young and inexperienced daughter, Furina, to deal with the disaster and its aftershocks. The Princess was beloved by many, but indisputably unprepared to rule even under average circumstances, let alone during a national emergency. As days went by, the country was falling into increasing disarray, held together only by the wisdom of her royal advisors.
“Indeed, even the Princess herself has started to notice.”
“And admit she might be the problem? That’d be a new one.”
It wasn’t that Wriothesley didn’t respect Her Highness; he held no ill will against her on a personal level. He just thought their personalities to be slightly... incompatible. Still, he found her entertaining in the very same way people enjoyed small, fluffy, but terribly yappy purebred puppies.
“None of this is public information yet. It was brought up to a small circle of Fontaine’s highest nobility in confidence. Promise me you’ll stay hush about it.” She said, and after he gave her a nod, she continued:
“Her Highness is planning to abdicate.”
Wriothesley straightened up, feeling like the stakes have just been raised. Fontaine really couldn’t catch a break, it seemed.
“Huh? But... she hasn’t even been officially crowned as the head of the country yet, has she? She was supposed to, but then the flood happened.”
“Yup. And that’s why she wants to do it – it’s going to be a lot easier to surrender the throne now than after she’s sworn in. Fewer formalities. Oh, if you could see her... she’s become certain she’s unfit to rule. It’s like every last bit of joy left her body. I pity her, honestly. She didn’t deserve all of that to pour over her like that.”
“It is a pity, yeah. She’s just a kid, what, sixteen, seventeen now?” Wriothesley already had a fairly colorful biography by that age, but he could not imagine himself singlehandedly running a country then. Hell, even now he couldn’t. “But hold on, rewind please. Surrender the throne to whom? She didn’t have any family left last time I checked.”
“The Chief Justice, Neuvillette.”
“That guy? Oh...” Although he was well familiar with the name, due to Wriothesley’s self-imposed solitary confinement, the two had only met in person twice thus far. Once, when Neuvillette sentenced a teenage Wriothesley for his crimes; the second, when Wriothesley came over to announce he had overthrown said prison, and is now its sole administrator. Theoretically, there was also a third time, as the Chief Justice was present when he was granted his title from Queen Egeria, but they didn’t exchange any words at the time.
With such a narrow yet intense glimpse into Wriothesley’s character, he couldn’t even begin to imagine what that man’s opinion on him must’ve been like.
“I guess it’s a decent choice...?” He shrugged. “Clorinde respects him, right? He doesn’t seem as corrupt as the rest of them, but I also remember him being really... really weird. Did he talk her into this deal?”
Navia shook her head. “They both say he didn’t. And I truly don’t believe he would. But people will gossip either way.”
“Alright. Nice. Good for him. But uh, we’ve been here a while, and I still don’t see how this relates to my situation. Is Monsieur Neuvillette’s administration hiring new court jesters, or...”
“No, that’s exactly where you come in.”
He waited for her to elaborate, but instead, she stood again and made her way towards the wine rack.
“Would you like something to drink? My throat’s gone so dry from all this talking...” She already took out two crystal glasses. “A nice chardonnay? Finely aged cabernet sauvignon, perhaps?”
“I’d prefer some tea, actually... if Demoiselle must continue to keep me on edge like this.” He said with no pretenses of politeness, raising his brows high.
“Ahah, I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re a funny one, Duke. Alas, I insist on something stronger... much, much stronger, um... sherry, maybe...”
Wriothesley sighed deeply, which at that point was more of a groan of pain, watching the painstaking process of her slowly opening the dusty bottle and pouring them each a full glass of a brown drink that unfortunately wasn’t tea.
“Okay, so, here’s the deal.” She said, taking a quick sip out of her glass. “Monsieur Neuvillette can’t actually be crowned as it stands currently.”
“Why?”
“Neuvillette may have plenty of virtues, but at the end of the day, he isn’t a member of royalty. According to Fontaine’s laws, the crown can’t be passed onto a commoner. Only someone from the royal bloodline or a member of Fontaine’s nobility makes a valid candidate.”
“Hmm. I guess they did mention something like that when Queen Egeria made me a Duke.” Hesitantly, he reached for his glass as well. Whatever in the world Navia poured into it, it burned his tongue unlike any booze he’d ever had – may as well have been one of Melusine disinfectants. It therefore only instilled more fear into him when he saw her gulp it down like fizzed juice. “Ahem... I still don’t get it. Just grant him a title.”
“That’s where it gets funny. They got themselves into a pickle. Princess Furina can’t actually grant any titles as long as she’s not sworn in and crowned herself. And yes – we’ve all tried to explain it to her, but she’s stubborn. Those past few months traumatized her so badly she wants to get away from the court altogether.”
“So... now what? Fontaine is doomed? Off with the royalty? Are we becoming a self-governing entity? Tsk. Can’t see how that could go wrong.”
“There is one more method in which Monsieur Neuvillette could obtain a title, and therefore be considered for the throne.”
She finished her glass in one go.
“He would have to marry an existing noble. Any Fontainian noble, regardless of rank, may grant their spouse a title equivalent or lower than their own after marriage. Why do you think they organized that whole party today? Reviewing options.”
“Uh-huh. Is that all?” Dismissing most of what he heard, he swirled the drink inside his glass. He gave it a second try, but it didn’t become any less rancid over the past two minutes, so he put it back on the table. Frankly, Wriothesley was getting bored. He was beginning to think Navia only stalled this conversation for so long as an excuse to get him drunk to numb the pain of failure... or to make him stop asking her for loans.
“It’s an interesting piece of gossip and all, but I still fail to see...”
“Wriothesley. You’re one of the options.”
He spared her a rather chilly glance, waiting for the punch line to this unfunny joke. It didn’t come.
His eyes widened.
“No.”
“Think about it! It sounds stupid, I know, but it’s not the worst idea. Most of these people will probably try to get in for the clout, and nothing else. You could actually get something good out of it. If you grant him a title the court won’t just pay off the Fortress, they’ll probably encrust the walls in gold if you ask them to.”
“I like the walls iron and copper, thanks, I just wish they didn’t have holes in them. I’m not... I’m not marrying a random person I know nothing about – are you kidding me?!” Even saying it came to him with difficulties. He had no clue how to justify it, but the very suggestion was giving him a fight or flight response. He could barely contain his nerves. “You were right, this IS ridiculous! I mean, come on! Sworn in or not, she’s the head of the country and he’s the head lawmaker – if they want him to take the throne they can change whatever stupid rulebook they need to.”
“Are you daft, Wriothesley?” Navia suddenly snapped, getting impatient with his little temper tantrum. “What do you think this looks like from the outside? Do you think the people of Fontaine won’t have anything to say when a dragonblood that’s been lurking behind the scenes for years talks the young, impressionable princess into changing the country’s entire system so that he can be in power?! He’d get lynched! And that’s the last thing we need right now. We could use some stability for once.”
“That much is true.” He took a couple deep breaths, trying to calm himself, but with poor results. “But... this has nothing to do with me. My priority is looking after my people, the ones who look up to me as their leader. And all those frilly moguls in court... as soon as they officially announce it, I’m sure they’ll have a hundred of bachelors and bachelorettes queuing up in front of the Palais. You’d have to be mad to think I’d be interested in this puppet show.”
“Okay, okay, don’t yell at me. Why do I always have to be the bringer of bad news? I knew you’d react like this. Mister free spirit and all.” She shrugged and leaned back in her chair, the most relaxed she’s been since their conversation started. Her gaze was wistfully affixed on Wriothesley’s barely touched glass of wine. “Clorinde and I sometimes joke that if she let you try on her engagement ring, your hand would break out in hives. But, you wanted a solution, and I’m giving you the only one I have right now. Just so you know, Princess Furina inquired about you specifically.”
“Really? Hmph. Surprised she even remembers my name. Did she give you any reasons?”
“Nope. But it must mean something, right? I just told her that you’re still single, and that I’ll inform you about the offer.”
There was no need to. Wriothesley already knew there was no point in waffling this any further. He got up and was about to head towards the door, but one last thought wouldn’t leave his mind. He turned around, leaning over Navia’s desk.
“Do you... Do you even understand the level of stakes we’re talking about here?! Even if I agreed to...” Again, the word got stuck in his throat. “With Monsieur Neuvillette... wouldn’t... wouldn’t that make me the king of Fontaine?! You do remember why I ended up in prison in the first place, don’t you? How’s that any better than a dragonblood in power?”
“Well, technically, you’d be more like... the queen...?” Navia calculated, but seeing Wriothesley turn back to the exit immediately, she corrected herself frantically. “C-Consort! The word I was looking for is consort!”
“I’m done with this madness. Thank you for trying. Feel free to reuse the ruins of the Fortress to rebuild this town after I throw myself to the sharks.”
His hand was already pushing on the doorknob, when he heard Navia speak again behind his back, sounding a lot more serious this time:
“Listen, I don’t mean to judge you, but... you did say you’d do anything. Not just things that won’t make you uncomfortable. And if I were in your exact position but it was Poisson I had to save, I’d at least consider it.”
He stopped for a moment, but didn’t look at her again. Perhaps he was too ashamed to face her, knowing that she was correct.
“Alright, fine. I will consider it. But first, I need... some time.”
“You know where to find me. I wish you all the best, really. This is all I can do for you at the moment.”
Wriothesley made his way down the winding stairs, immediately trying to block out everything that had just taken place. He was well aware this wouldn’t be an easy conversation when he arrived in Poisson, but not even in his wildest dreams – or nightmares, rather – could he expect the turn it took. But what else could he expect, really? He knew Navia wouldn’t be able to magically solve all his issues. She had plenty of her own problems to worry about. Ultimately, the biggest difference between the two of them was that she had built a vast support network over the years, while he stayed locked up in his office, depending on no one but select few friends and spies. When hard times knocked on the door, it quickly revealed which approach to leadership was superior. He was such a disappointment, to his people, but mostly to himself.
Up until that point, Wriothesley was ignoring the physical symptoms he’s been experiencing, but after he hopped onto a ladder and immediately slid down from just how sweaty his palms were, he decided to take a minute and sit by the canal. His heart was pounding, and his breath still hasn’t steadied from when he first lost his cool at the headquarters; he felt so light-headed and nauseous a minute later he had to force a hand against his mouth to stop himself from throwing up.
But why? Nothing spectacular happened, and he’d been through much, much worse in his life. Was it the dawning realization that the fate of the Fortress really was sealed? Or was it something else? Was it the idea that he’d actually have to...
Well. Navia was right. He knew she was. Everything she said just now was correct, well thought of, entirely logical. What other options could he have hoped for? Even if he found another sponsor, he’d continue to drive himself into more and more debts, and with the prison in its current state it would take decades to even begin to pay it all off. No one had that kind of money to give away for free at the moment. No one except the court.
If he were an outsider and it came to anyone else but him, he would straight up think they are a selfish bastard, and not even try to beat about the bush like Navia did. People got into arranged marriages for less than that. This was an opportunity of a lifetime for the people of Meropide. The closest he’d come to a godly miracle since receiving his Vision.
The Chief Justice wasn’t even the worst candidate to marry; sure, he was as interesting as an untoasted slice of white bread and as flexible as a broomstick, but even with all his quirks he was widely known to be gentle and just. If anything, he truly deserved an opportunity to become king, and the citizens deserved a ruler like him. Wriothesley could bet he only wanted to obtain the title and be done with the whole ordeal, too. There was high chance they’d be able to get a divorce fairly quickly.
That’s right. That’s all it would be – an official arrangement of two people who didn’t even like each other for the greater good and mutual benefits. A state document signed by both parties. Just another scroll for the records.
It wouldn’t be a real marriage.
In no way, shape, or form would this union actually become anything even vaguely resembling a real family.
There was nothing to be afraid of.
Not that he was afraid to begin with, no. He only felt dizzy from trying to comprehend the silliness of the idea.
His breathing was finally starting to settle down.
“Wow, aren’t I dramatic today? Haha...” He mumbled to himself. “What am I even on about? You should be glad the inmates can’t see you now Duke, phew.”
After a few minutes of physical rest and intense thinking, Wriothesley made a second attempt at climbing the ladder. With each step upwards, he went over another argument in his head yet again.
There were parts of this horrific deal that did seem tempting from certain points of view. In some ways, he could earn himself a rather comfy life, even. There must’ve been some good reasons why professional gold-diggers existed – maybe it was time he embraced a new career. He had nothing to lose as long as he still had his personal freedom, and even that he’d lost once before and survived. Unlike someone like Navia, he wasn’t in a committed relationship. There would be no teary-eyed partings and secret letters of yearning.
No one would even miss him all that much.
But on the other hand, there was... what, exactly?
Being forced to open up to a bunch of strangers for once? His own prejudice against people from the court? Or that bizarre sense of anxiety he felt, and that he solemnly refused to acknowledge?
None of these were particularly strong arguments in a situation as serious as the one he was in, he had to admit.
Perhaps it was time to ask himself whether by walking up this ladder he was actually trying to climb towards the light, or was he condemning the future of the Fortress of Meropide to the miserable, murky depths of a drowned town.
*
“I can’t believe you made me come here with you. For Celestia’s sake, I’m not your mom!”
“Good. You wouldn’t want to be.” The corners of Wriothesley’s lips twitched ever so slightly. “But you’re a people person, a much better negotiator than me, and I know damn well you wouldn’t miss this for anything.”
“Why would I—this doesn’t concern me!”
“I have to agree with him. If we let him come here alone you’d spend the next week theorizing as to what exactly was said and how.”
“You two... the amount of disrespect...!”
One week and a number of very formal yet uninformative letters later, Wriothesley, Navia, as well as her fiancée Clorinde were heading down the main hall of the Palais Mermonia, preparing to meet with the Princess, as well as the future king. Clorinde was meant to serve as a mediator, that is a neutral negotiating party unaffiliated with either of the sides. In practice, however, Clorinde’s neutrality lay exactly in the fact that she was very much affiliated with both, being an employee of the court and one of Wriothesley’s oldest friends.
Admittedly, the circumstances weren’t perfect. From the tone of the letters, it was obvious that other two were in a hurry to settle the formalities before the public found out about the Princess’ plans. Wriothesley was unsure what to expect, but he sincerely hoped it would go smoothly. For once.
After getting invited inside the Chief Justice’s office and exchanging pleasantries with Her Highness, Navia and Wriothesley took a seat on one side of the desk, with Furina and Neuvillette on the other. Clorinde sat on the side and began to skim through the documents she received.
The atmosphere in the room was so dense and stiff it could be sliced with a knife like cake, of which there was lots of.
“Once more – welcome! Um... it is our pleasure to host you here at the Palais. Please, feel free to help yourself to some treats and tea. We’ve prepared some in advance. You too, Miss Clorinde.” Furina pointed towards an elaborate cake tray, filled to the brim with all sorts of sweets. “We’ve heard His Grace is quite the tea connoisseur! And Demoiselle Navia, you’re a fan of homemade macarons, are you not? I hope you’ll find our court’s cuisine acceptable.”
It’s only been a few minutes, and Wriothesley was already wincing at how contrived everything felt. Didn’t Navia dine with Furina just the other week? She should know her tastes well enough!
Seeing as no one actually touched the food Furina pointed to for a horrendously long, silent moment – nor even looked at it, really, Clorinde took mercy on this collective of unfortunate souls and was the first one to grab herself a cup and some wafers.
That was exactly why a mediator was needed in situations like these.
“Your Grace, is it true that Navia has already informed you on the details of the situation?”
“I... I believe I got the gist of it.” Wriothesley replied, finding himself a bit dumbfounded. “And, um... My sincerest apologies for missing the brunch with Your Highness.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that! We’ll have plenty of occasions to make up for it should things go as intended.” The Princess smiled an artificial, yet warm smile; though she may not have been the most well versed in politics, she always had a perfect grasp on court etiquette. “Wonderful news, though. It spares us from explaining – that time will be better spent making wedding preparations, wouldn’t Your Grace agree?”
“W-Wedding... preparations?” It seemed that Her Highness had no intentions of making it easy on him, right off the bat. He looked towards Navia in panic, but she was only able to give him an awkward half-smile. “Shouldn’t there first be some... sort of... approval process?”
“Approval process? Hmm...” Taken aback by his suggestion, Furina turned towards her advisor. “Monsieur Neuvillette, are you willing to marry the Duke of Meropide?”
Only for a split second did his eyes break away from the thick book he was studying, some sort of old codex from the look of it.
“Mm. I don’t see why not.”
And there he was, the revered Chief Justice, completely unbothered. Accepting what was essentially a formal proposal with a single laid-back murmur, as if he were crossing out another bullet point on his morning agenda. He must’ve cared about the whole ordeal even less than Wriothesley initially assumed. Honestly, he wasn’t sure whether he felt relieved or offended.
“Congratulations, you’ve been approved! It may seem a bit unorthodox, but time is of the essence, indeed. I think we can all agree the current state of Fontaine is...” She paused and lowered her head, hesitating before continuing. “Well, it leaves much to be desired. We’ve all been surprised by this unlucky streak last year... However, I’m convinced everything will start coming together once Monsieur Neuvillette takes charge. He’s been with my family for multiple generations after all, his insight is invaluable! So... we would ideally like to organize a coronation ceremony in no more than three months.”
“T-Three months?” Wriothesley stuttered again, taking one hit after another. He cleared his throat, trying to get a darn grip. “That implies the wedding would take place...?”
“As soon as possible, honestly. Although neither of you will be formally associated with the crown until the marriage is valid, it’s fair to assume once the people of Fontaine learn of my abdication they’ll expect a proper royal wedding to mark the transition. The preparations might therefore take more time than usual.”
“Oh! That’d do wonders for their public image!” Navia suddenly inserted herself into the conversation. “People may not like change, but in grim times like these, everyone enjoys a lovely wedding – as long as it is not overly extravagant, of course.”
“I see Demoiselle and I think alike!” The princess clapped her hands joyously.
“Err, before we start writing down the guest list...”
“No need to worry, it’s already been drafted.”
He swallowed heavily. “Are we sure that the marriage can actually go through? I don’t know how much Her Highness was told about my past...”
“Oh, I’m well aware. I don’t think that should be too big of a problem, though. Clorinde?”
Clorinde leaned over her papers.
“According to the bills of succession, the sovereign cannot be convicted upon ascending to the throne. There are no sections mentioning any finished prior sentences however, nor is there anything regarding the deeds of their consort, which is what the Duke’s position would be.”
“There you go!”
“Are there any other sections that could potentially be problematic?” Navia asked, taking the initiative over Wriothesley, who desperately tried to make himself comfortable and took mercy on his tea before it got cold. It turned out to be one of his favorite blends. “For instance, won’t there be any trouble with both of them being men?”
“Mm, nothing in particular sticks out.” Clorinde replied, having thoroughly examined the bills. “The laws don’t state anything regarding the gender, age, race or beliefs of the sovereigns and their consorts, only their status. A commoner absolutely mustn’t be allowed to ascend or become consort unless granted a title beforehand.”
Navia huffed mockingly. “Go figure.”
“Does it make a difference to you?” Wriothesley suddenly asked, before Furina could take over again. He pointed his question at Neuvillette directly, seeing as he has been quiet this whole time. For some reason, it was starting to get on his nerves.
Neuvillette also took his time to answer, paying more attention to stirring his tea than his new fiancé and their chaperones.
“Not particularly. As a descendant of the draconic race, the notions of gender in a strictly human understanding are of little importance to me, unless I currently intended on having offspring.”
Wriothesley just discovered a new trigger word – one that made him inhale a stream of hot tea up his nose.
“Would that be possible?” Navia’s eyes, on the other hand, sparkled with very unhealthy curiosity. “I hope you won’t find it offensive that I ask – I’ve heard some incredible stories about dragons’ abilities!”
Intimidated by the spark in her eyes, Neuvillette turned away. “D-Demoiselle would have to indicate what type of extraordinary circumstances we are taking into consideration. If a number of appropriate factors aligned...”
Furina picked it up, “Any and all offspring, whether blood related or not, as long as they are officially recognized, shall naturally also be granted rights of succession!”
“This should be specified in the agreement. I don’t see it in the draft.” Clorinde added.
This had to have been some kind of a hidden camera event, surely. The tea must’ve been spiked with some suspicious mushrooms. None of this had any rights to be happening.
“However, as I meant to say, it is very, very far from a priority right now. As you’re all probably aware, my lifespan is vastly longer than a human’s, and so a successor shouldn’t be needed for a while.” Neuvillette took a sip, as if these few short sentences already dried his throat. “Of course I will relinquish the crown if Princess Furina chooses to revert her decision, or any other unexpected issues should arise.”
“That is precisely one of the reasons why I chose you.” Furina said calmly. “After all of this is done, our country deserves to enjoy a long period of stability.”
“What about you, Duke?” Neuvillette finally chose to address the person he should’ve been the most interested in. “Do you not mind going through with the marriage arrangements even despite my... nature?”
Since he spent the past several minutes trying to hide the fact that he was violently choking, Wriothesley had to take the time to wipe his mouth off with a handkerchief before answering. Once he finally looked up, he immediately shuddered at Chief Justice’s piercing gaze – it was the first time that their eyes met since he’d stepped into the office. His expression was difficult to read, but compared to the semi-polite apathy he’s displayed thus far, something must’ve set ablaze within him. He wore the slightest of smiles, almost as if he were teasing him.
“I suppose not...? To be honest, I can’t say I’ve much experience with dragons. I wouldn’t know what to expect.”
“There isn’t much to be concerned about! Monsieur Neuvillette is my most trusted employee – he would never dare to do anything remotely inappropriate to the Duke, is that not right, Neuvillette?”
Neuvillette did not answer and continued to drink his tea.
“It is then to be assumed that the future king will almost certainly outlive the Duke, correct?” Clorinde asked, noting something down. As she wrote, Wriothesley noticed she was silently mouthing the word ‘inheritance’.
Furina stared at her awkwardly. “P-Probably.”
“What a wonderful thought, getting old and unsightly while your all-powerful spouse stays in his prime... ouch!” Though Wriothesley was sure the esteemed hosts couldn’t hear his sarcastic little remark, it still earned him a kick in the shin from Navia. Perhaps he needed it. It served as a proper wake-up call.
“Excuse me, but before we proceed, I feel like I must state my one condition for the arrangement.” He sat straight, assuming the tone he typically used for his employees and inmates. As amusing as this entire performance was, he was doing it with a set goal in mind, and it was high time to remind everyone about it.
“Ah yes, you did mention something in the letters. What is the condition?” Furina once again answered over Neuvillette.
“The deal can only take place if, in exchange for me granting Monsieur Neuvillette a title, the Fortress of Meropide will receive complete funding to cover its debts and repairs required after the floods. Additionally, I demand further grants for its development. I will consider the condition fulfilled once the Fortress returns to its condition from last year. I don’t want to abuse your generosity – I only expect temporary aid to help it pick itself back up, but I need a guarantee. Oh, and also – the Fortress must remain independent from the court.”
Furina and Neuvillette exchanged a brief glance, after which the Princess nodded, and the smile that had previously momentarily waned returned to her face.
“That sounds perfectly reasonable. Though I must ask, what level of costs are we talking about?”
“According to the records I’ve been given—“ Navia cut in, most likely to prevent Wriothesley from trying to minimize the problems again, “It should be somewhere between twenty to twenty five million mora.”
Wriothesley gritted his teeth, preparing for the impact. The blow, however, was a lot milder than he anticipated.
“Ah! That is no small sum, but definitely not a problem for the Palais.” Furina brightened up, and even chuckled. “The wedding reception itself will probably cost twice as much! ...I-I’m kidding, Neuvillette, s-stop looking at me like that.”
He opened his mouth with the full intent to thank her, but only a frustrated sigh came out. There was something that’s felt like a thorn in his side; though up until that point he had no idea how to word it in an inoffensive way. Minute by minute, he was becoming more overwhelmed, until he finally snapped:
“I... I’d like to point out...”
Everyone’s attention suddenly turned towards him.
“Yes?” Furina asked encouragingly.
“I hope it is clear that I have zero personal stakes in this... contract. The union is exclusive to the document it’s signed on. The rest is solely a business transaction with mutual benefits and guarantees. An opportunity was presented to me and I chose to take it. I have no actual interest in Monsieur Neuvillette as a spouse and while I agree to take part in the ceremonies so that things can stay in accordance with Fontaine’s tradition, I’m... well, I’m not going to pretend that I’m enjoying it. If that disqualifies me as a candidate...”
The room fell dead silent.
Navia hid her face in her hands, whispering what sounded like “It’s over, it’s over” repeatedly. Clorinde froze like a prey animal. Furina hid her entire face behind a teacup. Only Neuvillette was donning an insincere smile that he must’ve learned from his employer, and was the first brave person to speak up after that announcement:
“Of course not. No one would expect anything else from Your Grace. In truth, my feelings are similar. Perhaps Princess Furina got a bit ahead of herself...” He looked at her, but the girl still tried to erase herself from the room. “This is quite an inconvenience to all of us, and we are extremely grateful for your cooperation. You are one of the few remaining unmarried members of the late Queen’s nobility, and one of the youngest at that. This is quite a sacrifice to make. Rest assured all your wishes shall be granted.” He then turned to Clorinde for a change, “Ah. Perhaps the Duke’s conditions should be added as a clause to the prenup.”
“Prenup, prenup... ah, I have the draft right here.”
Wriothesley was still trying to cope with the fact a prenup already existed – then again, he shouldn’t be surprised at that point – when Neuvillette spoke again:
“Under normal circumstances, I’m assuming you would choose to opt out of signing the agreement. However, given your stance... The document should make the divorce process a lot easier.”
Just hearing that single word already felt like someone just took a major weight off his shoulders. Finally, there was a gleam of light at the end of this never-ending tunnel. Wriothesley immediately perked up:
“So there is a way to divorce a king? When do you think that could happen?”
“I’m afraid I must insist on, well... around two years. At least until Her Highness becomes an adult in the eyes of the law, which will allow her to make more independent decisions, should anything suddenly change.”
“Ughhh, stop it!” Furina exclaimed. “I already told you I’m never going back to ruling. You’d have to chain me to the throne first!”
Neuvillette looked troubled and guilty, but there was nothing that could kill Wriothesley’s freshly revitalized spirit. Two years wasn’t the worst sentence – in fact, it wasn’t even the worst sentence he’d received from that very man. If that was all that it took to save his home, he could easily endure it with his head up high.
Who knew, maybe by the end of it, he’d lead an uprising in the royal court, too.
His heart felt much lighter after that. Having heard the most important information he’d come there for, Wriothesley allowed himself to tune out for the remainder of the meeting. Neuvillette didn’t add much more, either. The ladies however, were more than happy to carry on the conversation, discussing the details of dividing the royal family’s many estates between the Princess and the soon-to-be-king, until it fully devolved into indulgent party planning. Navia’s may not have been too far off with her motherly feelings – the scene really started to resemble a playdate of two shy toddlers conducted by their overbearing mothers.
Every now and then, his eyes kept coming back to Neuvillette, who would either check on the appropriate paragraphs in his codex, consult with Furina, or continue drinking from his seemingly bottomless cup of tea. He was a handsome man, there were no doubts about that. Frankly, the word ‘handsome’ failed to describe how ethereal it felt to look at him; ‘beautiful’ was only slightly more accurate. His features were mature yet delicate, and his mesmerizing eyes were able to outshine any precious gem he wore.
If Wriothesley’s life had been different – no, rather, if both of their lives had been completely different – he wouldn’t hesitate to approach him on the street. But to have him as his... spouse? Could he really see himself at his side?
Based on looks alone, they wouldn’t be the worst match, even though their aesthetics were almost total opposites. Personalities were a whole another story. He dreaded the inevitable moment when the two would be left alone together, only to stare at each other in silence. Because really, what could people like them even talk about? They’d talked once before, at length. He barely remembered anything from it other than that it ended with Wriothesley banning any court representatives from the Fortress. Neuvillette was as interesting as watching paint dry, and the man was part dragon, for gods’ sake. It took a special kind of boring to fumble that.
But at the same time, Wriothesley couldn’t shake off the feeling like he hasn’t actually even touched the surface of the other’s true thoughts regarding their... deal. No, everything in his gut was telling him that Neuvillette was lying through his teeth when he’d said he was just as displeased with it as him. Something was off from the moment he entered the office. None of his reactions were that of a man who was set up to marry a stranger through a series of unfortunate coincidences and miles of red tape.
What could it be...?
Lost in thoughts, Wriothesley lost track of how long he was actually fixated on the other. At some point, their eyes met again – Neuvillette looked startled, and Wriothesley’s face betrayed him by inexplicably taking on a slight pink hue for the first time since he was a teen. After that, he didn’t dare to look at anything but his own feet until the meeting was over.
The Princess and her advisor insisted on walking the trio back all the way to the main entrance of the Palais Mermonia. All things considered, these strange marriage arrangements seemed to have gone rather well, or so Wriothesley thought, until Furina pushed the door open.
Everyone was rapidly blinded by an array of white lights, whilst their ears were assaulted by shouting:
“Princess Furina! Is it true?! Are you going to give up the throne?!”
“Who’s the new ruler?! Are the rumors real?!”
“Does your advisor allow you to comment? Would you say you’re under his influence?”
“Can you confirm the news about the engagement? Who’s going to get involved?!”
“Princess! Look over here!”
Their group instinctively clumped up together, covering their eyes. Wriothesley was especially unused to such brightness – he got a migraine before he could begin to comprehend what was happening.
“W-What is this?!” Navia turned to the Princess, “I thought the public wasn’t informed of the abdication yet?!”
“They were not.” Furina took a deep breath, then stretched out her back and neck in a shockingly casual way, like a swimmer that was about to dive from a height. “I’m going to guess someone leaked things to the press again. Just another day. You get used to it after a while.” And with that, she stepped out into the hollering mob to answer all of their pressing questions with a picture-perfect grin plastered on her face.
“This is just silly. How are we supposed to get through?!” Navia put her hand on Clorinde’s shoulder, looking at her pleadingly. “If you’d be so kind, love...”
“Clearing the way.” The other woman said, unsheathing her sword, which honestly did wonders to discourage the pesky paparazzi.
Only two figures remained at the door.
“Ah. Nothing I enjoy more than getting tortured first thing in the morning.”
Wriothesley had no way of knowing whether Neuvillette’s whispered comment was directed at him or whether he only meant it for himself, but either way, hearing it put a grin on his face. That was the most human thing that man has said since he met him and honestly, he couldn’t agree with him more.
Maybe – just maybe – there was a sliver of hope that deal of theirs wouldn’t be so painful to endure. If they could at least not actively hate each other after the first few weeks, it would be a good start.
This unexpected visit from the press was annoying, but it’s not like he never spoke to journalists before. He could probably whip something up on the spot. The news were kind of big in the grand scheme of things, so it was natural that they swarmed them now, but... surely they’d get bored of the topic soon, right?
Looking back, he really had no clue that the world he was about to enter played by rules far dirtier and dealt blows much lower than anything he’d seen in prison thus far.