The next morning, after breakfast, Shichen and Emilia prepared to enter the royal capital together.
"Shichen, do you really… have to come with me?" Emilia still wavered.
"At this point, what are you even saying?"
"But…"
"No more 'buts'. If you keep this up you're insulting my feelings for you. Do you think I care what anyone else thinks?"
"Shichen…" Emilia stared at him, dazed.
She hadn't wanted him to come, of course because she didn't want to drag him in. Appearing at the royal castle together basically meant the two of them would be bound in the public eye. And with her ominous identity, anyone at her side would be viewed through a tainted lens too.
"Stop worrying about me, okay? Treat me as one of your own." Shichen rested a hand on her head and held her violet eyes.
"…Mm!" Emilia nodded hard.
"That's better. From now on, just remember to act spoiled with me—like Rem."
"I don't know how to act spoiled…" she muttered.
"Heh~ then let's go. Rem, sorry to trouble you; wait for us at the inn."
Est and Beatrice, naturally, were stored away.
"Rem understands. But when Shichen comes back, Rem is going to act very spoiled—have Shichen pet my head and tell me stories."
"No problem." Shichen ruffled Rem's hair in promise.
Outsiders couldn't attend the royal selection; Shichen counted as an outsider—but now he had another identity.
Shichen, Emilia, and Roswaal left the inn. Waiting out front was a dragon carriage so lavish it was slathered in decorations that served no purpose whatsoever.
The coachwork was carved within an inch of its life, every surface layered with ornament to scream luxury; the gold-and-jade sheen came from gilded trim, and even the wheels were set with jewels. Most eye-catching were the two earth-dragons in harness: scales a fiery red, backs draped in rich fur, reins and tack exquisitely worked—pure ostentation.
This was the carriage sent for royal candidates.
A rig like this parked here drew a crowd, and every onlooker wore the same stunned expression.
"Shichen, Roswaal—let's get on," Emilia said calmly, taking the lead.
They followed her aboard. The carriage set off for the royal castle.
The way was smooth; soon they arrived. Alighting, they went on foot through the main gate. Silence reigned along the passage to the castle's heart—a gallery of paintings and art—with fully armored guards standing left and right, eyes fixed on Emilia at the head of the group.
At the end loomed a set of double doors tall enough to require a neck-crane, guarded as well.
"We have awaited you, Emilia-sama."
One soldier stepped forward, raised his sword in salute to Emilia, then removed his helm and fixed his gaze on Shichen. He was a man in his forties, face hewn in hard lines, the look of someone who'd seen many battles. He knew Roswaal, of course, but Shichen was new.
"He is… my knight," Emilia said after a beat, her voice firm.
"I sense no dangerous mana. Sir Knight—are you carrying nothing?"
"That's right," said Shichen.
"If anything should happen, please protect your liege Emilia-sama. Leave the rest to us, the Royal Guard."
The soldier gave his warning, then stood aside. The doors swung open.
"Please proceed inside to wait. Others have yet to arrive."
Within, a vast space carpeted in red. The walls shone with opulent ornament; grand chandeliers hung from a soaring ceiling. There wasn't much furniture—most notable were the chairs: five to a side, and one centered at the far end.
Behind that central chair, the wall bore a dragon in relief, as if the one who sat there were backed and guarded by it.
This was the audience hall—and the chair was the throne of Lugunica.
Emilia, face composed, led them in. Shichen and a nonchalant Roswaal followed. Inside, there were no spear-bearing guards; instead stood the Royal Guard Knights—white uniforms over sword-belts. Beyond them were courtiers in formal dress, and figures whose clothes alone marked them as highly placed. No one else—Emilia had arrived first.
There were only a few nods at her entrance; no more.
"Shichen—you should… go over there," Emilia whispered, glancing toward the Knights.
"Got it."
Shichen moved to stand with the Guard, taking his place beside Priscilla's knight. Before long, a cute girl with pale-lilac hair arrived, then a military-looking young woman with dark green locks, and last—Priscilla.
Priscilla's lips curved when she saw Shichen—unsurprised; apparently she had recognized Emilia yesterday after all. The barbarian-looking man at her back—her knight—strode toward Shichen.
"—All are assembled. The Council of Sages will now enter."
A clarion voice rang through the hall. The doors opened again. A file of armored knights led the way for several elderly men to walk in. Their clothes matched the setting and their dignity; every step radiated authority.
Most striking was a white-haired elder whose beard nearly swept the floor. Short of stature, face cut with deep wrinkles, eyes keen as blades—he was the focus of the group.
This was Miklotov, the representative of the Council of Sages—the man who, in the kingless Lugunica, now held the greatest sway. The Council's nominal role was to advise, but in practice it ran the country; even back when the royal family remained, little had differed.
At their entrance, Roswaal's expression tightened.
The chairs around the throne filled up with sages, leaving only the central seat empty. Then the royal candidates—four radiant girls—stepped forward to stand before them.
Led by Priscilla, the four lined up, each a different brilliance. Priscilla stood in the center, hand on hip, crimson dress, chest thrust forward, face as arrogant as ever. Beside her stood the soldierly "lady"—a tall beauty in what looked like a uniform; glossy dark-green hair tied at the ends with a white ribbon; long legs, tight waist, a sword with a snarling lion on the guard hanging at her hip. The term "handsome woman" fit her perfectly.
Next to Priscilla stood a sprightly girl with wavy lilac hair to her back, soft features, petite frame, white furs on her shoulders, and—eye-catching—a fluffy white fox stole and a ridiculously oversized ball-clasp purse at her waist: a merchant's air about her.
And beside the soldierly lady: silver-haired, dreamlike Emilia.
Four candidates, four different lights—each beautiful; but to Shichen, the most beautiful without question was Emilia. Not because he had a soft spot for white-haired girls; the others were beautiful in the real, ordinary sense. Emilia, though, was beautiful like a dream.
All four candidates were women.
At the same time the room shifted; people took their places, the Royal Guard among them. Shichen moved with Priscilla's knight. As they went, a familiar voice reached him.
"So, you came too, Shichen."
He looked up to a red-haired young man greeting him with a bright smile—Reinhard, the world's darling.
"Ohya~ Shichen, you became Emilia-sama's knight? Long time no see, nya~"
The lilting voice belonged, of course, to the cat-eared… boy, Felix. The two stood together, and with them—someone else.
~~~
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