"Ha—how long are we going to prattle on like this? Could we be any duller?"
Arms folded, Priscilla sighed and spoke, bored out of her mind.
"This gathering of five is nothing but ceremony for the opening act. Once things begin, the unworthy will naturally be culled. The last one standing will be me. Whether the others have the qualifications of a ruler is utterly irrelevant."
"Huh? Who do you think you are?" Felt, realizing she'd been targeted, snapped back and glared at her.
"Mind your manners. I am the future master you so admire. Remember that."
"Huh—? What nonsense are you spouting… Wait, you don't mean Onii-chan, do you?"
"Heh. At least your brain works a little."
"Don't make me laugh. You think Onii-chan would go for you? Keep dreaming." Felt's retort was blunt, crude, and merciless.
Priscilla narrowed her eyes, gaze turning dangerous.
"What? Staring me down because I hit a nerve? You, with Onii-chan? Delusional," Felt pressed on, unbowed and utterly unmannerly.
No one else in the hall objected to Felt's rudeness. One, she might be royal-blooded. Two, Shichen had just said he'd stand up for her if she was bullied; no one wanted to end up dead for offending his favorite. A slum girl's lack of etiquette was, for now, forgivable.
The target of the provocation, however, felt differently.
Vmm—
The air seemed to warp. Something was about to lash toward Felt.
And then a gust split the space, and Reinhard stepped in between Priscilla and Felt.
"In a place like this, at a moment like this, why show hostility?" he said.
Emilia also moved, drawing Felt into her arms, shielding her. "You were in the wrong first. Can't you just apologize? Can't you admit you did something wrong?"
"Hmph. She was insolent to me. What's wrong with a little lesson? If she had no connection to Shichen, she'd pay with her life," Priscilla said coolly.
"You were wrong first—just say you're sorry. Don't you have the self-awareness to see that?" Emilia insisted.
"Your kindness is spread far too thin," Priscilla sneered. "You can't manage your own affairs and still meddle in others'? As for apologies—you say the one at fault should apologize? Then you. Your very birth is an apology, isn't it? Isn't that what you tell yourself every day? Then go on—apologize—atone."
"I…" Emilia faltered, her face stricken. "I—I have nothing to do with the Witch…"
"What's the point of that excuse? It convinces no one, not even yourself. You've already decided you're a living taboo, worrying about everyone else's feelings. That's why you hide behind rags that conceal your face, isn't it?"
"I…" Priscilla's words hit too true; Emilia blanched and could not muster a rebuttal.
"Heh. With that kind of self-loathing, how do you deserve Shichen's faith in you? You might as well quit now and hand Shichen over to me."
"I…"
Emilia glanced at Shichen—his smile steady on her—and remembered what he'd just done for her. The bold, unvarnished words, the kind that could only come from the heart.
"No. I won't hand Shichen over to you!"
Suddenly steel crept into Emilia's voice, and her face broke into a bright smile.
"You're right. I've been too ashamed of my appearance—too worried about other people's eyes—and I never stopped to think how the people who really care about me feel."
Whshh!
Emilia flung off her cloak; it fell to the floor. She stood revealed as herself: white long dress, silver hair cascading, a face fine-boned with a hint of youth—enough to make any man falter.
The room, recalling Shichen's earlier words, realized she truly was adorable.
Emilia smiled radiantly at Priscilla. "Even like this, there are people who love me. I don't need to hide. I am Emilia, not some incarnation of the Witch of Envy!"
Clap, clap, clap—
The first to applaud was Shichen, loud, unashamed, the sound echoing in every ear.
"Shichen," she said, flustered, looking his way.
He said nothing—just gave her a big thumbs-up.
In that moment Emilia's heart crossed its threshold; she wasn't the timid, self-conscious girl from before. She might still care, but she had confidence now—courage—to face it.
Encouragement from one's own can only go so far; it took an outsider's provocation to force the break. But without Shichen's steady guidance, she never could have stood firm now. He'd become her anchor and her crutch; whether that's good or bad is arguable. Without him, she might fall and never rise—but he was here, and would remain.
"I see," Priscilla murmured as Emilia's new light settled. She lowered her lashes and said no more.
"Don't expect any thanks," Shichen said to her.
"Hmph. I've no idea what you mean," Priscilla sniffed, pretending not to hear.
"Eh?" Emilia blinked, then her eyes widened as she looked at Priscilla. "You were… helping me?"
"Don't flatter yourself. I'm not so charitable," Priscilla said faintly.
"Whatever the reason—be it Shichen or that you truly have some good in you—thank you. You helped me decide." Emilia smiled at her.
"…Miklotov, are we continuing this meeting or what?" Priscilla ignored her and turned to the dais.
"…Since Priscilla-sama and Emilia-sama are composed again, let us return to the agenda," Miklotov said smoothly. "The succession contest—regarding the Royal Selection, I propose each candidate meet with the Council of Sages."
He raised his voice for the room. "Let's proceed to the item at hand—how to choose the king. The Dragon Tablet names gathering the candidates, but specifies no method of selection. To resolve this, let's first hear each candidate's resolve."
He glanced at Marcos; the captain stepped forward.
"Forgive my presumption; I'll moderate. Our candidates each have their own positions. First, let those present understand them…"
He bowed, then turned to Crusch.
"First, Crusch Karsten-sama—knight: Felix Argyle!"
"Mm," Crusch said.
"'Kay!" chirped Felix.
Felix skipped to Crusch's side; the two stood shoulder to shoulder.
"Royal candidate—Crusch Karsten, head of House Karsten," Crusch declared.
"I'm Crusch-sama's knight—Felice of House Argyle—"
"Knight Felix Argyle," Marcos corrected gently, face impassive.
Felix's smile wilted, but with the solemnity of the occasion she didn't clown. Crusch began her statement.
Each candidate—Emilia among them—had a strikingly distinct pitch.
Crusch: end the kingdom's crutch on dragon prophecies. She would be the dragon—have the people believe in her.
Priscilla: simpler—obedience. She needed only that all bent the knee.
Anastasia: simpler still. A merchant from the bottom rungs—becoming king was to have more money. Perhaps because of Shichen's earlier "lesson," her voice wavered; she didn't dare meet his eyes. In truth it perfectly framed her as a girl who'd clawed up from nothing.
And last, Emilia. Shichen drew the room's gazes as he went to stand at her side.