Viscount Horace Gren and the young master Ashton ark-Chelon arrived at the castle, greeted by Ailn, Ennieux, Sir Fontaine, and a contingent of knights which included Camille and Nicolas. It was a respectful reception, somewhat smaller than would be expected of the rank of the visitors.

They were attempting to minimize the commotion.

"He's here…!"

"Oh, he's just as you said—"

"Do you suppose he's in need of more servants in Calum?"

Ailn arched a brow, glancing up at a handful of maids gossiping from one of the castle's upper balconies. They were usually so quiet and discreet, he'd forget they were there. Yet here they were, leaning so far over the railing he was worried they'd fall off.

He spotted a cluster of admirers crowded around the castle's fence, presumably from the city, all jostling for a view.

And then the knights… Ailn grimaced. Perhaps a fifth of the Azure Knights were women, yet two-thirds of those kneeling in reception were female. Their starstruck gazes pulled Ailn back to the first time he'd stood here, watching the knights receive Renea.

"It seems," Sir Fontaine drawled, "that some of our knights have arranged a quiet rotation of their watches."

A faint ripple of stillness passed through the gathered knights. Several of them shifted their stances in unison, backs suddenly ramrod straight, chins lifted, gaze straight ahead.

As Horace and Ashton entered the gate, however, this show of discipline began to fray, eyes drifting, heads turning despite themselves.

"Every time…" Ennieux seethed, not so quietly. "Every single time!"

Camille was doing no better. She knelt with her jaw clenched tight as her comrades-in-arms fawned over her father. Ailn wouldn't have been surprised if he heard a molar crack.

"Horace," Ailn greeted one of his guests amiably. Then, with slightly less enthusiasm, "...Ashton."

"It is a pleasure to be in Varant again, Ailn," Ashton said cheerily. "I must say, you set a far more relaxed tone than your brother ever did."

His gaze drifted as if in search of him. "I suppose Sigurd is at the northern wall?"

"He'll return by tomorrow," Ailn shrugged.

Horace, meanwhile, took a tentative step toward his wife who—arms crossed, lips drawn tight—was doing her best to maintain her composure.

"...Have you been well, Ennieux?" Horace asked. He cleared his throat nervously.

"I'm quite well, thank you, Horace," Ennieux said, flatly.

"That's good, then," Horace said.

The silence that filled the air, rather than strained, was expectant. The maids watching from above in particular seemed to hang on every word, trying their best to gauge the distance in the married couple's relationship.

"And Camille and Nicolas—" Horace's head turned from side to side, searching for his children, who happened to be kneeling on opposite ends of the formation. "Are you—"

"Lord Gren, greeting you here is a bit…" Camille began, then trailed off.

Nicolas looked as stony as ever.

"Ah, I apologize," Horace murmured, with the sigh of a father used to messing up. "Then… later I suppose."

Ashton, who'd been watching the exchange with his usual warm smile, clasped his hands together.

"Well, then," he said. "Shall we move to the matter at hand?"

Safi and Ceric spied on the reception, crouched in bushes outside the castle's fence. There was little point in hiding, as the two of them were plainly visible. But Ailn had told the guard to ignore them.

"Lady Fleuve," Ceric whispered. "Would it not be in our best interest to pursue the angle of the man in Varant selling fireworks? It is a modern technology which is highly suggestive."

"Fireworks were invented in like 10,000 B.C.," Safi said with a wagging finger. "We have them in Sussuro, too. But this? This is strange."

"It is truly tragic to witness a marriage in dire straits," Ceric said wistfully.

"No, not that," Safi shook her head. "Viscount Gren is handsome. But not that handsome."

She fluttered a hand toward the female knights, all following Horace with openly longing gazes. "Just look at them! Half of them put on makeup!"

"You believe that a reincarnator is among them, having invented cosmetics well before their time," Ceric said, stroking his beard.

"I think either Viscount Gren or Young Lord ark-Chelon is a reincarnator," Safi said. "Either Horace Gren is using his eye powers to make all the ladies swoon, or…"

Her expression turned dark.

"Ashton ark-Chelon enjoys watching Horace be swooned over."

"What tangled webs our hearts weave…" Ceric murmured softly.

Bea sat at Ailn's desk, having been given some colored wax and parchment to play with. Platopus sat on the corner of the desk, turned toward the drawing as if Bea had directed him to observe.

She was so focused on her art that her eyes went out of focus.

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"Is this what astigmatism looks like?" Renea muttered to herself anxiously. "Would Cairn know how to help with that?"

Actually examining Bea's drawing, Renea's concern only deepened.

"Can I ask who you're drawing, Bea?" Renea asked sweetly.

There was a man and woman sitting at a table looking rather tense. Was that supposed to be her parents? Were Sigurd and Ciel fighting? Renea's hands fidgeted anxiously.

"It's Auntie Ahnew and Uncle Horace," Bea said, shaking her head. "They're drinking juice."

She made sure to label the two cups.

"O-oh? Oh, I see…" Renea nodded. She glanced at another page Bea had drawn. "A-and this is them too?"

Bea nodded.

"...And um, can you tell me what this is?" Renea asked, pointing.

Lower on the parchment, Horace and Ennieux had sad faces as they stood next to each other. Above them was a burst of color that looked like…

"It's an explosion," Bea said, with an extremely serious look on her face.

"An explosion…?!" Renea bit her thumb. From what she'd heard from Ailn, Bea had gone through some rather traumatic experiences in Amière. Was this trauma manifesting? Was this a cry for help?

"I don't know… why there's an explosion," Bea said, looking confused by her own drawing.

Renea hugged her with desperate tenderness. "I know you just met me, Bea," she sniffled. "But if your feelings are ever painful and confusing, I'll always help you, because we're family…"

Bea's drawing slowed down. "Family loves each other… and helps each other out even when they're confused," she said softly.

She gazed up at Renea with a tiny, pleading look. "Aunt Renea… If people don't think they want to love each other… Is it right to help them love each other?"

Ailn, Ashton and Horace had gathered in the counsel chamber.

"...Is there a reason we're not in the ducal office?" Ashton asked with a smile

"Anywhere works, doesn't it?" Ailn said mildly, arching a brow.

Ashton just stayed smiling, expression unnervingly unbothered. "Why, of course. One place is as good as another."

He took his seat and laid a stack of parchment on the table, squarely in front of Ailn.

"Let me be direct, Ailn," Ashton said smoothly. "You're a duke—difficult to touch, even for Princess Isolde." He gestured toward the stack. "Which is precisely why we can anticipate her next move, long before she realizes what you've done. Her avenues are limited."

Narrowing his gaze, Ailn leafed through the parchment.

"The emperor may reign supreme in principle," Ashton said, "but in practice, he lacks the inclination to involve himself. Accordingly, he defers affairs involving nobles of our rank to the imperial council."

Thirteen individuals, all profiled. Including…

"As you may have noticed," Horace said. "You and the princess are both members of this council."

The four heads of the great ducal houses. The five imperial siblings. The three great ministers—the head chancellor, the keeper of the treasury, and the imperial marshal. And finally, the empress consort.

"I do remember this being outlined in the charter," Ailn mumbled. He met Ashton's gaze. "So, what's the specific risk here?"

"I see three paths the princess might pursue," Ashton replied calmly. "All of them would require the imperial council's authority. The first? She could try to have you stripped of your title."

"Well, that's not so bad," Ailn said.

For the first time that day, Ashton's smile faltered. "Rather cavalier about your own position, aren't you?"

Feeling Ashton's gaze sharpen, Ailn could only offer a half-hearted shrug.

"Very well," Ashton said. "Your realm is yours to gamble with as you see fit. At any rate, the remaining two paths are considerably more severe."

Ashton raised his second finger. "The council can vote to temporarily suspend Varant's autonomy and transfer its governance to another member. Princess Isolde could petition for that authority for herself, or nominate a trusted ally in her stead. In practice, such an overreach would never be approved."

Then Ashton raised his third finger. "However… It could very well serve as a prelude, softening the ground for a more 'reasonable' request. Princess Isolde might then press for nominal command of the Azure Knights. As blatant a power grab as it is, the stakes would appear low enough that the council could feasibly vote according to simple self-interest."

"And what are the chances that would pass?" Ailn grimaced.

"Not terribly high," Ashton said. Then his smile brightened. "Yet not so low it can be dismissed. If I had to assign a number… I'd say forty percent."

"Forty—?" Ailn's eyes flew open.

"Well, yes," Ashton went on, as if confused by Ailn's shock. "You and Princess Isolde would be the parties at odds, which leaves eleven to vote."

He folded his hands neatly. "As for those likely to support Varant, the empress consort stands foremost. She and the second princess have long been at odds—Princess Isolde being the daughter of a concubine."

"Duchess mer-Sereia would never tolerate imperial meddling in ducal affairs," Horace remarked.

"On the other hand, Duke sil-Kytsune has never overlooked a chance to diminish the other ducal houses," Ashton said, wearing a sympathetic and aggravatingly tender frown. "As for ark-Chelon, it is my father who has a seat on the imperial council, not I."

His smile curved with real bitterness. "And he is a coward, ever swayed by the prevailing winds."

"Then what you're telling me…" Ailn sighed, eyes skimming the profiles, "is that of the seven left, I need to keep four of them in my corner."

"Precisely," Ashton said cheerily. "In politics, there's no time more fit than the present to make new friends."

Hearing a knock at the door to the ducal office, Renea opened it, whereupon Camille greeted her with a polite bow.

"Lady Renea," Camille said, "Is Lord Gren here? Several merchants have been waiting for his arrival in Varant, wishing to submit bids for control of the provisioning routes."

"They actually went to the council room…" Renea said.

"Is that so?" Camille murmured, glancing into the empty ducal office, the duke's chair occupied by Bea. She didn't seem particularly rushed. Her voice came out indifferent. "No matter. Sir Fontaine sent Nicolas that way."

She sighed. "Then I will take my leave."

"Er, wait!" Renea grabbed Camille's hand fretfully, almost looking apologetic about it. "You know, Ani told me that you… made a request of him."

Camille's gaze narrowed, a wrinkle of irritation crossing her face. But in just a second she was pure knightly poise, all tranquility. She wore exactly the kind of placid smile Renea had gotten so used to.

"It was a foolish and childish request, Lady Renea," Camille said, her voice almost gentle in its composure. "I will not forget the grace His Highness showed in even entertaining such a thoughtless wish. But I hope you'll inform him for me it is one I don't wish to speak of again."

"Sit down a moment with us," Renea said, giving her wrist a gentle tug.

"It would not do for a knight such as myself to use the amenities of—" Camille started.

"Ani gave me permission," Renea said, smile strained.

She never knew how to interact with Camille. Even when she was the Saintess it was always awkward. And after the inquisition it had only gotten worse.

"What's this…?" Camille murmured, catching sight of Bea's drawing on the desk. She frowned, genuine crossing her expression, as she spoke under her breath.

"The violent sights of Amière still linger. How terrible."

Bea had dutifully added depictions of what Renea could only guess were Horace and Ennieux dancing. But it looked more like they were engaged in combat.

Before Camille could give it any further thought, Renea dragged her to the office's sofa and sat her down.

"You know, when I heard about your request, I remembered a friend of mine, her parents weren't really speaking to each other either," Renea started. "But she told me about this plan that helped them reconcile and, um, even… rediscover their passion. I've heard from a lot of people that it works every time. So… I was thinking of telling Ani, who was still trying to figure out how to help you."

Camille's brow furrowed. "Is there truly such a strategy?"

Bea looked up, waving her colorful stick of wax with authority. "Your mama and papa… need to go on a date."

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