12.
Philomel, having determined she could obtain no useful information regarding from Humphrey, pivoted to her next question.
“Is it possible to know with certainty if a great mage uses divination magic?”
“No matter how great they are, they can’t know precisely…”
“Even if it were the Tower Master?”
This was the core of what Philomel had wanted to ask.
The Tower Master. The title belonged to the master of the Magic Tower—the man described in as her own biological father.
‘Information about him is so scarce, I can’t even fathom what kind of person he is…’
Since Humphrey had been at the Magic Tower until recently, he should know him well.
However, the hand Humphrey used to hold his cup began to tremble violently.
“Wh-who? The… Tower Master…?”
“Yes. The Tower Master.”
“Why would you ask about…?”
“I was just curious if even a grand mage like the Tower Master could fail to see the future accurately…”
‘Why is he reacting like this? As if he’d heard something forbidden.’
Philomel tilted her head and continued, “Anyway, what kind of person is the Tower Master?”
“Um… He is a great mage.”
“I know that.”
“And he is the Sage of the North.”
“I know that, too.”
“And, and…”
Humphrey suddenly clutched his stomach.
“Ugh, my stomach! Forgive me, Your Highness. I must take my leave.”
“Yes? Oh, go ahead.”
Humphrey shuffled out, still clutching his gut. Given the pallor of his face, his ailment did not seem to be a mere excuse.
‘What on earth…’
Left behind, Philomel blankly finished her tea and left the Magic Academy, empty-handed.
In the days that followed, Philomel posed similar questions to several other court mages.
The result was always the same; there was no valuable information to be found. The mages either scoffed at the Book of Prophecy, knew nothing beyond rumors, or kept their lips tightly sealed.
‘As expected, I’ll have to meet him myself.’
Philomel grumbled to herself as she trudged back to her quarters.
She planned to seek out her biological father, who was said to be secluded in his tower, as soon as she escaped the Imperial Palace. If he truly was the legendary Tower Master, he might know something about .
‘And…’
Philomel was curious about what kind of man he was.
Upon returning to her rooms, Philomel checked to make sure was safe inside her safe. For now, keeping it there was the best option.
“Why did you end up in my hands? Why did you have to fall into my garden of all places?”
Naturally, no answer came back.
With a sigh, Philomel locked the safe.
***
Time flowed on, and Philomel turned twelve.
Entering the Emperor’s office, Philomel gathered the hem of her dress and bowed gracefully to Eustis.
“Your Majesty, it is a lovely afternoon.”
“Indeed.”
Eustis, sitting at the tea table, answered indifferently.
It was a posture the etiquette tutor had praised until his throat went dry, but Eustis showed no reaction.
Still, Philomel was not disappointed. The Emperor had always been a man stingy with affection. In the past, she would have been saddened that she, his daughter, was treated no differently than a stranger, but now, she felt it was better than nothing.
‘At least I’m not hated.’
Today was their weekly tea time.
Perhaps because of the Count’s nagging to cut down on drinking, the Emperor had begun to reach for tea more often, and after Philomel seized the opportunity to request to join him, it had become a regular occurrence.
Philomel looked at Eustis, feeling the warmth of the teacup in her hands.
Eustis seemed busy, barely glancing at his tea as he scrutinized the documents before him.
Because he refused to remarry, all the management of the Imperial Palace, which should have been handled by an Empress, fell entirely on his shoulders.
“Are you very busy?”
“…Not particularly.”
‘You clearly look busy.’
Bored, Philomel swung her legs—which didn’t reach the floor—back and forth, then forced herself to stop.
‘I’m not a child anymore. I have to look dignified.’
To appear like a proper successor taking an interest in his work, Philomel asked, “May I ask what these documents are about?”
“They concern the upcoming Foundation Day event. The date has been set…”
The response that had been flowing smoothly cut off suddenly.
“…”
“…”
An awkward silence hung in the air.
Foundation Day was not a welcome topic for Philomel. Even now, people whispered that her behavior at the previous celebration had been reckless.
Because that nine-year-old Foundation Day remained her worst memory, she felt a heaviness whenever the day was mentioned.
*Tap, tap.*
A neurotic sound rose from the hard surface of the table as Eustis’s index finger tapped it.
Judging by his look of subtle impatience, he didn’t seem fond of the conversation either.
Before the atmosphere could turn any more strained, Philomel said brightly, “Wow, it’s finally Foundation Day! I’m looking forward to seeing how the event turns out!”
“…Is that so?”
“Yes! Will there be fireworks again this year? Last year was truly beautiful.”
“They aren’t in the plan, but I shall have them added.”
“There’s no need to go that far…”
“It’s a dull and boring event. It’s not worth watching if it isn’t at least entertaining.”
That was a dangerous thing to say regarding one of the three major anniversaries of the Empire.
Thinking that Beleron would be offended if he heard that from the heavens, Philomel continued lightly, “Oh, come now, it is the day the Belerov Empire was founded. It’s naturally important. You always give a commemorative speech on that day, Your Majesty.”
“I find thinking about the commemorative speech to be the most bothersome part.”
“I think your commemorative speech is the best part of the Foundation Day events.”
Because it was the one that finished the fastest.
Philomel hid her true feelings and offered a bright smile.
“…”
“If I become the Emperor one day, I want to deliver a wonderful commemorative speech like you.”
The fatigue-stricken face of Eustis softened slightly. It was the moment Philomel’s hard-earned skill at flattery paid off.
However, perhaps one shouldn’t say things they don’t mean too often, as the flattery backfired with an unexpected result.
“Then, would you like to do it this time?”
“Yes? Do what?”
“The commemorative speech. There is no law saying only the Emperor must give it. In the previous generation, the Emperor and the Crown Prince each read a speech.”
“…Pardon? C-can I really do such a grand thing?”
“It is nothing special. It’s fine if you just go out and say a few words… unless you don’t want to.”
The answer a well-prepared successor should give in such a situation was clear.
***
“Let’s think positively! What’s so big about a commemorative speech!”
With paper and pen in front of her, Philomel resolved firmly.
‘It wasn’t my intention, but this is an opportunity.’
As her relationship with the Emperor improved, the palace staff who had looked down on Philomel disappeared, but outside the palace, she was still considered an outcast princess. If she appeared at the Foundation Day event and gave a splendid speech, she would finally be accepted as a legitimate successor.
And if she finished this event successfully…
‘I’ll have to ask him to give me that item!’
Thinking of the item essential for her escape, Philomel scribbled the text of her speech all night.
A few days later, the day of the Foundation Day arrived.
Philomel stood under the podium where the Emperor had climbed, her knees trembling.
‘There are so many people!’
The vast outdoor venue was packed with attendees. Seeing them made the crowd feel gargantuan.
Her chest was churning so violently that Eustis’s own speech didn’t even register in her ears.
Nasar, standing next to her, looked worried.
“Your Highness, are you alright? You look very pale.”
“…Thank you for your concern. I’m just a little nervous; there is no problem.”
Philomel answered with the composure befitting a princess.
Just then, an attendant approached and whispered, “Your Highness. It is your turn.”
Eustis’s speech had already ended.
Philomel walked toward the podium with a gait as stiff as a log. Because of her nerves, her arm and leg on the same side moved in sync.
The attendant placed a megaphone in front of Philomel. It was a magical device with an Amplification Stone attached to a long rod, designed to resonate with the voice and project it further.
Philomel put her mouth to the stone and cleared her throat.
“Dear citizens of the Be-Belerov Empire…”
But then a problem occurred. A very, very big one.
Philomel’s voice did not carry. The Amplification Stone was either broken or failing to function.
She signaled to the attendant, but he was just as flustered and confused. There didn’t seem to be a spare megaphone suited to her height.
The crowd began to murmur.
“Why isn’t she speaking?”
“I suppose it was too much for Her Highness to handle after all…”
In the face of an unexpected predicament, Philomel’s mind went blank.
‘What do I do, what do I do?’
It was then that Philomel’s field of vision suddenly rose. Eustis had picked her up.
Eustis adjusted his height so that Philomel could use his own megaphone instead of the broken one.
The eyes of the people who witnessed the sight were filled with shock.
It was a display of affection that looked far too tender to befit the cold Emperor.