The King collapsed and recovered. And the wind changed direction.
The King’s transformation was obvious. His first-person pronoun changed from “I” (wagahai) to “I” (watakushi), his manner became polite. And he completely stopped speaking of the continental conquest ambitions he’d voiced since boyhood.
She thought he was just depressed due to poor health, but there was an unresolvable sense of wrongness. Like a small fish bone stuck in her throat, it was always there. Perhaps she could identify its true nature because she had been in relatively long contact with Grois.
The King after recovery doesn’t distinguish between people. From servants to the Steward, he treats everyone as “the same thing.” She too was similarly treated not as a secondary consort candidate but as one subordinate. He interacts with her the same as with servants, or the same as with the Steward. In other words, without unnecessary consideration.
The shock when she realized this change was great. The King was treating her as a military person! Who would seek opinions on military administration from a consort candidate woman? That would be like asking a butcher how to prepare fish. Conversely, that Mary was asked for advice on military administration was proof she was regarded as a high military official.
Recognized.
If she could feel that, there was no need to be especially stiff-shouldered. She no longer resisted wearing gorgeous, feminine attire. Since the King recognized her, clothing didn’t matter. She fully savored the feeling of her body becoming light.
She came to like attending closely upon Grois XIII again.
Being treated as adjutant to the Guard Commander while also being treated as a woman wasn’t bad. There were only facts there. Men and women have different body structures. So the treatment changes. But what’s inside the body—her ability and her pride—is treated the same as others. Just that simple thing made her elated. Something she wished to obtain but could never obtain.
Royal Guard reduction and eventual integration into the national army. When she heard the outline of that plan from her father, Mary felt betrayed. His Majesty doesn’t value us. She pressed her father with harsh words saying that. After silently listening to his daughter’s argument, her father muttered:
“Who is the Royal Guard for?”
“To protect His Majesty, obviously. And yet…”
“Then why would His Majesty try to let go of those who would be his sword and shield? Mary, why?”
“That’s because… His Majesty doesn’t trust us. He must be relying on the national army!”
“Wrong. The national army will be reduced just like us.”
And he began to haltingly relate the full scope of the plans in progress. It was hard for her to believe. Estvilg was their long-standing enemy, and an existence the King had openly called his “prey” since his Crown Prince days. And Prosan was the country ruled by Fleisch III, whom the King admired endlessly. Everything was proceeding in the complete opposite direction from before.
“Mary, what is the ideal superior for a soldier?”
She couldn’t answer the sudden question immediately. Her father’s expression looking at such a daughter was gentle. He had eyes more peaceful than any she’d seen these past few years.
“I went to many battles under the banner of the previous King-sama. I even stood at the head of troops with rifle in hand. Soldiers don’t move so easily, you know. In the crucible of battle, a title like young master of Barois means nothing. Even shouting from behind won’t move them. There’s only one action that will move them—stand at the head of the battle line and charge toward the enemy. Even I was paralyzed with fear. I felt as if all the countless gun barrels were pointed at me.”
The Royal Guard Commander who was both father and superior almost never spoke of his battlefield experiences. This was Mary’s first time hearing such a story. A real battlefield story.
“I was lucky to survive. I barely remember what I did. I just held up my sword, gave orders, gripped my rifle and ran desperately forward. After that, the soldiers accepted me.”
Her father’s hand grasps Mary’s shoulder. Large and gnarled, utterly unlike her own hands. A man’s hands.
“Mary. To order soldiers to die, you must show your own resolve to die. Don’t fantasize. With the awareness that death is before you—only then.”
Vaguely, she understood what her father was trying to say. Being aware, and then trying to accomplish something despite that.
The figure of a young man four years younger floats in her mind.
What the King became aware of—it was probably Santeneri’s dire straits. It’s not something that will improve by changing just one thing. The structure of the state itself is reaching its limits. Part of that structure is the existence of the national army and Royal Guard.
He cleanly abandoned the dreams he’d held since childhood. Why? To keep the country alive. But no matter what he says, people won’t follow. To drive people forward requires paying a sacrifice.
“His Majesty said, ‘Create no sanctuaries.’ If we think conventionally, reduction should only be for the national army. It’s far larger than us. The costs and personnel that can be reduced are also greater. But if we don’t touch the sanctuary of ourselves and try to shrink only the national army, it won’t go well. By letting go of us, the Royal Guard, with that one act the national army will follow His Majesty.”
“What does His Majesty wish to accomplish? Going so far?”
Grois’s dream was to proclaim hegemony over the continent. After abandoning that, what remains for him?
“I don’t know His Majesty’s heart. Don’t know, but it’s probably something great. His Majesty is trying to do the most difficult thing that seems ordinary—maintain Santeneri. That’s how I felt. Mary, people change. His Majesty is no longer the Crown Prince. He is our country’s King, His Majesty Grois XIII.”
—Something great.
But it’s a plain deed no one will notice. No one will evaluate it. It won’t be written in future history books either. Creating an era where “nothing happened.”
“Mary, the Royal Guard won’t disappear today or tomorrow. It will merge with the national army over several years. And the Guard’s name will remain as one unit of the national army. Our house will also come under the national army’s umbrella.”
“Then, under House Duke Delrois?”
“Yes. There are rumors Lord of Admiralty the Navy Minister will slide over, but even if that happens it’s temporary. The young lord safely inherited the Delrois family headship the other day. He’s a good young man. In a few years he’ll probably inherit the Army Minister position too.”
If House Duke Gaillou is the pinnacle of the outer lords, House Duke Delrois is the head of the royal relative lords. They’ve been the core of the royal army since the Santeneri Unification War era, which has long been just a page in history. The current Santeneri Kingdom Army has its origin in a union of the Duke Delrois domain’s army and part of the royal army.
The heads of House Delrois have held the title of Marshal of the Kingdom for generations. Though sometimes only in name, throughout long history they’ve also produced many great generals.
“Clever as you are, you probably already understand. The shackles binding you are gone. What do you say? If you want to remain in the military, I’ll make sure you get a position. Or… will you marry?”
If the Royal Guard is dissolved and loses its conventional meaning, her existence too will no longer be necessary. “The woman who binds the King” is no longer needed.
There are no women in the national army. But if she wishes it, her father says he’ll make a place for her in a national army unit.
Marriage—that’s not bad either. If it were the old her, while keeping up appearances on the surface, she wouldn’t have been calm inside. But having experienced a kind of natural state, the choice of becoming a wife and bearing children wasn’t so detestable. If possible though, she wanted to be “herself” while being a woman.
“Father. The Royal Guard won’t be dissolved immediately, correct?”
“Yes. For the next few years there won’t be big changes. It’s as before.”
“Then I’ll postpone that choice.”
Someone who sees her as a woman. And someone who sees her as capable personnel. If she’s to marry, let it be to such a person. She wished for that.
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Understanding. Being understood. Being recognized for having piled up efforts not wishing to be “just a woman” while being expected to be “just a woman.” She wished for that.
After the privy council where the peace treaty was decided, Mary was invited to a tea party. By the King. What comes to her mind are her father’s words.
—His Majesty is no longer the Crown Prince. He is our country’s King, His Majesty Grois XIII.
Attending the tea party to confirm that, she glimpsed one aspect of what kind of existence “Santeneri King Grois XIII” is.
The King understands the meaning of what he’s trying to do. The importance of what he’s trying to let go of, and the anguish and fear of those being let go. And he told her his thoughts. He regards Mary as someone “worthy of being told.”
“You stay in the palace. War is men’s work. I’ll protect you.” Two years ago, the man before her told her that. Now, the same man is lifting that curse-like line.
—Men sometimes achieve surprising growth, don’t they? Or is His Majesty the exception?
The figure of King Grois listening with interest to talk of handicrafts she does as a hobby was fresh. Despite their long acquaintance, such topics had been nonexistent until now.
To the Crown Prince, she was probably just a symbol called “a Barois woman.” A symbol is a symbol. Whatever hobbies a symbol has don’t matter. It’s enough that “a Barois woman” exists. It needn’t be limited to the woman named Mary.
To the King, she is the real woman “Mary.” She found her own action of euphemistically declining to show him her unfinished stuffed animal surprising. In the past, she would have shown it half-automatically with no emotion. But now, she was embarrassed for the King to see her stuffed animal. Not a matter of skill. Because for her too, the King had become not a symbol but the real man “Grois-ene-en-Lerois.”
Mary became aware.
Marriage.
That choice isn’t bad either.
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