Daybreak:Alpha Chapter

Chapter 16 - What A General Needs

"--Pascal also said that given Rhin-Lotharingie's political position, it would be best if we managed a peaceful coexistence with the Caliphate."

It was a proposition towards the foreign policy of an empire, which came from a young girl no more than nine years old.

After over a year of stay in Nordkreuz as effectively a prison of war and political hostage, Princess Sylviane had returned to her homeland at last. Her father Geoffroi had come to the border in person to pick her up, and now she snuggled into the side of his broad chest as they rode the royal carriage back.

But had the Emperor taken any offense from being told how to manage diplomacy by a mere child, he showed no signs of it. Instead, an amused smile stretched across his visage as his large hand brushed her dark-plum hair from her other side.

It was a comforting luxury that she had not experienced for too long.

"Pascal seems to think that everything is like numbers and tools, just freely manipulated at will," the Emperor laughed. "The Caliph has an ego too. There is no way he'll agree to be friendly when I'm the one who took lands from him during our last war."

"Not even when we're the enemy of their enemies?" the princess turned her curious gaze to ask. "I mean -- 'the enemy of my enemy is my friend' right? Doesn't the Caliphate have to struggle against Skagen's naval projection and the Imperium's Inner Sea dominance?"

Power projection, maritime dominance -- they were concepts that Sylviane wouldn't have dreamed of using two years ago. But now, she spoke them with pride and confidence, hoping to impress her own father with her maturity and growth.

Though for a moment, Geoffroi's smile wavered a hint as he lightly shook his head:

"Sadly, politics isn't that simple. It's not just situational circumstances, but also a clash of personalities. Other than interests, there are also personal values, dignity, ego, trust, and so on..."

An all-embracing warmth soon returned to the father's doting eyes as he looked down to meet the daughter's light-violet orbs.

"I take it Pascal is an adherent of 'Realpolitik'? Well, he is a Weichsen after all."

"Uh... maybe? Ummm, w-what is real-polity-k?" Sylviane carefully pronounced the unfamiliar term, abashed that she still fell short of her father's expectations.

But a return smile full of pride and fatherly love easily chased her concerns away.

"Looks like the know-it-all hadn't taught everything after all," Geoffroi chuckled again. "Don't worry. Father will gladly coach you once we get back. And the next time you meet Pascal you can make him envious at just how much you've outgrown him!"

"Oooh, that would be great!" the princess beamed back. "He's always wearing this smug little grin around. It would be nice to see him falter and cringe just once or twice!"

Still smiling, still rhythmically brushing her hair, Geoffroi's blue-violet eyes grew pensive as he turned to look out carriage's window at the passing landscape. The entourage followed the riverside road as they made their way west, crossing the heartlands of Rhin-Lotharingie.

"Sylv, you know, you've been talking non-stop about Pascal since I picked you up."

There was a tinge of sadness in her father's voice, and Sylviane's guilt instantly spiked. She had been so engrossed in telling her father about everything she had experienced and learned that she forgot to ask about how he -- or the rest of the family -- was doing.

Her sun vanished in an instant. Within seconds, the gloomy clouds of dejection swept in as her gaze dropped to the floor.

"I'm sorry father. I was carried away--"

But she stopped as her father reached down to gently lift her chin back up.

"No, that's not what I meant," Geoffroi reassured with a wistful smile.

For several moments, neither the Emperor nor the Princess said a word. They simply stared into each others' eyes. The father's -- proud yet sentimental. The daughter's -- curious and uncertain.

Sylviane couldn't figure out what her father was thinking, not even when they grew glassy with moisture.

It was almost shocking. She had never, not even once, ever seen her father be overwhelmed by emotions.

He was Geoffroi the Great, the steadfast Emperor whose masculine strength was admired by every Lotharin throughout the realm.

...Or at least, that was what she believed. Even Pascal, or the elder von Moltewitz, or King Leopold of Weichsel, spoke of her father with great esteem.

"Sylv..." Geoffroi finally broke the silence. "What do you think about Pascal? Do you enjoy being with him?"

"He's fun, and interesting... but but, i-it's not like that I like him or anything!"

Sylviane almost shouted back in a delayed kneejerk reaction. Her wisteria gaze had locked stares with her father's. But before those earnest, penetrating eyes, the young girl soon wilted and glanced away.

Her cheeks were burning red and hot. She didn't even understand why, but it was just... so embarrassing to think about.

Besides, Pascal was from Weichsel -- a country they had been hostile against until just a few weeks ago. She could be friendly and courteous with him, but she couldn't actually be friends with him.

...Let alone anything more than that.

"Royalty should never be afraid of their own feelings," Geoffroi added sternly. "Now, tell father: did you enjoy your time with Pascal? And you swear to the Holy Father that it's the truth, because this is very important."

Sylviane wanted to shy away from her father's gaze, to hide her embarrassing moment from the world. But there wasn't any cover, not even a loose blanket.

Under her father's unrelenting scrutiny, she finally returned a meek nod.

Silence returned to the air once more, but Sylviane couldn't bring herself to look at her father. Was he dejected? Disconsolate? Disappointed?

But the words that spoke next were none of them.

"I am considering offering him your hand in marriage."

For a brief moment Sylviane completely froze. She couldn't have heard that properly, could she?

Her cheeks were beet-red under eyes as wide as saucers by the time she snapped back.

"W-w-what are you talking about father!? I'm still only nine!"

"Do you dislike him?"

"I-its not that I hate him or anything, b-but isn't this against..."

"--What have I told you about double negatives Sylv?" Geoffroi cut in with a stern frown. "Clarity. Royalty must speak with clarity, confidence, determination. Even if you must express doubt, you should never allow your voice to fall into weakness."

Sylviane shut herself up at once as she cast her eyes down again, ashamed in the wake of her father's lecturing words.

"...Sorry."

"You didn't used to talk like this," he pondered aloud. "Where did you pick this up?"

"P-Pascal said..."

Her meek voice trailed off again as Geoffroi gave a deep sigh.

"That brat."

For a half-minute, a discomforting silence settled over the two as Sylviane heard only the rhythmic creaking of the wagon's wheels. She could only hope that her honest reply didn't just ruin any chances of her meeting Pascal again.

"Sylv... do you remember what your mother once taught you about the 'Gaetane Legacy' -- about how we don't do political marriages?"

Sylviane quickly nodded back. That was precisely what she tried to bring up a moment ago:

"Yes father. Before my Great-Great-Grandfather Louis the Bold united the Oriflamme and founded the Rhin-Lotharingie Coalition during the Independence War, he had been forced to abandon the love of his life and settle for an arranged marriage by his parents. He blamed his wife for this and never forgave her -- not even after she helped him faithfully during the wars. It was not until his dying years when he finally recognized the damage done to his children due to his failed marriage."

A broad grin broke across her father's expression as he gently stroked her hair once more.

"Trust your mother to always emphasize the romantic parts," he spoke with bittersweet nostalgia that left Sylviane briefly confused before his tone stiffened again. "Louis the Bold was also an avid student of history, and he believed strongly that the endurance of any royal dynasty lay in the number of consistent able monarchs it produced. Before he died, he stated that the Gaetane family should never marry for political purpose again, but for loving, supportive families that can raise healthy and strong heirs -- not only physically but also mentally, emotionally, psychologically."

Connecting doting blue-violet eyes to earnest wisteria gaze again, Geoffroi continued his fatherly teachings with a proud emphasis:

"--Sylv, I know you've been told many things about what a Princess should be, but always remember that as a Gaetane, duty to our family is the same as building the future of our realm. It doesn't matter if it's man or woman, conqueror or administrator -- those who abandon their role as a parent also fail as a hereditary lord."

Slowly but surely, Sylviane nodded back to her father's smile. She carved his words into memory, promising herself to remember them even years, even decades from now.

"I am certain that Pascal has many good qualities and will surely grow to be a capable man," Geoffroi acknowledged, much to the daughter's growing joy. "But... would he be a good husband? A good father? That I'm not sure about..."

"Father..." the Princess hesitantly murmured. "You really want to m-marry me off to him? I mean, I d-don't object if you really..."

"Marry you off?" the Emperor almost barked a laugh. "Oh never! I'm considering asking for his betrothal to you, not the other way around!"

Then, as his tone gradually settled back down:

"Sylv, I know this might seem a bit early, but a political marriage cannot be arranged late..."

With her cheeks still glowing like charcoal, Sylviane instinctively opened her mouth to object. But her father's raised hand stopped her before she even finished a single word.

"Yes, I know. I'm going against our founder's decree. But Sylv, there is a problem with not forging alliances by marriage, and I have felt it keenly over the years. Ever since its founding, Rhin-Lotharingie has remained a collection of autonomous and semi-independent feudal states. Our markets cannot adhere to standardized regulations; our military lacks centralized control. Our efforts in economy and industry are always disorganized, and our frontiers remain vulnerable to our neighbors..."

Sylviane nodded back as she understood the pain in her father's voice. Even Pascal had recognized this problem, which he highlighted to her as Rhin-Lotharingie's principle weakness that Weichsel exploited during the war.

"--Your grandfather and I both tried to change this," Geoffroi continued on, "and we both gave up when faced with powerful resistance from the nobility. These centralization reforms are necessary for our nation's future, but they are also deeply unpopular. For any chance of their success, we would need powerful alliances, the most reliable of which can only be obtained through ties of marriage and bonds of blood."

"And... that's why you want me to marry a Weichsen," the Princess realized at last, her embarrassment finally fading in the face of royal duty.

"Not just any Weichsen, but the son of their greatest Duke and Marshal since that stablehand-turned-general Hermann von Mittermeyer," the Emperor accentuated. "Even without considering his own potential, Pascal will inherit the richest Duchy of Weichsel and retain the good graces of King Leopold through his father's legacy alone."

But as his declaration came to an end, the Emperor's gaze softened to that of a father's once more:

"Nevertheless Sylv -- I may be risking your happiness, but I'm not prepared to throw it away. That is why I want your honest, truthful reply: what do you think of Pascal?"

Sylviane's cheeks flushed red once more. But this time, she neither stuttered nor faltered. With her will fortified by a personal sense of obligation, she answered her father in clear, unwavering terms:

"I do get along well with him, and I honestly believe that he will grow up to be a splendid man. It's just that... I'm not sure what to think of him for a marriage. For starters -- he's not very knightly."

The Princess then halted in bewilderment as her father gave off the weirdest noise. An oddly tilted grin stretched across his expression as his shoulders shook... with something between a suppressed chortle and a choking sigh.

Geoffroi had to clear his throat several times before he could speak again:

"I swear... your mother read way too many romance novels. Knightly -- as if chivalry had anything to do with ruling an Empire..."

Sylviane's brows furrowed once more. Becoming the Emperor was a job slated for one of her older brothers. How did that have anything to do with her?

"Sylv, a perfect knight might be able to protect you as an individual, to save you from disaster to live another day. But a perfect general... he would guarantee not only your safety from thousands, millions of enemies, but also ensure the prosperity of your children, your descendants, your entire realm for generations to come."

"That is what I hope Pascal will be for you: a true general -- a marshal."

----- * * * -----

With her back against the room's corner, Sylviane opened her swollen eyes once more. Her brief reprieve in the past had been a pleasant one: the final memory of her childhood years.

...Because after that conversation between father and daughter, Geoffroi finally told her the news that everyone else had avoided for weeks: her mother and two brothers had been assassinated by Imperial Mantis Blades, and she was now the crown princess -- heir to the throne of Rhin-Lotharingie.

Nine years old or not, she could no longer be a child after that.

For more than a decade since then, she had walked the path of a crown princess. Her father had become her foremost tutor, instructing her in every affair of state through his daily tasks. Privy council, military council, assembly of lords, diplomatic audiences, legal consultations, mercantile negotiations -- she had attended them all.

Her daily schedule ran from dawn until dusk. She initially had two days off a week plus four hours of free time per day, but even that her father halved over the years.

There were times when she absolutely hated, hated her father for forcing her through it all. Crown Princess? She never once cared for her exalted rank and title. All she wanted was to be able to leisurely study and play at her own pace alongside others of her own age.

But when she finally gathered enough resolve to lash out at Geoffroi, it was he who stole her thunder by crumbling first:

"I'm sorry Sylv," the Emperor whispered back as tears rolled down from both eyes. "Your mother, your brothers -- they just all went, gone. I don't have anyone else left. I know you never wanted this, but... I don't know what else to do."

Sylviane had never felt as ashamed of herself as that day.

She had swore to herself that she would never, ever try to abandon her father again.

But the Imperials wasn't satisfied with only three-fourth of her family.

Yesterday, a trusted messenger had personally brought the worst news from Alis Avern:

Her uncle Gabriel, who had retired from his duties to the north, returned with the aid of the Knights Templar to seize the crown.

He had butchered the Emperor during the coup, impaled the head on a pike, and burned the rest of the corpse.

It had been an Imperial machination -- Sylviane had no doubt of that -- which snatched away the last of her family.

She was no longer the Crown Princess. She had been denounced as an apostate's daughter, and everything she had toiled for the recent half of her life was gone.

Sylviane couldn't take it any more after that. She had dismissed her armigers and secluded herself in a dark corner of her unlit cabin, where she had wept the hours away.

The sun fell and rose again. The tears ran out and left her with swollen, itchy eyes. But orphaned girl from royalty didn't give a single care.

All she did was reminiscence -- memories of the past, memories of happier times.

In the darkness of her depression, she had even taken out her engraved dagger -- a present from her father at the age of ten -- and pressed it against her chest.

But she couldn't bring herself to commit the ultimate sin.

Not only the Holy Father, but even her parents would never forgive her had she committed suicide.

Now, the gleaming steel lay forgotten on the floor as Sylviane stared into the air with hollowed eyes.

She never heard the repeated knocking, or the calls in her name. She never noticed at all until the door opened to the sunlight outside, admitting a man and her armored maid.

"Oh my lord... shut the door Mari," came a familiar voice.

Sylviane's eyes never bothered to focus her blurry sight. It took all her willpower just to crack open her parched lips:

"Mari... I told you to leave me alone..."

"You also claimed that you were no longer the princess, and we no longer had to follow you," Mari replied with grim determination as she closed the door and leaned against it. "If you wish to rescind that order, I will gladly offer you my head as punishment."

"You should have gotten me earlier, Mari," the male voice reprimanded as his boot kicked her dagger across the room.

"I'm sorry Milord, but I didn't realize it was this bad until this morning when she wouldn't answer," came the reply.

Sylviane at last recognized the familiarity -- the man was Pascal, much older than in her memories -- who was also the last person she wanted to see.

...More precisely, he was the last person she wanted to see her like this.

"LEAVE!" her hoarse voice shouted as she buried her head between her knees.

"Sure," Pascal casually replied as he sat down next on the bed just next to use. "Right after you kick me back out -- your skills at that have been steadily improving over the years."

(still working)