Daybreak:Alpha Chapter

Chapter 8 - Extreme Turbulence

Awareness returned to Sylviane with a terrible headache. Her brain felt bloated within the confines of an intolerably small container, which now threatened to fracture under the pressure and split her head in the process.

"Unhhhh..." Her hands rushed up to embrace her head. What in Holy Father's name did I do to deserve this torture?

"Mari..." the Princess cried out before opening her eyes. "Mari!"

"Yes, Your Highness?" came a gentle reply from the bodyguard and lady's maid, her blurry silhouette leaning in from the bedside chair.

Even before her vision cleared, Sylviane could recognize that they were in her expandable cabin -- the royal cabin, despite its austere interior.

She took the silver chalice that Mari offered with extended fingers. The water was icy and refreshing; even the slight brain freeze proved a blessing as it dulled the throbbing pain in her head.

"Wh-what happened?"

"Your Highness had just returned from the battlefield, and was berating the unconscious Lady Edith-Estellise when..."

Mari seemed to trail off into hesitation, as though she was unsure of how to put it into words. But as Sylviane finished her drink and wiped the lingering tears out of her eyes, her memories had began to flood back alongside a deluge of racing thoughts.

She hadn't been aware that Edith was unconscious. But so what? If anything, the Holy Father should have kept the girl awake. Dear Miss Perfect sorely deserved to hear opinions contrary to all the praise and admiration, which had clearly gone to her head. The saint of knights and crusaders indeed... She spent so much time sheltering her own image of honor and chivalry, that she would risk leaving the remainder of the country defenseless just to preserve her pride!

It was the logic of ignorant buffoons, a virtue championed by the bovine. To fight when there was every possibility of annihilation and not a shred of victory -- it was no courage but sheer lunacy! Had Edith even a quarter the intelligence to match her beauty, she would have detached irregulars to buy time while she withdrew the army north. The mighty fortification at the Avorican Capital of Condate lay less than thirty kilopaces away from Sylviane's arrival point at the Stone Circle.

But stupidity, however terrible, could still be forgiven. The Princess might wish some cutting words upon the front commander, but that paled in comparison against her feelings towards the intolerable act of Pascal's betrayal... no, treason.

My own fiancé! How could he humiliate me like that! In broad daylight!

Sylviane hardly noticed as her grasping fingers turned white, burning with the anger that sought to crush the metal vessel in her hands.

To forcibly silence her with a Blackout spell was the magical equivalent of negotiating with a cudgel. It was humiliating and demeaning, an act as barbarous as a husband beating his wife. Worse yet, it violated not her body but the sanctuary of her mind. Had she not remembered her moment of shock upon hearing his words, she would have never believed him capable of such brutish insolence.

I should see him whipped in public for such affront!

The Princess gritted her teeth under more than just pain. Her fists clenched as they struggled to contain emotions more terrible than agony. Were it not for the headache that plagued her as a direct aftermath of the Blackout spell, the rushing anger that boiled as she scanned through racing memories would have exploded.

At that moment, the door to her cabin opened. Sir Robert had been the first to enter, but behind him stepped in someone who was both the first and last face she wanted to ever see again.

"Pascal... what, do you have to say for yourself?"

Sylviane's hateful eyes rose slowly towards his face. She would give him one chance, to kneel down and beg for her forgiveness.

But instead, the Landgrave stared back in bewilderment, as though he was confused and blameless.

Before the Princess even realized it, the emptied chalice in her hands and had been sent hurling towards his face.

Her fiancé reacted just a second late. His hand batted aside the flying silver at the last moment, sending the weighted base straight into the surprised expression of the familiar girl flanking him.

The stunned Samaran swayed before rushing her small hands to her face, where a delicate nose was already dripping translucent-pink blood.

She'll heal in a minute, Sylviane brushed aside any guilt she might have had.

"Sylv wha--- what is wrong with you?" Pascal's turquoise eyes stared back in shock from beneath his soft golden curls.

"What is wrong with me? WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME? My own fiancé decided it was a good idea to shut me up by force, in front of an audience no less, by KNOCKING ME OUT for a whole day!?" the Princess roared as Sir Robert rushed to close the door to the morning sun outside. "And you think I AM THE ONE WHO IS WRONG!? ARE YOU INSANE OR JUST PLAIN RETARDED?"

Caught speechless by the moment, Pascal glanced toward the Lady Mari, who returned the barest of head-shakes.

Did you conspire with him as well?

The Princess' eyes narrowed as she reviewed Mari's expressions since waking up, images flying past in the same breakneck speed as her other thoughts. The lady's maid might have seemed troubled, but to describe Mari as 'guilty' would be a gross injustice.

Nevertheless, Mari was supposed to be the royal bodyguard. Yet here she was, trying to protect Pascal.

Sylviane would have to punish her for that later.

"I do not need an account from her," the Princess clarified. "I have my own memories to judge you by!"

"Then do you remember how you berated Lady Edith-Estellise as she laid, bruised, bloody, and unconscious?" Pascal retorted as he pointed out the door. "Do you also remember how you called her an 'idiot' and 'fool', in front of her own assembled troops -- the men and women who loved her almost like a mother for how she puts their lives ahead of her own on the battlefield!?"

"Do not take that tone with me, Landgrave!" Sylviane almost spat back. Being her fiancé and childhood companion had made this man brazen and impertinent. He would dare to question her authority, a clear sign that this young upstart needed to be put back in his place.

"I did not realize that she was unconscious at the time, but she bloody well deserved every word!"

The Princess' chest rose and fell with indignation as her wisteria gaze hardened under scorn and accusation.

"'Saint Estelle', they call her -- the Miracle of Ronceval. She is the embodiment of virtue -- 'courageous and exemplary, benevolent and selfless, an example to us all...'"

Sylviane bitterly repeated the words that her father, the late Emperor Geoffroi, once spoke when he presented Edith with the Saint's Lily. The rechristened fae crysteel kite shield was a heirloom of the Royal House of Gaetane, given to her Great-Great-Grandfather Louis the Bold by the Faerie Sword Oriflamme, Princess-Consort Gwendolyn of Avorica.

It was the shield to match Sylviane's Faerie Plate armor -- such was the esteem that Edith held in her father Geoffroi's gaze. Those proud, caring eyes had spoke what everyone else whispered within the palace halls, even if the Emperor could never say it aloud:

If only she were born into royalty.

If only Princess Sylviane was perfect like her.

"--and even you believe she is beyond reproach!" Sylviane lashed out as a tear of betrayal mixed into the fury in her gaze. "That her soul as pristine as her enchanting beauty! So of course it is not my place to accuse someone so perfect!"

"I knew you were going to say that--!"

"But that is also what you were thinking! Am I wrong!?" Sylviane challenged her fiancé's retort.

"You are shoving words straight into my mouth!" the Landgrave shouted, torn between frustration, anger, and flabbergast.

"Oh please. Do not think I haven't seen how you stare at her in the past, lusting after her with the same eyes as every other man..."

"Do not compare me with every other sex-addled brainless imbecile out there!"

Sylviane sneered for a brief moment as she glanced towards the Samaran familiar who was still pinching that pretty nose.

"And you think I am blind to how you have started sleeping with your familiar again? Less than a minute away from your lawfully engaged fiancé no less! So tell me, who is the 'sex-addled brainless imbecile' now?"

With his cheeks flushed, Pascal took a deep breath to calm down before explaining:

"Kaede... has been having difficulty sleeping, with repeated nightmares from battle trauma. So I--"

"So you thought she could sleep better with you, sharing a bed for one, than she could in her own bed?" Sylviane had to stop herself from barking a laugh in disbelief. "What a convenient excuse!"

"It's not an excuse," the familiar herself chimed in, her wispy voice barely audible behind her embarrassment. "I... I've been having nightmares ever since I returned to Nordkreuz... since stopped sharing a cabin with him..."

"Of course now the familiar would humiliate herself to stand up for her master," the Princess cut off the rest.

She had no time for such pitiful attempts at excuses.

By this point, Pascal had leveled his palms in exasperation:

"Sylv, you are not even trying to listen--!"

"I have no need to listen to your lousy excuses--!"

"--I may have slept in the same bed as Kaede, but we have done no more than that--!"

"--only because she has the soul of a man and is not a complete harlot--!"

While everybody else in the room already knew the truth, Sir Robert's eyes almost popped out of their sockets as his gaze spun towards the Samaran girl.

"--besides, do I look stupid enough to vie for the affections of Edith-Estellise!? Just look at what happened to the other--!"

Pascal had tried to talk over his fiancée by repeatedly escalating his volume. But the Princess would tolerate it no longer as she climbed out of her bed and all but screamed in return:

"--AND NONE OF IT EVEN BEGINS TO JUSTIFY THE CRIME THAT YOU HAVE COMMITTED!"

Thrown back onto the defensive, Pascal could only let loose a helpless, defeated sigh. He then exchanged a brief glance with his familiar before taking another deep, calming breath.

But what helped sooth him only made Sylviane's knuckles squeeze tighter as recognition struck:

Familiar-bond telepathy...

It only served to remind her of the permanent bond between these two -- a contract as sacred as the rite of matrimony itself.

"Yes, you are absolutely right," her fiancé admitted. "It was I who knocked you out in the most barbaric manner. There is no excuse for that. But I did it because I could not think of any other way that would work fast enough to stop you from ruining yourself!"

"So you can ruin me instead? To destroy my honor and dignity before the eyes of the army!?"

"Please Sylv! If you would just let me finish!" Pascal begged.

"--Just like you allowed me to finish before blacking out my consciousness!?"

"That is what I am trying to explain! That I did it for your sake!"

But before the next thought could rush out from the Princess' lips, it was Sir Robert who beseeched next on behalf of the Landgrave:

"Your Highness, please!"

The royal armiger even knelt down on one knee as a sign of obedience, that he was still on her side.

He was soon joined on the floor by Lady Mari, and even Kaede as well.

With her breaths loud and her indignation irrepressible, Sylviane bored her cutting stare into Pascal's pleading eyes. Facing those turquoise eyes swirling with emotions, the Princess decided that the man before her would receive one chance... and one chance only.

"On your knees then!"

"Sylv... what--!?" Pascal uttered back in stunned surprise.

"If you wish to explain your crimes, then you may at least do so with due penitence. On your knees, Your Grace!"

His expression shocked by what he was hearing, the Landgrave of Nordkreuz slowly bent one leg and lowered himself onto the floor.

Sitting back down on her bed, Sylviane could at last console herself that nature had, once again, been restored to its proper order. It was a sense of triumph, a minor satisfaction that all was as it should be once more.

But it was still a long way from exacting her revenge, her desire to see him humiliated tenfold in return.

"Your Highness," Pascal stressed as he began. "Lady Edith-Estellise, to be sure, has the intellect of a common blacksmith. But with Gaston and Cosette in the south, and Gervais leading his brothers in the mountains, who else does Rhin-Lotharingie have? This is a woman who was abandoned at an abbey as a child, who was thrice engaged and thrice widowed, her third husband assassinated at the altar itself! Since then she has sworn a life of celibacy and dedicated her sword to the defense of the Trinitian Realm; for this, her limited mental faculties were pressed upon to command a theater of war where she must face several times her forces in battle!"

"In short..." He paused to catch his breath. "Edith-Estellise has been forced onto a role that she could never fulfill because everyone insists on putting her on a pedestal! And just to hold the line, she is left no choice but to constantly martyr herself by carrying that doubled-edged Sword of Charity!"

"For Holy Father's sake, Sylv!" Pascal plead as he gradually rose from the ground, his words and tone normalizing once more. "She is a woman who deserves your pity, not your scorn! Certainly not before the army that she is like a mother to! Or do you think any child would gladly hear insults leveled at a beloved parent cursed by tragedy, regardless of whether they ring with the echo of truth?"

Sylviane didn't even have to think. She would cut out the insolent person's tongue for daring to presume they had the right to criticize the late Emperor, her dutiful father who died prioritizing the country rather than his own life.

But that was also the difference: Edith didn't sacrifice herself out of a love for her country; she did it for her own ideal -- honor and virtue.

In other words, it was her vanity.

"Perhaps my words were brash," the Princess admitted without any sincerity. "But that is no excuse for your outrageous behavior!"

"What else was I suppose to do? Stand by and watch as Rhin-Lotharingie's own soldiers come to detest their Princess?"

"I don't care what the situation is. You have no right to use such barbaric methods!"

"You are not being reasonable!" Pascal protested, his hands waving in desperation.

"I am your future wife and empress! I don't need to reason with you!"

Sylviane's finishing words left a tone of finality in the air.

The conclusion had been set in stone. There was no longer any purpose left to argue. Only an oppressive silence stayed to reign over the atmosphere as the two betrothed locked their detesting gazes.

"Have it your way then," Pascal almost spat out as he spun his heels towards the door. "Kaede--"

"Leave Kaede here," Sylviane interjected. "You are not to be with her again until you learn to repent for your actions!"

"WHAT!?" Pascal spun back around within a second's time.

"She is MY familiar and MY responsibility! You cannot just-- confiscate her!" he gestured towards the Samaran girl with bewildered outrage.

"I can, I am, and you will accept it!" the Princess fired back. "What other fiancée would tolerate you keeping a mistress so openly? She is an insult on my honor!"

"She is not... You know that is not what she is!"

"Then perhaps I should go with my other thought and give you twenty lashes before the army for lèse majesty!"

Sir Robert looked aghast that the Princess could even suggest it. But Pascal breached all established protocol yet further as he yelled back:

"I would rather be whipped than--!"

"Pascal, please!" Kaede finally cried out. "You're not helping here! And I can take care of myself!"

The faint quiver in her voice sounded anything but sure of her safety in the Princess' hands. Nevertheless, her master fell silent and -- after another few deep breaths and likely telepathic exchanges -- gave in to the inevitable.

"If you harm her..." the irate Landgrave's hand was almost shaking as he raised a finger towards his fiancée.

He then strode out and slammed the cabin door behind him without another word.

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

"Your Grace! Wait!"

Sir Robert had to make his excuses before rushing out after Pascal. He found the Landgrave no more than fifty paces away, his returning stare both resentful and outraged.

After sprinting over to catch up, Robert began to cast Sanctum Veil around themselves. Security was high here in the center of the Lotharin encampment. But the last thing they want would be for a patrolling officer to overhear their conversation and leak out a twisted rumor. With the spell in place, those outside their immediate vicinity would hear nothing but inconspicuous conversations such as about food, clothing, and the weather.

"Please," Robert began the moment his ward took hold. "You have to forgive Her Highness. She's been under another hypomania episode since her speech to Lady Lynette's troops yesterday, maybe even before that. She doesn't--"

"Yes, I know," Pascal interrupted irritably. "You have told me before what this condition does to her. But knowing what causes it hardly makes me feel any better! Here I am, exhausting every ounce of my energy in trying to keep her country intact, to keep her armies in fighting form, to keep that throne hers! And what do I receive in return?" He thrust a finger back towards the cabin. "THAT!"

Robert exhales a deep breath.

"Although you have to admit though: many of her accusations against you were true..."

Sir Robert's voice soon trailed off as Pascal sent him a smoldering glare, the I-hate-you-for-being-right variety combined with you-know-what-I-had-meant.

The Landgrave did commit an act of barbarism, and he was being unfaithful to his fiancée in sleeping with another woman -- however chaste the experience might be. But while a normal, reasonable individual might have considered the broader circumstances, the Princess was running with a crippling bias towards her own viewpoint.

Had Pascal began with a thorough apology, perhaps Sylviane might have stayed calmer. Except such behavior was impossible for the Landgrave's pride; at least, not without significant outside prodding.

I really should have advised him before we arrived...

For a minute the two men simply stood side by side, speechless, their heads cooling in the wintry breeze.

"Then... what do you plan to do now?" Sir Robert broke the silence at last.

"What will I do? What can I do!?" Pascal's derisive reply seemed to mock both Robert and himself. "She is still my fiancée! I could hardly just turn my back on her!"

Exhaling another heavy sigh, Sir Robert glanced back towards the Princess' cabin, where Pascal's parting words did -- truth be told -- leave him concerned.

"I guess I should feel relieved by those words..."

Pascal sneered in reply:

"What do you take me for? A commoner? That I would even consider annulling our contract just because of an obstacle like this?"

"That's not--"

"I will see you tomorrow, Sir Robert," Pascal brushed him off as he stepped out of the Sanctum Veil area and went on his way. "Let us hope she snaps out of it by then!"

No, Sir Robert thought to himself. At best, she'll crash into a depression. Although I guess even that's better than actively ruining her life like this.

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