TPWSM 01

Chapter 1

“My dear Alisa. Among all my grandchildren, you are the wisest. Surely you know when a flower is in its fullest bloom.”

King Salesio began speaking in a tone full of meaning, his fingers stroking the rim of a vase overflowing with red roses.

Right now, I am standing in the middle of the King’s private study.

I came to the palace today to attend the Privy Council meeting in place of my bedridden father. The moment my carriage reached the main gates of the central palace, the King’s chief chamberlain appeared and escorted me straight here.

I had been told the King urgently wished to seek my counsel, so I came without resistance.

But counsel? Hardly. I am certain he called me here just to repeat the same nagging he always does.

“Yes, Your Majesty. Flowers often display their most brilliant beauty right before they wither.”

It was an obvious, loaded question, but since he is the King, I humored him at least at the start.

“That’s right. And there’s only a month left until my beautiful granddaughter’s twenty-ninth birthday. At your birthday banquet, the seat beside you will still be empty. As your old grandfather, I beg you—don’t let another year pass like this.”

As expected—more marriage pressure.

I had been summoned to this dreary study about three months ago as well.

Back then too, the King lectured me at length about the duties of the nobility. He said I was well past the age, so I should quickly find a suitable man, marry him, and continue the bloodline.

He even recommended a few idle, good-for-nothing second sons of noble houses as potential husbands. I flatly refused and left. Today, it seems, he intends to give me the same sermon again.

I pressed my lips together and rolled my eyes slowly.

The King let out a deep sigh at my still-defiant attitude.

“After five long years, you finally earned that useless military academy diploma, so now you have the time. Please, start looking for a husband.”

He pointed to the graduation ring on my left middle finger.

He was right—military academy diplomas are not worth much for women. Even if we graduate, the army will not commission us as officers. It’s basically like buying an expensive piece of paper.

The real reason I attended was different.

I wanted to prove to my mother that my abilities were in no way inferior to those of men.

And more than that—I wanted to avoid the rigid “marriage season” of the Levanteia social scene by using the school term as an excuse.

“As I always say, I’ll handle my marriage in my own time.”

“And you’ve been saying that for five years now. In your youth, you brought men into your bed almost daily, so what’s gotten into you that you now act like a nun?”

“…Must you bring up foolish times from my past just to embarrass your granddaughter?”

Yes, there was a time I switched lovers almost every day. But that was long ago, and in those days no one could fill the emptiness inside me.

“These days you seem completely cut off from the idea of marriage. And every time I see you, you’re wearing your father’s clothes. Have you burned all the dresses that once led the fashion trends in the social world?”

He clicked his tongue, looking me up and down.

Whenever I come to the palace, I wear formal attire, not dresses—
A stiff-collared, well-starched shirt, a black velvet vest and jacket, trousers pressed razor-sharp with an iron—all altered from clothes my father, the Duke of Lasantia, used to wear.

The days of fluttering around in butterfly-wing dresses and ruling the ballroom were just my foolish girlhood.

“Should I wear a bright yellow evening gown to the council meeting in my father’s place then? I’m a young duke, so I dress as one.”

“Ha-ha-ha. You really don’t lose an argument. Definitely my daughter Emma’s bloodline.”

The King shook his head, reaching for the vase again. He toyed with the loose gap between the petals of a fully-bloomed rose, then plucked a single withered petal and let it fall. The blood-red petal drifted down like a droplet of blood before landing softly on the carpet.

“In any case, in all of Levanteia’s seven-hundred-year history, not a single royal daughter has remained unmarried at twenty-nine. I’d prefer not to add another number to that disgraceful record.”

“Since when have you considered me a royal daughter? And besides, a hasty marriage made in poor judgment could be even more disgraceful.”

I retorted out of habit.

The King shook his head sharply, as if he could not listen to any more.

“Haah, Alisa. I wasn’t going to say this, but I must be clear—you would have stopped receiving marriage proposals long ago if not for your status as a young duke. How long do you think you’ll be admired as the ‘Red Rose of Levanteia’?”

His sharp gaze and pointed finger were aimed at my hair—tied in a single tail, glowing bright red like it had been dipped in the western sunset.

The symbol of the Levanteia royal family.

I shrugged.

“Call me whatever you want. I’m healthy and well-trained. Even after years pass, I might get wrinkles, but I won’t wilt. As you can see, I’m not a delicate flower.”

“…Hmph.”

“And, Your Majesty—perhaps you could stop using such tired metaphors with your beloved granddaughter? They’re neither amusing nor moving.”

I swallowed back the urge to tell him to stop worrying about my reputation. Seeing his face flush red and pale in turn, I thought it best not to push his blood pressure any higher.

The King pressed his fingers to his temple, staring at me with eyes clouded by boredom.

This defiant granddaughter talking back was nothing new, yet he always reacted this way.

“Your Majesty, you’re hardly in a position to pester me about marriage. Do you not remember I once had a perfectly respectable fiancé? And who was it that sabotaged that engagement?”

Ahem.

The King cleared his throat.

Five years ago, he was the very one who ruined my marriage prospects.

“Viscount Serenos may have been tall and handsome, but he was far too weak-hearted. He could never have handled you.”

A convenient excuse. In truth, he blocked the union between my house and Serenos’ for political reasons—
To prevent the alliance of two powerful houses that could threaten the throne.

The Serenos family had long produced Ministers of War, commanding the northern border and defending the realm. Five years ago, they played a key role in our great victory over Dvorka.

My family, the Dukes of Lasantia, were the kingdom’s foremost arms dealers. From our eastern mines, we extracted vast quantities of explosive minerals, shipping them to the frontlines.

The “Lasantium” bomb, named after our house, wiped out thousands of enemy soldiers at a time. In just over two years of conquest, the former neighboring nation of Dvorka vanished entirely from the map.

Its royal family fled to the only territory they had left—Pardon Island across the sea.

“Your Majesty, the chamberlain said you wanted my counsel. Would you get to the point? The meeting is starting soon.”

I pulled out my pocket watch to remind him—only ten minutes remained before the Privy Council convened.

The King brushed back his thinning hair with a wry smile. In his youth, called the “Red Lion,” he regularly dyed his hair crimson. But within days, the color faded to a pinkish hue in places.

Looking at his mottled hair and wrinkled eyes, I thought: He’s like a lion that’s lost its mane.

It was almost pitiable—once fierce enough to invade Dvorka, now he seemed diminished after achieving everything he wanted.

“…The matter will also be raised in today’s council. The Dvorkans keep rising up everywhere, causing lords no end of trouble. In some places, there have even been outright rebellions, with lordly castles burned to the ground.”

“Yes, I’ve heard some castles have been taken entirely. Just rumors, but I knew of it.”

Since their country became a colony and they were forced into labor, the Dvorkans had resisted in small and large ways. The King’s appointed governor, the Crown Prince, had ordered bloody crackdowns across the land.

Yet the uprisings only grew.

“Alisa, don’t you have territory in Dvorka? Even in Blansk, where you spend so much time—any such stirrings there?”

“No. Nothing like that in Blansk.”

The reason was simple—I did not impose forced labor on my people, nor did I follow the Crown Prince’s oppressive policies.

“…I see. In any case, the protesters’ demands boil down to two things—an end to the governor’s rule, and restoration of the Dvorkan monarchy. Neither is realistic, but we can’t keep suppressing them by force forever. Alisa, what would you do?”

This was only the second time he had sought my advice.

At the end of the war, when only Pardon Island remained to Dvorka, the King had asked me—should we invade the island and wipe out the royal family, or leave them alive to live in disgrace?

I had advised the latter. Even exiled, the royals remained a symbol of unity for the Dvorkan people. Preserving that symbol could help pacify them.

The King had accepted my counsel then. Would he again now?

“You’re not thinking of replacing the governor. You put the Crown Prince there for his own governing experience, after all.”

“I’m not asking for advice on personnel matters.”

The Crown Prince, Daimon, is my mother’s younger brother—my uncle. And frankly, he’s not a good ruler. But the King trusts him. Or perhaps, wants to trust him.

“Then that leaves one demand—restoring their monarchy.”

Bang!

The King slammed his fist on the desk, making the rose vase tremble and shed more petals.

“Damn it, that’s absurd! Why are they still loyal to Madilov, that coward who abandoned his country and fled with his family? They say he’s even gone mad—should we bring him back to the mainland and put him on the throne?”

I shook my head calmly.

“The Dvorkans unite not because they expect us to restore their sovereignty, but because they don’t want their roots denied. They don’t believe we’ll return their crown—they just need something to rally around. The harsher the oppression, the stronger the nationalism.”

“…I have no intention of placing a crown on Madilov’s head again.”

So much for seeking counsel—the King turned away stubbornly.

I smiled softly, brushing the wrinkles on his hand, and lowered my voice.

“You spared the exiled royals, as I advised. Now, why not find a use for them?”

“…Hmm?”

“It doesn’t have to be King Madilov. He has several sons, doesn’t he? Ask for one of them.”

The King froze, then turned back to me.

“Bring one of the princes here and make him a puppet king? For show?”

“Something like that. Officially proclaim Dvorka a protectorate. Put a crown on the prince’s head, and hold a grand coronation in front of the people.”