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Chapter 74
I performed a ritual purification bath and then sat down at my study desk.
In my hand right now was the sacred relic of the Archangel Michael.
It was a golden orb, about the size of a goose egg, with countless tiny needles protruding from its surface—so fine they could hardly be seen with the naked eye.
When I held it, nothing happened. But when it was placed in the Grand Duke’s grasp, it had emitted a blinding light.
They said it reacts to the blood of the one who touches it.
A faint prickling sensation spread through my palm as I held the relic.
When Vera returns from Pardon Island with the girl said to be the Grand Duke’s younger sister, the first thing I plan to do is put this object in her hand.
If what the Grand Duke claims is true—that she is indeed his blood sister—then she must bear the royal bloodline of Dvorka.
The more I thought about it, the stranger it seemed. I had heard that Nadia, the Grand Duke’s birth mother, died giving birth to a stillborn child. I had even seen their remains interred together in a memorial behind the royal palace in Yorka.
But if, by some chance, that child survived—?
If the girl Vera brings truly is the Grand Duke’s sibling, the matter changes entirely.
She would be my sister-in-law. If she comes to Blansk, we couldn’t possibly ignore her identity forever.
Even the Grand Duke wouldn’t be able to keep her a secret indefinitely.
“Lady Alisa, Joachim has come to see you.”
Katarina’s voice came from beyond the door.
I rose quickly to greet the guest I had been waiting for.
Joachim, once the religious head of Dvorka, welcomed me with his usual warm, broad smile.
“Greetings, my lady.”
“I’ll get straight to the point. I called you here because I have questions about this object.”
I placed the Archangel Michael’s relic upon my palm.
“Please, ask away. I’ll answer as best I can with what this old man knows.”
“If someone else besides the Grand Duke reacts to this relic when they touch it, can we assume they, too, carry the royal blood of Dvorka?”
The old man’s snowy-white brows twitched.
“My lady… has someone other than the Grand Duke shown a reaction to the relic?”
“…Not exactly. I’m speaking hypothetically.”
Joachim cleared his throat and began to explain.
“As I’ve said before, this sacred relic responds to the blood of Dvorka’s royals. Even distant relatives will cause a faint reaction. But if it is a direct bloodline, then—as you saw with the Grand Duke—it emits a dazzling light.”
“Regardless of gender?”
“Yes. It makes no distinction between male or female.”
Ah. Then if the girl is truly his sister, she should radiate a similar brilliance.
“Joachim, I’m curious. What’s the principle behind this relic? Why does it react to royal blood?”
“We priests… believe it to be divine power.”
“Divine power?”
“Yes, for they are the descendants of Archangel Michael himself.”
Joachim recited the founding myth of Dvorka.
Archangel Michael, who united with Queen Isabella, the kingdom’s first monarch.
I recalled seeing a holy painting in Dvorka’s royal temple once. By the command of the goddess Furana, Michael descended to earth—depicted as a strong man with silver hair and vast, pure white wings. That painting had been torn down and burned when the Governor-General’s office was established, but its image remained clear in my memory.
Hmm. So the idea is that angelic blood flows through them, and thus divine power is passed down through the generations.
How curious. How can Furana’s priests blindly believe in a myth that is centuries old?
And more than anything, I couldn’t grasp how this “divine power” was supposed to manifest. The Grand Duke didn’t appear to have any supernatural abilities.
“So what exactly does this divine power do? Does it create miracles, like the saints of old healing the sick?”
Joachim quietly chuckled and shook his head.
“…Miracles are nothing other than inspiring pride and reverence in the people.”
“Reverence—as in, just by seeing them, people feel compelled to serve them?”
“Exactly. Dvorka’s royals wield a persuasive charisma before the masses. Especially once they ascend the throne—their words and actions naturally carry authority. Why, recall that when the Grand Duke assumed the throne, there was not a shred of opposition among the people.”
His words were true. The people of Dvorka had welcomed his accession with open arms. I had never heard of any protests. Despite being the youngest prince and illegitimate, no one questioned the legitimacy of his claim.
“Wasn’t that because Queen Elizabeta adopted him and publicly recognized him as sovereign?”
At our wedding parade, she had stood at the very front, waving to the crowd—an unmistakable symbol of her endorsement of his legitimacy.
“Of course, Her Majesty’s recognition played a role. But even looking back through history, Dvorka has never experienced a rebellion.”
It wasn’t news to me. I had learned about Dvorka’s history from tutors as a child and read books about it myself.
Even then, I had found it odd. How could a kingdom exist without a single case of usurpation? Even when a second or third son ascended the throne, there had never been an instance of rebellion from his brothers.
“Hmm. And you attribute that to divine power?”
“Yes. Once someone sits upon the throne, no one denies their sacred authority. Whether royal, noble, commoner, or slave—Dvorkans believe without exception. It is a faith that transcends class.”
Ah, so it only applies to Dvorkans.
Their royal charisma clearly didn’t sway foreigners. If it had, my uncle, Crown Prince Daimon, wouldn’t have dared to bind the Grand Duke in chains and mock him.
Still, perhaps the devotion I saw in Dvorka’s people—their sincere, reverent eyes—was rooted in deep faith.
The Michaelov dynasty, unshaken by civil strife for centuries. Perhaps my grandfather, King Salesio, envied King Madilov’s unassailable authority and longed to topple it.
The King often mocked Madilov’s incompetence, lamenting that despite neglecting state affairs after the mere death of a concubine, his reign still endured.
Now, Crown Prince Daimon seemed equally resentful. He had failed to quell Dvorka’s turmoil himself, yet when the Grand Duke ascended, all unrest had vanished as though swept away.
“I see.”
So that explained why the royals who fled to Pardon Island during the war still commanded such love.
“Our people of Dvorka believe firmly. They trust that His Highness the Grand Duke will one day restore the kingdom’s foundation. They know liberation from the suzerain is far off. But they can still carry one fervent hope in their hearts.”
Joachim’s eyes glimmered beneath his wrinkled lids. A clear sign of hope—that someday, if not now, Dvorka would be free from colonial rule.
“Ha. You forget, sometimes, that I’m the granddaughter of the King of Levantea.”
Here in Blansk, my presence was the very symbol of colonial dominion. No wonder, regardless of how I ruled, I bore the infamous title of “the witch of hell.”
“My lady, I believe it is you who forgets at times—that you are the consort of Dvorka’s sovereign.”
Well. Perhaps more a sponsor than a spouse. My union with the Grand Duke was closer to that.
Still, one day my name would appear in the annals of Dvorka’s royal history as the Grand Duchess. The thought felt strangely surreal. Even though the Grand Duke always addressed me as such, I had never truly thought of myself as the Grand Duchess.
“I’ll have to be careful with my words and deeds, then. I don’t want to go down in history as the greatest villainess of the dynasty.”
“That will never happen, my lady.”
Joachim answered with certainty. I couldn’t help but frown.
“Why? You know better than anyone how the people call me.”
“Because we priests at least know who you really are. We, too, keep our own records of history.”
I realized then how wise it had been to win over the clergy first. Their presence helped soften, even a little, the hatred Blansk’s people bore toward me.
“…Ah, here. A donation certificate signed by the Grand Duke.”
I pulled a parchment document from my desk drawer and handed it to Joachim. At the top it read: Funds for the Establishment of Blansk Royal University. This was the second reason I had called him today.
“You weren’t joking about founding a university in Blansk?”
Joachim asked with a deep breath, visibly stunned. I had mentioned the idea before, but perhaps he hadn’t believed me.
“By now, the people of Blansk—men, women, young and old—all know how to read and write. Many students want to study further, but Yorka’s Royal University was burned down in the war. The only way forward is to build one here. I’ve already chosen a site, so focus on gathering faculty. Reach out to the scholars who fled overseas during the war.”
“I… I will see it built in your name with utmost devotion.”
His hands trembled as he accepted the donation certificate. The sum: fifty million Lebl. The amount was staggering.
“Not in my name. Can’t you read the top? It says Royal University.”
“Royal… then—”
“It will be built under the name of Grand Duke David Michaelov. It’s a national project. Handle it with the utmost care.”
This had long been my plan. Regardless of my relationship with the Grand Duke, I had resolved to establish a university in Dvorka. After all, that was one of the greatest institutions my homeland had destroyed.
Shamelessly, I found myself wanting to ask that man a favor. See how I am striving to revive your country. Don’t betray my efforts.
Because the only thing I hoped for from him now was sincerity. Nothing else.
As soon as I dismissed Joachim, another report arrived.
Vera’s organization had secured a ship in Bedef and was sailing to Pardon Island.
I would have to report the progress to the Grand Duke tonight.
For some reason, I found myself looking forward to the time I would see him again.
