The Wind Turns

Rhea had been born a princess of her kingdom, yet she had grown up knowing nothing of its brutal struggles for power. After her father was gone, her older brother had inherited the throne as was proper, and that gentle brother had taken it upon himself to be her protector. Had nothing ever gone wrong, she would likely have chosen a decent enough husband from within the kingdom, married, and spent her life being called Princess in blissful, childish ignorance.

She had prevented the tragic catastrophe that would have befallen her kingdom—but she could never return to the girl who had known nothing. The bright, carefree Princess Rhea was dead. She had lived through the reality of a world that could turn upside down overnight and send her tumbling into the mire, and she would carry for the rest of her days the dread that the same thing could happen again at any moment. If that was the price of having lived one life and come back, then so be it.

That's right. He's had his share of hardships too. Standing at the very heart of power, he wouldn't have a moment to let his guard down.

"The reason I need the position of prince's consort is because, given where I stand now, it's the fastest—and the only—path into the heart of the Empire."

If she wanted to reach him, she would have to be a little more honest.

"I've heard that those from vassal states occupy the lowest rank in the Empire's aristocratic society."

There was no law in the Empire that explicitly discriminated among nobles. But custom was more terrifying than any law. The imperial family was of the sacred bloodline—a station no one else could approach. Directly beneath them were the Gold Crown nobles, those born of the Empire's traditional great houses. Below them were the Silver Crown nobles: regional aristocrats from territories that had been annexed and all but fully imperialized. At the very bottom, the lowest of all, were those called Iron Crown nobles, and that was where those from vassal states belonged.

Imperial high society had a powerful tendency to keep to its own and marry among itself. For Rhea to leap those invisible walls within the Empire was all but impossible. But if she became a prince's consort, she would step inside the fence of the sacred bloodline in a single bound. She would be given the chance to speak with Gold Crown, Silver Crown, and Iron Crown nobles alike. If she was to keep First Prince Enoch in check, that was—from where she stood now—her only hope.

Rhea smiled brightly before that hope. She had smiled even when the way ahead was pitch-black. How, then, could she not smile when a path lay right before her eyes?

"......"

"I understand why Your Highness refused my proposal. I'm someone trying to throw herself into the very heart of the whirlpool you're trying to avoid."

Carion had seen countless people throw themselves at power like moths to a flame. They all tried to hide their desires behind a veneer of refinement. He had never met anyone who laid them out as boldly as she did. And so, for the first time, he found himself curious about another person's desire.

"To what end?"

"That, I can't tell you. If you want to know, marry me."

Carion let out a short, incredulous laugh.

"I haven't given up."

Once again, Carion laughed aloud—a brief, quiet sound. Rhea's eyes wavered for an instant.

She had been born a princess, and afterward she had wandered the world; she had seen no shortage of handsome men. And yet she could not help but be struck by Carion's smile. The King of Nortia had truly outdone himself with this one son.

He must have known it too. He just wasn't the type to go around bragging. How could he not have known?

"I'll go in first."

The mood is good right now.

Before the conversation could stretch any further and spark some pointless argument, she took her leave at once.

Watching her receding figure, Carion's hand twitched. It was instinct. He wanted to touch her—to know whether it had been his imagination, or whether there was truly something there. But he clenched his fist and turned away.

It was not that he feared disappointment if there was nothing. If it was nothing, that would simply be the end of it. But if she was special—he had not the faintest idea what he would do. And so he chose to look away.

Carion woke to the sound of knocking at his bedchamber door. The room was utterly dark; it must have been nearly midnight.

"Your Highness. It's Cedric."

When Cedric, who had been knocking, entered, Carion sat up in bed.

"There's a forest fire. The situation does not look ordinary."

Carion threw on an outer garment and immediately climbed to the watchtower that connected from the top floor of the residence to the fortress wall. From there, the entire garrison could be taken in at a glance, and even Poema's bustling city center was visible in the distance. Between the city and the garrison, a crimson blaze burned vivid in the darkness, spreading as it went.

Poema was a region of many mountains, and it was wet year-round, so forest fires were almost unheard of. But this year a drought had lasted nearly half a year, and a heavy gloom had settled over the land. Since arriving at the Poema garrison, Carion had devoted his greatest attention to calming public sentiment through food supplies and to maintaining public order. The possibility of a forest fire had never occurred to him. Decades of dense woodland that had grown without a single blaze would, in their parched state, make excellent kindling.

"Sound the emergency bell."

"Yes, Your Highness."

A clamorous peal of bells rang out across the entire garrison. Places throughout the compound that had been sunk in darkness flared bright with lanterns, and soldiers who had been deep in sleep came tumbling out in a scramble. The Commander-in-Chief of the Northeast was famous for the severity of his military discipline, and the garrison where he resided was always held to a razor's edge of order. It did not take long for every soldier to fall into line.

"Send two hundred men to the eastern ridge. Take axes! Cut down the trees and make a firebreak!"

"Yes, sir!"

"Cavalry, confirm the fire's point of origin. Find out whether it's a natural blaze or arson!"

"Yes, sir!"

"Send a messenger to the city. Tell them the fire could reach the urban center—they are to prepare thoroughly!"

"Yes, sir!"

At the Commander-in-Chief's orders, the soldiers began to move as one. They felled the trees adjacent to the garrison and cleared the storehouses. They hauled water to the perimeter in advance and soaked the rooftops against the chance of flying embers.

Carion climbed the watchtower once more to assess the situation. Riding a wind that was unusually strong even for this night, the forest fire was spreading fast. It was fortunate that the wind was not blowing toward the city—but at this rate, it would not be long before the blaze overran the garrison.

Would it be better to order a full evacuation than to waste effort trying to put out a fire we can't stop?

His gaze, fixed on the flames, came to a halt. He remembered that there was a small village in the area the fire had nearly reached. That village was, in essence, an orphanage. The village chief and the residents took in children from high-crime districts who had nowhere else to go, and in doing so they played a vital role in stabilizing local order.

Carion ran down from the watchtower, shouting as he went.

"Cedric. Take command of the scene here!"

"What? Yes, Your Highness."

Carion took his elite guards and raced toward the village.

The commotion woke the entire Zephyros delegation as well.

"There's a forest fire?"

"Yes, Princess."

"Have all our people gather in front of the residence's main gate."

"Yes, Princess. Princess! Where are you going?!"

"Don't follow me—do what I told you first!"

Rhea left her room and ran, without a destination in mind. She seized the first soldier she encountered and demanded,

"Where's the highest point here?"

"Pardon?"

"I said, where's the highest point?!"

Startled by the force of her presence, the soldier answered readily.

"I-if you go up to the top floor of the residence, there's a watchtower..."

No one stopped her as she climbed to it. Rhea looked out at the crimson inferno advancing on the garrison. Judging by the fire's momentum, the window for early suppression had already closed. Riding the wind, the blaze was spreading fast, closing the distance with every passing moment. At this rate, it would not be long before the flames overran the garrison.

"Hahh..."

She let out a long breath and slowly closed her eyes. Wind rose around her. Having only just woken from sleep, her hair hung loose over her shoulders—and now it lifted on the wind that wrapped her body, streaming upward and scattering in the dark.

The instant she opened her eyes, a ring of intense light flared in her green irises and vanished.

The inferno that had begun from a single spark had ridden flying embers and split into multiple fronts, swelling to a threatening size. Then one of the smaller fronts of flame suddenly caught a wind and flared up with a roar.

That wind blew in a direction completely opposite to every gust that had come before.