Vaduria was not such a bad place, Diantha had to admit, for the home of a backwards people who emptied their pots of nightsoil onto the streets and washed their hands only when it rained. The stench of smog and industry served as proof that you could bring progress to a people, but you could not teach them to behave like proper humans. New railroad tracks were being hammered at the grand station at the capital, to connect to Valperche, which seemed reasonable enough. Were I born here I too would surely wish to leave behind this place and the pigfuckers that called it home. Why someone from Crecenza would ever wish to make the opposite journey to Vaduria, though, was beyond Diantha’s understanding.
Eluriel, she had to admit, was not wholly uncivilized. It was a great deal better than Logrorem, at least; that city was all superficial awe upon arrival, but the farther one got from the station, the further one dove into the past festering in the bowels of a city ancient and sprawling and wretched. She’d ordered Teana to investigate the nobles of Logrorem, the insignificant and influential alike, but found only the former. They seem resentful of the Prince-Regent’s handling of national affairs, Teana told her. They hoped to petition the father for their interests, not the son.
“No wonder they hold only small domains in this miserable city,” Diantha sighed in response. She had hoped to learn something useful. Instead she received only confirmation to her conclusion that Vaduria had no future. “Their ancestors were lords and valiant knights, and Logroria grew around their castles, like a web of filth connecting them. They cannot adapt to changing circumstances.”
“What do you mean exactly?” Asked Mia, unfamiliar with the concept of thinking for herself.
“King Alonso is an invalid,” Diantha said, “and he has ceased to be a relevant political actor. He was pliable and these lordlings and petty knights hoped he’d continue to be favorable to their cause by granting them the funds required to continue purchasing goods and services from actual states so as to embellish Logrorem. Do you think Logrorem has the means to construct a motivus engine within its borders? Of course not. On the surface it may appear that the future is being constructed in Vaduria, but it would be more accurate to say that the future is being brought here piecemeal. What remains of this nation’s economy is dependent on Tesmaria and Crecenza. The Prince-Regent has some vision, it appears, so he rebukes their petitions.”
“So he’s trying to build up Logrorem,” said Serra. “Can he?”
“One man alone can do no such thing,” she explained. “Were it not far beyond your current comprehension, I’d have you read my thesis on the folly of claiming that the wheels of history are spun by singular hands. Ah, well. The Prince-Regent makes his plans and he has seized sufficient control of Vadurian bureaucracy to put some reforms in motion with his allies. It well may be that he won’t be alive to sow the gains of such an endeavor. Men lack vision and patience, virtues the Red Rose teaches us well. They are fickle, and plans which do not immediately bloom are cast aside, and so it goes unless we sway things properly.”
“And why do you find the resentment of these nobles so foolish?” Teana asked.
“Because they cling to what they know, and to what they wish could be,” said Diantha, “rather than what is. They wish Alonso ruled, but he does not. Rather than adapt, they simmer in their decrepit manors as the world leaves them behind. You can work to construct what you want the world to be, and that’s quite different from longing for what you wish it were. The future against the present. Nevertheless, sweet Teana, perhaps there is some use in what you’ve uncovered. A welcome surprise,” Teana actually smiled at that, not realizing Diantha’s tongue was lashing her. “Such open resentment means they do not fear their Prince-Regent. Discontentment among the small nobility and the peasantry… To us such soil is fertile.”
When they departed that morning, taking the first engine to Eluriel, Sir Petri was not there to see them off, and neither were the lordlings with their retinues. Some part of Diantha wondered if there was enough boldness within them to make a hostile move against the motivus and the Blossoms within, out of fear that they’d favor the Prince-Regent rather than their interests—an entirely correct fear, to be certain—but she doubted they would be so stupid. She almost wished they would, because the bloated noblesse of Vaduria would benefit from a purge the way an overgrown garden ought to be pruned. But no, it was best that violence be avoided. I could never be as fierce as Lillia, anyways.
It was an uneventful journey, and faster than Diantha had expected, leaving her lesson to her pupils unfinished, right as she was getting to the nature of the different varieties of liege-subject political contracts within the Territories; Serra was interested enough, but Mia and Teana both seemed about to fall asleep, which was to be expected, considering the two of them were morons.
What greeted them in Eluriel was a more neutral smell than that of Logrorem, neither the stench of industry nor the acrid tang of ambergris so characteristic of the gilded parts of Logrorem, where great effort was wasted in creating the impression of opulence and elegance. Fitting enough for a nation that still thinks itself grand and strives to reclaim past glories only imagined. Eluriel, in contrast, was honest. The station here was strong iron and warm stone, alive with the rumble of a thousand boots beating paths toward factories and businesses. Built for the populace, not for visitors. Diantha found that simplicity agreeable, far more so than the false splendor of those drowned in their decadence.
When the crowds were gone, the Blossoms finally left, awaited once more by a Vadurian noble, this time a cousin of the Prince-Regent. Sir Almir was not a great lord, and a fool could take that for a slight, but Diantha knew him by reputation to be an esteemed tactician during his years as a mercenary in Aztormol, honorable in his dealings with friend and foe alike, as well as Prince Arcadean’s tutor in lance and sword in his youth. This was a man with the full trust of the Prince-Regent, good and loyal friends. Diantha appreciated his presence as a gesture of friendship, as well as Arcadean’s caution in sending a close confidant to get the measure of his Rose-sent allies.
“Good morrow, my ladies,” he greeted them with elegance that well suited his station. Though his hair began to thin somewhat precociously, there remained an acuteness to his visage that made him nonetheless agreeable to the eye. “Two coaches await you not far from here; I preferred to eschew receiving you with a great entourage as you no doubt have already been awed by my noble peers in Logrorem. I know my Lady Maglora to be a practical woman and thus I presumed it suited us just fine to make haste to our purposes.”
“Have I a reputation, then?” Diantha smiled. So he is very much in contact with the fools at Logrorem. Practical is quite the courteous word indeed. “Please lead on, Sir. I’ll ride with you, and my wards may share the second coach.”
Almir was pleased with that arrangement, and begged Diantha follow him. It was uncommon for a mercenary to be so well-spoken, even a noble one, but this was no mere sellsword, but a founding captain of the Great Company of Silver. Diantha allowed him to hold her hat, knowing his hands to be clean. He has spent enough years away from Vaduria that some of the valor of other lands must have infused him. He helped her enter the coach, then sat by her side with a polite distance between the two of them.
“Kings have a grandeur to preserve and to emanate,” Diantha said, “that is well known. And it is true of Princes as well. I understand that if there are matters the Prince-Regent would like to discuss but cannot afford to do so publicly before his court, you would be an ideal liaison.”
“Practical indeed, my Lady,” he said with a smirk. “Very well. My cousin the Prince-Regent is happy to cultivate close bonds with your Rose, and would be most pleased to reaffirm the friendship of Vaduria with your Order. That, however, is not true of his entire court. In time they will come around, or be left behind, but for the nonce it would not suit his interests to alienate such lords and fail to present an united front domestically.”
“I understand his father favored a cautious distance between us.”
“And such is the wish of his most vocal vassals. They’ve the notion that Vaduria is stronger on its own, with looser ties to both Tesmaria and the Ruby Blossom. But that is folly. So long have they reaped the gifts of empire that they’ve forgotten their sowing, and think them gained by their hand alone. Thus they grow discontent with the levies demanded of them, with their responsibilities, and with the deference they owe to the Emperor and to the Blossoms both.”
“You flatter us, Sir Almir,” said Diantha. It was very diplomatic of him indeed, but honeyed words could only sway her so much. “I believe I begin to understand your circumstances. The Prince cannot appear overly receptive to outside influences, certainly not before his court. And he mustn’t ask for aid and collaboration. And no doubt you’ve all heard tales of our current difficulties, exaggerated or truthful. It would be a good opportunity to gain an advantage in negotiations.”
“Some of our lords are far too bold, eager to overreach,” Sir Almir sighed. He gestured for the coach driver to begin the journey to the palace, a gentle, unhurried trot across streets now smooth and crowded, then rough and clear. “Of course all who engage in diplomacy wish to earn a great advantage, and the Prince-Regent is no different, nor am I,” and neither am I, Diantha thought, smiled. “Were our lords given cause to join in defiance, catastrophe could follow, and a peasant revolt is troubling enough without displeased nobles grasping for power.”
“I am favorable to the notion of appeasing them,” Diantha proposed. “Let your Prince be magnanimous and aid us in exchange for well-deserved concessions and long-desired gains. Before his court, I am willing to appear disfavored in our exchange. I trust you have been given the authority to discuss terms with me?” He nodded. “Well enough. My Rose so pale and frail will petition His Grace’s aid. We require initiates in our hour of need, and I’m sure there must be some noble daughters of uncertain future, orphanages and academies with likely prospects.”
“Most lords would not willingly have their children’s education regimented by the Rose,” Almir said. “But some of my knightly peers might see it as an ascent in station—and a more agreeable tutelage for those bereft of means. I dare not ask how many girls you demand.”
“Demand?” Diantha covered her mouth with a hand. “My, that would be impolite. All the same, not all novitiates to the Academy are fit for Efflorescence. Some four hundred ladies of diverse provenance will suffice. We may find precious buds among them, flowers meant to bloom. The others will receive a proper education and return home, of course.”
“Four hundred…” His smile disappeared then, the thorns drawing blood. “That is a great favor you ask of my Prince.”
“He is a generous friend,” said Diantha. “Ah, and, of course, to deal with your country’s growing revolt, my wards and I shall require a great deal of freedom. Your kindly lords will be so good as to cooperate with my investigations and shan’t disturb me and my girls. We shall repay such assistance, of course. Us Blossoms are gracious guests. Shall we discuss your terms? I don’t expect your Prince to demand nothing more than homage and posturing.”
“What do you offer us, my Lady?”
Oh? Isn’t this interesting? To save his actual demands for after Diantha already raised her offers meant he could demand even more than what would be freely given at first. This is a good start, but there is more we require, he would say. It would always be a start, naturally, if Diantha was the first to voice her proposal. She could keep a closed hand, of course, promising very little and waiting for Sir Almir to counter with the Prince-Regent’s actual desires, but she chanced to appear uncooperative in doing so. Still, that he moved on from her demand with no further protest was a favorable enough advance. If he consents to this, then the Rose will gain enough from this exchange that whatever concessions he demands are a more than agreeable toll. Let Vaduria come out comfortably in the advantage, so long as the Blossoms would win their seedlings.
“A forgiveness of your loans and exemption from imperial levies ought to please your lords sufficiently and let the Prince-Regent appear committed to defending their interests.”
“Is this within your authority?”
“To secure the urgently-needed cooperation of our powerful allies in Vaduria?” She smiled. “This is well within what I can approve without consulting my bloom-sisters. Fifty years free of taxation ought to put a smile on everyone’s faces, especially when you don’t have to give up either the Rose nor the Empire’s protection for it.”
He would understand as well as Diantha did that Vaduria’s contribution was not exactly a pillar of the Empire; if he took offense, he concealed it flawlessly. More importantly, the kingdom’s nobility owed an unreasonably large sum of ryals to the Rose, borrowed to fund their latest enormities of steel and steam but the Office of the Treasury always saw that as valuable more as an investment than as usury. With all that measured, the coffers in the Tower of Rebirth would not grieve the absence of such payment, in the face of what could be gained here. And, besides, if there ever came such a truly great need, the Red Rose was wealthier than any other power in the world. They could always return to the Tower of Rebirth, lick their wounds there, and rebuild, no matter what: the Blossom was nurtured so as to endure the world’s end thrice over.
“This is a good start,” he said, exactly as expected, “but there is more we require. The Prince-Regent requests the Seat of Vegnon.”
“A ceremonial title?” Diantha remarked. “The Rose has no need for it, but…”
But the Prince’s intentions only became more interesting. Diantha wondered if she should be concerned. Vegnon was a ruin, some small expanses of worthless land bordering Altengrie, and the Blossom had claimed it following its devastation in the last Diablerie, some ten years ago. The land itself had no value, but the title was associated with the Imperial Electorate. Though it granted a single vote in the process, even one vote was valuable leverage to the politically savvy.
“Done, then,” said Diantha. This was still within the realm of acceptability. Now she wondered if he would continue to press the issue, would still try to gain a further advantage. Diantha hoped he would. He would be overreaching, and most certainly knew it. Sir Almir was no fool, but greed had led wiser men than him to their ruin time and again, without fail. She said nothing, and merely awaited his next move.
“There is one other thing,” he said at last, and Diantha covered her smile with a gloved hand. You are mine now.
The prince’s cousin haggled, but Diantha did not. And that was all that was left, the rest of the ride to the palace: haggling, in words cautiously and politely considered, but haggling nonetheless.
She did not once laugh while bargaining these last details, though Almir’s face certainly made her want to do so. Still, he had to know that he was taking a risk, that the ebb and flow of negotiations could not be denied. Considering his gains, he and his Prince ought to rejoice; they had gained as much as the Red Rose, if not more. Even so, Diantha wondered if, in private, the Prince and his cousin might come to arguments between one another over the costs.
They were made to wait at the royal palace, a grandiose but unfinished structure, as of yet unnamed but Almir hinted it would be titled after the Prince-Regent’s late mother. It was a smaller construction than the Alcázar of Teriani on the opposite end of the capital, but it appeared larger, its every hall wide and expansive, with most of the palace’s gildings and ornaments resting upon the filigreed arches high above. It did not have the vast water garden of the Alcázar either, but it did have offices and accommodations for dignitaries from many lands, as well as telegraphic connections not only to other nations but to magical outposts established by the Rose. Prince Arcadean was a man rushing toward the future to make up for lost time, that much was clear. Maybe he will teach his people to wash their hands. Queerer things have happened.
The Prince-Regent would await them not enthroned but within his office; he was not King yet, so the throne was his father’s alone, not that he could lift his royal behind from the deathbed that was now his life. Besides, the throne wasn’t here, either. That seat of power so miserably unseated for years grew cold and full of longing for the arses of royalty, in Teriani, and such status quo suited the Rose just fine.
As Sir Almir convened with his cousin behind closed doors, the four Blossoms sat comfortably outside his office, waiting by themselves in the royal lounge, which was not particularly different from any other room with cushioned sofas and anodyne morsels quaintly arranged upon a long glass table. The tea was fine, but the biscuits were overly sugary. Not that it stopped Mia from filling herself with them until Diantha slapped her hand away from the silver bowl.
“Stop that,” she said, annoyed. “You’ll get fat.”
“Were you able to arrange a favorable agreement with the Prince-Regent?” Serra asked. At least she was smart enough to understand that it wasn’t the pleasure of Almir’s company that brought Diantha to sit by his side.
“Quite so. Pray tell, which would you say is the most successful arrangement?” She proposed a question to her wards. “Mutual benefit, or to favor yourself and come out victorious in an exchange?”
“I suppose mutual benefit,” said Serra. “The feeling of fairness will allow you to chance further gain in the future, as you will be more likely to be welcomed at the negotiation table once more in the future than if you were overly aggressive.”
“Good enough reasoning,” said Diantha. “Yes, you answer with common sense, a more valuable gift than many would credit. In the long term, mutual benefit is safest, and our Rose’s history stretches on for many long centuries indeed. Mia?”
“I think I agree, mostly,” she said, which Diantha presumed was to be expected. Mia’s best thoughts first came from Serra. “But when that’s not the case, when there’s no long-term considerations? Should we then try to weigh the benefits in our favor?”
“Theoretically, yes. In practice, we cannot know for certain what paths await us, however, so if there ever is a possibility that you might have further dealings with the other party, it is best to withstand a tolerable loss so that you will be thought generous… Or foolish.”
“I didn’t expect you to abide looking like a fool,” said Teana. She wasn’t wrong. All that Diantha said was far harder for her to put into practice.
“There are benefits to being underestimated and misjudged. Let your pride be wounded and swallow defeat, because outsiders are ephemeral but the Rose is eternal, us Blossoms everlasting in our bloom. Our foresisters have time and again lowered their heads and waited in their centuries and millennia, and thus our Rose has outlasted empires and will continue to do so. A loss today can be the opportunity to reach for greater gain tomorrow.”
“Have you lost, then?” Teana asked. “You appeared satisfied with your arrangement, though.”
“I think we have both gained,” said Diantha, “the Prince-Regent and our Rose. He may have gained more, but what we have earned is a sweeter fruit. And if Prince Arcadean consolidates his power, increases it, why should that be our loss? I believe he may be a good ally to count on, in the future,” Diantha covered her mouth with her hat, and giggled. She did love knowing things that others didn’t.
They were called forth soon after, summoned by the Prince-Regent’s seneschal, an unpleasant, ugly, balding whale Diantha made a point of not bothering to remember the name. There was an air about him that Diantha knew well, that of men who actually believed they were doing the Red Rose a great service rather than merely the Blossoms being diplomatic. So these are the men that Prince Arcadean must appear strong in front of. Does he have cause to fear his kingdom’s minor lordlings, or could it be that such are his means of ensuring loyalty and use from them?
The Prince’s office was not yet fully furnished, but nevertheless its size made it impressive enough even in spite of the empty spaces, the seats as of yet unoccupied, the dozen needle telegraphs arranged carefully and myriad clocks each attuned to the times of differing lands. The work here was not yet complete, with wiring still exposed and shelves devoid of documents. Still, it was very forward thinking of the Prince-Regent to construct such an office that could serve as a nexus of diplomacy with the entire world. The Tower of Rebirth had one, though it utilized magical devices more than these wonders of electricity; the Blossoms had always been protective of their secrets, but at last ingenious outsiders had been able to replicate some of their creations.
Not all magical girls were supportive of such endeavors, of course, judging outsiders to be like children ill-prepared for independence. At times Diantha agreed, until she recalled that she hated children and that if they grew up there was a chance their lives could at last be worth something. Her bloom-sisters had chosen Narges Iridie to head the Office of Artifice, and Diantha found herself wondering how she’d react to seeing a nation like Vaduria embracing modernity and technology, even if only in its capital. She’d seize, foam at the mouth, then collapse from anger, most likely. Diantha almost wished to see.
“You stand before His Highness the Prince Arcadean Halianos, regent to His Majesty the King Alonso Halianos the Third,” said the seneschal that Diantha had decided she hated. He had more chins than any man should, which annoyed Diantha more than she could explain. By now, the scattered dignitaries and lordlings had converged behind their sovereign, with Sir Almir just one pace to the back of the Prince-Regent.
“Your Highness,” Diantha said with a curtsy. Mia and Serra kneeled, while Teana seemed torn between imitating her peers or her mentor, so in the end she bowed exaggeratedly. “As the honorably chosen representative of the Order of the Red Rose, I, Diantha Maglora, extend to you my gratitude, as well as that of my Rose, for granting us this audience and generously considering our requests for the grace of your aid. Vaduria is an esteemed friend of the Ruby Blossom and of the Empire of Tesmaria both, and we in turn wish to strengthen our bonds further and to reaffirm our fellowship.”
“I am honored to be sought for help,” the Prince said, “for the Red Rose has helped us, too, and it pleases me that you’d come to Vaduria, for we value the trust you have in us. We extend to you the hand of friendship, and if there is aid we can offer, please, I would hear you.”
His charm seemed almost effortless. Though Diantha refrained from any expression, she found that she envied as much as she admired such charisma, this effortless grace. Lillia always said that this was Diantha’s great fault, that she does not like people. You’ve a talent for diplomacy, Lillia once told her, but I can see the disdain beneath your pretty mask. Such are the jests of fate. One day someone will meet your eyes and dive deep inside to see what you truly are.
“Thank you, Your Highness,” said Diantha. Such placid eyes he had, yet with a strength so evident beneath the tranquility. It was fortunate that she had discipline whipped into her, so that she would not look away even as she felt the weight of judgment upon her. “Our sworn duty is to safeguard the peace of the Territories, to seek threats and quell them. Alas, our hour of struggle has seen us forced to be remiss in such duties, so that the whispers of rebellion in northern Vaduria were made into screams. Being that this is a matter of mutual interest, I seek your aid in pacifying these revolts and any possible heresies that fester within the rabble.”
Help me save your country and make it look as though you’re doing me a great favor.
“Heresies?” Asked some gaunt lady, rather hysterically. “There can be no heresies in Vaduria.”
“And there won’t be,” Diantha promised, “once our work is done. But alone we cannot do so, so I must beg Your Highness to offer help.”
Prince Arcadean was quite apt, it turned out, at making their arranged terms and conditions appear spontaneous or a matter of haggling. At times he demanded more than had been agreed, until at last he and Diantha achieved more favorable terms that still pleased the cadre of onlookers gawking, bereft of better ways to spend their time. He even pressed his position, as if hoping to extract further concessions from Diantha. Well, none had ever argued that men who aspired to greatness were untainted by greed. The Prince’s lords and ladies were especially impressed when he earned the Seat of Vegnon as a promise, whilst Diantha amused herself with her theater of pretending, a reluctantly-given concession that made the Prince appear quite the negotiator. Nobles gaped and glared and sighed and offered their most vapid remarks as though their words could sway the prince. This, too, was a game he played well, of appearing generous without seeming weak, of allowing his court to believe that he had measured their advice and taken it into consideration when selling his oh-so precious aid to the Blossoms. And just as he appeared to come out of the exchange triumphant, Diantha reminded him of the final agreement she’d reached with his brother. Or did you think I would let you slip away, Your Highness?
“I must make another request, loath as I am to try your generosity,” said Diantha. She waved a hand to ask for Serra to hand her a letter sealed in red wax with the sigil of the Rose, then offered it to the Prince. “Although it’s more of a proposition, really… Vaduria is old, my lords, a proud, ancient land,” she lied, but it was what they wanted to hear. It was an old country, true, but there was no pride in aging like a withered crone. “Within the history of the Red Rose and of Vaduria, in its days of empire, often have our ancestors fought side by side, and I wish to renew this beautiful vow of friendship by extending an invitation to sweet Princess Elodia. She is twelve, is she not? A perfect age for gracing Rosa Aeterna and even the Tower of Rebirth, and to therein blossom into a great beauty.”
Give me your heir, Your Highness, that we may shape her and correct her, that she might bring to fruition this triumph you’ve begun, these seeds you’ve planted… Diantha smiled with rehearsed sweetness, enough to duly impress the meddlesome nobles, now leaning so close they were about to fall on top of their liege, muttering effusive praise for such honor. And it was a great honor, one which Arcadean would have no course of denying. It is time Vaduria had a Blossom in the midst of royalty, said a man with a shrill, unpleasant voice, who, standing behind Sir Almir, could not see his frown. At Rosa Aeterna, Elodia Halianos would receive the finest education in the known world, would learn to rule, to wield magic and its higher mysteries, would be illuminated with the abundance of knowledge of history that the Red Rose safeguarded. It would be an insult to refuse, and would appear utter folly in the eyes of these flatterers, who had already seemed to decide that this was another great victory. And it was, in truth. If more Blossoms were placed at the head of all the imperial Territories, rather than lackwit kings and outsiders concerned solely with the mundane and the immediate, maybe the world would not be such a hovel of iniquity. But kings, even those not yet formally throned, were a prickly sort, always with fears of having their authority and dynasty intruded upon by magical girls as though they were witches and not their saviors… And what is the worth of your bloodlines and traditions? If not for the Rose, you would be serving demons, either as breeding slaves or living flesh sculptures in the Roiling Spiral.
“Step lightly, my Lady,” the sweaty seneschal stepped towards her, that fat, bald fuck with the tiny eyes. Prince Arcadean and Sir Almir must have arranged to have the seneschal play the adversary to this proposition, so that the matter could be raised without the Prince seeming miserly, ungrateful, paranoid. “Forget not yourself and your Rose, the position you’re in… For you to make demands—”
“I demand nothing,” said Diantha, “for you are free to reject the protection of the Rose, if the terms are not to your Prince’s liking. Our aid is generously extended to the world, but such aid implicates measures to counteract further follies.”
“Follies?” Asked the Prince-Regent.
“Look beyond your borders and you will see that most nations do not face open insurrection,” Diantha spoke clearly. “I will not correct your errors only so that you may repeat them, for it is well and good to beat swords into plowshares, but they had best stay that way. And I will ensure that it is so,” she declared. This, however, was as far as she was willing to test the Prince’s forbearance. I overreached somewhat, she caught herself in folly before she said more than she should have. “It is our sworn duty as Blossoms to do so. To fulfill our duty, what better way than to count among our ranks the finest crop of royalty, cultivating unity, solidarity, sisterhood among nations?”
“In ancient times the Red Rose stole newborn babes from their mothers’ arms.”
In ancient times your bloodline was birthed to a hundred fathers when a whore traded her cunt for bread.
“That is untrue,” Serra said. Hadn’t Diantha specifically instructed her girls to keep their mouths shut? If she hadn’t, she should have. Such a pity. “It has always been an honor to join our Order. Ask Princess Elodia how she feels.”
“Young girls dream of magic and flowers,” the seneschal insisted. “It is well and good for most in their youth, but princesses have certain responsibilities, and not all are keen to have their scions instructed by a foreign organization…”
“The Prince-Regent is young,” Diantha shrugged. This was a feeble attempt from Arcadean and Almir, and they had to know it. Their servant was aggressive and unpleasant, unlikely to gain much sympathy. He gave Diantha the impression of an advisor that would get beheaded to appease his liege’s adversaries should their reign go awry. “Vadurian laws favor the agnatic line, after all, and Prince Arcadean may yet have a son. Many sons, we can hope,” Diantha said. It was fine if that happened. They did not need Elodia to be enthroned and crowned for her to be a treasured branch of the Rose reaching deep into Vadurian royalty. “The Princess Ofelia of Crecenza was warmly received by the Red Rose, and her royal parents had no compunctions about their beloved heir being well-educated and allowed to nurture relations with future queens the world over… And, I have learned, though it has not yet been broadly announced, that the imperial Princesses Ryscrux and Krisolde have joined our garden.”
The crowds no longer whispered or murmured but prattled in a simple-minded excitement; such reaction would brook no argument. That bald son of a bitch grew silent, but his Prince, despite everything, smiled quite magnanimously, and extended a hand to Diantha, who took it gently, cautiously. It was slippery with sweat. For an instant, her amicable mask faltered, but it was but a moment, too brief for anyone to notice.
“I am honored, my Lady,” said the Prince at last, shaking her hand. There once was a time when even kings would bend the knee to kiss the ring of a magical girl. But this was fine. Homage was for mere royalty, and the Rose played a game of far greater import.
The Rose's Torn Petals 