Surviving as a Prince of Britannia

Author’s Note: This interlude alternates between Guinevere’s and Millirze’s points of view. It takes place after Lysander receives the surrender terms of the SPQR, and before Charles briefly emerges from seclusion to deliver his speech in Chapter 3.

Guinevere’s POV

Rumors have a way of reaching Pendragon before the people who started them even finish their wine.

The story from the Duchy of Tenochtitlan spread in an instant.

While Lysander’s adjutant—Bedivere—and his men were still clearing away the empty bottles, the cemetery keepers told the bereaved families what had happened, and the bereaved families told everyone else.

By the next day, the owners of high-class taverns and flower shops were boasting that their entire stock had sold out.

“His Highness spent the whole day pouring liquor over every grave and crying while offering flowers!”

“The Witch was like a natural disaster. All that matters is that we won!”

“Area 15… I hear the weather is good there, the food is plentiful, and there are many beautiful women. I’d like to visit someday!”

Of course, the rumor did not stop at the ducal borders.

It reached the salons of the Imperial Capital soon enough.

And eventually, it reached me.

So, a few weeks later—

In my private mansion in the Imperial Capital of Pendragon—

I, Guinevere su Britannia, the so-called queen of high society, raised my glass.

The music was gentle.

The lighting was perfect.

And my words were sharp.

“Ladies and gentlemen.”

“Could someone tell me who the real viceroy of Area 15 is?”

“Hahaha—”

“Also, come to think of it, can we really call a Pyrrhic victory in the Atlantic War a victory?”

A few people nearby snickered.

No one, however, openly questioned Caroline’s status.

That was taboo.

Before the overwhelming record of my fucking father—no, our Emperor Charles—who has one hundred and eight official wives, perhaps dozens more mistresses, and hundreds, perhaps thousands, of children, the number or status of anyone else’s mistresses could hardly be treated as a fatal flaw.

If one wished to criticize such matters, one had to do it indirectly—perhaps with some suitable scriptural line about Saul slaying his thousands and David his tens of thousands—and compare wives and mistresses with sufficient elegance.

But Lysander, though still unmarried, had only one mistress.

Schneizel and Odysseus, meanwhile, had no mistresses at all—and rejected every marriage proposal that occasionally came their way.

If I brought that up too openly, I would be the only one to lose.

So I took a sip of wine and continued.

Sip

“And it seems Lysander put on another performance.”

“Crying over fallen soldiers’ graves all day and pouring liquor for them? Is he trying to buy the people’s hearts with sentimentality?”

My gaze cut through the empty space before me.

Then someone approached me from straight ahead.

It was Cornelia. Cornelia li Britannia, my younger half-sister.

She looked at me with eyes that did not waver in the slightest.

“Take that back.”

I narrowed my eyes.

“Oh, perfect timing, Cornelia. Tell me, what do you think of Lysander’s… vacation’?”

“Shut up.”

Slap

Her hand flew.

A dry sound cut across the banquet hall.

Crash

“W-what the…”

My wine glass shattered on the floor.

Several breaths stopped.

For a moment, my face froze.

That fucking bitch just slapped me!

Not even my mother or my maternal relatives, let alone our fucking father Charles, had ever laid a finger on me!!!

“Y-you harlot! I am your elder sister!”

I raised my own hand.

The handmaids nearby rushed toward us in a panic, but Cornelia stepped forward first.

“Lysander wept for his comrades, and to your ears, that sounds like a performance?”

Our hands tangled together.

The hems of our dresses whipped through the air.

The perfect music faltered, and the sound of people holding their breath grew louder.

“You vulgar woman!”

“Shut up!”

Just then, Euphemia—Euphemia li Britannia, Cornelia’s younger sister and my younger half-sister—arrived.

Having heard the commotion, she rushed in and tried to pull us apart.

“Elder Sisters! Please stop!”

“I’ll stop when this wretch apologizes to me!”

My elder half-brother Odysseus and younger half-brother Schneizel arrived a moment later.

Schneizel caught my wrist and lowered it.

“Calm yourself, Elder Sister. This is not the time for us to tear one another down.”

Odysseus stepped in front of Cornelia and bowed his head slightly.

“Cornelia. Please—this is a banquet hall, not a battlefield. Everyone is watching.”

Cornelia breathed heavily.

Her fingertips were still trembling.

I clenched my teeth.

My eyes were wet.

“My house. My residence in the Archduchy of Edmonton was burned to ashes, thanks to that ‘Witch.’”

“I paid for the repairs.”

My voice cracked low.

“Do not presume to teach me how to feel anger.”

Cornelia closed her eyes for a moment.

Then she slowly nodded.

“Then wield that anger like a blade.”

“Enough, both of you!”

Odysseus’s rare shout forced the hall to breathe again.

But the night had already been torn open once.

That dawn, after all the guests had left, the five of us held a private meeting in an annex.

Our father, Emperor Charles, remained in seclusion.

Lysander was still spending his quiet time in Area 15.

The decision was swift—and cautious.

“Cornelia, you will refrain from appearing at official ceremonies for a while.”

Odysseus spoke first.

“You will devote yourself to caring for Sakuya, the daughter of our late elder sister Sherry, whom Lysander rescued in Area 11.”

Then Schneizel added the real meaning.

“In effect, you’re grounded.”

Cornelia nodded calmly.

“Understood.”

Then, after offering a military salute, she left with Euphemia.

Schneizel turned his gaze to me.

“As for you, Elder Sister, I would like to offer you an assignment. The viceroyalty of Area 8… a jurisdiction that binds together New Zealand, Hawaii, and the islands of the Pacific. It will not be an easy post.”

What the hell… isn’t that the post facing Straya*… the cursed heretic rebels of the Southern Hemisphere, who declared independence after the death of Ricardo I, the Scholar-King, and the division of the Old Britannian Empire into Albion and Iberia?

I frowned.

“You want me to wrestle with a den of rebels? Is that an exile?”

Schneizel’s smile vanished, and his voice lowered.

“Think about it, Elder Sister.”

“You have always heard people say that your military achievements are lacking, have you not?”

“This is a chance to overturn that prejudice. If you succeed… both you and I will survive.”

For a moment, I said nothing.

The light of battle and the light of calculation flickered across my eyes in turn.

At last, I nodded.

“Very well. Then I will go and prove myself. Trust me, Schneizel.”

Millirze’s POV

Holy Britannian Empire

Area 2

Archduchy of Calgary

Viscountcy of Altheim

Our residence

I was enjoying tea with my younger cousin, Estelle.

“Estelle?”

“Mmph?”

“His Highness—I mean, Lysander… I wonder what kind of person he is.”

At my words, Estelle laughed.

“Big Sister, you’re blushing.”

No way.

I shook my head.

But I could still feel my heart racing.

His Highness Lysander… I want to know more about him.

Glossary

- Straya : Equivalent to Australia in our timeline.