The Crown Prince Who Raises Alt Characters

#Chapter 374 Tyrant - The Imperial Princess in Wonderland Because of the name "Imperial Palace," people often mistake it for a single building, but that isn't what it originally is. It's closer to a "residential and administrative district for those connected to the imperial family," made up of countless palaces gathered together. Even setting aside the palaces used for official business and counting only the spaces purely meant for eating and sleeping, the number still runs into the dozens. The consorts formally married to the Emperor are each assigned one of the palaces within the imperial grounds according to their rank, and the imperial children live together in their mother's palace until they come of age. The consorts each form their own factions, repeatedly engaging in subtle battles of will and political struggles with one another, and naturally, the imperial children living with their mothers are affected by this as well. Hence, even siblings who share the same father rarely spend time together privately unless they also share the same mother. They do run into each other at places like social gatherings, but such places inevitably require one to be conscious of the eyes and opinions of other nobles, so they aren't the sort of place one can relax and rest easy in. The current Emperor had grown up that way in his youth, as had the Emperors before him. The imperial family — bundled together as one, and yet beings far removed from familial affection. In that sense, the "family gathering" held to celebrate Alondre Arcandel Eizern's fifteenth birthday was, in effect, something closer to a victory parade. Half-listening to the whining of her thick-skulled brother Nikolaus (twelve at the time), who was sulking because their mother Beatrix hadn't let him wear the real sword he usually carried at his waist just for show, Trisha (ten at the time) munched on cookies said to have been baked by Empress Eleanor's own hand — and understood the situation with perfect clarity. 'It's overwhelming.' Alondre was a legitimate son, born between the Emperor and his official wife, the Empress. Alondre was the eldest son, born first among all of the Emperor's children. There wasn't even any messy backstory involved, like the Emperor having separated from a previous wife so that the current one was merely treated as the official wife, or an earlier child having been born only to die, leaving him the eldest by default. He was simply the first son born to the very first official wife. A perfect, legitimate eldest son. And on top of that, this legitimate eldest son was a once-in-a-generation genius, mastering sword aura and high-level magic at a young age and achieving outstanding results in nearly every field he touched. 'Even if he'd only had one of the two, he'd still have run near the top of the succession line — but with both concentrated in a single person, well, there's simply no beating that. No matter how capable Mother is, how is she supposed to win against that with a snot-nosed brother like mine in tow?' If Trisha had been the eldest daughter instead of the second, and if the age gap between her and Alondre had been merely a year, the Fourth Consort might have found some sliver of an opening to challenge for the throne somehow. As could be seen from the fact that, at a party that was practically a celebration of her own son being confirmed as the next successor, Empress Eleanor had baked cookies with her own hands to treat the children instead of engaging in any battle of wills or jockeying for rank, she was a person thoroughly unsuited to cold, ruthless power struggles. Meaning that, considering the Fourth Consort's political skill, even if Trisha had achieved results merely comparable to Alondre's — or even just results that could somehow be mentioned in the same breath — there might have been an angle worth gambling on. But while a five-year gap meant nothing to adults, among children it was an enormous chasm. Before Trisha could even begin to properly stand out, Alondre had already proven his abilities far ahead of her, and overturning a legitimate eldest son who had already maxed out legitimacy itself and had now proven his ability and track record besides — that was something no political mastermind, however skilled, could accomplish. Someone maddened by power and obsession might refuse to accept defeat and attempt an assassination instead, but Trisha's mother was a wise woman who knew restraint in matters like this. 'What a relief, really. Not having to get needlessly dragged into bloodshed. Having a capable ally is truly a happy thing.' If any of the adults present had been able to look into Trisha's head, they might have recoiled in shock at what on earth a mere ten-year-old was thinking, but outwardly, Trisha silently munching away on the Empress's handmade cookies looked utterly harmless and adorable. Which is to say. "Hmm, you don't seem to show any particular sign of disappointment. Guess you don't have much interest in the throne?" — The Crown Prince, who had plopped himself down beside an outwardly innocent, fairy-like ten-year-old little sister and suddenly come out with words like these, must surely have been a man far removed from sanity. "……." Trisha munched on her cookie and rolled her eyes about. Looking around, there wasn't a single person paying any attention to the Crown Prince and Trisha. And this despite the fact that the Crown Prince — who, as the guest of honor, was bound to draw attention — was sitting side by side with Trisha, for whom being the center of people's gazes was practically an everyday occurrence thanks to her innate looks and presence. If he had pulled this off with something like magic, that in itself would be impressive, but if he'd done it with nothing but a purely calculated read of the blind spots and timing where people's attention and interest naturally scattered, that was all the more astonishing. "Should I go straight home and start hurling abuse at commoners in the street for smelling bad? I could become an irredeemable villainess in the eyes of both the common people and noble society alike, so please, just spare my life." "That really is a swift and accurate judgment. But rest assured, I have no intention of doing you any harm. This is the first time we've talked like this, so I merely opened with a light joke." "If it isn't too forward of me, might I ask whether the noble Crown Prince, my honored brother, would permit me the honor of speaking frankly to him?" "You may just speak casually and comfortably, so go ahead and say it." "Brother. I'd think that if you made that kind of joke to a normal ten-year-old, they'd either not understand it or just burst into tears." "Little sister. A normal ten-year-old doesn't attempt a political transaction on their very first meeting. In any case, it was nice meeting you. Let's see each other again sometime." With a light farewell, the Crown Prince rose to his feet. At the very same moment, several of those who had briefly taken their eyes off the Crown Prince while talking amongst themselves spotted him again and came approaching. It seemed his words about meeting again weren't empty talk, for the Crown Prince continued afterward to occasionally set aside time to talk with Trisha. With the Crown Prince's education and work schedule being so packed, it amounted to maybe once a year if that, but compared to her other siblings, who had practically no experience of ever speaking with him personally at all, it was undeniably quite a luxurious experience. Then, one day, Trisha had once asked something she was curious about. "Brother, why do you stay so quiet and well-behaved?" "What do you mean?" "Because outside, people treat you like a quiet, model-student young master." ...Later on, the Crown Prince would draw attention for things like the Administrative Reform and so on, but at this point in time, he wasn't attracting any particular notice. A capable Crown Prince. A genius living up to everyone's expectations. A model student with no excessive extravagance, none of the wild recklessness or waywardness typical of young blood. By quietly doing only what was given to him within the bounds set for him, he had, ironically, failed to become a topic of conversation. "Honestly, with your abilities, Brother, I feel like you could change things for the much better." "Well, that's because I'm still only the Crown Prince. With His Majesty above me, it wouldn't be good for me to overstep too much." "I feel like if you just asked Father for the throne, he'd go 'Oh? You want it?' and just hand it over." "Mm, this tea is delicious." The Crown Prince blatantly changed the subject. But as Trisha kept staring at him fixedly, he soon gave a light shrug and spoke. "Well, I suppose there are things that would improve if I made some bold changes here and there." "And?" "But bold reform comes with a backlash. Or a greater burden of responsibility." The Crown Prince added that it wasn't as though he himself had no intention of ever pursuing reform. "It's just that, even then, I'd move forward keeping reasonably in step with people, making some compromises along the way. As I see it, this country isn't in such dire straits right now that it can't even wait that long." Of course, the Eizern Empire was a nation with plenty of problems, one way or another. Its military strength was great, but there was a lack of cultural life for ordinary citizens to enjoy. Its image abroad wasn't quite that of an evil empire, but it was hard to call it some paragon of justice either. Its centralized structure and its absurdly vast territory dragged on each other, breeding inefficiency. Corruption existed, and there were also ills born of excessive meritocracy. However one looked at it, it was no earthly paradise, no ideal nation. But even so, the Crown Prince declared firmly that it wasn't so far gone as to need tearing down and rebuilding from the very foundations. "I see." Trisha nodded, but at the same time, she also thought to herself. As far as the Crown Prince was concerned, this country apparently wasn't so much of a mess that he'd need to throw compromise and everything else out the window and act. Then, what if— If the nation he himself had to lead turned out to be, by his own standards, a complete washout, then— what, exactly, would happen? *** Her own fifteenth birthday. After a full night's deep sleep, Trisha Adalheid Eizern woke to find she had learned the answer. "Your Highness the Crown Princess, have you risen?" "...Bullshit. So this is a new method of assassination now. Who sent you?" "Pardon?" "?" — In some strange land, different from the one she knew.