After the afternoon tea party concluded, the evening was marked by a grand banquet where the great nobles gathered to feast and revel, their laughter and conversations filling the halls with joy.
Some might scoff at the apparent triviality of such events. For example, Karad, in his earlier years, had little patience for banquets, finding them pointless and extravagant. During his travels across Bretonnia with his late mentor Jules and his sister Annara, Karad had developed a deep dissatisfaction with the kingdom's state.
But his perspective changed after meeting Ryan. The knightly king explained a simple truth to him.
Firstly, banquets serve as informal venues for crucial discussions. Deals are struck, opinions exchanged, and decisions shaped in these settings. Merchants and nobles negotiate trade tariffs. The king, with a mere hint or casual comment, can set the kingdom's course.
In short, everyone needs a relaxed, non-ceremonial space to interact. Banquets fulfill that need.
Secondly, Ryan pointed out that peasants don't particularly care about how much meat or wine their lords consume at these gatherings. What truly matters to them is whether they themselves can eat meat, drink wine, or at least have enough to eat and wear. That's the crux of the issue. Obsessing over how many banquets are held is far less important than improving the peasants' living conditions.
And have the peasants been adequately fed and clothed? The answer is a resounding yes. During his recovery, Karad secretly toured several regions and was pleased to find that most peasants lived decently. Those who worked diligently had enough to eat and even managed to save a little money. Of course, many peasants now aspired for more. They wanted to fight in wars, rise in status, become freemen, join the Old Guard, and even dreamt of earning knighthood.
Some even fantasized about being chosen by the Lady after joining the Old Guard, becoming a revered Grail Knight like Davout!
A leap to glory in one fell swoop!
The kingdom seemed gripped by a peculiar fervor. The peasants wanted war, the freemen wanted war, and even the knights yearned for war.
"Good! Such vigor!" Karad thought.
Thus, Karad no longer felt burdened by the idea of attending banquets. Holding a goblet of wine, he engaged in conversation with Duke Bressimond of Bastogne. Amidst the glimmer of chandeliers and the clinking of glasses, the Red Dragon Duke candidly urged Karad to support Davout's promotion.
"As a Bastogne native," Bressimond said, "you owe it to your homeland to help. The king trusts you. Your words carry weight."
After Bressimond left, Karad found himself accompanied by Catherine, who was dressed in an elegant red evening gown, paired with black garter stockings and crystal high heels. Holding Karad's arm, she chuckled. "Is he always this direct?"
The former young sorceress radiated a Cinderella-like happiness. As Sulia had remarked, Catherine was not just charming but highly capable. Having advanced to mid-tier Legend, she was more sociable and eloquent than Veronica, quickly gaining popularity during the afternoon's "Ladies' Circle" tea party.
"He's a straightforward man," Karad said with a nod. "And precisely because of that purity, he completed the Grail Trials with relative ease. If not for the Lady and the former king compelling him to take up the duchy, Duke Bressimond would likely have spent decades guarding the sacred sites of Bastogne."
"And you're just as pure, my husband," Catherine replied with a gentle smile. "But both of you have used your virtues to protect this kingdom. You are heroes of Bretonnia. Without you, the Old World would have been on the brink of destruction. Duke Bressimond swept through the battlefield during the Great Expedition, while you struck down Asvar Kul, shaking the mountains with your valor."
Even a Grail Knight couldn't help but enjoy such compliments. Many times, Karad felt deeply grateful to Catherine. He was well aware that she had strategically pursued him to rise in status. Yet, during his darkest times—when he had despaired over love, family, and legacy—Catherine's presence brought solace. Together, they even had a child.
Karad, often described as stubborn as a rock in a latrine, had only been won over by Catherine's relentless and self-sacrificing pursuit.
"Do you plan to keep flattering a Grail Knight with sweet words?" Karad teased, feeling slightly awkward. "I often avoid meddling in these affairs, but… I suppose there's no choice this time. Catherine, what do you think I should do?"
"Of course, you shouldn't approach this directly," Catherine said, her mind already working. "Let me handle it. I'll speak with Queen Sulia about it."
"Thank you," Karad sighed in relief.
But Catherine wasn't letting him off so easily. Smiling mischievously, she added, "By the way, dear, haven't you been resting for months now?"
"Huh?" Karad blinked, confused.
"Shouldn't we find a place to check how well you've recovered?" Catherine tugged him toward the banquet's side rooms, where private spaces with "Do Not Disturb" signs hung on the doors were customary. Naturally, Catherine directed him toward their suite at the royal guesthouse.
For a fleeting moment, Karad considered that this might be what Ryan called "paying the marital tax."
Ah, so be it. As Ryan often said, having more children is always a good idea.
While Karad went off to "pay his dues," Ryan was also on the hook to pay his own.
After the banquet, Ryan and Sulia took a stroll under the moonlight, hand in hand. Discussing the various pieces of intelligence they had gathered, Sulia couldn't help but express her concerns about Ryan's plans. However, she ultimately chose to support him. "My love, from the information we've received, it's clear that at least two dukes will strongly oppose you."
"Let me guess: Duke Talbott of Le-Angoulême and Duke Ford of Montfort, right?" Ryan chuckled.
"Exactly." Seeing that her husband was already prepared, Sulia dropped the subject. Instead, she playfully scolded, "During the banquet, I was looking all over for you. Where did you disappear to?"
"Morgiana said she had something urgent to discuss with me…" Ryan admitted sheepishly. "So we found a quiet spot to talk."
"You…" Sulia sighed, placing her hands on her hips. This time, her annoyance was genuine. "Speaking of which, Ryan, you owe me a hundred days, you know! How do you plan to make it up to me?"
"A hundred days?! How did you calculate that?" Ryan exclaimed, alarmed. The king quickly tried to plead his case. "Sulia, have mercy! Where did this hundred days come from?"
"At the turkey feast, you promised Morgiana one day a week, but I was promised three days a week," Sulia reminded him, clinging to his arm. Her tone hinted at mischief. "How is it fair that she can accumulate her owed days, but I can't? You're so biased, my dear. Need I remind you, I'm your wife?"
"Ah… this…" Ryan's face turned green as he recalled the agreement. He sighed in defeat. "That's not the same, Sulia. You know Morgiana's situation. She needs to be pacified, or many of my policies can't be implemented. The Lady isn't around often…"
"I know, I know." Sulia gazed at the moonlit courtyard, her heart swelling with sweetness and a tinge of jealousy. Her extraordinary husband was in such high demand. "I'm not blaming you. I'm just saying that if you're fulfilling her 'taxes,' don't forget mine."
"Alright, I'll make it up to you," Ryan relented. "But Sulia, could you try not to drain the psychic energy I replenish for you so quickly?"
"Father-in-law said I must practice diligently," Sulia replied, invoking the Emperor with a sly grin. Her playful tone added a touch of girlish charm to her dignified demeanor. "When I run out of energy, of course I'll come to you."
Eventually, the couple struck a deal: they would spend four days and three nights at Tohru's temple spa retreat, without attendants and without bringing little Devonshire along.
But tonight still belonged to Sulia.
As they walked along the cobblestone paths through flourishing flowerbeds filled with lilies, irises, and roses, Sulia twirled on her heels. Arms outstretched, she beamed, "Look, Ryan. Under the Lady's blessings, the flowers here never wither."
"And this is all thanks to you," Ryan said, plucking a blooming iris. With a whisper of ancient, esoteric language and a touch of psychic energy, the flower glowed with a warm silver light, transforming into a psychic blossom.
He gently placed the flower in Sulia's hair. The iris' violet hue, contrasting with her platinum-blonde curls, made the queen's already stunning beauty utterly mesmerizing.
"This flower was nourished by my psychic energy. It will never wilt," Ryan said, taking her delicate hand in his. "You, my love, are the only flower in the world."
"How many women have you told that to?" Sulia feigned skepticism but carefully adjusted the flower in her hair. Smiling slyly, she added, "You always use sweet words to deceive women, don't you, Ryan
?"
Ryan couldn't help but laugh, pulling Sulia into an embrace. "Only you, my dear wife. Do you remember what I said in the elven district of Osuan? With you, I never know what to give."
"And now you know?" Sulia leaned into him, her voice soft. "What is it I want?"
"Not just my body. You want my heart," Ryan whispered, pulling her onto a garden bench to sit on his lap. Together, they gazed at the starry sky. "Now I understand why Father chose you."
"You're overthinking again." Sulia placed his head on her ample bosom, laughing softly. She knew her husband too well and found his anxious musings endearing. "Is something troubling you? Tell me, and we'll face it together."
"I'm considering how to address the brewing internal unrest," Ryan confessed, sharing his thoughts.
The two conspired under the moonlight. Sulia's suggestion lit a spark of determination in Ryan's eyes. "Are you sure, my love? This approach carries risks."
"Have faith in yourself," Sulia encouraged, her voice warm in his ear. "Summon the resolve you showed during the Great Expedition. I'm confident we can enact this reform without spilling a single drop of Bretonnian blood."
"You're right. I trust you," Ryan said, emboldened by her confidence. "Then we'll proceed as planned. There may be risks, but just as you trust me, I trust my people and my army."
"Exactly. And I trust you, Ryan," Sulia replied, closing her eyes.
Under the serene moonlight, amidst the lush flowerbeds and trellised vines, their lips met.
Sulia's kiss carried a faint fragrance of irises mixed with a sweet, almost chocolate-like undertone. It reminded Ryan of their time at the chocolatier's workshop, a memory that left him utterly captivated. Through his psychic vision, he saw Sulia's noble soul intertwining with his own, their shared light glowing brightly.
At that moment, the psychic sigil on Sulia's abdomen ascended to its third level. From that day forward, Ryan and Sulia would share their lifelines.
Unbeknownst to them, the Lady of the Lake watched from behind a grapevine trellis, her figure faintly illuminated. The goddess bit her handkerchief, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Why does Sulia always get ahead of me? Why?"
Two days later, the inevitable news arrived at the royal palace in Couronne!
Duke Talbott of Le-Angoulême was the first to outright reject the royal decree mandating that noble families produce a knight within three generations or forfeit their titles. Furthermore, he vehemently opposed Ryan's "unlawful usurpation" of Conneté's provincial governance.
Declaring such actions a violation of knightly law and the foundational Bretonnian Accords, Duke Talbott threatened to take action to "preserve the kingdom's historic honor."
This defiance quickly gained traction among other conservative dukes. They issued statements suggesting that if Ryan did not reverse his policies, they would reconsider their support for his kingship.
It seemed that even at the peak of Bretonnia's glory, the kingdom was on the brink of a massive internal upheaval!
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