After bidding farewell to her uncle, the Duke of Hohenzollern, and offering a few more words of encouragement to the young talents who had come to pledge allegiance, Vela set out for the Camelot Palace.
The brisk evening breeze drifted gently through the imperial capital of Pendragon's palace grounds. In the vast courtyard, countless flowers, lawns, and fountains were arranged in magnificent geometric patterns. Rare blooms and exotic plants were in no short supply, as splendid and beautiful as Vela remembered.
Palaces of cassia and orchid, golden towers and silver halls.
Unlike the residences of princes, imperial grandchildren, and consorts named after the Zodiac, Camelot Palace—named after the legendary King Arthur's royal hall—was the Britannian royal family's principal residence. It bore less of life's warmth and more of solemn grandeur.
Second only to Emperor Charles' Avalone Palace.
Tap, tap.
Amid the respectful bows of attendants, Vela walked through the long and spacious corridor, arriving at the lofty front hall staircase beneath glittering crystal chandeliers…
The Son of Heaven takes the world as his home, and only grandeur can command awe. It was the same in all ages, in every land. Once or twice, the spectacle was fresh. But too often, it became exhausting. Walking made her hungry, and just as Vela ascended the stairs, grumbling to herself our house is too big, the sound of hurried footsteps reached her ears.
Her brows arched as if realizing something. She lifted her gaze.
A fragrant breeze washed over her, and what filled her sight was a pair of open arms—and a dazzling whiteness so radiant it almost hurt the eyes.
Dodging was, of course, impossible.
Darkness fell before her eyes.
"Ah—Vee!"
"Whoa—mmph, Mother! This is the staircase!"
Taller now than her mother, Vela easily stood firm.
Two seconds later, sensing the embrace around the back of her head loosening, she pulled her head free with a faint huff, gently slipping from the overly public embrace. Waving off the attendants poised to help at the steps, she continued upward to the second floor. Adjusting her cloak, she finally said with solemn courtesy: "Good evening, Mother."
Vela regarded her mother.
Tonight she had clearly dressed with care. She wore an embroidered court gown, her chestnut-golden hair loosely curled. Her pale, rosy oval face was lit with joy that could not be hidden. Well maintained, the marks of age scarcely showed, every smile and glance brimming with regal grace.
Princess Victoria Adelheid of the House of Hohenzollern.
Thanks to her maternal lineage of generations of nobility, Vela's name in this life was unusually long:
Vela Adelheid Alexandra Augusta Katharina Russell von Britannia.
Translated: Vela of the Britannian family—learned, pure, holy and noble, protector of the people, elegant and beautiful.
Compared to the customs of her past life, this was needlessly cumbersome. Luckily, her mother's close kin within three generations had no Spanish ties, or it would have been longer still.
Carefully studying her daughter before her—dressed in military uniform, composed, bearing herself with confidence—Victoria nodded with satisfaction, her heart still youthful.
"Ah, Vee, you flighty fledgling. At least you still have some conscience."
"At the very least, you didn't wait until tomorrow to remember your mother, who's been eagerly awaiting you."
She tilted her head, playfully poking her daughter's forehead with a finger, her tone tinged with complaint.
"How could I forget?"
Vela laughed it off.
"You are as beautiful as ever, radiant as the moon tonight."
She first offered an exaggerated compliment, then quickly slipped her arm through her mother's, naturally shifting the topic: "Mother, have you had dinner? I'm starving."
No matter how awe-inspiring and severe she appeared before others, before the mother who loved her, who had never wronged her, who had raised her with care—Vela would not put on airs.
Compared to Aries Palace's 'Bloodstained Consort' Marianne—who treated her children as ornaments to her beauty, who schemed from the womb to heighten her children's Geass compatibility, who could comfort Lelouch and Nunnally with cold killer's eyes, who even considered having them bear children together to maximize Geass aptitude—the 'Princess of Hohenzollern,' mother of twins, was truly a normal person.
As a royal princess carefully raised by a great noble family, Princess Victoria Adelheid was the very image of a European noblewoman.
Gentle and refined, well-mannered, dignified in bearing—yet only before Vela, her first and only child, clever and easy to raise, practically nurtured in sisterly fashion—did she become far more lively.
She valued family, truly devoting herself to raising her child.
As for her political conservatism, her tendency to weigh gains and losses, her zeal for power struggles, her taste for luxury, her lack of grounding—these were the inevitable traits inherited from her great noble lineage.
"Ah, such honeyed words, truly sweet."
Unfolding the ivory fan studded with pearls in her hand, Victoria covered the lower half of her face, her eyes curving upward, gaze filled with mirth as she looked at Vela.
She loved to hear it—say more.
"Our dear Duke Wilhelm just presented the Empire's young talents to you, didn't he?"
After their affectionate reunion, Victoria asked while walking at her daughter's side.
"Those willing to battle on the Eastern European front instead of wasting themselves in colonial police work—I have no reason to refuse them."
"Seems your talk went well. Do you have major plans for Euro Britannia?"
Her mother probed again, sharp as ever.
"Yes. Mother, within a month at most, in response to the E.U. army's 'kamikaze' raid on my Seraphim Knights, I've decided to repay them in kind. I will launch an experimental special operation against E.U. garrisons in the old Baltic States—Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania."
Vela held nothing back.
One did not live in Camelot Palace as a mere ornament.
And with attendants here, leaks were impossible. This was Camelot Palace, not Aries Palace—it was the Britannian royal family's principal seat. If enemy agents could infiltrate here, her cheap old father, Emperor Charles, would already have unleashed a great purge and massacre.
She, who knew the truth of the 'Empress Marianne Assassination' eight years ago, scoffed at the notion that it was the work of terrorists.
It had only been the consequence of internal strife over conflicting policies.
As for the rumors, vividly fabricated, claiming Marianne was assassinated out of jealousy by rival factions of the royal family—well, those were not baseless. The mastermind was indeed a royal. From the previous generation.
Wait… wasn't she herself, in the eyes of the outside world, the prime suspect these days? Hah…
"On military matters, your mother is far inferior to you. I will not meddle. As long as you weigh everything carefully, that is enough. Let us rather speak of your recent grand projects in the Ural Industrial Zone and the New Siberia Industrial Zone. Do you still need support in funds and manpower?"
"Of course, the more the better. The Knightmare development industry I exchanged from the Ashford family has been properly relocated to the Ural Industrial Zone. The development type of the Fifth-Generation 'Sutherland' is already entering mass production. The prototype of the Seventh-Generation 'Vincent' has also begun to take shape."
"And in the New Siberia Industrial Zone?"
"I authorized the establishment of several specialized research institutes. Chief among them: [Bionic Prosthetics], [Yggdrasil Drive Interference Device], [FLOAT System], [Blaze Luminous], [VARIS Particle Cannon], [MVS Vibroblade Technology], [Radiation Wave System], and [Reactive Weaponry Research]…"
"Quite a list of new technologies. Vee, is this why you plan to trial a military reform in Euro Britannia?"
"The application of new weapons and technologies is only part of it. The main issue is that the army now relies too heavily on Knightmare Frames. I intend to use the Eastern European front as a testing ground, to explore the feasibility of multi-branch combined-arms operations for the Imperial Army."
"Time waits for no one."
Victoria sighed in relief, pleased. "I won't keep you resting in Pendragon, since you wouldn't listen anyway. Vee, when do you plan to return to St. Petersburg?"
"Tomorrow. After my audience with Father."
"Very well. Tonight, I will cook myself, as a farewell for you."