Kut’s fleet turned back.

Dozens of warships that had formed ranks over the blue waters of Brienne, their crimson flags fluttering, turned their prows with the same dignity they displayed when they first declared war.

Hundreds of cannons, which had been ready to unleash their dark and gaping barrels upon the harbor, also shifted direction.

It was only then that the citizens of Brienne, who had been preparing to flee with their children on their backs and belongings loaded onto carts, shed tears of relief.

They rejoiced in the belief that, thanks to Duke Leonid, they had once again averted the crisis of war.

The harbor glowed with torchlight that night. Even soldiers of the furious Imperial Army joined in the lively atmosphere, drinking alongside the locals.

By the next day, the docks would be bustling again with cargo ships unfurling their wide sails and fishing boats laden with nets. As if to promise diligence with the rising sun, lively, fast-paced music filled the air.

***

The castle of Brienne, despite the citizens’ celebrations, was enveloped in quiet.

In the council room, Duke Leonid of Brienne, Knight Commander Marco, and Admiral Licht sat around a single candelabra.

“The Crown Prince actually agreed to meet Amelia?”

At Leonid’s words, Knight Commander Marco nodded with a relieved expression.

“Yes, my lord.”

When the Kingdom of Kut declared war, citing the disappearance of a navigator and setting fire to Brienne’s shipyard, Leonid had sought aid from the Empire. The Crown Prince, however, had declined with a reply pointing out instances of embezzlement.

Kut, too, remained unmoved by any negotiation attempts, and Olga’s promise to assist Brienne’s independence disappeared as if consumed by flames.

Diplomacy inherently disadvantages smaller nations, and Leonid typically refrained from being disheartened by such truths. But this time was different. If Brienne were to fall, what would happen to Amelia, who remained alone in the Empire?

Overwhelmed with unease, Leonid had even contemplated a disgraceful course of action as a ruler: traveling to the Empire to kneel of his own accord. He was prepared to say, “Take my life and hang it as an example before Olstein’s gates if you’ll send Amelia back to Brienne.”

But just after Marco returned, an imperial messenger arrived.

Carrying two scrolls of parchment under his arm, the messenger handed one to Leonid and the other to Kut’s Knight Commander before departing as swiftly as he had come.

Before the sun had set, Kut’s navy had turned back toward their homeland.

Marco’s report that “Princess Amelia had requested an audience with His Highness, the Crown Prince” had proven true.

“…But they don’t let us off that easily.”

Unlike Marco, who wore a look of relief, Admiral Licht smirked bitterly as he reread the parchment on the table.

Not deploying a single ship while allowing Kut’s navy to retreat unchallenged was apparently an unbearable humiliation.

Yet the admiral knew that even feigning readiness by launching Brienne’s navy would have immediately escalated into full-scale war. Bound by Leonid’s orders, he had spent the entire day glaring out over the harbor, unable to do anything more.

“This failure lies with me,” Leonid lamented.

The flowing, elegant handwriting on the parchment was familiar—it belonged to Crown Prince Josef.

It promised to resolve the issue with Kut as Brienne had requested but demanded they endure punishment for their embezzlement.

The Crown Prince’s terms had shifted to require the formation of a naval force consisting of ten warships and an elite crew of sailors. Brienne now had six months to construct a flagship and ten armed merchant vessels.

The Crown Prince’s instructions were incredibly detailed: monthly progress reports were required, materials and manpower had to be procured from Olstein, and in the event of delays, Brienne could purchase ships from other nations.

The missive concluded succinctly:

“Princess Amelia of Przhemysl will not return to Brienne.”

Leonid, upon reading those words, abandoned every plan he had devised thus far.

His negotiations with the Empire, preparations to seize a chance for independence—all had been for Amelia.

But if these efforts risked exposing Amelia to even the slightest danger, they were meaningless.

“I believe Kut’s aggression was a warning,” Leonid remarked somberly.

Watching Kut’s fleet in Brienne’s waters through the night, he had come to a realization.

He could not believe that Kut harbored such intense hostility toward Brienne as to wage war over the whereabouts of a single navigator.

The Empire must have uncovered something. Kut, in response, had withdrawn their support for Brienne.

And, as expected, Crown Prince Josef had seen through Leonid’s maneuvers.

Including Amelia’s name in his correspondence was likely a warning as well.

“How is Amelia?” Leonid asked.

“When I delivered the news, she was naturally quite startled, but she is managing well,” Marco replied.

Leonid nodded.

“That’s good enough.”

He conjured Amelia’s face in his mind—one he hadn’t seen since she left for the Empire.

His daughter, who once only knew of war through history books, had grown enough to tell him to leave this matter to her and return home.

That image was hard to visualize. Although he had raised her close to him, the memory of her as an adult kept fading. Instead, his mind conjured the image of a little girl marveling at the waves for the first time or playing in the garden with dirt-covered hands.

What could she have said to the Crown Prince? Had she been trembling with fear during the audience? What if she had cried alone, thinking war had broken out in Brienne?

His aging heart felt no different than it had two decades ago when he had carpeted every corridor in the castle, worried that Amelia might fall and hurt herself while learning to walk.

***

In the Empire, the cavalry was in the midst of lance training.

“Next,” Josef called, gesturing with his free hand, the one not holding the training lance.

“…”

The cavalryman opposite him hesitated, clutching the reins and reluctant to move. Beneath the chainmail helmet, fear was evident.

“Next!”

From beyond the training ground, marked by fences and stakes, Henrik raised his voice.

But even with Henrik’s louder command, the mounted soldier remained frozen.

“Soldier! Are you defying orders?”

“N-no, sir!”

“Then what are you doing, you idiot!”

Spurred on by Henrik’s scolding, the cavalryman let out a half-crying shout.

“Hyahh!”

“Oh dear…”

Watching the cavalryman charge forward on his horse, Henrik clicked his tongue in dismay. The spirit was there, but his posture was wrong from top to bottom.

The cavalryman, wielding a wooden lance twice his size, charged at Josef. Standing firm, Josef easily parried the attack.

As Henrik expected, Josef’s precise counter shattered the cavalryman’s lance into splinters with a sharp crack.

“Ahh!”

Losing his balance, the cavalryman tumbled off his horse. The broken pieces of the lance scattered across the ground as if celebrating the mishap. The horse, relieved of its rider, shook itself off and ambled away in the opposite direction.

Josef, watching the scene, dismounted his own horse and approached the fallen soldier, grabbing his arm to help him up.

“Your Highness! I… I’m terribly sorry!”

The soldier, who had been writhing on the ground moments before, sprang to his feet and bowed deeply, forgetting his pain.

“I told you not to move the lance when the horse is charging.”

“Yes, sir! My apologies!”

Josef, maintaining his stern tone, pointed out a few more flaws in the soldier’s technique before leaving the training field. The soldier, awestruck and humbled, kept his head down until Josef was out of sight.

“…Wow.”

Henrik watched the exchange with a dumbfounded expression.

Josef occasionally oversaw cavalry training like today, but none of the soldiers particularly looked forward to it.

It wasn’t the honor of facing the crown prince directly that daunted them, but the grueling critiques and penalties that followed. The more experienced soldiers, especially those who had witnessed Josef in battle, were the ones most eager to avoid these sessions.

But today was different. While Josef’s demeanor on horseback had been as exacting as ever, his actions afterward were unexpectedly considerate. Not only had he helped the soldier up, but he had offered criticism without his usual biting remarks.

“Your Highness, is something the matter?”

Josef, now closer to Henrik, brushed his disheveled hair back with a slight frown.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Uh… I mean… Forgive me, it’s nothing,” Henrik stammered, bowing slightly.

But even as he tried to dismiss the thought, his curiosity lingered.

Something felt off. Although Josef’s usual stoic and aloof demeanor seemed intact, subtle differences stood out.

Josef leaned against the railing, observing the soldiers. Normally, at a time like this, a cigarette would be perched between his fingers. Today, there wasn’t one. He didn’t even reach for his pocket, as if the habit had been consciously abandoned.

This had been the case for several days now. Henrik wasn’t bold enough to ask outright about the missing cigarette.

Josef, still silent, turned away from the training grounds.

“Your Highness, are you heading to the office?”

“No.”

“I see. Then, with your leave, I’ll…”

Before Henrik could finish, Josef had already walked away from the field.

Lately, Josef often headed straight to his quarters rather than his office.

If he brought work into his chambers, it was an unspoken signal to leave him alone, a notion that even Thomas, the chief chamberlain, respected.

This had been the routine nearly every day, and today was no exception. According to the guards, Josef rarely left his quarters after sundown.

“Perhaps the weight of his duties is catching up with him,” Henrik thought.

As part of his responsibilities, Henrik had to monitor the crown prince’s well-being.

Though concerned, he concluded there was likely nothing to worry about. With the recent resolution of the Brienne affair, Josef seemed, if anything, more content than usual.