Chapter 7
“What might those be?” Chloe inquired.
“He proposed appointing me Commander-in-Chief of the Navy to eliminate their troublesome ‘Pirate King’,” Curtis explained. “And, moreover, to send thirty percent of all pirate loot recovered in the process to Ivanes.”
Ah, the Pirate King.
Chloe, a former naval officer, was vaguely familiar with the name. Rumor held that the accumulated plunder of Pirate King Bartholomew, who ravaged Solleria’s coasts, amounted to a sum equivalent to ten years of Ivanes’s national budget.
Thus, the two Kings colluded: if Curtis were forcefully installed in Solleria, it would be a win-win for both. The King of Ivanes would be rid of the sight of Curtis, whom he despised, and the King of Glintland could utilize Curtis to clear a path for Solleria’s economic recovery.
Only Curtis, the man at the heart of the scheme, found no joy in it. For him, it meant draining his private coffers and enduring immense hardship without a single reward. Thus, he christened their ‘winning move’ with a rather different appellation.
“It’s nothing but a dirty trick,” Curtis spat, his lip curling.
Curtis’s sentiments were, naturally, quite understandable. Yet, Chloe mused, it was hardly a statement one might expect from a man who had just lied about his perfectly capable aide being his lover, all merely to evade marriage.
Honestly, this isn’t my concern either, she thought wryly. Of course it wasn’t. Had Curtis not babbled about Chloe being his lover or whatever two hours prior, everything he had just explained would simply be a headache-inducing tale of high-ranking politicos, utterly irrelevant to her.
“It’s certainly a tempting offer for His Majesty the King,” Chloe observed, her head tilted impassively.
At Chloe’s impassive observation, Curtis let out a disbelieving scoff, as if utterly dumbfounded. Huh? I should be the one to scoff! Chloe screamed internally, before carefully choosing her words.
“But you are a war hero, Your Highness,” She pressed gently. “Surely, in that case, you wouldn’t need to worry about private funds, would you?”
Whether confronting a Pirate King or any other international disputed figure or wanted criminal, the entity responsible for their elimination typically claimed half the recovered loot. You mentioned earlier you didn’t wish to fight while impoverished; couldn’t you simply earn the money and spend it? Chloe implied, and Curtis’s eyes narrowed perceptibly.
“As a naval veteran yourself, Officer Amboise, you should know this,” Curtis retorted, his voice sharp. “I have no intention of becoming a lousy seaman.”
Chloe tilted her head once more, a puzzled frown on her face.
“The Ivanes Navy, yes, is exactly like that. Their duty is simply to be stationed on the Prado Coast…” Chloe mused. “But I understood Glintland to possess a rather commendable naval system. Its discipline is reputedly quite strict.”
“It would be more accurate to say,” Curtis bit out, “that I have no intention of clinging to a sinking ship, for the remainder of my life.”
Huh? What could possibly be the problem with that? He’d be a commander, after all, Chloe thought, bewildered. Then, as she pondered, What is the reason behind those words? a sudden realization dawned, and her mouth fell slightly agape.
“Can you… not tolerate ships?” Chloe ventured, her voice hushed.
“Huh!?” Curtis flared, his irritation excessively quick to ignite. “What are you accusing me, the man who brought about the truce with the three kingdoms, of?” he demanded.
Ordinarily, Chloe would have wisely held her tongue at this juncture. But in her hand, the brooch emblazoned with the crest of Grand Duke Berk remained tightly clenched. Buoyed by this, Chloe mustered a sliver more courage.
“Is it that you cannot swim,” Chloe pressed, undeterred, “or do you simply get seasick?”
Curtis’s forehead crumpled unusually in exasperation. Oof, I truly should have held my tongue after all, she mentally chided herself. But at that very moment, he abruptly changed the subject.
“It seems,” Curtis stated, his voice tight, “we have digressed. What I meant to say was—”
“Is it… both?” Chloe finished for him, a mischievous glint in her eyes.
A profound silence descended between them. Chloe’s spirits, on the one hand, felt remarkably lifted. Curtis, on the other, felt utterly wretched.
* * *
There remained a truth unknown to both Chloe and the King.
Being Curtis did not, by any means, imply an affection for Ivanes. From the moment he gained rational thought, he had harbored an incessant desire to depart from Ivanes. Perhaps even more desperately than the King wished him gone.
Unfortunately, however, he could not. It was a conclusion he had painfully reached after some twenty voyages by ship.
It wasn’t that he hadn’t contemplated assuming the title of Marquis of Solleria. Curtis had, in fact, attempted sea travel to determine if he could stomach becoming the Marquis of Solleria. The result? He promptly vomited due to severe seasickness.
It must be because it’s my first time, he reasoned.
He vomited the second time, too.
Surely the third time will be fine, he hoped.
But the third time was no different. He vomited all twenty times he attempted to sail. On the last occasion, convinced he was truly on the verge of death, he attempted to disembark but slipped and tumbled into the water.
It was then, submerged, that he learned an undeniable truth: he and the sea were fundamentally incompatible. Some might wonder: if he is a commander, could he not simply issue orders from land, obviating the need for sea travel?
Such a remark, however, betrays an ignorance of Glintland’s minuscule size. In Glintland, a common saying went, “If hands are few, even a King must assist with kitchen duties.” Why?
Because from ancient times, it had been a country perpetually short on people. A poor, barren land, rich only in salt. A nation that would have perished long ago were it not for its vital salt farms.
Fundamentally, a truly effective commander cannot merely issue pronouncements from a safe remove, far from the battlefield. If one were to do so, would not the undeniable law of the battlefield dictate their utter defeat and humiliation, rather than victory?
To compound matters, Curtis’s situation in Glintland was hardly comfortable either. This was due to the reigning King of Glintland possessing no legitimate children of his own. The instant he married the adopted Duchess, Curtis would become alarmingly close to the Glintland throne himself.
Naturally, the King of Glintland would never permit him to remain on land. If Curtis journeyed to Solleria, he would, by any means necessary, be compelled onto the sea.
One might, perhaps, fret, thinking, What if he dies after dragging a war hero there and pushing him so relentlessly? But such a concern stems from an utter ignorance of Curtis Sean Berk’s immense wealth. Rumors circulated that the dividends he had amassed from the war with the three kingdoms alone were equivalent to five years of Ivanes’s national budget.
If he perished, Glintland would swiftly absorb Curtis Sean Berk’s entire remaining fortune. Whether he lived or died, it was a profoundly profitable endeavor for Glintland.
“They say the Duchess of Glintland has departed with a marriage proposal, Curtis.”
This news had arrived a fortnight ago, in the afternoon. His old friend, Second Lieutenant Noel, had brought the news to his office, exactly as anticipated. The swiftness with which the news arrived was, furthermore, thanks to the network of spies he had deliberately cultivated.
“They merely waited for Crown Prince Frederick to marry,” Noel had remarked. “Now that the royal wedding is concluded, they all strike at once.”
Curtis deliberately remained unmarried, a subtle maneuver to keep the King convinced that a political marriage could be arranged for him at any moment. He knew that if he were to prematurely propose to a young lady from even a moderately influential family, the King would undoubtedly interfere. His plan was to secure a suitable partner after the Prince’s wedding and then rush through his own marriage in a whirlwind.
However, war intervened. Once the truce with the three kingdoms was signed, the King swiftly assigned Curtis to the Royal Guards, effectively keeping him under close surveillance. No opportunity for his own plans arose. And as soon as the royal wedding concluded, Glintland made its move.
“It would be best to claim I have a lover,” Curtis mused aloud.
“But who?” Noel countered, his gaze sweeping the empty seat beside his friend.
Both men fell silent, the weight of the question settling between them.
“What exactly have you been doing with your life at your age?” Noel pressed, a hint of exasperation in his tone. “You should have dated a little…”
Curtis shot his close friend a sharp glare. Six years he had wasted on the battlefield, driven there by the King’s will. He’d been fighting since he was twenty. Adding to that, his fastidious nature meant he harbored a peculiar dislike for the body odor of others. Recalling this, Noel, who often wondered how such a man had endured six years of war, held back any further reprimands.
“…Your younger sister, perhaps?” Curtis ventured, his tone cautious.
Noel’s eyes narrowed, as if he’d heard something utterly unspeakable, leaving no doubt about his answer. “Absolutely not her,” he declared.
“Sorry. I misspoke,” Curtis quickly retracted. “Forget I said anything.”
Curtis sighed. It was safe to assume that finding a fiancée within a mere fortnight was an impossible task. So, what about someone to act as a political lover? Given the King’s blatant scrutiny and obstruction would never cease, the crucial factor was finding a woman capable of enduring his pressure. In that sense, high-ranking nobles were out of the question. Besides, among the young ladies of suitable age, few remained unattached to begin with.
“Why not consider one of the other young ladies who clearly harbor a crush on you?” Noel suggested, a glint of mischief in his eye. “You know, that Miss Aria from the Navy. Since she’s in the Navy, wouldn’t she roughly fit the criteria?”
Curtis irritably shook his head. “You know very well, Noel, how much personal feelings of that nature can complicate things.”
Noel fell silent.
The emotion called love, Curtis knew, could sometimes drive people to the ends of hell. He had witnessed far too many individuals ruin their careers or destroy others’ lives because of such feelings. The late King himself was a prime example.
“Besides,” Curtis added, “the King would block any woman from a modest background with all sorts of excuses.”
The two men simultaneously clutched their heads in frustration. Just then, a crisp knock sounded, and someone appeared before them.
“Brigadier General, I am submitting the Royal Guard artillery training records and the requested mana stone usage report.”
It was Chloe Amboise, the aide who had joined his command three months prior.
