Chương 8: Your Grace, the Prince is an Asshole

The carriage moved roughly forward, and Clara swallowed hard. I did something nobody has ever done in the history of the Kingdom of Arcadia. I stopped an unfair conviction and fought back against the truth magic. So… given that I did all that… The horses neighed as the carriage turned left towards the suburbs. The gaze that had been bothering her since the trial ended was even more intense now that its source sat directly in front of her. I was supposed to be free!

So why do I feel even more pressure now than during the trial?! Is this my punishment for Iris hugging me in celebration? God—or Goddess, I don't judge if you wanna go by different pronouns now—why won't you ever let me chill? Yet for all Duke Maximilian von Rhenia seemed to want to observe her, he hadn't uttered a single word yet, even though they were the only two passengers in the front coach. Maybe it was some sadistic mind game? Be reasonable, Clara.

If she thought about it from his point of view, scrutinizing her was warranted. As far as he could tell, a random maid who was about to be sentenced to death challenged an inquisitor in front of the Pope and won. Well, not exactly'won', what with all the unanswered questions, but it was close enough, right? So it was natural that the duke would pay attention to her, but couldn't he at least say 'thank you'? I did save his daughter from expulsion and house arrest!

She crossed her arms and looked out the window, trying to distract herself. The sun had begun to set, which only made the blue-green luminescence of the cobblestone road more vivid. For some reason, there were only a couple of von Rhenia knights outside, as opposed to the four per carriage that had escorted them into the walls of Elysia. After they were past the city walls, more than halfway through the journey to the von Rhenia estate, the duke finally spoke.

"Miss Casewell." She met the duke's icy eyes. Despite his bearing, given what Captain Ricardo had said about him, Clara had no reason to assume the duke would be anything but grateful, so there was no reason to be scared. She should treat this just as she'd treat a meeting with a senior partner after closing a deal.

"Yes, Your Grace?"

"That was very unexpected." He narrowed his eyes. Was he displeased with her?

"I only did what I had to do to protect myself and Lady Iris." A neutral response.

"Mm." He paused, then nodded.

"I understand. Yet the duty of a maid is not to protect but to serve. Your actions today were… impressive, but they will have political consequences." That was fair enough, Clara reckoned. Obviously, there would be political motivations in a trial involving important noble families and the Church, and Clara had very little understanding of this world's political situation — the original story had been a standard, insulated academy drama, at least as far as she read. Even so, Clara didn't regret what she did.

She'd had no choice.

"Have I done something wrong, Your Grace?"

"No," replied the duke immediately. He was warmer now, with a trace of a smile on his lips. So she wasn't being reprimanded. She nodded.

"Politics aside, I am alarmed by the prince's… behavior. Tell me, is that how he acts at Claves?"

"At times, Your Grace." She had no memories of it, since it was before she replaced Stella, but Iris had interacted with the prince several times in the chapters Clara read.

"His Highness has always been a bit, err…" She stopped herself. She had no idea what the duke's relationship was like with the royal family and the Crown Prince. Was it really safe to criticize him?

"You may speak freely, Miss Casewell," said the duke, as if reading her mind. He knocked on the carriage's window.

"And rest assured that these coaches are well soundproofed." The thing Clara hated most in stories was, of course, badly designed legal systems. But the second thing, which bothered her even more than a stupid crown prince, was misunderstanding drama. Where all the lead's problems could easily be solved if only she talked about them. So if the duke really wanted to listen, Clara would speak.

"Your Grace, the prince is an asshole." The duke blinked. For a long moment, the only sound was the rattling of the carriage wheels against the road. Clara wondered if she'd made a terrible mistake. When a powerful person asked you to speak your mind, it was always a gamble whether they really meant it. Then the duke laughed heartily, and Clara immediately saw the family resemblance to Iris.

"Oh ho ho!" He pressed a hand to his forehead, shoulders shaking.

"Miss Casewell," he managed, "I don't believe anyone has ever answered me quite so succinctly." Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on. Clara felt her shoulders relax slightly.

"I apologize if I was too blunt, Your Grace."

"No, no." He waved a hand.

"With my position, when I ask for an honest assessment, I'm still used to a certain level of pleasantries. This was quite refreshing." His serious expression returned, but the warmth didn't entirely leave his eyes.

"Elaborate. I would like to hear your reasoning." In for a penny, in for a pound.

"Prince Lochlann wasn't too bad when I first saw him at Claves. Arrogant, yes, but still within expectations." The duke nodded slowly.

"The royal family has always been indulged."

"Of course. But there's a difference between indulgence and irrationality. An indulged person knows the rules and expects them to bend. But the Crown Prince… The more he's interacted with Lady Helena, the more he seems to think the rules don't exist at all. He's engaged to Lady Iris, which has obvious political importance, yet he constantly treats her with disdain in favor of Lady Helena."" Disdain, you say?" The duke twisted his lips, his warmth replaced with something akin to anger.

"I had been under the impression that my daughter was pleased with her marriage arrangements, and with the prospect of one day being queen. Yet for the prince to treat her like this… Perhaps I've made a mistake. How does she feel about him?" Clara hesitated. It was one thing to risk herself; it was another to throw Iris under the bus. Or under the carriage, I guess. Doesn't really have the same ring to it.

"Lady Iris is concerned with the standing of House von Rhenia, Your Grace. She has been trying to get back into the prince's good graces — in troublesome ways, at times — but he seems to only have eyes for Lady Helena."

"I will have to speak to Iris about this. What about Lady Helena herself? Do you believe she's intentionally trying to separate my daughter and the Crown Prince?" Clara's suspicions were more instinct than evidence. Well, instinct and hundreds of novels' worth of experience. But the story hadn't explicitly shown whether Helena's naivety was faked.

"I'm not certain yet, Your Grace. She presents herself as harmless and immature, but her actions always seem to come at very opportune moments. You could see it during the trial: she intervened at the exact moment Inquisitor Aldric was about to be forced to ask a question he clearly didn't want answered." The duke's expression sharpened.

"So you noticed that. You have a keen eye, Miss Casewell. Most people in that courtroom were too absorbed in the drama to recognize the strings being pulled behind it."

"With respect, Your Grace, I was the one dangling from those strings. It tends to focus the attention."

"I suppose it would." He leaned back against the velvet cushions, studying her with renewed interest.

"And what about you, Miss Casewell? Your actions were unconventional, to say the least. I did not expect someone of your background to be able to argue like that." Well, my real background is five years in college studying law, then two more years doing an LLM, for starters. Not to mention all that time in corporate law. As for Stella's background, that Clara had no idea about. The novel hadn't shown any of it.

"My background, Your Grace?"

"I mean no offense. Yet church orphanages are not known for providing a quality education, nor for fostering the desire to contradict an inquisitor." She felt a pang of disappointment. So even here, I have no family.

"I read a great deal, Your Grace. Lady Iris is kind enough to allow me access to the library."

"Hmm. The library." The duke stroked his chin, his gaze distant. She could tell he wasn't entirely convinced.

"However you learned these skills, they served my daughter well today, and averted quite a predicament. I shall have to reward you. Do you have anything in mind?" Now that was a complicated question. What did Clara actually want? As far as she could tell, she was stuck in this world permanently, and it was probably safe to assume her original body had passed away. She bit her lip at that thought. If she were to make a life here, what would she want that life to be?

"I'd like to be able to study, Your Grace. History, rhetoric, law, even magic, if possible."

"Study? Why?" To open my own law firm. To show why a trial needs more than a one-sided 'truth'. And to make a lot of money while I do that. She steeled herself. It was a highly inappropriate goal for someone of Stella's background. But if you don't ask, if you don't assert yourself, you'll never get anywhere.

"Lady Iris and I were put in a very unjust situation today. And I can't help but think that we aren't the only ones who went through something like that — and that others might not have made it through the way we did. I would like to one day be able to help people like that. Help make sure justice is more than just the inquisition's magic." The duke studied her. His expression was somewhere between skepticism and something Clara couldn't quite make out.

"That is a peculiar ambition for a maid, Miss Casewell. Yet I find myself strangely inclined to humor you. I will see what can be done." She lowered her head.

"Thank you, Your Grace." He hadn't made any hard commitments, but it was a start.

"One last thing, Miss Casewell." The duke's voice was suddenly grave.

"My daughter hugged you. In front of the Pope, the inquisition, and half the nobility of the capital." Clara felt her face heat up.

"I — that was — she initiated —""Perhaps…" The duke shifted in his seat. Was he uncomfortable? The man who'd stared her down for an hour was now looking anywhere but her face.

"Perhaps you could convey to my daughter that she might occasionally hug her father, as well." Oh. Clara had done many difficult things in her life. The bar exam. International mergers and acquisitions. Cross-border taxation. Endless bickering with Warren. And now, even fantasy cross-examination. But this, this was harder than any of those by a mile. She covered her mouth with her hand. Do. Not. Chuckle. She breathed. For all his power and authority, the duke was still a father who cared for his little girl.

"I understand, Your Grace. I'll see what I can do."

"Good. Yes. Good." The duke straightened his coat.

"This conversation, of course, did not happen."

"What conversation, Your Grace?"

"Precisely." He nodded sharply. The pair remained in awkward silence for a while, and then the carriage began to slow. Through the window, Clara could see the von Rhenia estate rising before them, the sun setting behind the mansion. But there was one difference between the estate now and how it'd been in the morning. Instead of mostly empty greenery with few gardeners and servants, the field around the mansion was filled with knights. Hundreds of knights, with all their gear and even their horses.

"Miss Casewell," said the duke, "I sincerely hope it does not come to this, but if you are ever in a similar situation where you find yourself wanting to act recklessly, make sure to come to me first. There are always plans in motion, and they must be accounted for." Clara recalled what both the duke and Captain Ricardo had alluded to earlier.

'House von Rhenia remembers its own'. Tons of soldiers.

'Plans in motion'. Holy shit. Did I just prevent an armed rebellion?