Sylviane's awareness returned with a terrible headache. Her spinning brain felt bloated within the confines of an intolerably small container. It felt as though her head was about to fracture and split under the pressure.

"Unhhhh..." Her hands rushed up to the forehead. What in Holy Father's name did I do to deserve this torture?

"Mari..." the Princess cried out before opening her eyes. "Mari!"

"Yes, Your Highness?" A gentle voice came from the bodyguard and lady's maid. Her blurry silhouette leaned in from the bedside chair.

Even before her vision cleared, Sylviane could recognize that they were in her expandable cabin -- the royal cabin, despite its austere interior. She took the silver chalice that Mari offered with extended fingers. The water felt icy and refreshing to her dry lips. Even the slight brain freeze proved a blessing as it dulled the throbbing pain in her head.

"Wh-what happened?"

"-- Your Highness had just returned from the battlefield... and you were scolding the unconscious Lady Edith-Estellise when... His Grace..."

Mari trailed off into hesitation as she wasn't sure how to phrase it delicately. But as Sylviane finished her drink and wiped the tears and mucus from her eyes, her memories began to rush back amid a deluge of racing thoughts.

She hadn't been aware that Edith was unconscious. But so what? If anything, the Holy Father should have kept the girl awake. Dear 'Miss Perfect' sorely needed to hear opinions contrary to all the praise and admiration, which had clearly gone to Edith's head.

The Saint of Crusaders indeed... she has spent so much time sheltering behind her own image of honor and chivalry, that she would risk leaving the country defenseless just to preserve her pride!

It was the logic of ignorant buffoons, virtue championed by egotists and idiots. To fight when there was every possibility of annihilation and not a shred for victory -- it was not courage but sheer lunacy! Had Edith even a quarter the intelligence to match her beauty, she would have detached irregulars to harass the enemy army, to buy time while she withdrew the army north. The mighty fortification at the Avorican Capital of Roazhon laid less than sixty kilopaces north of the battlefield, built on the other side of a natural defensive barrier provided by the Rivers Hafren and Gwilen.

But stupidity, however terrible, could still be forgiven. Sylviane might wish to bestow some cutting words upon the front commander. However, as her returning memories filled out the missing gaps, those thoughts faded beneath her emotions towards the intolerable act of Pascal's betrayal... no, treason.

My own fiancé! How could he humiliate me like that! In broad daylight! In front of the army! She thought as her hands balled into fists while her face grew hot with anger.

To forcibly silence her with a Blackout spell was the magical equivalent of negotiating with a cudgel. It was demeaning and humiliating, an act as barbarous as a husband beating his wife in public. Worse yet, it violated not only her body but the sanctuary of her mind. Had she not remembered her moment of shock upon hearing his words, she would have never believed him capable of such brutish insolence.

I should see him whipped in public for such an affront!

The Princess gritted her teeth under more than just pain. Her fists clenched as she struggled to contain her rage. Were it not for the headache that plagued her as a direct consequence of the Blackout spell, the surging anger that boiled as she scanned through racing memories would have exploded.

"Where's Hauteclaire?" Sylviane groaned as she pressed one palm against her forehead.

She could use some of that soothing phoenix aura right now.

"He... he's off visiting Durandal."

Edith again...!?

Hauteclaire and Durandal were close friends, sure. But Sylviane had no doubt that her phoenix was really off alleviating that idiot saint's injuries, all while leaving her to suffer.

At that moment, the door to her cabin opened. Sir Robert was the first to enter, but behind him stepped in someone who was both the first and last face she wanted to ever see again.

"Pascal..." Sylviane barely forced out between gritted teeth. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

The Princess' furious gaze rose slowly to his face. She hardly noticed her clenched fingers turning white with anger, as though she sought to crush the metal vessel in her bare hands.

She would give him one chance, to kneel down and beg for her forgiveness.

But instead, the Landgrave stared back in bewilderment. "Sorry?" He replied in an innocent version of his aristocratic drawl, as though he was unaware of any misdeeds and therefore blameless.

Sylviane never even considered the possibility that he simply didn't hear her clearly. Before she realized it, the emptied chalice in her hands had been sent hurling towards his face.

Her fiancé reacted just a second late. His hand batted aside the flying silver at the last moment, sending the weighted base straight into the surprised expression of the Samaran girl flanking him. The stunned Kaede swayed before her small hands rushed to her face, where a delicate nose began to drip translucent-pink blood.

She'll heal in a minute.

Caught up in her fury, Sylviane effortlessly brushed aside any guilt she might have had. Yet as Pascal's turquoise gaze pivoted back to her from his familiar, the embers of ire were already kindling among his shock and outrage.

"Sylv wha--- what is wrong with you!?"

"What is wrong with me? WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?" The Princess roared in a shrill explosion as Sir Robert rushed to close the door to the morning sun outside. "My own fiancé decided it was a good idea to shut me up by force, in front of an audience no less, by KNOCKING ME OUT, for a whole day!? And you think I AM THE ONE WHO IS WRONG!? ARE YOU INSANE OR JUST PLAIN RETARDED?"

Pascal was struck speechless by the diatribe. He glanced toward Lady Mari, who returned the barest of head-shakes.

Did you conspire with him as well?

The Princess' eyes narrowed as she reviewed Mari's expressions since waking up. Images flew through her mind at the same breakneck speed as a dozen other trains of thought. Her lady's maid might have seemed troubled, but to describe Mari as 'guilty' would be excessive.

"I do not need an account from her," Sylviane clarified. "I have my own memories to judge you by!"

"Yes, I admit, I was in the wrong for knocking you out like that." Pascal's words came more as a retort than any sincere apology. It certainly didn't help that he followed up by pointing towards the door, his voice growing more self-righteous with every passing second.

"But do you remember how you berated Lady Edith-Estellise as she laid there, bruised, bloody, and unconscious? Do you also remember how you called her an 'idiot' and 'fool' even as she underwent emergency surgical healing, in front of her own assembled troops -- the men and women who loved her almost like a mother for how she puts their lives ahead of her own on the battlefield!?"

"You forget who you are and whom you are speaking to, Landgrave!" Sylviane almost spat back. Being her fiancé and childhood companion had made this man brazen and impertinent. He would dare to question her authority, yet another clear sign that the young upstart needed to be put back in his place.

"I did not realize that she was unconscious at the time, but she bloody well deserved every word!" The Princess' chest rose and fell with indignation as her wisteria gaze hardened with scorn.

'Saint Estelle', they call her -- the 'Miracle of Roncevaux'. She was 'courageous and exemplary, benevolent and selfless, the embodiment of virtue and an example to us all.'

Sylviane bitterly remembered the words that her father, the late Emperor Geoffroi, once spoke when he presented Edith with the Saint's Lily. The rechristened fae crysteel shield was a heirloom of the Royal House of Gaetane, given to her Great-Great-Grandfather Charles the Bold by the Faerie Sword Oriflamme, Princess-Consort Gwendolen of Avorica.

It was the shield to match Sylviane's Faerie Plate armor. Such was the esteem that Edith held in Emperor Geoffroi's gaze. Those proud, doting eyes had showed what everyone else whispered within the palace halls, even if the Emperor could never say it aloud:

'If only she was born into royalty.'

'If only Princess Sylviane was perfect like her.'

Even Hauteclaire, Sylviane's own familiar, preferred Edith over herself.

"-- And even you believe she is beyond reproach!" Sylviane lashed out as a tear of betrayal slid down from the anguish in her gaze. "That her soul is as pristine as her enchanting beauty! So of course it is not my place to accuse someone so perfect!"

"I knew you were going to say that--!"

"But that is what you were thinking! Am I wrong!?" Sylviane challenged her fiancé's retort.

"You are shoving words straight into my mouth!" The Landgrave countered with an expression torn between frustration, anger, and being completely flabbergasted.

"Oh please. Don't think I haven't seen how you stared at her in the past, lusting after her with the same eyes as every other man..."

"Do not compare me with every other sex-addled brainless imbecile out there!"

Sylviane sneered for a brief moment as she glanced towards the Samaran familiar who was still pinching that pretty nose.

"And you think I am blind to how you have started sleeping with your familiar again? Less than a minute away from your lawful fiancée no less! So tell me, who is the 'sex-addled brainless imbecile' now?"

With his cheeks flushed, Pascal took a deep breath to calm down before explaining:

"Kaede... has been having difficulty sleeping. She has been suffering repeated nightmares from battle trauma. So I--"

"So you thought her a mistress who would better share your bed than sleep in her own?" Sylviane had to stop herself from barking a laugh in disbelief. "What a convenient excuse!"

"It's not an excuse." The familiar herself chimed in. Her wispy voice was barely audible behind her embarrassment. "I-I'm the one who asked him... I've been having nightmares ever since the Battle of Nordkreuz... and the only time I managed to sleep normally was when..."

"Of course now the familiar would disgrace herself to stand up for her master," the Princess cut off the rest. She had no time for such pitiful attempts at excuses.

By this point, Pascal had leveled his palms into the air in exasperation:

"Sylv, you are not even trying to listen--!"

"I have no need to listen to your lousy excuses--!"

"--I may have slept in the same bed as Kaede, but we have done no more than that--!"

"--Only because she has the soul of a man and is not a complete harlot--!"

While everybody else in the room already knew the truth, Sir Robert's eyes almost popped out of their sockets as his eyes spun towards the Samaran girl.

"Besides, do I look stupid enough to vie for the affections of Edith-Estellise!? Just look at what happened to the others!"

Pascal had tried to talk over his fiancée by repeatedly escalating his volume. But the Princess would tolerate it no longer as she pounced out of her bed and all but screamed in return:

"AND NONE OF THAT EVEN BEGINS TO JUSTIFY THE CRIME THAT YOU HAVE COMMITTED!"

Thrown back onto the defensive, Pascal could only let loose a helpless, defeated sigh. He then exchanged a brief glance with his familiar before taking several more deep, calming breaths.

Yet what helped sooth him only made Sylviane's knuckles squeeze tighter as she recognized the familiar-link telepathy. It only served to remind her of the permanent bond between these two -- a contract as sacred as the rite of matrimony itself.

"Yes, you are absolutely right," her fiancé admitted. "It was I who knocked you out in the most barbaric manner, and there is no excuse for that."

Unlike his previous apology, Pascal actually sounded remorseful this time, much like a sinner keen to beg for the Holy Father's forgiveness. It enticed Sylviance's sense of mercy, to calm her anger and offer him another chance.

Then, he ruined it with a single following word: the holier-than-thou 'but' after the 'sorry', which rendered the apology meaningless.

"--But I did it because I could not think of another fast way to stop you from ruining yourself!"

"So you can ruin me instead? To destroy my honor and dignity before the eyes of the army!?"

"Please Sylv! If you would just let me finish!" Pascal half-begged and half-scolded.

"--Just like you allowed me to finish before blacking out my consciousness!?"

"That is what I am trying to explain! That I did it for your sake!"

However before the next thought could rush out from the Princess' lips, it was Sir Robert who beseeched next on behalf of the Landgrave:

"Your Highness, please!"

The royal armiger even knelt down on one knee as a sign of obedience, that he was still on her side.

He was soon joined on the floor by Lady Mari, and even Kaede as well.

With her breathing loud and her indignation irrepressible, Sylviane bored her cutting glare into Pascal's bitter, pleading eyes. Facing those turquoise orbs swirling with emotions, the Princess decided that the man before her would receive one more chance... and only one.

"On your knees then!"

"Sylv... what--!?" Pascal uttered back in stunned surprise.

"If you wish to explain your crimes, then you may at least do so with due penitence. On your knees, Your Grace!"

Pascal seemed floored by what he was hearing. For a moment he looked conflicted. Yet, at the silent behest of the others in the room, the Landgrave of Nordkreuz slowly bent one leg and lowered himself onto the floor.

Sitting back down on her bed like it was her throne, Sylviane could at last console herself that nature had, once again, been restored to its proper order. However it was still a long way from meeting her desire for justice, her desire to see him humiliated in return.

"Your Highness," Pascal stressed as he began, his speech slow but soon accelerating. "Lady Edith-Estellise, to be sure, has the intellect of a common blacksmith. But with Cosette and Gaston holding the Garona front, and Gervais leading his brothers in the mountains, who else does Rhin-Lotharingie have to lead with the same authority? This is a woman who was abandoned at an abbey as a child, who was thrice engaged and thrice widowed, her third fiancé killed on the wedding day itself! Since then she has sworn a life of celibacy and dedicated her sword to the defense of the Trinitian Realm. Her limited abilities were pressed upon to command a theater of war where she must face several times her forces in battle!"

"In short..." He paused to catch his breath. "Lady Edith-Estellise has been forced onto a role that she could never fulfill because everyone insists on putting her on a pedestal! And just to hold the line, she is left with no choice but to constantly martyr herself by carrying that doubled-edged Sword of Charity!"

"For Father's sake, Sylv!" Pascal pleaded as he gradually rose from the ground, his tone normalizing as that high-handed conceit returned alongside his annoying drawl. "She is a woman who deserves our sympathy, not our scorn! Certainly not before the army that she is like a mother to! Or do you think any child would gladly hear insults leveled at a beloved parent cursed by tragedy, regardless of whether they ring with the echo of truth?"

Sylviane didn't even have to think. She would cut out the insolent person's tongue for daring to presume they had the right to criticize the late Emperor -- her dutiful father who died prioritizing the country rather than his own safety.

But that was also the difference: Edith didn't sacrifice herself out of a love for her country. She did it for her own ideals, for honor, virtue, and piety. In other words, it was her vanity.

"Perhaps my words were brash," the Princess' irate tone left her own admittance hollow. "But that is no excuse for your outrageous behavior!"

"I am sorry but what else was I supposed to do? Stand by and watch as Rhin-Lotharingie's own soldiers come to detest their princess?"

"I don't care what the situation is. You have no right to use such barbaric methods!"

"You are not being reasonable!" Pascal protested, his hands waving in desperation.

"I am your future wife and empress! I don't need to reason with you!" Sylviane's finishing words left a tone of finality in the air.

The period had been carved in stone. There was no longer any purpose left to argue. Only an oppressive silence stayed to reign over the atmosphere as the two betrothed locked their detesting gazes.

"Have it your way then," Pascal almost spat out as he spun his heels towards the door. "Kaede--"

"Leave Kaede here," Sylviane interjected. "You are not allowed near her again until you learn to repent for your actions!"

"WHAT!?" Pascal spun back around within a second's time.

"She is MY familiar and MY responsibility! You cannot just... confiscate her!" He gestured towards the Samaran girl with bewildered outrage.

"I can, I am, and you will accept it!" The Princess fired back. "What other fiancée would tolerate you keeping a mistress so openly? She is an insult to my honor!"

"She is not... You know that is not what she is!"

"Then perhaps I should give you twenty lashes before the army! As appropriate for the offenses of Lèse-majesté, insubordination, and assault towards a superior officer under Weichsel Military Code!"

Before her, Sir Robert's face paled instantly. His expression was aghast that the Princess could even suggest such a thought. The military bullwhip could break skin in a single strike. Twenty lashes was more than sufficient to reduce even the most sturdy back to bloody tatters.

However this only convinced Sylviane that he had clearly missed the bigger picture -- that Pascal's actions amounted to far more than just insolence. It was treason.

By knocking her out in an open display of unilateral force, he violated not only her dignity as a human being, but also undermined her legitimacy as a sovereign in the eyes of her people. If her Weichsen fiancé could just trample over her objections like that in public, then who could say how much foreign influence her future husband would lord over Rhin-Lotharingie through her?

With the destiny of her country resting on this succession crisis, what Pascal did was tantamount to a stab in her back. She had to punish him to clear this mistaken impression, to show that she was still the one in control. However before she could even consider making him understand the gravity of his actions, Pascal ripped the gulf between them yet further as he yelled back:

"I would rather be flogged in public, than to debase myself in failing to uphold my obligations to her!"

To her!? What about to ME!? Your lawful future WIFE the eyes of the Holy Father!

That can be arranged! Sylviane was about to shout back when Kaede finally cried out:

"Pascal, please! You're not helping here! And I can take care of myself!"

The faint quiver in her voice sounded anything but sure of her safety in the Princess' care. Nevertheless, her master fell silent and, after another few deep breaths and probable telepathic exchanges, gave in to the inevitable.

Meanwhile, the other silent party, Lady Mari, had stepped forth to quell the royal temper:

"Your Highness, please reconsider." She knelt down to hold the Princess' hand. "The army will not like you any better for a lack of compassion towards your own betrothed."

Beckoned by the pleading sentiments of her maid and longtime companion, Sylviane finally brought herself to take a few deep breaths. Images floated into her mind of the last time she had witnessed a man flogged for his crimes, and she felt the bile in her throat as she remembered the agonizing visage of torn flesh.

Truth be told, she had no desire to see Pascal tortured. Robert and Cecylia might consider her a bit of a 'sadist', but she held only revulsion toward the twisted expressions of pain.

This is all his fault for goading me so.

"You will leave Kaede here." Sylviane announced sternly, trying to remain calm as she locked gazes once more with those turquoise eyes brimming with suppressed fury. "Then you will return to your cabin and confine yourself under house arrest until further notice."

For a moment Pascal said nothing. Then, the irate Landgrave's hand almost shook as he raised a finger in return:

"If you harm her..."

He left the remainder unsaid as he strode out and slammed the cabin door behind him.