Cohdopia, 2003
Quercus' pen lingered in the air for a few instants above the back of the card. A drop of ink – common ink instead of the prized Cohdopian one, because few people could afford using it and it could end up revealing too much should one of those cards fall into hands it wasn't supposed to be into – fell on the mahogany desk, but Quercus didn't take notice, his gaze fixed on the card.
The uncertainty, however, didn't last for long: he finally lowered the pen and began writing on the back of the card an order that was nothing short of a death sentence for a man who had tried to double-cross them. It was nothing relevant, a little amount of goods he had hidden for himself, but that had been going on for too long, and it was not acceptable: for everything to work smoothly, everyone had to know exactly where they stood. Double-crossing had grave consequences, for nothing but death could be in store for people who could not be trusted; letting them live and perhaps reveal the smuggling business out of spite for being left out was not an option.
No, Quercus thought as he finished writing the order, there was no other options to deal with such individuals... and besides, one death was a more than acceptable price to remind everyone else what their place was, and what would happen to traitors.
Quercus put town the pen and stared down at it for a few moments. It wasn't the first time he had to write an order like that in the past several years, but each time he found himself waiting for a few moments before having the order sent. Waiting for what, though, he couldn't tell. For his own conscience to speak up? What a ridiculous notion. His conscience was silent, and it was no surprise: it had been silent for such a long time, not to be heard even the first time he had ordered bombings on civilians – so why would ordering a few men's death even warrant a reaction?
Intentionally avoiding to even think about his family, how they had died and to what end, he tore his gaze away from the card and finally looked at the vase that sat on his desk. It was just one of the many vases in the office, for tending the plants was pretty much the only truly enjoyable thing to do he had left now that his role was more and more that of a bureaucrat and less and less that of a soldier, but he couldn't help but feel that one was somewhat special. It contained several blossoming passionflowers – the kind of flower he had seen on his first battlefield all those years ago, when he had thought he would die there, bleeding to death right next to a fragile flower that had somehow managed to survive in the midst of a battle.
A survivor, Quercus thought, just like him.
And sometimes, in order to survive, some measures have to be taken.
He turned his gaze back onto the card and read the order he had just written. He read it again and, as he had expected, he once again felt nothing. He simply took the card, slipped it into an envelope and sealed it, then reached for the button of the interphone.
"Hyacinth, there is a letter you have to post," he said. He had barely the time to write the address – that of a small, anonymously rented mail box in a postal office near the northern border – on the back of the envelope before his secretary knocked the door.
"Do come in," Quercus said, mildly amused by how quickly he had come. He wouldn't be surprised if it turned out he had ran up the stairs – and indeed, when Hyacinth stepped in and greeted him his breathing was quicker than he probably should have been.
Eager to please as always, Quercus thought in mild amusement as he handed him the envelope and gave him instructions to post it immediately. His opinion on the man hadn't changed through the years – he still thought he was a fool – but Durandii had left a note saying that he was a good secretary exactly because of that: he was loyal, eager to please, and would follow orders without any question at all, and no suspect there could be any wrongdoing going on would enter his mind. So far, Quercus could see the old High General had been right: he was a useful, loyal idiot.
"... Post it right away, then you can take the rest of the time until lunch break off," Quercus finished, and turned his gaze back on the other letter he was to write. It was a much less important and rather boring one about the troops' placement on the southern border, and it could wait until that afternoon to be sent. He was about to tell Hyacinth that he was dismissed – by now he had given up on trying to lose the old habit and simply kept 'dismissing' his underlings as though he was talking to soldier instead of civilians – when he noticed that he was almost out of ink. "Just one more thing. I need some more ink."
"Oh. Of course, sir. I'll bring you another bottle before I head out to post the letter," his secretary said. But he didn't move for a few more moments, looking down at pen and paper, and eventually spoke again. "About that, sir, I was thinking..."
"I this is another attempt at talking me into using a typewriter, you already know the answer," Quercus all but grumbled, not even looking up at him. "Pen and paper work just fine for me. You know I'm old-fashioned like that. Not to mention that I rather enjoy being able to write without wasting whole minutes looking for this or that key on that damn machine, or to push the carriage back, or to get the damn paper unstuck, or- what is it you find so amusing, if I may ask?"
The faint smile that had appeared on the other man's lips for a moment immediately disappeared. "I... ahem. Nothing, sir. It's just that I wasn't going to suggest you to use a typewriter. Honest."
"What is it, then?"
"Well, I was thinking that we could try getting a few computers, and Internet access," Hyacinth blurted out. Quercus tried to open his mouth to ask him what in the world that 'Internet' was supposed to be, but the other man spoke too quickly to allow him.
"They could simplify our work a lot. I have one back home and believe me, sir, it's rather amazing. I know of many offices that are already using them here as well, and in other parts of the world they're very common. For example, you can send your directions through e-mail – it's quicker and much less expensive. There is my cousin in the States who says they're the best thing after-"
Quercus sighed and raised a hand, causing the deluge of words to finally stop. "Enough," he said. "I'm not sure what makes you think someone unable to use a typewriter like myself should be ever trusted with anything even close to a computer," he spoke the last word with a slight scowl. "Besides, we have a fax machine for anything we need to send to the High Command or anyone else immediately, and it is enough. So I believe I will stick with pen and paper, especially since it allows me to sign anything I write. That's not up for discussion," he added when his secretary opened his mouth, causing him to close it again with the disappointed expression of someone who's just been denied a new toy.
"Yes, sir," he finally murmured in defeat.
"Good. Now, if you don't mind, you have a rather important and very old-fashioned letter to post. Once you've brought me some more ink, of course."
With another defeated 'yes, sir', the man finally left. Once again alone in the office, Quercus leant back on his seat and stared at the door. He purposely avoided thinking over what a part of his mind was already pointing out – when did I start being wary of all things new like some old man? – and absent-mindedly wondered what would have that annoyingly simple-minded man thought had he known that the 'letter' he was going to post contained a man's death sentence. The thought made him chuckle. It was a pity he couldn't find out, but that would have meant having to kill him as well to silence him and it was simply not worth the hassle of having to look for another suitably naive secretary.
Shaking the thought out of his mind, he reached to open the desk's right drawer and pulled out two letters. The first one he barely even looked at: it was the monthly update from the institution he had sent Chrysalis to, and it was hardly different from all the others he had received. The girl, now about fourteen years old, was clever, a brilliant student, and fluent in several languages already; aside from occasional complaints about the girl's 'lack of respect' – from what Quercus had bothered to gather, she seemed simply unable to hold back from laughing at her teachers when she thought they were especially amusing – those letters were nothing but extremely uncreative and ultimately boring praise. He was pleased, to some degree – it was good to know it wasn't wasted money, however insignificant the amount was to him – but once he was done reading those reports he'd just put them away and forgot all about the girl until the following month and the following letter.
The second letter, however, he actually did bother to read a second time – it was Issoria's. It looked like Daphne was about to finish school, and had decided she wanted to become a doctor. It was not a request for money, she never asked for any, but he took a mental note of searching for the best possible universities in the field and let her know that Daphne could pick the one she liked best and he'd pay the fees. He had promised he'd pay for her education, and he was going to keep that promise. Quercus nodded to himself at the thought and put the letter back on the desk, but his eyes lingered on it a few more moments, a slight frown creasing his brow.
Despite having come to feel home with her, he had always considered Issoria's life – and that of anyone spending their whole life into a small village – to be unbearably dull in the long run. To what point it was the result of traveling across the whole country or at the contrary a deep-rooted longing for a kind of life he could never have again, he couldn't tell. In any case, no matter the reason, that had been exactly what he had thought of her life: that it was dull, uneventful, and dreadfully boring.
And yet, he had come to realize that while she always had something to write him about – be it a visit from either of her sons and their children, something Daphne did or said, how the garden was growing or just something amusing that had happened in the village – over the past years he had had to struggle to come up with anything he could write back: what was there he could tell her about? The smuggling ring was out of question, and anything else he did was nothing but a bureaucrat's work; nothing he found interesting enough to think about one moment more than necessary, let alone write about.
So he had come to realize, with a certain amount of bitterness, that his life had become far duller than he could have ever imagined: the only things that there were left for him to enjoy were the power and influence that came from his position and his role in the smuggling ring. Back when he was a soldier, a true soldier, he had a goal to pursue – power – and had to work to achieve it; and now there he was, the High General, the most powerful man of the country, bored out of his mind into a fancy office and only taking pleasure in fact he had made it to the top against all odds.
Quercus' eyes fell on his own hand, and he once again scowled bitterly. It was large and calloused and still strong, but the skin was paler than it used to be, and the veins showed more. He actually hadn't even realized how pale he had grown until he had seen a photograph taken the day he had been promoted to High General and seen the difference with his own eyes. He had been fair-skinned when he was a boy, but years in the army, marching and training under the sun, had darkened his skin a few shades; now, though, his skin was once again pale – paler than ever before.
Much like you're becoming a shade of your former self, like a plant into a dark room.
He clenched his jaw and did his best to push the thought aside – that was utter nonsense, he thought, just the musing of a tired, bored aging man – when the phone suddenly rang, snapping him from his thoughts. Somewhat relieved, Quercus reached for the receiver.
"What now?"
"It's Her Highness, High General, sir," his secretary said, sounding rather nervous as always when the queen herself called. Thinking about it, Quercus thought, yet another reason why he made the ideal secretary was that he would never dream of listening to any phone conversation. "She's on line one."
"Fine. I'll take the call right away. You just go post that letter, I'll get the ink by myself," was all Quercus said before pushing another button. "Your Highness," he said quietly.
"High General," she greeted him from the other side. "I trust I'm not interrupting you, am I?"
"No, Your Highness. I'm just done taking measures to remove a pesky grain of sand from my eye," he replied, turning to glance out of his study's window. Sure enough, there was Hyacinth – leaving the residence and heading to post his latest order. "It should be dealt with soon."
Queen Luzula did not precisely know what he meant by that: he said something along those lines any time some issue came up and he dealt with it successfully, and she could never know what kind of measures he had taken and how drastic they may be. She never asked either, perhaps because a part of her didn't truly want to know, perhaps because she simply trusted his judgment enough not to bother asking... or perhaps it was for both reasons. It was hard to tell.
And she didn't ask that time, either. "Good to know," she said lightly. "In this case, there is a matter I wish to discuss with you. Do you think you can leave your children alone long enough to come to the palace this afternoon?"
Quercus chuckled at her jab; she had been rather amused to see him taking on caring for plants, and had come to refer to them as 'his children'. "There actually is a bonsai that could use some trimming," he said, glancing at the bonsai in question. "But yes, I do believe it can wait a bit longer."
Queen Luzula chuckled. "It's always good to know I'm always on top of your priorities, High General," she muttered. "I'll be waiting for you at five, in my study. Do not be late."
"I won't be, Your Highness," Quercus replied. "May I ask what it is about?"
"Not about something you'll like to hear, I'm sure," the queen replied, sounding rather amused, and hang the phone before Quercus could even open his mouth to ask. He took the receiver off his ear and started at it for a few moments before sighing and hanging up as well, wondering just what kind of headache Queen Luzula was going to give him that time.
"You cannot be serious!"
Far from unsettled by Quercus' outburst, Queen Luzula simply smirked. "I think you forgot a 'Your Highness' at the end," she pointed out, amusement clearly showing in her voice. An amusement that Quercus was most definitely not sharing.
"Fine," he almost growled. "You'll have to forgive me, Your Highness, if I ask you to please tell me you're not being serious."
"I'm afraid I am, High General. Dead serious."
"Why, what a fitting description," Quercus snapped. "Especially since your death is something this idea of yours could easily end with."
Queen Luzula's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Do not abuse the freedom of speech you have with me, High General," she warned dryly.
Quercus clenched his jaw, and when he spoke again a few moments later his voice was tightly controlled. "Your Highness, I beg you to reconsider. Our relationship with Zheng Fa has always been strained to say the best, and-"
"It's been getting better lately, though, has it not?" She cut him off.
"This doesn't mean it's the right moment. There still are-"
"Issues? Yes, I am aware of that, but they will never be solved if we don't get working on it, and this is the right moment to. Things may not be picture perfect, but there haven't been any open hostilities in years, and the current President has been making a noticeable effort for diplomacy – an effort we reciprocated. If we do not give it a chance now, it may have been all for naught. Don't you believe lasting peace between the countries is a more than reasonable reason to take some risks?"
"An official visit to Zheng Fa is more than just risky. It's a needless danger. You'll be trusting them with your life by putting your safety and that of the Crown Princess – the Crown Princess! – in their hands. They sent and assassin after you once already, and-"
Luzula cut him off with an impatient gesture of her hand. "That was almost fifteen years ago, High General. It is different now; the situation is different – their government is different. The current President is not the one who sent the assassin after me."
Quercus sneered. "Different, you say. That's unexpectedly naive of you, Your Highness. The more things seem to change, the more they stay the same."
"Or perhaps you're simply growing too old to see changes even when happen right in front of your eyes," Queen Luzula countered, now sounding somewhat exasperated. "For Heaven's sake, your arguments remind me those Vulneraria used when he insisted for my father to quit trying for peace with Borginia and-"
She had to see something on Quercus' face when he heard the comparison, something that unsettled her, because she immediately tailed off and drew in a deep breath. "That was uncalled for," she finally said quietly, looking down.
Quercus forced himself to stop clenching his teeth enough to speak. His hands were curled into tight fists by his sides, and he still felt as though his blood was boiling. "Yes, it was," he said, his voice just as tightly controlled as before.
"My apologies."
Her voice was quiet, with no hint of mockery, and he saw none in her expression, either. He drew in a deep breath before speaking again.
"Regardless, it is not a war I am suggesting, nor I'm saying we shouldn't try for diplomacy. What I'm saying is that I fear an official visit to Zheng Fa might put your life and that of the Crown Princess in danger. Their President may have the best intentions, but you of all people should know that a governor, or a ruler, rarely has complete control of everything that goes on in their country. A small group of influent people, maybe even one single powerful person who'd rather have you dead and hostilities to resume would be enough."
Queen Luzula nodded. "I am aware of that, of course. But I do maintain that it's worth the risk," she paused and smirked. "You truly do not trust anybody with my life, do you?"
Quercus scoffed. "When it comes to your life, Your Highness, I trust nobody but myself."
His statement had to amuse her a great deal, for she laughed. "It is quite alright, then," she said once she was done laughing. "It seems that you have nothing to worry about."
Quercus raised an eyebrow. "I take it there's something I don't know yet."
"You simply forgot what your role is, High General," she replied, emphasizing his title. "As the High General of Cohdopia, you're expected to take part to any official visit abroad along with your ruler. Which means that my daughter and I will not be alone among the guards the president of Zheng Fa will choose for us – you will be there as well."
Quercus hadn't even thought about it. "So I'll officially be there because of my position, but more than anything I'm meant to keep you and the Crown Princess Wilkiea safe. Is that it?"
Queen Luzula nodded. "Precisely. It would be rather rude of me declining the Zheng Fa's offer for security and insist on bringing bodyguards of my own, and right now it would go against the kind of message I want to transpire – that I trust them enough. For as long-lasting friendship between the two countries we cannot start out with a diplomatic incident, minor as it may be, so bringing my own guards along is not an option. You, on the other hand..." She gestured at the sash and medals on his chest and smirked. "As the High General, you're supposed to be there. That your main reason to be there will be looking out for me and my daughter is not something they need to know."
For a moment before speaking again, Quercus couldn't help but smile a little. Had he really thought that Queen Luzula, willing to take risks as she may be, would actually travel to a country that had sent an assassin against her once already with no protection at all for herself and her daughter? Thinking about it, it had been rather foolish of him not realizing she had to have at least some sort of plan.
"I see," he finally said. "I have to admit I'm flattered to know that you trust me to keep you safe by myself."
She tilted her head on one side. "Don't you think you're up for the task? After all, you did already save me from an assassin before. Me, and both of my children."
"As you already mentioned, Your Highness, that was almost fifteen years ago. I was barely in my forties; now I'm well in my fifties," Quercus replied, more out of amusement than because he truly thought his age would keep him from fighting and fighting well if that was necessary. Years had given him more than graying hair and new scars – they had also given him more experience, and to be honest he was almost hoping something would happen in Zheng Fa, anything that would allow him to break the monotony.
Few things can make a soldier feel young again like fighting for his life.
"Oh, I'm certain you'd be more than able to protect us should it be needed," Queen Luzula was saying, turning to her desk and reaching for something on it. "Or do you think years have dulled you like a rusty old blade?"
He opened his mouth to reply, but he had no time to utter one single word, for an instant later the queen turned and swung her arm at him on a wide arc, holding a golden paperweight in her hand and aiming for the side of his head.
Quercus acted out on instinct: his right arm shot out to grab the queen's forearm – not her wrist, because he would have broken it if he did and even in the heath of the moment and barely comprehending what was going on he knew better than doing that to the queen – before the paperweight could connect with his head, and immediately twisted her arm behind her back, efficiently immobilizing her and forcing her to let the paperweight fall on the carpet beneath them.
Everything had happened in just an instant, and the next moment Queen Luzula turned to look at him over her shoulder, a smirk on her face despite the uncomfortable position her arm was held into. "No, it seems that they have not," she said smugly, and it was only then that Quercus fully realized he had just been tested. He gave her something that was halfway between a smirk and a sneer.
"This blade has been tempered too well to succumb to simple rust," he hissed, their faces only inches apart, and let go of her arm.
Queen Luzula took a few steps away from him and rubbed her arm, but other than that she showed no discomfort at all. When she spoke again, her voice was quiet as though they had just had a pleasant talk over a chess game.
"I suppose this settles it, then. You will come with me and my daughter in Zheng Fa, to watch over us. I do not think there will be any need for you to pull a stunt like this, to be honest – the President seems to be rather set on making sure the visit happens without incidents – but as you already pointed out, it's better to be on the safe side. I can count on you, can I not?"
Quercus gave a low chuckle, the burst of adrenaline from the unexpected attack still humming in his blood; impressive, he mused, how even something that small had been enough to make him feel younger all of a sudden, the grayness of his days in the High General's office forgotten for a few moments. "Does that even warrant an answer, Your Highness?"
She nodded. "Very well. The visit will be at the end of the month; you should have all the time you need to make sure everything in our little side business is settled before you lave for a few days. Just one more thing, High General," she added, suddenly looking terribly serious.
Surprised by the sudden change of expression, Quercus blinked. "Your Highness?"
"In the unlikely case there is, indeed, some incident, I want you to keep in mind that my daughter's safety has priority over mine."
Quercus found himself staring at her for a few moments. "But-"
"That is an order, High General, and you shall not dare defy it," she cut him off, her voice hard and cold. "Should both of us be in danger for whatever reason, Wilkiea's safety must be your first concern. You'll do everything in your power to keep her safe even if it means leaving me to my fate. Promise me you will."
"Your High-"
"Promise me. On Cohdopia, on your life, on everything you ever held dear – you must promise me you will, and that you'll help her rule until she's of age if I die."
There were a few moments of complete silence as they stared at each other. Her face was pale and devoid of any expression, her eyes dark and cold, not to show any emotion until she had an answer.
He thought back when he had almost lost both of her children, thought back of the thoughts that had been going on through his mind for years after his family's annihilation – why them, why not me, why do I live while they had to die, why could I not die with them – and finally, slowly, he nodded.
"You have my word, Your Highness," he finally said . "On Cohdopia, on my life, you have my word."
The emotionless mask her face had been a moment before melted into a smile. "Thank you," she said quietly. For a moment, just one moment, she looked as though she would add something, but she didn't: she simply shut her mouth again and gave him a slight nod.
"You may go," she murmured.
And for a few instants Quercus was about to speak as well, to tell her that he would make sure there would be no need for him to fulfill that promise, that he would do everything in his power to make sure everything went smoothly and both Her Highness and the crown princess would be back home safe and sound. But what was the point in saying aloud what Queen Luzula was already aware of?
There was no point, he thought, simply no point. So he didn't speak: he simply bowed to her as it was custom before turning to silently leave.
The journey to Zheng Fa was relatively uneventful. Of course, Quercus thought, the fact they were traveling on the royal family's private plane with a crew entirely Cohdopian had a lot to do with it.
During the flight – that lasted no more than a couple of hours – he had a chance to observe the Crown Princess closely more than just a few minutes for the first time. Close to fifteen years of age now, the resemblance with her mother was impressive. Her attitude seemed to have changed, too, for she looked far calmer than she had been when he had been when, still a child, she had taken part to the ceremony of his promotion to High General.
Still, it didn't escape Quercus how she'd bite her lower lip from time to time, nor how pensive she looked as she gazed out of the window – small gestures that were revealing nonetheless, especially next to the expressionless Sphinx Queen Luzula was. No, he thought, the princess didn't seem to be as jaded and sure of herself as her mother was.
Perhaps he observed her for too long, because at some point halfway the flight she turned into his direction, and their gazes met. Knowing better than just turning away – what was the point? She had noticed him staring thoughtfully at her already after all – Quercus bowed his head at her with a half-smile before looking down at the newspaper from Zheng Fa he had been looking at. Not reading it, no, for the only language aside from Cohdopian he could read and understand was English, but it was still interesting seeing how much emphasis that visit was getting from the media of Zheng Fa.
Perhaps he truly was being needlessly suspicious, Quercus thought, perhaps it was true that-
"High General?"
Quercus looked up to see Crown Princess Wilkiea standing next to his seat. He folded the newspaper and put it away. "Your Highness," he greeted her. "What do I owe the honor?"
She hesitated for a moment before speaking again, a stark contrast to how confident her mother had been when, even younger than she was now, had spoken to him for the first time. Then again, he mused, back then he was no High General. A war hero, yes, but not yet the walking legend he apparently was now. "I simply wanted to talk," she finally said, letting little to no hesitance show in her voice. She was rather good at hiding it, he had to admit.
He nodded at her. "Well then, it isn't fitting for Your Highness to stand while I sit," he told her, gesturing for the empty space next to him – the seats in the royal family's private plane were closer to couches than they were to seats.
The crown princess nodded and sat, but didn't look at him right away: her gaze was first drawn to his medals. "My mother told me you saved my life," she finally spoke "when I was very little. And my brother's, too."
"Yes. I am glad I was successful."
"Thank you."
Quercus shook his head. "Do not thank me, Your Highness. Gratitude is only earned by going above and beyond the call of duty. Doing everything in my power to protect any member of the royal family is my duty; I did nothing but fulfilling it. "
"Oh," she murmured. She seemed unsure for a few more moments, then she spoke again. "That's why you're coming with us this time, too, isn't it? For our safety?"
Well, Quercus had to admit that she was smart. Not as sharp as her mother was, but still smart enough to see what his reason to be there truly was. "Yes, Your Highness. That's part of the reason."
"I see." She bit her lower lip, looking openly worried now. Quercus couldn't say he blamed her: that was her first official visit to a foreign country, and to one they had a history of hostilities with to boot – one that had sent an assassin to kill her mother when she and her brother were still in the womb. No, it truly was no surprise that she was worried. "Do you think it's going to be needed...?"
She wasn't looking much like a future monarch now, only like a fifteen years old thrown into an intricate games of politics where she only had a basic grasp on the rules. Quercus wondered for a moment if she knew just to what lengths her mother was willing to go to make sure she would be safe, then he chased away the thought – it was none of his business after all – and shook his head.
"No, Your Highness, I do not. Your mother doesn't think so, and I trust her judgment more than anyone else's; my own included, when it comes to politics," he added with a small chuckle. "My presence is merely an extra caution, nothing more. I think you'd be safe enough without me, but it's better being safe than sorry, is it not?"
She gave a small, somewhat tentative chuckle. "I suppose," she said. A small pause followed. "My brother was a bit put off that he couldn't come," she added, sounding a little more confident now, a little less intimidated.
Quercus raised an eyebrow. "He was? I had no idea he so wished to visit Zheng Fa."
Crown Princes Wilkiea chuckled again. "No, no, it's not because of Zheng Fa. It's that Delphinium really wishes to meet you. I mean, you already met, but just during ceremonies. I think he asked mother for a meeting, but she said he'll have to wait until he had something meaningful to say to you, because you're too busy to be bothered for no real reason. So, uhm…" She looked unsure once again. "He actually asked me if you could talk to our mother about that. So that he can meet you just once. He said that maybe you can convince her. It would really mean a lot to him."
Quite amused by the young prince's admiration, Quercus smiled. "Why, I can always find some time to talk to the Prince. I'll talk to your mother about it, I promise. A hour away from my duties certainly won't result into a disaster for the country."
The princess brightened, and smiled.
"Thank you. He'll be glad to know it – he knows all of the wars you won at heart, you know," she went on. "He wanted to join the army for some time, too, when we were little. Not anymore, though, he's really no soldier material. He says he's going to be a good politician so that he can help me rule the country when I'm queen."
He nodded. "That's a rather sensible choice. It's good to know you won't be on your own when you'll take the throne. You'll need someone you can trust above all doubt," he added. Now he certainly had a good reason to want to meet Prince Delphinium: if he was to someday aid her sister to rule, then he would become an influent man himself. And, in the country's best interest, Quercus hoped he would have a good influence.
"My mother did say that, too," the crown princess commented. "She was glad to know my brother wants to help me."
"Well, she had every reason to be. I believe-"
The pilot announcing the plane was about to land in the central airport of Zheng Fa's capital interrupted him mid-sentence. Quercus set his jaw and turned back to the Crown Princess. "I think you should get back to your mother; you'll have a great entrance to make in a few minutes. I'm certain you have nothing to fear," he said with what he hoped was a reassuring smile when he saw the girl tensing. "Security is going to be airtight, no doubt, and should there be anyone conspiring against you, I doubt they'll act here. Try not to worry and learn as much as you can from this experience, Your Highness – I'm certain you'll benefit from it."
She just nodded before walking back to the section where her mother was. Quercus followed her with his gaze for a few moments – he could now tell without doubt that she was going to be a very different from her mother, but whether that would be for the better or for the worse he could not quite tell – then he glanced out of the plane's window to see the country beneath them.
Zheng Fa.
He drew in a deep breath, and the thought that this – looking over the queen and the crown princess – was his first real, though unofficial, mission in over six years felt good. It felt… refreshing.
Quercus smiled to himself, and it was perhaps a good thing that no one looked in his direction in that moment: they may have wondered about that predatory, almost hungry smile on the High General's face.