Recap: A reporter has noticed something strange about Lelouch's connection to Honorary Britannian soldiers. Nimra, after watching Lelouch bring her country to heel, has been forced to marry Jim, the newly accepted Viceroy of Area Fifteen. Meanwhile, Lelouch has resolved to ask for Kaguya's hand.


Chapter 3: Marriage Matters


I'd say the writers were fucking high, but we all know they're smoking that political bullshit. It's a fucking history film, not a moral treatsie. So of fucking course they completely assassinate Emperor Lelouch's character. He's a knife crazy psycjopath obsessed with world domination because muh power. Character depth? Haven't heard of it. The producers are traitors, ignoring all the good he did and glorifying the rebels, including that Eleven bitch. It's completely fucking unbelievable, especially that the somehow made a Britannian Emperor monogamous! Was everyone involved brain damaged? What sort of man would be able to control himself, surrounded by women there for his fucking pleasure. The producers should be wheeled for this slander and for having him a ducking simp for his knight.

2Go watch's BN's mini series, "Beyond Emperor Lelouch." At least they respect the facts, even if it's overly sappy.

2/10 for the cinematography and because Stadtfeld is hot.

A Review of "On Top of the World." Average rating: 6.6/10


New York, Homeland

In the dead of night, Juan splashed his way through the grimy streets to Marianne Square. The air was putrid, a foul rancid stench clinging to every corner as drug fumes and excrement mingled. As he neared his destination, glimmering glass shards became a rare sight and low shrubbery even grew before some houses, living only by the faintest light.

The local self-organized government clearly had enough power and support to attempt to spruce up their neighborhood.

Not long after, he met the first armed patrol. They openly carried rifles swung over their back, and they both wore dark blue vests that marked their affiliation. Unlike Honorary soldiers, they walked with well-deserved pride and never bowed their heads. They were confident in their place in the world, which allowed Juan to relax.

These men were far less likely to deliver a beating on the grounds of being bored than the soldiers at the station.

"Pass?" one of the men asked. His front tooth was crooked, jutting out past his lips.

"Blessed are the Meek, for they shall inherit the Earth," Juan answered, a smile swelling up. "Winstanley called for me."

"It is the pride of kings which throws mankind into confusion," the guard replied. "You are late."

Juan shrugged, not providing an answer. Loose lips always led to an eventual death.

He wondered if his own grim reaper was lurking in the shadows, having been summoned by his most audacious thought. He, a Number masquerading as a Britannian, wanted to interrogate a prince on his political stance.

The years of traveling must have knocked a few screws loose if his blood was thrumming at the opportunity. He could smell a story here.

"Marianne Square," Juan noted. "A strange place to be named after an Empress."

The guard groaned. "We had the name first. Stranger for an Empress to be named after the notorious enemy. Of course now it is becoming a blight and the city keeps holding meetings on whether such a blight to her name should be allowed at all."

"She is well loved," Juan admitted.

"And well feared," the other guard said gruffly. He spat to the side and shook his head, not saying another word for the rest of the way.

The house they led him to was off the major paths, on an alleyway so narrow that his shoulders brushed against the walls.

An older woman greeted him warmly at the door and pulled him inside, leaving the guards with a basket of scones and a curt thank you.

"You are late," she said after they climbed the steps. "Did you run into trouble?"

"Nothing concerning although I did drop by at my new job. My new boss is an interesting woman."

"Britannian?" a young, dark skinned woman asked. Her accent was unusual, a clear indicator that she was not from the mainland. He shouldn't judge; he wasn't either.

"Yes." Juan extended his hand. "Juan Fernandez."

"That your real name or—?"

He chuckled. "That is the only name worth knowing."

She nodded, not clearly new to the game. "Francesca. Vega," she finished with obvious distaste.

"Juan!" William shouted, clapping him on the back in an enthusiastic greeting. Age had treated him kindly, turning his hair into a dignified white, yet the old preacher retained the same exuberance that had drawn Juan to him in his youth. "Don't mind her; she's from way down South, and a vital member in their own efforts. Her grandfather, may he rest in peace, corresponded with me, passing on relevant intelligence."

Francesca scowled. "Not like you did much good with it."

"Groups that rush ahead are destroyed, like yours. Zero has made this game much harder."

"We were betrayed," she spat, taking an angry step forward. Her eyes raged, and his hand itched for a pencil and paper. She would be so lovely to draw. "I was promised a chance to do something, so forget this stupid welcome party and tell me why the hell you are bringing him in."

Juan threw her an ineffective, easy grin. "I am good at convincing Britannians I belong and then sweet talking their secrets out of them."

William nodded, pulling him into the next room. "Juan here does interviews, which means he just needs to convince his employer he has some interesting but harmless story and gets to grab the train where he needs to be. If you need to send a package, he is our guy. Speaking of…"

Juan dropped his bag on the table and pulled out a rather average romance book. He had replaced the pages inside. "Phillipe is confident about the floor plan. He says three of his guys basically described the same layout."

"Excellent. These will be handy." William took a moment to scan through them before slipping them into his briefcase. "How is the Britannian side of things? Settling in your job well?"

"I wanted to ask if you know anything about the 'V' graffiti."

"Been popping up in pretty much every urban center," William confided. "A surprising amount is by soldiers. That's why it's so pervasive because half the time they're supposed to stop vandalism."

Francesca slammed a bowl of chips on the table and claimed a seat for herself. "It stays up because it's generic, but they do write Lelouch vi quite often. The local nobility makes sure that's scrubbed away almost immediately."

"I told my boss I wanted to interview him," Juan said. He took the moment to relish their shocked faces. "I had the pleasure of having to listen to the Honoraries at the check-point be enamored with him. Something is up, and I want to do some proper journalism for once."

"You're asking to be killed," William remarked after a moment of silence. "They're never going to let you interview a prince, even a commoner prince."

"I thought about that on the way here," Juan acknowledged. "I can pitch it as interviewing people close to the prince or under his command. The question is his connections to Honorary Britannians. They never cared before about some monster pacifying new Areas before."

"There's a Number division under his command," Francesca interrupted, her face pinched. "Haven't read a single paper acknowledging it, but the 712th is listed there. That's a Number division."

Who would put a prince in charge of Numbers? That felt like it would insult every patriotic Britannian.

"That is a connection," Juan mused. "Any editor would leap on a chance to run that story. I need a little more substance for a proposal and proof. How did you know?"

"My brother." Francesca crossed her arms. "He's there."

Oh.

From her tone, he hadn't gone there in an attempt to gather intelligence. It was a familiar story of lost family. Sometimes, they came back, disillusioned. Most often, a letter would just arrive in the mail one-day, announcing their death.

The worst was when communication simply ceased, when it was impossible to know if circumstances conspired against a letter, they had died and the army neglected to send out notice, or if they cut all contact with family to prove themselves.

"I'll need some proof." Juan pulled out his notepad of doodles, making a series of scratches in the corner of one image. Inspectors had yet to realize how much code he hid in the drawings, more entranced by so-called exotic images. "It's also a bit strange that information traveled this fast. Honorary soldiers are tightly monitored."

"No, not really," Francesca answered with evident grief. "My brother never bothered with the forms. He smuggled his letters out."

William leaned forward, stroking his stubby beard. It had never grown out to anything impressive, despite his every attempt. "A letter home is different than to other divisions."

"Family is often split," Juan said. He closed his eyes, remembering two young boys who had run off. One had the fortune to be sent abroad and took the opportunity to defect to the E.U. The other brother, in some boring police assignment, was executed for it. He hadn't even reached his seventeenth birthday.

Family connections had likely sparked the first rumors, then burned their way through the ranks.

"You know," William said, his eyes closed in thought, "I do remember the 712th. It was ten, fifteen years ago in an Honorary settlement. They had a memorial for them. It was haunting; they were mourning their boys before they were even dead."

"Yeah," Francesca whispered. "You land there for being a threat. The first letter after his transfer, he told us life expectancy was two years. He apologized and promised to send more money in compensation."

For all that Juan hated Honoraries for accepting scraps at their abuser's table, they were truly a sorry lot, especially the soldiers. Those that were anything more than bootlickers were culled from the herd.

"I'm going to have fun tracking a corroborating source on this," Juan grumbled. "No Honorary would be caught dead answering questions from a reporter."

"There are some veterans," William suggested. "They keep to themselves, but a few like to attend sermons before vanishing. They're also… paranoid, in the best case."

There was a story with the 712th and Prince Lelouch, but finding people who could go on record was going to be near impossible.

"I'll do it," Francesca interrupted. "I'll help if you let me come along and look the bastards in the eyes."

A dead brother would explain the rage in her eyes and create a desire to confront those responsible. It made her emotionally compromised. She would get them caught.

"I don't think that's a good idea, Francesca," William said gently. "Your papers aren't that good, and unlike Juan, you have no history to your name. You'd never pass as Britannian."

Francesca crossed her arms. "This is not curiosity. The 712th was a death trap, but now it's under control of the Butcher's son. The Honoraries are rallying behind his name; how long will it take for one to lose his papers and infiltrate our groups? How can you know they haven't already?"

"We've dealt with sell-outs," William mumbled, but he was shaken.

"They do it for the money, to save their family, out of self-interest. None of them have done it out of loyalty. Our resistance group collapsed in a span of a few weeks. Zero knew where we would run before we did. Maybe he is a genius without equal, or maybe he stole some Number children to raise them for the explicit purpose of infiltration."

Francesca leaned over the table, a gleaming fire in her eyes. She was different from the various rebels that Juan met. He always believed in their cause, but more often than not, they had the same vibe as used car dealers—who had swindled him far too often.

The ones he trusted tended to be like William, members of the faith and devoted to charity outreach. They only took the bare minimum for themselves and were always ready to offer a hand. Their self-sacrificing generosity made them gentle shepherds, not generals leading the charge from horseback.

For a moment, he had seen something greater in her eyes, the gift of charisma. He wanted to believe her words, even as his rational brain was catching up and declaring Britannians were far too proud for such a tactic.

But what if?

He swallowed, suddenly nervous at the violent energy threatening to enthrall him. This wasn't him.

"I'll keep it in mind," he choked out, rising to get himself a glass of water. He was utterly parched. "But, William is right. You won't pass. I'll keep you informed to the best of my abilities."

"Why in the world would I want to pass? I'm your lead, the sister of an Honorary soldier. A Britannian identity can't fulfill that role. And I have evidence; I kept all his letters."

William exchanged with him a panicked look. "Well, they're hardly going to let a Number or Honorary come with him."

She laughed. "That won't be a problem if I'm his wife."

Juan choked. His wife? Surely, he had heard the wrong.

William frowned. "Marriage is sacred, not some frivolous pursuit."

"That is the moral qualm you have after everything?" She turned to Juan, a challenging lilt to her voice. "Do you want the story or not?"

No, he had heard correctly. "I snore! And we barely know each other. What if you hate my food or my taste in music? I listen to a lot of terrible music. And I like sitting in absolute silence and—"

"I don't give a rat's ass. If you want to convince some Britannian to investigate the 712th, you'll need my proof. Plus, my brother should be a useful connection."

"I thought he was dead," Juan said, hating himself for considering this preposterous idea. He had a terribly boring track record as a reporter. If he was onto something, his boss could assign it to someone more experienced. She was a valuable direct link.

She was also a tropical bird who would never pluck out her brightly colored plume to fit in with the sparrows. She was too memorable, when his work depended on him being forgotten.

Some noble would either try to kill them for impudence or oust them as irritating terrorists.

"No," she interrupted his musings, her face unnaturally rigid. "The traitorous bastard is still alive. I'm going to spit in his face and remind him that it's not so easy to run from his past."

He took an unconscious step back. She wanted to do far worse than spitting in his face. This felt like an incredibly personal betrayal.

"No," Juan finally found the courage to say. "Absolutely not. They'll know you hate them, and then my head is going on the chopping block. I'm to interview those orbiting royalty. It's delicate work. There's no room for a revenger."

Her lips twisted into a snarl, and she pushed past William, stopping right before his chin. Her brown eyes stared up at him in defiance.

God, how could a woman so short burn so strong?

Her temper wasn't the only thing he would have to worry about if she came along.

"I made my way up here all the way from Area Six. Do you think I did that by asking nicely? Or shaking my fist at every Britannian that crossed my path? I know subtle." She drew out the last syllable and licked her lips. "I will be the damn best asset you've ever worked with. I don't need to be a harmless chameleon like you. I just need to feed them a bullshit sob story about how I'm loyal to Britannia and my Number family won't help me. Pitiful me."

Her eyes widened, tears brimming in the corner. "I can't do it anymore! It's just too hard. I just sang for him, but they kicked me out!"

Oh god, she was crying. How was she crying? He knew it was fake, but her tears were so painfully real.

"I just want to say sorry to my brother," she continued, her sobs growing louder.

The crying wasn't stopping. Shit. Was she actually upset? Maybe she wasn't that angry about her brother, merely worried… Please, how could he get her to stop crying?

"Please," she begged, grabbing his shirt.

"Fine!" he yelped. "You can come along!"

Her sobs ceased immediately, replaced by a bright smile. Without a hint of shame, she dried her tears. "Told you."

He really had been played the fool. Every single time he was greeted with tears, he became a sucker. Only the constant travel of his job prevented him from being a crazy old cat lady.

If Britannia ever cracked down on their heads, at least he knew he had a calling in pawning off old grumpy cats.

He scowled, desperate to discourage her one last futile time. "Your brother will know your cover is fake."

"He's a softie; he'll be tripping over his own two feet if he thinks I've seen the light."

When he returned to work the next morning with a file of papers and his so-called fiance on his arm, he only got a fond smile from his boss.

"It was absolutely splendid meeting you," Virginia said and offered her hand to Francesca without hesitation. "I have to steal your hubby for a bit to finalize the details. Have you set a date for the wedding? Because let me tell you, you want to do this before I send him traipsing around the countryside. There's a story on Beckett and Edward that has great turn around. Their specialty is shot-gun weddings, you know?"

Even Francesca seemed a little put off by the unquestioning support.

"You didn't say anything about her," Juan said as Virginia led him up the steps and into her office. An overflowing bucket sat in the corner. "I'm sorry by the way about springing this on you."

She laughed. "I know better than to get in the way of young love, and there are too few women for us lowly folks. A girl like that, you better treat her right or she'll get another husband like I did."

He flushed.

"The 712th bit is good, and that your fiance has a brother there." She hummed. "I did some of my own digging, and you're clearly passionate enough to do the work. I can't help you land the first interview though, and no one will want to talk to some no-named reporter."

"Even the Honoraries?" Juan asked.

She snorted. "Kid, you cannot print a thing a private says without their commander's approval. Honoraries won't be any different."

So in the end, his idea to interview subordinates was a non-starter. No noble was going to let a reporter anywhere near his men.

"Don't look so dour, dear." She passed him a slip of paper. "I reached out to an old friend of sorts. I helped her out when she was a wee baby in the business, and she agreed to hear your pitch as a favor."

He glanced down at the phone number. "You're firing me?"

"No, no, no. That's Gwen Welch who managed to snag an exclusive interview with Empress Marianne out of nowhere. She was just a backwater country girl. If anyone can tell you how to get access or give you a leg up, it's her."

Taking a deep breath, he dialed the number. This was his only chance. If he failed, then he was most certainly fired. Virginia had gone too far for her new hire.

"Welch, speaking," a young woman answered.

"Umm, Virginia Gellhorn said I should give you a call?"

"Are you the new hire looking for their big break or the one following up on an idiot's great idea?"

Juan scowled. "The hire. Look, what did Virginia tell you?"

"Only that she dares to not dream that big. Just get to the point. If you want the secret to talking to royalty, you can kindly fuck off and tell Virginia I'm not sending her post-cards anymore."

In a way, Juan understood her position. She had landed the interview of a lifetime and had likely been hounded for it.

Still, he needed to convince her, and he wanted that royal interview, eventually.

"Not exactly," he began.

"My favorite phrase."

"I want to interview Prince Lelouch's subordinates, specifically those of the 712th."

Her voice grew cold. "And what do you hope to accomplish with that?"

"I want to know why Honorary Britannians, specifically soldiers, are looking up to him. For the most part, they've never expressed political opinions, yet they are rallying around him. I want to know what he represents for them, and if he can accomplish what they desire."

She was silent for so long that he feared that she dropped from the call.

"You won't get access to the 712th," she finally said. "Prince Lelouch won't allow it. You'd need his trust first."

She spoke confidently of a royal. Whatever connections had led her to secure an interview with Empress Marianne offered her rare insight into royalty.

"So… I'm screwed?"

"There is something… a big story in its own right. I wasn't going to bother; I've been busy enough in Area Eleven without inviting more controversy… but I admit I'm curious."

"It's my idea." Juan clenched his teeth. He was not losing this opportunity. "I've got evidence and connections as well."

"Then perhaps the solution is for us to share this story. If this goes anywhere, there'll be enough work for the two of us."

"Actually, three. My fiance would be joining us… She is an Honorary Britannian, will that be a problem?"

"Maybe Lelouch won't hate you right off the bat," she grumbled. "Fine, let's meet."

"What's the story?" he asked, suspiciously. Trusting this woman was a risky proposition.

"Too sensitive. I will tell you then."

That story turned out to be the new Viceroy of Area Fifteen: the son of an Honorary Britannian.


Imperial Palace, New Pendragon, Area Three

His bedsheets drenched, Lelouch woke up in the early hours of the morning with the sun barely cresting over the ridge. There was a nervous tension in his limbs, like the moment before a desperate sprint of survival. He felt dirty.

With slow methodical movements, Lelouch sneaked out of his bed and tiptoed past Henry sleeping on the floor. He took a moment to consider his options, then grabbed a bathrobe and left the room.

His bare feet slapped against the stone floor, and the muddled confusion of sleep slowly faded, replaced with memories of what he had done the night before.

He should have been disgusted with himself, for how he lost himself in the song of his geass to break men's wills. Even now, he could only muster rage because he nearly lost Kaguya.

She had done nothing to deserve this. Just because she was an Eleven, they sought to kill her and frame her for assassinating the Emperor. She was only sixteen.

Ultimately, the head chef wasn't responsible, much to his father's irritation. His only crime was accepting a bribe to serve a specific dessert if the "Eleven wench" ever dined with the Emperor together. He would die for it, deservedly. His death would not be wasted.

Having eliminated the head chef as the poisoner, his father moved to investigate everyone who had handled the food. Servants were summoned en masse, lining up to the interrogation room, memories soon to be forgotten. Lelouch's geass made the process go swiftly, permanently securing the alliance of the entire kitchen staff and uncovering half-a-dozen other minor misdemeanors. His father selected a handful for execution—a punishment not befitting their crime but politically useful.

In the end, it had been one of the many servants who swapped a portion of the sweets from their own stash. They would live, bound to be loyal to the Emperor and a double agent.

James Bennet.

Lelouch couldn't muster an ounce of regret for what he had done, and that scared him. What kind of person did that make him?

His feet had led him to the medical wing, and Lelouch nodded politely at the armed guards standing guard by the entrance. Would they let him pass?

He stuffed his hands into his pockets and turned around, away from Kaguya who was always too perceptive. He had punched Bennet, but the young man hadn't even known the extent of his crime. His family was being held hostage, so he simply followed his orders, no questions asked.

The employer would eventually return to requisition his service, certain that they covered their tracks sufficiently with the execution of the head chef. Then Lelouch and his father would follow the lead back to its poisonous source.

His geass itched, anticipating that sweet moment when the noble would be brought low to his knees.

If he went to Kaguya's side, would he use it on her? Would his self-control slip and allow everything to be accomplished the easy way, by stealing people's souls?

This power… it terrified him.

"Your Highness," an attendant interrupted, coming to a wheezing stop before him. "His Majesty requests your presence for breakfast."

"I see," Lelouch said, his thoughts briefly darting to his father's own geass before shying away. He would be better off not thinking such things. "Lead the way."

The attendant's shoulders relaxed at the opportunity to fulfill his duty without external complications. "Right this way! I will have some servants bring more appropriate attire."

Lelouch glanced down at his bathrobe and shrugged. "No need to make a hassle."

The attendant cringed.

"If you must insist." He did want to ask for Kaguya's hand. Pajamas were likely not appropriate attire for such an occasion although Lelouch had never bothered to research proposal etiquette. He always imagined his marriage arranged, any proposal a carefully crafted public spectacle.

To ask for Kaguya's hand was a purely selfish endeavor. He had no grand political ambitions; he merely wanted to ensure she would live.

In fresh robes and feeling remarkably overdressed, Lelouch entered the small sitting room and greeted his father with a respectful bow.

"Sit, Lelouch," his father bid and set down his cup of tea. "I made sure to have some fruit prepared for you."

"Thank you," Lelouch mumbled, grabbing an apricot. How was he even supposed to broach the topic of marriage?

His father broke a scone in half and dunked it into some jam. "You did well yesterday."

The praise made him nauseous. Gritting his teeth, he nodded. A loyal prince would be delighted to hear he had served his sire well, to follow in his footsteps.

"You really should eat more. You have lost weight."

Grudgingly, Lelouch bit into his apricot. In two bites it was gone, and he spat out the seed into his napkin. "I can prepare something later."

His father rolled his eyes and pushed a banana in his hands. "You will waste away at this rate. Are you certain that you are prepared? War is stressful, and the E.U. will not underestimate you again. You could still swap with Cornelia, rule Area Eleven at your sister's side."

Such an offer was painfully tempting. As he imagined himself standing next to Nunnally in the viceroy palace, the sound of Clovis's head hitting the hard stone floor echoed through his head.

"Let the E.U. tremble," Lelouch answered softly. "I will prove them wrong."

"Then I guess I cannot order Marianne to finally return."

"She…" Lelouch shrugged. He felt like he should speak of C.C. and how she stuck to his mother like a burr. His mother was not returning to Pendragon anytime soon. "She would come for a wedding."

His father shook his head. "She always hated attending."

"I meant mine." Lelouch took a deep breath, meeting his father's gaze.

Thankfully, there was not a shred of red in them. Would Lelouch even know if his memories had been tampered with? He hastily shoved the thought away. If he thought more about geass, he would be paralyzed by uncertainty.

"I want to marry Kaguya."

His father's lips parted, betraying shock. "What happened to waiting?"

Because if Lelouch had known how neck deep Kaguya was in the JLF, he would have never suggested postponing their marriage.

"She nearly died, is that it?" his father suggested. For all the kindness in his tone, it felt patronizing.

Death. Lelouch shivered at that all too familiar specter. It haunted Kaguya's steps.

His father sighed. "The answer is no." As Lelouch narrowed his eyes and opened his mouth to protest, his father raised a hand, automatically silencing him. "What would you gain from such a union? She has already given you everything of interest, except her body."

"You can't stop us," Lelouch snapped. "The rule is she marries into the royal family. We could just elope."

Any amusement in his father's eyes vanished. "No, you cannot. For you to marry without my approval is illegal, rendering your marriage invalid and thus dishonoring Sumeragi. As another reminder, if you want to pursue Breisgau, she will need to renounce Catholicism."

"Then who?" Lelouch spat. "If not me, who do you intend to pawn Kaguya off to! We are an advantageous match, and I trust her. She would not betray me."

"Were I to tell you a name of one of your siblings, at the end of the week, they would either have sworn off marriage altogether or be dead."

The annoying part was his father wasn't exactly wrong. With geass, the task would be easy. Last night had proved that, especially how easy it was when those he cared for were harmed.

His brothers would be defenseless.

They would deserve it, especially the ones who saw her as a prize to be conquered.

His father massaged his temples, exuding a fragile weariness. "Calm yourself, Lelouch. Her marriage is politically inopportune given the circumstances. You may be content to destroy yourself politically for her, but I am not. Nor will marrying her protect her; the nobles are terrified of your rapid consolidation of power and fear that you will eschew all their traditions. If they cannot kill you; they will destroy everything that they think contaminates you. Even your mother's supporters are not content with so-called Number fantasies."

Lelouch settled back in his chair, pursing his lips. That his father accepted Jim as Viceroy of Area Fifteen yesterday would do nothing to placate the nobility. Without his father implicitly backing him, he would be at the utter mercy of the nobility.

"That is why you were mad," Lelouch noted.

"I am proud, but yes. I was angry because I fear for you, Lelouch. The nobility are jackals, baying at the first scent of blood. They've spent decades chafing under my will, and they will leap at the slightest opportunity to reclaim their old prestige. The commoners are no better, for all that they support you now due to admiring your mother. They will demand more and more concessions and a select few will rise to establish themselves as a new nobility. Both groups must be balanced against each other, and by raising the Numbers, you are giving them reason to unite in purpose."

"But I won't be the Emperor. They will ultimately unite against me which means Odysseus can dismiss me to appease them while leaving policy in place. Let them hate me."

"And I should be fine with my son throwing himself to the wolves due to lofty idealism?" His father shook his head. "Odysseus is far too soft to ever allow you to do that, Lelouch."

"He won't have a choice."

His father groaned. "Nor will you because you will have a wife and child to protect."

Ice washed through his veins. A child. Lelouch dug his fingers into his leg, the fine material providing no protection. A child.

"Marriage is not just vows. Did you forget that?" His father dabbed his lips and reached over to grab his shoulder. "Guinevere is already pregnant. A child will strengthen her claim to the throne and her determination. Would you even be ready to consummate your marriage? Especially, knowing that just outside the curtain, the world is watching? You ran out of a brothel."

Lelouch flushed. "I didn't know."

"Odysseus refused to marry his mistress because a royal marriage has only one of two purposes: ensuring an heir and protecting the monarch from other wives in the bedroom."

Lelouch winced. That was how the fifth Emperor died: Emperor Edward, assassinated by his wife in bed. His younger brother, Emperor Frederick used that incident to argue for taking ten male consorts upon claiming the throne. Given he only ever had one wife that logic was rather suspect, but his military prowess and draconian punishments kept anyone from asking too many pointed questions.

"I don't want children," Lelouch whispered. Any child would be another tool in his father's arsenal to control him. Even if that didn't matter because geass was a far more potent weapon, there was a small building next to the royal mausoleum: a memorial to all royal children who died before their sixth birthday. Thousands of names covered the wall.

"That is the price we pay as royalty," his father answered without a hint of compassion. "I recommend not having your first night together on the day of your marriage. Things will be awkward enough without the added pressure."

Marriage. Was Kaguya even ready for that? It did not matter because while his father was giving him the opportunity to wait, she received no such luxury. Her voice did not matter.

It felt violating. She begged him for his hand because if such an act had to be done, it was better to do it with a trusted friend.

Lelouch huffed. He had truly been a fool thinking Kaguya would be better served by one of his brothers.

Yesterday, the sight of her fragile body lying limply in a hospital bed had made him frantic. He seized on marriage out of fear.

Now, his resolve hardened. "I will marry Kaguya. You may not allow it today, but it will happen as long as she will have me."

If her treason surfaced before then, his father— He pushed the thought aside. He would succeed before then. That was the only option.

His father raised an eyebrow. "If you insist, I will allow it, but only after you secure the support of a major player in the nobility. To that end, there is someone you should meet this afternoon. She is… intriguing." He shoved an apple into his hands. "And eat something. That is an order."


Imperial Palace, New Pendragon, Area Three

A gilded cage, that was what Nimra's life had become. She was surrounded by more opulence and deference than she could ever have dreamed of, but none of it was for her. She was a trapped songbird, and her captors laughed at her desperate escape attempts while tutting over the long scratches her talons left on their arms.

The worst part was the guilt, an unfortunate affliction of the human race. She was cocooned in the middle of Britannia finery, nearly untouchable by a Britannian prince's grace. Her countrymen were given no such considerations. She was given three full meals everyday, prepared by brilliant chefs. By the time they left for Pendragon, food shortages were still a persistent problem. She was important enough for the prince to capture, while people like Manon would only ever be bait. It felt wrong to complain, even when sudden anxiety would have her rushing to the bathroom. Her grandmother used to say there was no point in comparing suffering, but no matter how often Nimra repeated that to herself, she couldn't accept it.

Guilt was a rather infuriating emotion.

"Breakfast?" suggested Jim, her husband despite not sharing her faith. He looked out of place in Pendragon, like a donkey in a herd of stallions. The confidence that he had commanded in her homeland, when surrounded by his comrades, was gone, vanishing somewhere across the Pacific.

"I'm not hungry," she answered curtly. Vegetarian options were always scarce and alcohol far too common at Britannian tables. At least Jim had the foresight to ensure no pork was served. The smell was nauseating.

"Nimra..." He sighed. "Going on a hunger strike will do you no good. You are wasting away."

She shrugged. "Anything I eat would soon ruin this carpet, which is undoubtedly worth more than my own life."

Jim glanced down, awkwardly lifting his bare feet. "I feel that."

"Better get used to it. You're a noble now. You can do whatever shit you want and none of us can do a thing about it."

"Our marriage makes you a noble too," Jim said. She froze in the midst of securing her hijab. Allowing him to see her, even in the privacy of their so-called home, always felt violating. When Manon's gaze had feasted on her body, she felt liberated. "You may hate me, but we will have to work together to survive. We are an affront to every noble's sensibilities. We will succeed or fail together, and the well-being of your people will depend on it."

"Your prince destroyed my people," she hissed.

He had taken the scraps of resistance left in Cornelia's wake and ground them into dust. He had destroyed her! Trapped her here with this man, while the one she loved was exiled from Britannian territory.

"Yes. But Prince Lelouch is your only chance to save what remains." Jim's tone grew mournful, his voice barely above a whisper as he half extended his hand. "He is the only royal who has the will and the power to change Britannian policies that decimate our families and communities. Your people still have a chance, while me must rediscover our own pasts, but unless something changes, you will be no different than us. I know you hate him, rightfully so perhaps, but he's your only chance, unless the E.U. turns around its string of losses and conquers our home."

And that was the problem. Any fight for independence would further brutalize her already brutalized country. It would take years before critical infrastructure was rebuilt, under Britannian's control, of course. It would take years until they could organize well enough to muster any defense.

"How can you trust him?" Nimra asked. "He's given you your fancy little reward, my home, but what's to stop him from stabbing you in the back?"

"It helps that I've known him since he was twelve. Even then, you wanted to believe in him but trust was difficult. It helped that we didn't know he was a prince; he was just a regular Britannian kid, even if terrifyingly smart and lacking in common sense."

"Twelve?"

Jim chuckled. "Yes. People were not happy doing the math on that."

She narrowed her eyes, suspicious of the easy information he was providing. She and Manon had been manipulated before, played as fools. It was lonely, forever unable to trust anyone. Even with her own countrymen, there was always a nagging voice, whispering that the prince had gotten to them first.

"He comes across as quite a Caesar."

He tilted his head. "The only thing you're accomplishing with remarks like that is reminding me how utterly unqualified I am to be the viceroy. You would do much better."

He had said such remarks before, often as he asked her for her opinion on various policies. At first, she had scoffed, certain that he was mocking her. Now, she wasn't certain what he meant with them. The prince had crafted her as a symbol, as a lure for all future dissidence. Her personhood had been stripped from her, but Jim never treated her as an object, not even as a prize won for his years of loyalty.

What did he want from her?

He never laughed at her. Never smiled when she laughed at such absurdity.

"I know nothing of Britannia," she answered, taking his remark seriously for once.

"Nor do I. I can tell you only what it is like in the army surrounded by Numbers. Lelouch is teaching both of us etiquette, but between the two of us, you are more well read and have watched Britannian politics through a far more unfiltered lens."

A knock on the door thankfully kept her from needing to respond. If she had understood him correctly, he was willing to share power with her. It was an unbelievable offer from a Britannian. Chances were that she had misunderstood. If he meant it, she wasn't sure if she could accept and become complicit in the crimes against her people.

"Your Highness," Jim greeted, inviting the source of her suffering into the room. At least, the prince looked haggard, less put together than anytime during his campaign. "Did everything go okay, yesterday?"

Unfortunately, the Emperor's anger hadn't been enough to prevent the prince from returning. It would have been nice to at least have a day without needing to see his ugly mug.

The attack dog slipped in behind the prince, surveying the room with murder in his eyes. While the prince had trapped her, the dog was the one who pried open her mouth and stole the mercy of death from her. She returned his gaze with a vicious scowl.

The prince offered a half-shrug as he inspected the room. "Did you dismiss the servant?"

"No, we were guided here last night and figured things out." Jim grinned. "Although I meant to ask if I'm allowed to smoke inside."

"I thought you were quitting," the prince said absently as he ran a finger along the mantle. "This is not appropriate."

"Me smoking? Elitist fuckers."

"No, the dust. The lack of servants."

Jim shrugged. "We don't care about that bullshit."

If any other Britannian was throwing a fit over some dust, Nimra would scoff. A little dust had never killed anyone. This wasn't a prince though who couldn't bear the idea that his royal skin would be marred by some dirt. No, he had entered the room, immediately surveying it for inadequacies. Back in her homeland, he surveyed for threats, not dust.

"They're disrespecting us," Nimra said. Perception was the one thing the prince was always evaluating. He toyed with others' perception of him and his men like a girl playing with her dolls. "The servants don't think we belong."

The prince raised an evaluative eyebrow, and she crossed her arms, taking shelter from his dissecting look. "Your wife is correct, Jim."

Wife. A reminder of her role. That she was supposed to stand behind Jim, fade into the background unless called upon, not interrupt the men while talking. He rarely used her name.

"We'll survive," Jim dismissed. "It's hardly worth making a stink over. They'll just resent us more if we force it."

In a way, he was right. The Emperor might have granted him a title, but they were puppets propped up by the prince. They had no power to act on their own and relying on the prince to solve it would just advertise how utterly dependent they were on his favor.

On the other hand, she despised the idea of rolling over without a fight. Turning the other cheek would only be read as weakness.

"Get your stuff," the prince ordered.

"Lelouch?"

He sighed. "Prince Lelouch. You need to get into the habit. There are ears everywhere. But yes. Get your stuff. I will handle reporting the servants, but if they're this bold, it will do very little. You'll be staying in my quarters. I have enough room."

Nimra grit her teeth. They'd be under the prince's constant watch there and enmeshed in the drama surrounding him and the Emperor. Publicly, they would be viewed as just an extension of the prince's power. In the end, wasn't that what he wanted?

It was infuriating how Jim blindly trusted the prince, didn't even bother to protest and repacked their bag. An order would always be followed, and unless that changed, Nimra would be forever at the mercy of the prince's whims.

The prince's quarters were different from what she imagined. For all the gold trims and ivory inlays, it felt sterile. There wasn't a hint of a personalized touch in the midst of decadence. How a person could live here and not constantly feel like an intruder in their own home was beyond her.

"Lord Ivan," the prince barked.

A young man rushed forward, his hair slicked back. His entire presence screamed that this was what a noble should look like. It was strange to see him standing before the prince because the differences were suddenly stark. The prince's clothes lacked that precision fit. The colors were slightly more washed out. His hair hadn't met a comb in ages.

"Yes, Your Highness?" Ivan bowed, the motion so smooth that she suddenly understood what exactly the prince had been critiquing.

"This is Lord Gill and his wife. He is the new Viceroy of Area Fifteen and will be staying here until the details of his appointment are finalized. I expect you to treat our guests with great respect. Do not give me a reason to be disappointed with you."

The man's brow furrowed, his bow suddenly a tad too rigid. What history lay between them? Because this exchange felt alien to how the prince interacted with his men.

"I understand, Your Highness," Ivan said. "You will not be disappointed."

The prince nodded. "Assign John and Tanya to serve them."

"But your Highness!"

"Are you disobeying an order?"

The man stood upright, his jaw jutted out in challenge. "I didn't protest when you assigned Tanya as Miss Kaguya's lady maid because you had no direct need for her, but John is supposed to serve you directly. He is *your* valet, not a footman assigned to guests!"

"No one else is suitable."

The steward swept out his arm. "There's Quinn! He is a personal servant. Sidney and Carson meanwhile are actual footmen! Just because you always decline to give them work does not mean they can't do it, and for that matter Joanna would have been a far more appropriate maid for the Eleven! And why the hell do you insist on keeping Morgana in the kitchen? Her talents are wasted there! She should be training as—"

"Enough," the prince cut through the diatribe with the fury of a knightmare strike. "That will never happen in a household of mine, do you understand? Tradition does not excuse the inexcusable. I have only two expectations of you: respect the people under my care and don't involve yourself in my affairs. You consistently fail to do that."

She was surprised this noble was still alive.

Ivan squared off his shoulders. "I have been tasked with ensuring that this household runs smoothly."

"Additionally, if you ever call Kaguya an Eleven again, we'll see how smoothly this household can run after I claim your tongue."

The man blanched and hastily dropped into a bow. "Forgive me, Your Highness. I spoke in haste to defend your household."

"You're my steward, not my minder. Prepare their room."

Jim crossed his arms once the man fled through the door. "You could have handled that better."

"He's my father's man."

Any sympathy she might've had for the Britannian evaporated. The only thing worse than the prince's spies were the Emperor's.

Jim was unconvinced. "Is that the best way to handle him, letting your emotions rule you?"

Her gaze drifted to her so-called husband in astonishment. The first time he pushed against Lelouch, it was for a Britannian noble. Asshole.

"It doesn't matter. If he stops being of use, my father will simply fix it. If he hates it so much, he can simply quit."

His lips thinned. "Nobody in their right mind would leave a post that the Emperor personally secured for them."

The prince grew more agitated. "He insults Kaguya! And I won't let him use the servants as some favor."

"Your girlfriend is perfectly capable of putting him in place if you let her. Acting like a possessive teenager won't stop him from doing shit behind your back. Get the fuck over yourself and handle it."

Her hands curled into the silk petticoat of the dress. If the prince disposed of Jim, would he just assign her a new husband? Or would she be thrown in the pit beside him, another woman from her country chosen to partake in the prince's little experiment?

She wanted Jim to stand up for himself, but to insult a Britannian royal in the face?

"He's annoying," the prince whined.

"Tough shit kid."

The prince cracked a smile, his rigid posture melting away. "I hate you."

"You wish you could. The problem is I'm always right. Like about your girlfriend? Are you going to actually kiss her or keep courting her like you're a fucking magpie?"

His heated glare could've boiled water.

"She exists?" Nimra asked, half-remembering a rather indecipherable conversation she and Manon witnessed. "The girlfriend?"

Jim laughed. "Yup. She's a snake right out of the Garden of Eden. She'd eat any of us right up except him. She has apparently decided that she likes him."

"You say that like it's impossible."

"Kid, anyone who knows you knows you have the romantic appeal of curdled milk. Instead of kissing, you would give your wife paperwork. So many of your brothers would be an easier target, but she's still dealing with you."

"I know," the prince said, despair coloring his words as he sank into the couch. "I know. I asked for her hand today, but my father said no, that it was politically inconvenient."

Nimra scoffed. "How terrible, to lose your love for someone else's schemes."

She didn't give a shit about his heartache, not when he had used Manon's life against her and forced her into this marriage. He could whine all he wanted to about his rich and luxurious life, but she wasn't going to bear the indignity of having to listen to his hypocrisy. Her sympathy went to the Britannian girl, likely only a prize to be won. It couldn't be easy living here as a child of mixed heritage. If the prince's intentions were honest, he would have asked her family, not his own father.

As his face contorted into fury, she raised her chin defiantly. Would his self-control finally slip? Would he cast his own plans into disarray because he couldn't handle the truth?

The thoughts soured on her tongue as Jim stepped between them, pulling her behind him. She did not want to die. There was no satisfaction gained there and baiting the prince was phenomenally stupid.

"She doesn't know, Lelouch." Jim spoke slowly, with his palms open forward, like someone trying to placate a dangerous predator. "We're all on edge. Why don't you let us settle in while you figure out your next step? I need to unpack, again."

Nimra frowned as the prince nodded and scurried off. Jim had finally come to her defense. The cynic in her said it was entirely for self-serving motives. He didn't want to rock his luxurious boat. The realist in her noted that he owed everything to the prince and had no incentive to oppose him in any manner.

Anxiety gnawed at her as a young pair of servants settled them in the guest room. The young lord from before scowled at them from afar. It was utterly bewildering that she, a gnat under the prince's shoe, was treated with more respect than the literal noble serving him.

Finally, they were alone. Jim collapsed, face first, into the bed with a groan.

Nimra crossed her arms. "And you think he won't betray you?"

He rolled over and stared up at the canopy. "You need to stop antagonizing him. He's been downright lenient with you."

"The look in his eyes—"

"If he didn't want to calm down, I wouldn't have been able to do a damn thing. Yes, it isn't easy to trust him, and this place... I never expected him to treat any of his subordinates so coldly. It's not like him."

"Yet you'll blindly follow him." She sneered. "He's a masterful actor, but even if you did ever truly know him, greed and power has the tendency to warp the best of men. He gave you more than you dared to dream of and now expects you to be his loyal obedient dog. Either he'll betray you or you'll betray everyone else along the way."

He was silent at that. Whether he was dismissing her words or considering them, she didn't know. Perhaps if she had been less hostile early on, she would've had a better grasp on her husband's personality. Husband. She hated that word.

"It doesn't matter," Jim finally said.

She gaped. What absurd mindless loyalty was this? Did that mean he only valued power for power's sake?

A furious scream was building in the back of her throat, and she turned away, leaning on the vanity table. This was hopeless. Nothing she did would have any bearing on her fate or that of her people.

Jim continued, amusement tinging his tone, "Lelouch made a mail network, you know. I doubt he intended anything besides talking to his sister, but the result is I talk to old comrades in five separate divisions on a regular basis. Folks that are retired and spread out across multiple Areas keep in touch. For most commoners, it takes months before they hear unofficial news, we know in a matter of weeks. Even if Lelouch pulled the plug, it would be running again in a month. Education, healthcare, political rights, citizenship. He set the ball rolling, and even if he changes his mind, the idea that we deserve this has already taken root. Hell, we've got a son of an Honorary Britannian with a Numbered wife as a Viceroy. Once people learn to dream, change is inevitable. Lelouch paves a way forward, but change will happen without him."

His vision sung with power. It spoke of a Britannia rippling at the seams—unsteady, vulnerable, dissatisfied. Her own country's revolutionary songs echoed in the back of his words with their old desires. He had crafted a new melody, though.

"What of self-sovereignty?" she asked. "Your dreams will not save my people, nor the millions that will be crushed by the blood price needed to fuel this change. In the end, you'll still be Britannians."

"Always assume the walls have ears," he cautioned as he sat up. "Why not be Britannian? Your people banded together and tore down the French flag to raise your own. But who belongs to Djibouti, who belongs to France? Must you be born there? But plenty of the French were too. Maybe it's about tracing your family back, but then what if your father is French and your mother a native? You call the kid French. Except if the mother is French and the father a native, then the child is a citizen. How does it make sense? You're no longer French, but you're trading with the EU while squabbling with your neighbors, your former allies. You have more in common with them, yet you're enemies!"

She pursed her lips at the familiar line of argument. Many had been angry about citizenship laws, from arguing they were too broad to too restrictive.

"Your valued sovereignty divided you." Jim shook his head. "If you had still been French, the EU would've been forced to commit a greater number of troops. Instead, you're their shield. You can't even agree on who should belong to your country. Those divisions are what allow Britannia to win because there is always someone who thinks the enemy of my enemy is my friend, even if that's Britannia."

"Yet if we must suffer, it's better to be free."

He shrugged. "Maybe. But everytime some Numbers gather in Britannia and try raising their own flag, there's no place for Honorary Britannians or first gens. I'm a Britannian, even if they don't accept me as one of them. If you survive a stint in the army, you're most likely retiring in another Area. We've been dispersed, constantly forming new communities. If we want our children to have a better life, we must marry commoners. Most of us don't share a native language, nor religious customs. We don't even look alike. Yet despite all that, Numbers and Britannians hate us for what's essentially a stamp on our papers. Talk of self-sovereignty always ends up as talk about whom to disinclude... us. So I'd rather organize around ideas that will level the playing field and are inclusive. After all, for any effort to change Britannia to succeed, we need allies among commoners and Numbers."

To fundamentally change the social structure of Britannia would involve attacking the political systems. Was that a revolution? It felt nothing like the ones she knew, yet he was right. All revolutions needed allies to succeed.

As much as she hated the prince, he had seeded the land with radical ideas. If Jim was right and those notions had sprouted in people's hearts, she could twist the thorny branches into the key for her own freedom.

She needed to know more.

"A truce?" She walked up to the edge of the bed, extending her hand.

He raised an eyebrow and scooted off the bed, bringing him uncomfortably close. Slowly, he grabbed her hand, his rough fingers curling around hers with the strength of a steel spring trap.

Husband. The traitorous word echoed in her mind. She had tried to escape it all her life, but where pressure from extended family had failed, Britannia succeeded.

"Apologize to Lelouch when he returns," he ordered.

Her neck creaked as she nodded.

Jim smiled, revealing his twisted teeth. "We will be a team."

As long as she played the part, he'd give her a long chain, enough to hopefully explore this prison. That was a task long overdue.


Imperial Palace, New Pendragon, Area Three

Late in the afternoon, Lelouch found himself summoned to his father's side in the throne room. He had spent the day feeling restless, unsure of what to do with himself but unable to muster the courage to seek Kaguya out. It was irksome, but every time he found himself nearing her rooms, he remembered how utterly frail she had looked yesterday, lying in bed.

If he stepped into the room again, would he succumb to that cold rage again? Would she know what he had done?

To bind people's will, to make them unknowing slaves… That was something she would never condone.

And then he would need to tell her that his father denied their marriage, that it was politically inconvenient at this time, that she would continue to be at the mercy of the Emperor and the winds of the court.

"Lelouch," his father greeted, and as Lelouch met his gaze, dread tore through his chest, followed by nausea that clogged his throat. His father's touch was gentle on his shoulder, pulling him deeper into the throne room and up the dais, next to his father's throne. "Do you remember the Walshe family?"

"The ones slowing down the expansion of the Navy?" Lelouch asked, relieved that his father's mind was on business. That knot of unease could be safely pushed away in favor of a simpler, easier problem. Reminding nobles of their place, subservient to the Crown, was something Lelouch could do without qualms. "Have they finally overplayed their hand?"

His father took a seat with an enigmatic smile. "Lord Walshe feels his family has been neglected in terms of imperial favor. His wife and daughter have been invited to correct that oversight."

"How fortunate for them," Lelouch said dryly, unsure where his father was leading the conversation. He already had his hostage, leaving little for Lelouch to theoretically do.

"The Walshes are an old, powerful family with many connections. Antagonizing them is needlessly troublesome, especially when it is only the head of the family causing headaches. Honor them with your attention."

"I imagine they would see that as an insult to their prestige." Lelouch slowly took a step away from the throne. If he was to attend this meeting, he should either be standing to the side of the room or behind his father. Being next to his father implied an unwelcome level of trust... and more. "Odysseus would serve that role better."

His father snatched his retreating arm, forcing him to stand improperly close. "He is integrated into the nobility well enough, but you are in desperate need of noble backers."

"I would've played along, even if you had allowed me to marry Kaguya," Lelouch grumbled, massaging his arm. There would be no escape here.

"Consider it motivation if you must, but I would not say you need it. You know the role you are expected to play."

Lelouch swallowed, and his father ordered for the guards to welcome their guests. As the doors opened, Lelouch straightened, easily falling into the posture and dignified body language that characterized a prince.

The two women entered with confident steps, befitting of their high status, and gracefully knelt, their skirts artfully spread out around them. A brief grimace flashed across the younger woman's face before vanishing beneath her painted smile.

"I humbly thank Your Majesty for the mercy shown to us," the older woman said, inclining her head. Had she been wearing the fashion more customary to the court, the motion would've been scandalous. Her high collar allowed her to maintain her personal dignity, even while displaying subservience. "May Your Majesty please forgive my husband for his insolence."

"An apology delivered by an intermediary is rather meaningless," his father noted. The woman blanched. "Girl, come here."

The younger woman rose, her face eerily blank as she approached. At the bottom of the dais, she dipped into a low formal curtsy. Like her mother, she wore long sleeves and a high collar. "Your Majesty."

"Have you reconsidered your request?"

Her eyes inched upwards, and Lelouch shivered under her sharp gaze. "No, Your Majesty."

"I will give you the opportunity to enjoy the wonders of the palace as a reward for your ambition, but note that ambition without commitment is only a fool's dream. If your family is incapable of recognizing the honor bestowed upon them, then you are quite useless to me."

Her chin bobbed, but she refused to lower her gaze. She was a lady of the upper nobility and knew to act the part. "Your generosity honors me, Your Majesty."

"Your thoughts, Lelouch?" his father asked, fixing him with an inquisitive stare.

What opinion was Lelouch supposed to have? He would much rather imprison an upstart noble who had the foolishness to take their power for granted.

This game his father was playing felt unlike him, but maybe the young woman had impressed him somehow?

His father's lips quirked in amusement.

"Securing Britannia's interests at sea should always take precedence over familial struggles," Lelouch finally answered.

His father chuckled. "Well, amicable relationships should facilitate that. Why don't you show the young lady the gardens while her mother and I discuss particulars?"

"Of course." Lelouch bowed, recognizing the order and carefully keeping the confusion off his face as he descended. Had his father truly called on him to just stand there? He extended his arm. "My lady?"

She straightened and curtsied again. "Britta Thalassa Walshe, Your Highness."

Joy, her family was one of those sorts, naming their child like that.

As she grabbed his arm, Lelouch sent one last desperate look at his father. The man was expressionless, leaving Lelouch with no other options than to follow the instructions as given.

"The gardens, Lady Britta," Lelouch announced needlessly as they stepped outside.

"Thalia, please," she begged quietly as she took a step back, giving him his space. "It is an honor to have your company, Your Highness."

He stared, unsure how to respond. He needed the loyalty of a strong noble house if he wanted to convince his father he had enough political backing to marry Kaguya.

Turning her into an ally was therefore needed, but he had no idea what she wanted or how she was useful beyond familial connections.

"It is my honor," Lelouch settled on. At minimum, he should be polite. "It is not often that I have the opportunity to show esteemed guests around the gardens. Are there any sort of flowers you prefer?"

Her lips parted. "Offering me a tour, Your Highness?"

"Of course." He swept out his arm in a dramatic bow, offering to guide her once more. "You are a guest."

If he was going to have to talk about flowers for the next few hours, he was going to go insane. Why couldn't his father have suggested a tour of the gallery? At least there, they had a collection of firearms and military texts from Empress Elizabeth's time.

She chuckled. "I can see how you leave so many broken hearts in your wake."

His cheeks flushed. "I apologize for causing you discomfort."

"No need." Her expression twisted strangely as he calmly met her calculating gaze. "I understand the need for army men to sniff the roses."

"So you liken yourself to a rose?" Lelouch asked, deflecting the insult back at her.

A slight spring entered her step as they slowly ambled deeper into the garden. "I fear roses cannot bear salt water. Sea urchins are more my thing."

"Ah… Navy."

"Army," Thalia scoffed. "I served for a few years at sea before my father insisted I return home."

Lelouch nodded. "Did you enjoy it?"

The first genuine smile crossed her lips. "Yes. Being at sea… It's exhilarating. The waves under your feet, a rolling carpet kissing the horizon. The months of solitude without a single moment to spare for yourself. Soon enough, it doesn't matter that I was born a Walshe because if the ship goes down, we all die." She laughed self-consciously. "My apologies, Your Highness. I must sound quite strange. The sea addles your senses perhaps."

"No," Lelouch whispered. "I understand… It sounds liberating."

Both of them came from families with crushing expectations. To find common ground with a noble felt distinctly strange.

"Will you resume your commission?" Lelouch asked.

Her smile faltered, and she rubbed her arms. "My father disapproves. It is unladylike."

"Bullshit. Cornelia is brilliant in the field and—"

"At sea, I cannot care for my husband. My father called me back to marry. Unfortunately, he fell out of favor, and now I'm stranded ashore until he finds another stallion to hitch me too. My days at sea—I'm afraid—are at an end."

His father wanted him to gain the backing of powerful nobles. Perhaps sending him out here with her was because he foresaw a deal between them.

She had told Lelouch what her heart desired. Securing her a spot in the Navy would be a simple task and gain him her gratitude.

"There are ways to circumvent your father," Lelouch noted, "and once you're at sea, he would be hard pressed to marry you off."

Her eyes widened. "I… doubt it would be that simple."

Of course not, but if this was what was needed to secure Kaguya's hand, Lelouch would not regret leveraging favors and blackmail to pave his way.

"Your father thinks your family has been neglected," Lelouch noted. "He can hardly complain if you're given a commission by the royal family in recognition. It would be rude to spurn it."

"I see you guzzle a bit more than sakuradite in the army," she joked feebly.

Lelouch rolled his eyes. "And the Navy remains eager as ever to bare their buttocks." His mind caught up to his words, and he winced. "Apol—"

Thalia burst into uproarious laughter. "There's no shame in some gentlemanly pleasure, but the army… You're always in such a rush to finish, quality be damned."

"At least we're always ready for another round, meanwhile the Navy, after one engagement, is limping back to port."

Lelouch closed his eyes, cursing his instinct to retort when confronted with such slander. If his father were to hear—He definitely would; the gardens only offered false privacy.

"And to think that I feared you would be boring. You're not some Prince Charming at all."

He certainly hoped not.

"No, you're an army rat. You're only so polite at balls because you hate them. I guess a mother in the Rounds gives you more experience."

"She makes things interesting." Lelouch scanned the garden, feeling oddly exposed. His father saw something of interest in her which made her a potential threat.

At least, she hadn't disparaged her mother. A noble who served in the Navy was an interesting idea for a backer. The Navy tended to lean more towards integration out of necessity.

It remained one of the few areas where Honorary Britannians could actually thrive.

"Do you pilot?" she asked.

Lelouch shook his head, catching sight of a white hospital gown. "Excuse me," he bid, leaving her behind as he sped forward.

At a small picnic table, Kaguya leaned against the edge as a pair of nurses watched from a few steps away with concern.

"You should be in bed," Lelouch reprimanded.

"Afternoon to you too," Kaguya grumbled. "I've slept enough and there's work to do."

"You were—"

Footsteps approached, and Thalia came to an abrupt stop by his side. "There you are! Oh, who is this?"

Kaguya straightened, her smile too perfect to be friendly. "Sumeragi, my lady."

Thalia looked between the two of them slowly. "It is interesting to meet you, Sumeragi. We are both so fortuitous to be given access to such illustrious gardens."

Kaguya shrugged weakly. "I cannot say. I am merely here to recover from a cold. His Majesty insisted."

"I see."

Lelouch cleared his throat. "Can you give us two minutes to talk alone?" Not waiting for an answer, he gently led Kaguya around the bend, where it was less likely to be overheard.

"I'm sorry," Lelouch whispered, trying to find the right words to explain how he failed.

"For her?" Kaguya chuckled, then coughed. "She's at least smart enough to not insult me while you're in ear shot. I'm not thrilled, but I've acclimated myself to this for years."

"I don't follow?" Lelouch shook his head. "I wanted… I asked my father for your hand; he said no."

Her shoulders dropped. "I see. It's not so unsurprising, all things considered."

"Father said I need noble allies first unfortunately. I wish I had better news. But I should be able to barter for her loyalty. She wants to be in the Navy again."

"Lelouch…" Kaguya sighed. "I'm not heartbroken, I should've expected it. Your father doesn't want me to hold more influence at court or over you. That's why… he told me that someone else will be your first wife. She has to be a political choice, not a love match."

"Oh," Lelouch whispered. That was why everything had felt off. "He wants me to marry her."

Polygamy. Lelouch could barely entertain the idea of just being married to Kaguya. Two or more sounded like way too much effort.

How could he ever trust them?

There had to be another way out besides marriage.

"She wants to be a navy officer," Lelouch whispered. "I can bargain with that instead."

"You're making life harder for yourself," Kaguya reprimanded. Resolutely, she approached Thalia who was sitting on the bench a short distance away.

They at least seemed cordial, but Lelouch had no intention of ever recreating the toxic hellscape that was his father's harem.

Securing her loyalty through a commission would have to be enough, and at least on this, Lelouch likely had his mother's support—if she ever talked to the emperor again.

If his father refused to be explicit, then Lelouch would interpret borders in a way that benefited him. The role of the loyal son could never slip.


- Fun fact: There is an actual law in Britain that descendants of Charles III need permission of the reigning monarch to marry. It was passed in 1772 and has conveniently fucked Lelouch over. XD (An Act for the better regulating the future Marriages of the Royal Family)

Most people: Marriage a happy romantic affair. Meanwhile, this chapter...

There likely won't be any updates in November as I'll be working on Excalibur for Nanowrimo and doing no editing.