In the royal capital of Reitzlake, the flocks of white gulls circling the air above the lake announced the onset of dusk even before the first hints of scarlet could be seen.
For first time visitors, the sheer cacophony was enough to drive them to the peace of an inn on the other side of the city. For its residents, however, the squawking was tolerated, if not exactly beloved.
A familiar sound to herald the end of another familiar day.
Even so, tiny patches of calm could be found by those who searched long enough. Upon the only quiet edge of the docks, a lone maid sat on a wooden bollard, stretching her legs as she admired the mundanity of another day's end.
She observed the sailors and dockworkers being whipped to work by the shouting of captains and wharfmasters, their sweat filling the air with enough salt to make this gentle lake appear as harsh as the sea. Their toil wasn't half-finished. As more barrels and crates were off-loaded onto docks, more were tugged onto decks.
Still, no matter the task, they would see it done before the evening had fully settled.
It was an admirable quality about sailors. No matter the quantity of work, it would always be finished before the bars came close to shutting. It was a wonder why sailors weren't given the task of building castles and cathedrals.
Would the result be pretty? No. Would it be structurally sound? Even more no.
But it'd be finished. Whatever that entailed.
The maid tugged on her sleeves, noticing a crease she hadn't stamped out, before tutting at herself in reprimand.
She tried her best to ensure her uniform was in immaculate condition. It was, after all, the only one she had. She'd been offered other clothing, of course. More discreet ones, without quite so many frills. But this uniform held a special place in her heart.
And besides, it was only appropriate to dress like a maid in her new line of work.
She did a lot of cleaning, after all.
Especially when it came to the docks.
“Well, now ... I wasn't expecting passengers.”
A man in shipfaring attire approached at the head of a dozen seafarers, his fine leather boots heavy against the wooden planks.
He wasn't a mere sailor like those with him. His livery was extravagant, with a plumed hat colourful enough to catch the light. Most of all was his smile. A captain's smile. That was the main difference between him and his sailors.
Well, and also the fact he wasn't lugging a barrel smelling of fish.
“I'm afraid you'll need to look to another ship if you desire transport, maid,” said the captain, ignoring the groans from his men as they struggled to keep hold of their goods. “Unless you're here to offer cleaning services on our next journey?”
The maid stopped stretching her legs and smiled. She stood up and shook her head.
“I apologise, but I'm neither here to seek passage nor to offer my cleaning services, excellent as they are.”
“A shame. My sailors have idled too long on shore. They've forgotten that decks don't scrub themselves. Little do they know that the ache they feel hoisting barrels is only a fraction compared to what their backs will feel ensuring the Lady Reine is fit again to sail.”
More groans sounded behind the man. None of them were considered.
“It must be quite the task, considering the weight of those barrels.”
“You're welcome to provide your assistance.”
“Scrubbing the deck? I must decline. But if it's helping to ferry the barrels, then I might be able to assist.”
The captain laughed, and yet there was little mirth in his eyes.
“I didn't know you personally ferried anything, Lady Renise. My impression was that the less finer tasks of the Smugglers Guild was left to the common hands.”
Renise's smile never faltered, even as a familiar ache pinched at her heart.
She was no longer Lady Renise. House Rimeaux was no more, its last entry in the history books a blot as its legacy was smothered, if not entirely erased.
But not everyone knew that. Many did. But perhaps not a captain who spent more time aboard his ship than within Reitzlake's bars. And so for another evening, she would maintain the charade.
She would be both Renise and the Smuggler Princess.
“I desire to become more worldly,” she said with a small shrug. “The docks outside my home is a suitable start.”
“And quite the docks it is. Peaceful. Secluded. And not at all near your home, if I recall. Tell me, Lady Renise, how deep do your sewers run that you might know the plans of every ship to sail out of Reitzlake?”
“Far too deep. I've barely made a dent in its walls. I believe I'm a rather poor maid.”
“I disagree. Few wear frills as well as you do. A fine uniform, and as eccentric as anything I've seen your father wear. How is the man? It's been a long year since I've last been waylaid by him.”
Renise's smile hardened.
He was the same as every night. Lost somewhere in the land of eternal slumber, waiting for an antidote that she knew only she was searching for.
“Fine,” she answered.
“Excellent. Should I optimistically take it that since you've been sent in his stead that you're not here to harass me for my honest work, but merely curious to learn about the art of making ready to sail?”
“For honest work, it's curious that you'd make ready to sail into the night.”
“The sea never ceases in its duties. Why should we?”
“Because I see the other crews have much more traditional duties. Preparing to spend their earnings in our fine establishments instead.”
The captain chuckled. This time, a hint of genuine amusement shone in his eyes.
“The other crews have less pressing tasks than us. Our clientele is highly particular. Both about their wares and the timeliness of it.”
“Then I imagine your clientele would appreciate it if you were not delayed unnecessarily.”
The captain nodded, far too casually.
“Of course. You desire your fair share. How remiss of me to forget informing my friends at the Smugglers Guild of our arrival. And what is the docking fee to operate beside Reitzlake's fair sewers these days?”
“Names,” answered Renise at once. “Rare jewellery, lavish dresses and ballroom shoes have been poached at will across the city, while often leaving crowns behind. Quite the peculiar spate of thefts. Reitzlake is being emptied of its formal wear. And I quite wish to know who is responsible.”
“Lady Renise, you should know that it would be beneath me to reveal such candid information without a fairer exchange.”
“The exchange is that I will permit you to leave our docks, and that crucially, I will allow you to return. Now tell me, which baron or lord is smuggling tiaras for their wives?”
The captain's lips curled into an appreciative smile.
“Neither. It would be a prince.”
Renise's surprise briefly flickered before she fixed her expression.
A prince?
Recently, luxury thefts across the royal capital had left the abodes of nobility ransacked. But only of its jewels and dress wear.
She'd believed that it was the work of countryside lords, wishing to impress their mistresses or to turn a profit before the spree of summer galas began.
But a prince?
In that case, it was the work of foreign royalty. It certainly wasn't either of the kingdom's princes ordering these thefts, both of whom didn't lack for anything they desired.
But why would any foreign prince wish to smuggle the jewellery, dresses or shoes that the kingdom wasn't even renowned for? Anything from Tirea's neighbours were far more fashionable, both to sell and to wear.
“Which prince?” asked Renise, already expecting the unhelpful answer.
“A prince,” replied the captain simply. “From the land of princes, no less. Does it matter who?”
Renise just about held back her groan.
The land of princes … the Principalities.
That lawless chain of islands far to the south, where crowns were king and the rule of law existed only on the ships of those tussling for control over it.
There, princes were not descendants of kings, but were captains raised through triumph and treachery. They were less like royalty and more like … nobility.
And that meant they were exceedingly dangerous.
All of them.
But even so, the man before her wasn't entirely correct. After all, it very much did matter which one it was. How else was she to know who their enemy was?
“Thank you for your helpful information. You may leave your wares here and depart.”
The coy smile vanished as suddenly from the captain's face as a piece of bread left for the gulls.
“You're overstepping yourself, Lady Renise. The information I gave–”
“Is nothing I wouldn't have gleaned through another trip through the sewers. I require a name. And you are a direct contact. Someone is upending this city without permission. Who is it?”
The cold glint of crowns was reflected in the captain's eyes as he assessed the worth of making an enemy of the Smugglers Guild. Or so he believed.
“... Very well,” he said, making the same decision that they all did. “I cannot give you a name. After all, whatever one he had was discarded long ago. Now … he is simply known as the Golden Prince.”
“The Golden Prince?”
Renise frowned. She didn't know enough about the politics of the Principalities to know who every high captain was.
And until now, she was far better for it.
“He lives up to his title,” said Captain Hawthorne, his expression business-like as he now looked over Renise like a ware on auction. “Handsome, charming … and pays a considerable amount of crowns for his goods. And also, I imagine, a princess.”
He casually waved over a pair of his sailors.
The only ones not to be burdened with barrels of smuggled goods approached. They didn't even bother reaching for their blades. Why would they?
Renise was alone in a maid uniform, without a weapon of her own.
And yet, she merely stood still, smiling as she viewed the now familiar sight before her. That should have been all the warning they needed.
“Yes … I expect he would.”
Suddenly, all the crates along this secluded corner of the docks burst open.
Out came soldiers bearing the livery of the Royal Guard, their swords trained on the wide-eyed sailors as barrels fell in shock. Jewellery smashed against the wooden planks in response, rings and small trinkets falling between the gaps to be embedded in Reitzlake's waterfront.
For a moment, hands went to hilts as sailors counted the number of foes.
Not a single weapon was raised.
The captain held his arms up, smiling casually. Being arrested was nothing he hadn't endured already. He knew the procedure.
“So it's true,” he said easily. “The Smuggler Princess is now a law-abiding citizen.”
Renise raised an eyebrow.
“If I was law-abiding, I'd have chosen exile instead.”
The former noblewoman swept past the bemused captain.
As she did so, she passed more than guardsmen climbing out of their hiding spots. There were those still hidden in the shadows, sporting blackened livery familiar only to those who'd traversed the sewers. Common hands previously sworn to both the Smugglers Guild and the Thieves Guild, now assured of a more reliable wage for their families.
Leaving the soldiers to round up the crew of the Lady Reine to be jailed, fined and inevitably released, Renise hurried down the docks, her thoughts penning the report she would soon deliver.
Much sooner than she expected, in fact.
She stopped as she passed a tall figure leaning against a fisherman's shack.
Even with his striking features masked by his hood, his identity was betrayed by the very presence with which he carried himself.
“... So ends the tale of the Smuggler Princess, I presume?” said Crown Prince Roland, heir to the Kingdom of Tirea.
Renise let out a small sigh. The man was without his guards. Again.
“It lasted as long as it could,” she replied, braving the tiniest of curtsies. “I apologise I wasn't able to do more.”
“Your modesty is a disservice to my satisfaction. It's a wonder you were able to maintain the charade at all. A fine performance.”
Renise clasped her hands together and nodded, accepting the compliment no differently than a passing remark about her shoes.
“Your Highness is too kind. It is simply that truth is stranger than fiction, so far as people's doubt at the nature of the Smugglers Guild's demise is concerned.”
The Crown Prince chuckled.
“Doubt that you have propagated well. With such fine talent at the kingdom's disposal, I've little doubt that Rose House will soon compare to its peers.”
His eyes glanced over to the sight of his soldiers tying ropes around the hands of the would-be smugglers, and then at the figures in black, watching for movement in the shadows beside them.
Renise felt a familiar sense of unease run through her.
They were hers now. Hands who were cut from the same cloth as her, once subverting the kingdom, and now now dyed in the colour of its flag. And she was responsible for them. The greatest penance that she could know.
But however long the road to redemption was, she would still walk it.
Not because she owed it to the people of this kingdom. Nor even because she owed it to herself.
No … it was because she owed it to the princess who had rescued her.
Whether in the sewers or the daylight, she would find a way to repay the debt she owed to the princess whose selfless actions had ensured that sleep was the worse that befell her parents. Whatever fate awaited them when they escaped their dark prison, she at least wished for them to see the kingdom as it should be when they woke.
But that was a long time away now.
“Rose House is merely a mimic,” she said. “A shallow copy. It will be years … decades, before we can pretend to be equal with the lotuses from the east.”
“Again. A disservice. But I shall not argue your pragmatic sentiments. I will instead allow results to speak for themselves. Now tell me, what did our good captain have to offer us, my lady?”
Renise made no acknowledgement to her former title as she responded.
“A figure of authority from the Principalities has been ordering the thefts. Captain Hawthorne named him as the Golden Prince.”
Crown Prince Roland nodded, his cursory smile fading.
“Then my fears are met,” he murmured. “It is more than east and south where our foes converge upon us. They sense the kingdom's weakness. And they move in tandem, as different shadows perhaps, but each dancing to the same burning flame.”
Renise nodded.
The Golden Prince.
If he was truly a high captain from the Principalities, then it meant this was more than simple pirates which threatened their shores … just as it was more than simple mercenaries which now encroached on the Loerstadt Gate, or simple monsters which roamed the roads to Stermondt.
Something grander was afoot. Something darker.
Something fouler … even if it did involve ladies' apparel.
But even with this information, she wondered what she could do.
The kingdom had no strength at sea. And despite the resources of her fledgling Rose House, named after the sigil of the one who rescued her, she was only one woman. She alone could not thwart a threat from the sea.
If she were Juliette, on the other hand …
Renise thought about her heroine, whose light still burned in her mind. A light so strong that it could sweep aside the shadows which crept across this land.
Then, she turned her eyes towards the peaceful sky, wondering where beneath it the princess masquerading as an adventurer currently was.
All she knew with any certainty was that no matter which road Juliette walked, she was undoubtedly the picture of dignity and calm, approaching whatever obstacle lay before her with both prudence and delicateness.
… Right?
Suddenly, Renise blinked as the image of a girl cackling amidst a raging windstorm revisited her mind, shattering windows and carefully laid schemes alike.
And then–
She whispered a prayer in her heart.
Not for the princess. But for her enemies.
In the royal capital of Reitzlake, the flocks of white gulls circling the air above the lake announced the onset of dusk even before the first hints of scarlet could be seen.
For first time visitors, the sheer cacophony was enough to drive them to the peace of an inn on the other side of the city. For its residents, however, the squawking was tolerated, if not exactly beloved.
A familiar sound to herald the end of another familiar day.
Even so, tiny patches of calm could be found by those who searched long enough. Upon the only quiet edge of the docks, a lone maid sat on a wooden bollard, stretching her legs as she admired the mundanity of another day's end.
She observed the sailors and dockworkers being whipped to work by the shouting of captains and wharfmasters, their sweat filling the air with enough salt to make this gentle lake appear as harsh as the sea. Their toil wasn't half-finished. As more barrels and crates were off-loaded onto docks, more were tugged onto decks.
Still, no matter the task, they would see it done before the evening had fully settled.
It was an admirable quality about sailors. No matter the quantity of work, it would always be finished before the bars came close to shutting. It was a wonder why sailors weren't given the task of building castles and cathedrals.
Would the result be pretty? No. Would it be structurally sound? Even more no.
But it'd be finished. Whatever that entailed.
The maid tugged on her sleeves, noticing a crease she hadn't stamped out, before tutting at herself in reprimand.
She tried her best to ensure her uniform was in immaculate condition. It was, after all, the only one she had. She'd been offered other clothing, of course. More discreet ones, without quite so many frills. But this uniform held a special place in her heart.
And besides, it was only appropriate to dress like a maid in her new line of work.
She did a lot of cleaning, after all.
Especially when it came to the docks.
“Well, now ... I wasn't expecting passengers.”
A man in shipfaring attire approached at the head of a dozen seafarers, his fine leather boots heavy against the wooden planks.
He wasn't a mere sailor like those with him. His livery was extravagant, with a plumed hat colourful enough to catch the light. Most of all was his smile. A captain's smile. That was the main difference between him and his sailors.
Well, and also the fact he wasn't lugging a barrel smelling of fish.
“I'm afraid you'll need to look to another ship if you desire transport, maid,” said the captain, ignoring the groans from his men as they struggled to keep hold of their goods. “Unless you're here to offer cleaning services on our next journey?”
The maid stopped stretching her legs and smiled. She stood up and shook her head.
“I apologise, but I'm neither here to seek passage nor to offer my cleaning services, excellent as they are.”
“A shame. My sailors have idled too long on shore. They've forgotten that decks don't scrub themselves. Little do they know that the ache they feel hoisting barrels is only a fraction compared to what their backs will feel ensuring the Lady Reine is fit again to sail.”
More groans sounded behind the man. None of them were considered.
“It must be quite the task, considering the weight of those barrels.”
“You're welcome to provide your assistance.”
“Scrubbing the deck? I must decline. But if it's helping to ferry the barrels, then I might be able to assist.”
The captain laughed, and yet there was little mirth in his eyes.
“I didn't know you personally ferried anything, Lady Renise. My impression was that the less finer tasks of the Smugglers Guild was left to the common hands.”
Renise's smile never faltered, even as a familiar ache pinched at her heart.
She was no longer Lady Renise. House Rimeaux was no more, its last entry in the history books a blot as its legacy was smothered, if not entirely erased.
But not everyone knew that. Many did. But perhaps not a captain who spent more time aboard his ship than within Reitzlake's bars. And so for another evening, she would maintain the charade.
She would be both Renise and the Smuggler Princess.
“I desire to become more worldly,” she said with a small shrug. “The docks outside my home is a suitable start.”
“And quite the docks it is. Peaceful. Secluded. And not at all near your home, if I recall. Tell me, Lady Renise, how deep do your sewers run that you might know the plans of every ship to sail out of Reitzlake?”
“Far too deep. I've barely made a dent in its walls. I believe I'm a rather poor maid.”
“I disagree. Few wear frills as well as you do. A fine uniform, and as eccentric as anything I've seen your father wear. How is the man? It's been a long year since I've last been waylaid by him.”
Renise's smile hardened.
He was the same as every night. Lost somewhere in the land of eternal slumber, waiting for an antidote that she knew only she was searching for.
“Fine,” she answered.
“Excellent. Should I optimistically take it that since you've been sent in his stead that you're not here to harass me for my honest work, but merely curious to learn about the art of making ready to sail?”
“For honest work, it's curious that you'd make ready to sail into the night.”
“The sea never ceases in its duties. Why should we?”
“Because I see the other crews have much more traditional duties. Preparing to spend their earnings in our fine establishments instead.”
The captain chuckled. This time, a hint of genuine amusement shone in his eyes.
“The other crews have less pressing tasks than us. Our clientele is highly particular. Both about their wares and the timeliness of it.”
“Then I imagine your clientele would appreciate it if you were not delayed unnecessarily.”
The captain nodded, far too casually.
“Of course. You desire your fair share. How remiss of me to forget informing my friends at the Smugglers Guild of our arrival. And what is the docking fee to operate beside Reitzlake's fair sewers these days?”
“Names,” answered Renise at once. “Rare jewellery, lavish dresses and ballroom shoes have been poached at will across the city, while often leaving crowns behind. Quite the peculiar spate of thefts. Reitzlake is being emptied of its formal wear. And I quite wish to know who is responsible.”
“Lady Renise, you should know that it would be beneath me to reveal such candid information without a fairer exchange.”
“The exchange is that I will permit you to leave our docks, and that crucially, I will allow you to return. Now tell me, which baron or lord is smuggling tiaras for their wives?”
The captain's lips curled into an appreciative smile.
“Neither. It would be a prince.”
Renise's surprise briefly flickered before she fixed her expression.
A prince?
Recently, luxury thefts across the royal capital had left the abodes of nobility ransacked. But only of its jewels and dress wear.
She'd believed that it was the work of countryside lords, wishing to impress their mistresses or to turn a profit before the spree of summer galas began.
But a prince?
In that case, it was the work of foreign royalty. It certainly wasn't either of the kingdom's princes ordering these thefts, both of whom didn't lack for anything they desired.
But why would any foreign prince wish to smuggle the jewellery, dresses or shoes that the kingdom wasn't even renowned for? Anything from Tirea's neighbours were far more fashionable, both to sell and to wear.
“Which prince?” asked Renise, already expecting the unhelpful answer.
“A prince,” replied the captain simply. “From the land of princes, no less. Does it matter who?”
Renise just about held back her groan.
The land of princes … the Principalities.
That lawless chain of islands far to the south, where crowns were king and the rule of law existed only on the ships of those tussling for control over it.
There, princes were not descendants of kings, but were captains raised through triumph and treachery. They were less like royalty and more like … nobility.
And that meant they were exceedingly dangerous.
All of them.
But even so, the man before her wasn't entirely correct. After all, it very much did matter which one it was. How else was she to know who their enemy was?
“Thank you for your helpful information. You may leave your wares here and depart.”
The coy smile vanished as suddenly from the captain's face as a piece of bread left for the gulls.
“You're overstepping yourself, Lady Renise. The information I gave–”
“Is nothing I wouldn't have gleaned through another trip through the sewers. I require a name. And you are a direct contact. Someone is upending this city without permission. Who is it?”
The cold glint of crowns was reflected in the captain's eyes as he assessed the worth of making an enemy of the Smugglers Guild. Or so he believed.
“... Very well,” he said, making the same decision that they all did. “I cannot give you a name. After all, whatever one he had was discarded long ago. Now … he is simply known as the Golden Prince.”
“The Golden Prince?”
Renise frowned. She didn't know enough about the politics of the Principalities to know who every high captain was.
And until now, she was far better for it.
“He lives up to his title,” said Captain Hawthorne, his expression business-like as he now looked over Renise like a ware on auction. “Handsome, charming … and pays a considerable amount of crowns for his goods. And also, I imagine, a princess.”
He casually waved over a pair of his sailors.
The only ones not to be burdened with barrels of smuggled goods approached. They didn't even bother reaching for their blades. Why would they?
Renise was alone in a maid uniform, without a weapon of her own.
And yet, she merely stood still, smiling as she viewed the now familiar sight before her. That should have been all the warning they needed.
“Yes … I expect he would.”
Suddenly, all the crates along this secluded corner of the docks burst open.
Out came soldiers bearing the livery of the Royal Guard, their swords trained on the wide-eyed sailors as barrels fell in shock. Jewellery smashed against the wooden planks in response, rings and small trinkets falling between the gaps to be embedded in Reitzlake's waterfront.
For a moment, hands went to hilts as sailors counted the number of foes.
Not a single weapon was raised.
The captain held his arms up, smiling casually. Being arrested was nothing he hadn't endured already. He knew the procedure.
“So it's true,” he said easily. “The Smuggler Princess is now a law-abiding citizen.”
Renise raised an eyebrow.
“If I was law-abiding, I'd have chosen exile instead.”
The former noblewoman swept past the bemused captain.
As she did so, she passed more than guardsmen climbing out of their hiding spots. There were those still hidden in the shadows, sporting blackened livery familiar only to those who'd traversed the sewers. Common hands previously sworn to both the Smugglers Guild and the Thieves Guild, now assured of a more reliable wage for their families.
Leaving the soldiers to round up the crew of the Lady Reine to be jailed, fined and inevitably released, Renise hurried down the docks, her thoughts penning the report she would soon deliver.
Much sooner than she expected, in fact.
She stopped as she passed a tall figure leaning against a fisherman's shack.
Even with his striking features masked by his hood, his identity was betrayed by the very presence with which he carried himself.
“... So ends the tale of the Smuggler Princess, I presume?” said Crown Prince Roland, heir to the Kingdom of Tirea.
Renise let out a small sigh. The man was without his guards. Again.
“It lasted as long as it could,” she replied, braving the tiniest of curtsies. “I apologise I wasn't able to do more.”
“Your modesty is a disservice to my satisfaction. It's a wonder you were able to maintain the charade at all. A fine performance.”
Renise clasped her hands together and nodded, accepting the compliment no differently than a passing remark about her shoes.
“Your Highness is too kind. It is simply that truth is stranger than fiction, so far as people's doubt at the nature of the Smugglers Guild's demise is concerned.”
The Crown Prince chuckled.
“Doubt that you have propagated well. With such fine talent at the kingdom's disposal, I've little doubt that Rose House will soon compare to its peers.”
His eyes glanced over to the sight of his soldiers tying ropes around the hands of the would-be smugglers, and then at the figures in black, watching for movement in the shadows beside them.
Renise felt a familiar sense of unease run through her.
They were hers now. Hands who were cut from the same cloth as her, once subverting the kingdom, and now now dyed in the colour of its flag. And she was responsible for them. The greatest penance that she could know.
But however long the road to redemption was, she would still walk it.
Not because she owed it to the people of this kingdom. Nor even because she owed it to herself.
No … it was because she owed it to the princess who had rescued her.
Whether in the sewers or the daylight, she would find a way to repay the debt she owed to the princess whose selfless actions had ensured that sleep was the worse that befell her parents. Whatever fate awaited them when they escaped their dark prison, she at least wished for them to see the kingdom as it should be when they woke.
But that was a long time away now.
“Rose House is merely a mimic,” she said. “A shallow copy. It will be years … decades, before we can pretend to be equal with the lotuses from the east.”
“Again. A disservice. But I shall not argue your pragmatic sentiments. I will instead allow results to speak for themselves. Now tell me, what did our good captain have to offer us, my lady?”
Renise made no acknowledgement to her former title as she responded.
“A figure of authority from the Principalities has been ordering the thefts. Captain Hawthorne named him as the Golden Prince.”
Crown Prince Roland nodded, his cursory smile fading.
“Then my fears are met,” he murmured. “It is more than east and south where our foes converge upon us. They sense the kingdom's weakness. And they move in tandem, as different shadows perhaps, but each dancing to the same burning flame.”
Renise nodded.
The Golden Prince.
If he was truly a high captain from the Principalities, then it meant this was more than simple pirates which threatened their shores … just as it was more than simple mercenaries which now encroached on the Loerstadt Gate, or simple monsters which roamed the roads to Stermondt.
Something grander was afoot. Something darker.
Something fouler … even if it did involve ladies' apparel.
But even with this information, she wondered what she could do.
The kingdom had no strength at sea. And despite the resources of her fledgling Rose House, named after the sigil of the one who rescued her, she was only one woman. She alone could not thwart a threat from the sea.
If she were Juliette, on the other hand …
Renise thought about her heroine, whose light still burned in her mind. A light so strong that it could sweep aside the shadows which crept across this land.
Then, she turned her eyes towards the peaceful sky, wondering where beneath it the princess masquerading as an adventurer currently was.
All she knew with any certainty was that no matter which road Juliette walked, she was undoubtedly the picture of dignity and calm, approaching whatever obstacle lay before her with both prudence and delicateness.
… Right?
Suddenly, Renise blinked as the image of a girl cackling amidst a raging windstorm revisited her mind, shattering windows and carefully laid schemes alike.
And then–
She whispered a prayer in her heart.
Not for the princess. But for her enemies.
