When Jenkins was introduced to Marquis Mikhail, the tall, slender man stood with his hands clasped behind his back, studying a portrait on the wall. A gilded plaque beneath it identified the subject as Miss Mikhail’s grandfather, Marquis Sanchez Mikhail.
Compared to the distinctly martial air of Earl Hersha, Jenkins found Marquis Mikhail to be more of a politician. The fact that Miss Windsor just so happened to be here, dressed in a white evening gown suitable for the occasion, adorned with tasteful jewelry and elegant, light makeup, was undoubtedly the Marquis's doing.
Clearly, the true guests of honor for this dinner were Miss Windsor and Jenkins himself; the Marquis was rely playing the role of host.
The dinner was sumptuous. Jenkins particularly enjoyed the foie gras but gave the dium-rare steak a wide berth. The potato and mutton stew looked appealing, but its flavor was as peculiar as the baked fish fillet. If Chocolate could have been there with him, the cat would have surely loved the assorted cold cuts—it always had refined tastes. But for now, it likely only had the Life Pearl and a tal block for company.
The bottle of wine Jenkins had brought was opened for the dinner, and everyone had a glass. Miss Mikhail’s older brother, a sturdy man who worked in the finance departnt of Nolan’s City Hall, heartily complinted Jenkins on his excellent taste.
With Marquis Mikhail’s family present, neither Miss Windsor nor the Marquis himself raised any sensitive topics during the al. The conversation, amidst the clinking of glasses and silverware, revolved mostly around local news from Nolan.
The Marquis was not as stern as he appeared, even taking the initiative to tell a joke at the table. It wasn’t particularly funny and seed to contain a slightly risqué innuendo—or perhaps Jenkins had simply misunderstood.
After the dinner, Miss Mikhail had hoped to speak with Jenkins and thank him in person for what had happened that evening. But the Marquis and Miss Windsor were already leading him toward the study, which was clearly the proper place for a serious discussion.
Just as Jenkins had anticipated, the Marquis settled behind his desk and said nothing, instead turning his gaze to Miss Windsor, who sat directly across from Jenkins.
She was dressed in a more mature style today, her youthful charm overlaid with a languid grace.
"It's been a while, Jenkins."
Jenkins didn’t think they were familiar enough to be on a first-na basis, but he chose not to point it out.
"It has been a while, Miss Windsor. You look even more beautiful than when we parted in Bel Diran."
A lesson he'd learned from Miss Stuart.
"Such praise is truly flattering."
Though tedious, the necessary pleasantries and small talk could not be skipped. After a string of such aningless exchanges, they finally got to the heart of the matter.
Miss Windsor broached the subject. She began by ntioning his winning the Ritter Prize a month ago, then steered the conversation to the Queen's early departure from the banquet that night, ultimately arriving at the state of the Queen's health.
The situation Miss Windsor described was even more serious than what Earl Hersha had disclosed. And as expected, the conversation inevitably turned to the matter of royal succession.
I see, she wants to win over the Sage's Church in the Nolan diocese and secure the backing of the kingdom's most powerful religious faction!
Jenkins believed he had uncovered the true purpose of the evening's dinner.
The subsequent conversation unfolded just as he had predicted. But even with only the three of them in the room, Miss Windsor spoke in carefully veiled terms.
She seed to be trying to convey so subtle aning hidden within her words. Jenkins understood her intention, but he couldn't for the life of him figure out what she was actually trying to say.
"Mr. Williams, that is the general situation. Do you understand?"
"I think I understand... Her Majesty's health is a cause for concern, so the question of who will wear the crown has beco everyone's primary focus. The Royalists hope the Queen herself will na a successor, rather than letting so foreigner with no political experience move into Coldspring Palace. anwhile, the Constitutionalists want the succession to proceed according to the established line, as those nobles—most of whom hold actual power—intend to control the new king through parliant, thereby interfering with the kingdom's authority."
This was the summary Jenkins offered after a few seconds of silence. Both the Marquis and Miss Windsor looked sowhat surprised, clearly not expecting a young man with no political experience to see the situation so clearly.
"An astute summary."
She expressed her surprise at Jenkins's astuteness, and for a mont, she seed to be at a loss for how to continue.
"I quite like the terms you've coined, 'Royalists' and 'Constitutionalists.' Very interesting... So, Mr. Williams, what are your thoughts on the matter?"
It didn't take a genius to figure it out. Having grown up by the Queen's side, Miss Windsor was undoubtedly a Royalist, and Marquis Mikhail likely was as well. It was even possible that Miss Windsor herself hoped to wear the crown; if the Queen were to na her successor, she would be the strongest candidate.
"I have no thoughts on the matter. It has nothing to do with ."
Even if he were a complete fool, he knew better than to take sides in such a matter rashly. Doing so would only lead to endless trouble down the line. Besides, he had no reason to get involved.
"You are certainly frank. My apologies, I ant no offense. I rely wished to ask for your personal opinion. I swear on the honor of the Windsor family that no fourth person will ever learn of what is discussed tonight."
After speaking, she turned to Marquis Mikhail, and the gentle look she had given Jenkins instantly sharpened.
The tall, slender man shrugged and raised a hand.
"In the na of the great and righteous Lord of War, I swear I will not leak a single word of our conversation here tonight in any way."
He clearly understood Jenkins better than she did, for Jenkins's very next words were:
"Miss Windsor, I believe you should swear to a god, as the Marquis has done."
Miss Windsor did not take offense. She raised a hand, her eyes still fixed on Jenkins:
"I swear to the great and righteous Legacy Sage that I will not leak a single word of our conversation here tonight in any way."
She was a casual believer at best. Jenkins could not detect the slightest hint of a true devotee's air about her.
"My view is simple. I only hope for the kingdom to remain at peace, for the people's quality of life to continue improving, and for the progress of our steam industry to not be halted."
Miss Windsor's beautiful eyes flickered thoughtfully:
"So the royal bloodline is unimportant, then? The Middleton family's lineage has continued since an earlier epoch..."
"All other things being equal, I would of course support the most legitimate heir."
Jenkins did not specify whether his idea of "legitimate" ant the Queen's appointee or the one designated by the laws of succession. His statent, therefore, remained masterfully non-committal.
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