The black bishop moved diagonally across the board with a soft click.
"Check."
Lelouch vi Britannia's amethyst eyes narrowed, his expression tightening almost imperceptibly.
"Interesting move, sister." His voice betrayed nothing as his slender fingers repositioned his king. "You've been practicing without me."
I allowed myself a small smile. "One must hedge their bets to survive in this world, wouldn't you agree, brother?"
At ten years old, Lelouch already possessed an analytical mind that made him dangerous. Lelouch loved playing risky gambits, and I could tell he was satisfied to no end whenever they worked out.
What he lacked, however, was experience—the ruthless efficiency that came from navigating corporate politics and the battlefield instincts honed on the Eastern Front. Those were my advantages, however temporary.
"Survival is indeed important," he replied, eyes never leaving the board, "but so is victory."
I studied his move. The boy had natural talent, I'd give him that. But talent without the perspective and experience of multiple lifetimes was still just talent.
"You believe there can be victory without survival?" I questioned while advancing my knight. "Check again."
The vi Britannia villa was comfortably appointed but modest by royal standards—a reflection of Empress Marianne's military background rather than aristocratic pretension. Sunlight streamed through tall windows, illuminating dust particles dancing in the air. In the corner, Nunnally hummed softly while arranging flowers with Euphemia. Their childish laughter occasionally punctuated our match.
How strange that such innocence could exist within this viper's nest. It would be hard to believe our empire was in the midst of a global conflict with all of this peace and quiet.
Lelouch countered with a rook, threatening my queen. A reasonable move, if uninspired.
"Tell me, Lelouch," I said, sacrificing a pawn to strengthen my position, "what would you do if you controlled Britannia's sakuradite policy toward Japan?"
His eyes flicked up to mine, unsurprised by the change in conversation. Perhaps he had grown used to our interactions playing out this way.
"Distraction won't work with me, dear sister."
I shrugged. "Indulge me. Consider it a different kind of chess problem."
He glanced toward Nunnally before responding. "Japan holds seventy percent of the world's sakuradite reserves. Their neutrality is maintained only by balancing the three superpowers against each other." His voice dropped slightly. "If I controlled policy, I'd avoid antagonizing them until we had secured alternative sources or developed technology that didn't rely so heavily on sakuradite."
Interesting. Pragmatic, forward-thinking, with a hint of restraint—not-so-typical Britannian qualities. I moved my queen to safety while considering his answer.
"A measured approach," I conceded. "Though His Majesty might find it lacks the boldness expected of the imperial family."
"Bold failures are still failures," Lelouch replied coolly. "Checkmate."
I smiled outwardly, though what I actually felt was a sting of irritation. The board confirmed his victory—my king trapped with no legal moves remaining. I had never cultivated much interest in board games during my first life as a Japanese salaryman; cutthroat corporate politics and relentless profit targets had been game enough. In my second life, the Eastern Front hardly afforded time for leisurely chess matches between artillery barrages and aerial combat missions.
Still, it was humiliating to be defeated by what amounted to a ten-year-old child, reincarnated military commander or not. It was a small consolation to know he lived and breathed chess, meanwhile I had to split my attention between politics, training and socialising.
"You tricked me into overcommiting my pieces," I said, helping him reset the pieces. "The same tactic won't work on brother Schneizel, you know? He has even less of an ego than I do."
A flash of ambition crossed his features. "You've played against Schneizel?"
"Once or twice," I admitted.
"Were you ever close to winning?" The question came with childish eagerness that briefly overshadowed his usual composure.
I laughed softly. "What do you think?"
His smug smile was answer enough. Of course the game had been incredibly one-sided. But the match had served its purpose in establishing frequent contact with the el Britannia faction, which was victory enough for my purposes.
"Lelouch, Tanya!" Nunnally called from across the room. "Mother says you're to join us for lunch in the garden! She wants to make an announcement!"
I exchanged a glance with Lelouch.
"Shall we?" he offered, extending his hand with the courtesy of a prince.
I accepted it with equal formality, though physical contact still made me instinctively uncomfortable—a holdover from both military and corporate lives.
"Lead on, Your Highness."
The cherry blossoms swayed above Empress Marianne's garden luncheon, a deceptive softness to mask what I recognized as a tactical operation. Lelouch and I crossed the immaculate lawn, our recent chess match still fresh in my mind.
Petals drifted onto pristine white tablecloths while servants adjusted their positions in response to our arrival.
Empress Marianne vi Britannia dominated the scene without effort, her laughter carrying across the garden with genuine warmth that distinguished her from the manufactured civility of other royal consorts.
The former commoner who'd risen to become Emperor Charles' favorite wife through sheer battlefield brilliance commanded attention even in repose.
As we approached, I noticed a teal-haired guard positioned at Marianne's flank. His posture screamed military elite—rigid spine, vigilant eyes, hands positioned for immediate weapon access. What caught my attention wasn't his exemplary form but the near-religious intensity with which he watched the Empress. Every movement near her triggered minute adjustments in his stance, eyes tracking potential threats with something beyond professional duty—fanatical devotion.
I suppressed a sigh of envy.
This was the caliber of personnel the vi Britannians commanded—soldiers whose loyalty transcended mere obligation. In my early life as Imperial Major Tanya von Degurechaff, I'd commanded troops who followed orders out of fear or duty. It took time and effort to build loyalty. This man would clearly die without hesitation for his Empress.
Building my own faction within the Byzantine politics of Britannia would require such assets, yet the la Britannia resources at my disposal were mediocre by comparison. Schneizel had been making overtures to our branch, offering alliances and resources, but I'd noticed Clovis increasingly drawn to the vi Britannian orbit despite our half-brother's charm offensive. Perhaps there was wisdom in that inclination.
"Princess Tanya!" Marianne called out, interrupting my assessment. "Come sit. Nunnally tells me you nearly defeated Lelouch today."
All eyes turned to me.
I performed the expected curtsy. "My sister is too generous. Your son is a prodigy, and I still have much to learn."
Marianne stroked her daughter's hair with a hum.
I watched Cornelia li Britannia sip her tea silently. At twenty, she was already a formidable commander, her violet hair and rigid posture marking her as clearly as any uniform. Beside her, eleven-year-old Euphemia presented her complete opposite—all soft pink curls and gentle smiles.
Clovis arrived with characteristic flourish, bowing low. "Forgive my tardiness. Art waits for no man, not even imperial schedules."
"Your dedication to beauty is forgiven," Marianne replied indulgently. "Though perhaps next time, inspiration might strike earlier?"
Euphemia's giggle was swiftly hidden behind her napkin while Cornelia merely rolled her eyes at my brother's dramatic entrance.
Servants materialized with the first course. I noticed the teal-haired guard's eyes tracking each server, his hand never far from his weapon.
"Lady Cornelia," Marianne said once everyone was served, "I have news I simply couldn't wait to share."
Cornelia straightened imperceptibly. "Your Majesty?"
"His Imperial Majesty has approved our request." Genuine warmth colored Marianne's voice. "You're to be appointed Head of Security for Aries Villa, effective immediately."
Silence fell like a tactical strike. At twenty, Cornelia would be the youngest person ever given such responsibility—a clear statement that the li Britannias were firmly in the vi Britannian camp.
Cornelia's mask slipped momentarily, revealing raw emotion before she recovered. "I am deeply honored by His Majesty's confidence."
"And mine," Marianne added pointedly. "We've been working on this proposal for a while, haven't we?"
"Sister!" Euphemia clasped her hands together, pink curls bouncing with excitement. "You're amazing!"
I catalogued reactions around the table. Clovis offered polished congratulations, Nunnally beamed with uncomplicated joy. The teal-haired guard at the perimeter had stiffened, his expression a curious mixture of respect and something else—disappointment, perhaps?
"You'll replace Jeremiah Gottwald as our primary security coordinator," Marianne continued, gesturing toward the guard I'd been watching. "Though he'll remain as your second-in-command. Jeremiah, come introduce yourself."
The officer approached with military precision, bowing deeply. "Lady Cornelia, it will be an honor to serve under your command. My dedication to Her Majesty's safety is absolute."
"Lord Gottwald is exceptionally vigilant, and I trust him fully," Marianne added, affection warming her tone. "I can hardly breathe without him materializing beside me."
"Security cannot be compromised, Your Majesty," Jeremiah replied with stiff devotion. "Vigilance is its own reward."
"I concur, Lord Gottwald. We'll review protocols this afternoon," Cornelia said, professional assessment clear in her gaze.
Marianne dismissed Jeremiah with a casual wave and a nod. The guard bowed with military precision before returning to his post, his eyes never ceasing their vigilant sweep of the surroundings.
"That boy takes everything so seriously," Marianne sighed, though the fondness in her voice was unmistakable. "One might think a smile would shatter his face."
"Lord Gottwald shows no weakness in spirit. I like him," Cornelia remarked, her own expression equally serious.
Marianne laughed. "You two are perfectly matched, then!"
Nunnally, who had been quietly following the conversation, suddenly brightened. "Sister Cornelia, will you still have time for our riding lessons now that you're in charge of security?"
Cornelia's severe expression softened immediately. "I will always make time for you, Nunnally."
The conversation shifted as servants arrived with the next course, a delicate fish dish garnished with herbs from the villa's gardens. I was grateful for the momentary reprieve from attention. At court, invisibility was often the safest position.
I savored the first bite of the perfectly prepared fish, its delicate flavor enhanced by fresh herbs and a subtle lemon sauce. The contrast between this culinary artistry and the bland, functional rations of my military days couldn't be more pronounced. During the Eastern Front campaign, we'd considered ourselves fortunate to receive kommissbrot that hadn't yet spoiled, and I still remembered the distinctive chemical aftertaste of emergency field packets designed for sustenance rather than satisfaction. This, perhaps, was the most immediate luxury this royal reincarnation afforded me. I hadn't experienced genuine hunger once in these six years. No midnight stomach pains in orphanage dormitories, no stretching the last of the military supplies across an extra week when logistics failed. The Britannian Empire's abundance meant even its political machinations occurred on full stomachs, a privilege I wasn't foolish enough to take for granted.
"Speaking of lessons," Lelouch said after sampling the dish, "Tanya nearly had the upper hand one time in chess today. Her queen sacrifice was particularly inspired."
I shot him a warning glance. Drawing attention to any exceptional ability was dangerous in the imperial court, and he knew it.
"Oh?" Marianne's gaze fell on me with renewed interest. "Lelouch rarely praises his opponents. You must have impressed him."
"His Highness is merely being gracious," I replied, keeping my voice carefully modulated. "The game could have gone either way."
"Nonsense," Lelouch countered with that faint smile that never quite reached his eyes. "You predicted my counter-moves three steps ahead. It was the same approach the famed General Bartley should have used at New Glasgow."
"The New Glasgow campaign?" Cornelia's eyebrows rose slightly. "That's rather advanced military history for children your age."
"Do you not recall that Tanya has access to the Imperial Library?" Clovis interjected, his tone light but his eyes watchful. "Our tutor mentioned she's read through half the military archives already."
I wished, not for the first time, that Clovis would occasionally refrain from "helping." His attempts to redirect often only intensified scrutiny.
"Military history?" Marianne's eyes gleamed with genuine interest now. "Any particular campaigns?"
The question seemed innocent enough, but something in her tone made me cautious. "The Northern Campaign was particularly instructive," I admitted. "General Rochester's failure to secure his supply lines before winter provided valuable lessons in resource management."
"Eight thousand men dead because a commander didn't prepare for winter," Cornelia said, studying me with unexpected intensity. "That's what you took from the campaign?"
I hadn't meant to reveal quite so much of my analytical perspective. "Among other things. I imagine the practical realities differ significantly from textbook accounts."
"They do," Cornelia confirmed, her expression thoughtful. "Theory rarely survives contact with reality."
"Which is precisely why practical education is so valuable," Marianne said, setting down her glass. Her eyes moved between Cornelia and me with an expression I couldn't quite decipher. "Cornelia, didn't you mention needing fresh perspectives on those tactical games you've been developing?"
Cornelia paused, fork halfway to her mouth. "I did, though I hadn't considered..." She studied me with renewed interest. "The games are designed for officer training, but a sharp mind might benefit regardless of age."
The conversation had taken an unexpected turn, but unlike Clovis's clumsy attempts at deflection, this felt deliberate. Marianne wasn't merely making conversation with her newly-appointed Head of Security.
"I wouldn't want to impose on Lady Cornelia's valuable time," I said carefully.
"Nonsense," Marianne replied with easy authority. "Cornelia could use a bright student, and you could benefit from practical instruction. It's settled, then."
Just like that—an imperial decree disguised as a casual suggestion. I caught Lelouch hiding a smirk behind his napkin and realized he'd anticipated this outcome from the beginning, perhaps even engineered it with his original comment.
I recognized the maneuver immediately. Lelouch knew that Schneizel had been courting the la Britannia faction for months with promises of political advancement, yet here was Marianne countering with direct mentorship from her most talented military protege.
"As Her Majesty wishes," Cornelia agreed, inclining her head slightly. "Though I should warn you, Tanya, I'm not known for gentle instruction. Military training requires discipline."
"I wouldn't expect otherwise," I replied honestly. After leading battalions through artillery fire in another life, I doubted Cornelia's training would faze me.
I maintained my composed expression while mentally recalculating political vectors. Aligning with the vi Britannians through Cornelia would offer military expertise I genuinely valued, while simultaneously signaling to Schneizel that his offerings were insufficient. Clovis subtly straightened beside me, clearly recognizing the significance of this overture.
"Must we discuss war over lunch?" Clovis interjected smoothly. "I've been commissioned for a series celebrating Britannian cultural supremacy. The Eastern Provincial Administration will feature my interpretation of Emperor Ricardo's ascension."
I sent him a grateful glance. For all his resentment over our mother's death during my birth, he understood the la Britannia position demanded mutual support, however reluctantly given.
"Your artistic vision honors our family," I said, genuinely appreciating his intervention. "Few capture imperial glory as skillfully."
The conversation then drifted to safer topics, but throughout, I felt Marianne's gaze returning to me, measuring and assessing.
By dessert—delicate confections of spun sugar and berries—I had recalculated my position entirely. Cornelia's promotion signaled the li Britannia faction's ascendance and alignment with Marianne. The offer of military tutelage was simultaneously an invitation and a statement of intent. Meanwhile, Schneizel's diplomatic advances toward our faction now appeared as the lesser gambit.
"A toast," Marianne proposed, raising her glass. "To Cornelia's appointment, to Clovis's artistic success, and to new alliances that strengthen our imperial family."
The last words were spoken with her eyes fixed meaningfully on Clovis and me. The message couldn't be made clearer: the vi Britannians were extending their hand officially, offering protection and advancement that Schneizel's faction couldn't match.
As crystal clinked and polite applause followed, I caught Lelouch's eye. His slight nod confirmed my suspicion—he too had been orchestrating this political realignment, analyzing implications with the same precision I had. He'd likely been the one to suggest Cornelia's mentorship to his mother.
"Tanya," Cornelia approached as we prepared to depart, "I'll expect you at the military training grounds on Thursday at 0800 hours. Bring appropriate attire—we'll begin with practical sword training."
"I'll be punctual, Lady Cornelia."
"Just Cornelia during training," she replied with surprising informality. "Military instruction requires direct communication, not court formalities."
So, the vi Britannians were already treating me as an ally. I glanced at Clovis, who gave me a nearly imperceptible nod. We'd discuss this development privately, but his initial approval was clear. Schneizel's overtures, while tempting, couldn't compete with the concrete advantages of Marianne's faction.
As we dispersed into the afternoon sunshine, Clovis fell into step beside me. "Schneizel won't be pleased," he murmured, voice pitched for my ears alone. "He sent an invitation this morning for us to join him at the Winter Palace next month."
"The only thing the Second Prince has offered so far are words and distant promises," I replied quietly. "Empress Marianne offers immediate access to military expertise through Cornelia and the protection of her faction. Even a mediocre strategist could calculate the superior position."
Clovis nodded thoughtfully. "The vi Britannians are ascendant, and Cornelia's appointment only strengthens their hand. Schneizel is brilliant, but Lelouch…" He paused, glancing back at the prince now engaged in conversation with his mother. "I suppose I should be thankful he finds my dear sister worthy of political maneuvering. Or maybe he just can't stand the idea of our family aligning with Schneizel."
I accepted the comparison without comment. Across the garden, I saw Jeremiah Gottwald watching. The vi Britannias were already treating our presence in their orbit as a foregone conclusion.
How satisfying to find oneself as a valued piece rather than a sacrificial pawn. I'd have to build my own network of loyalists eventually—men like Gottwald who would follow with unquestioning devotion—but for now, this alliance offered the strongest position on the imperial chessboard.
And what's more, I found their company to be rather enjoyable.
"Again," Cornelia commanded, her practice sword poised in perfect defensive stance. "Your initial strike lacks commitment."
I suppressed a grunt and raised my wooden training sword. The morning sun beat down mercilessly on the practice yard, turning the simple exercise into an endurance test. Sweat plastered my hair to my forehead, a humiliating reminder of this child body's limitations.
"Visualize your opponent's weakness," she continued. "Strike not where they are, but where they will be vulnerable."
Easy for her to say. Cornelia li Britannia had been training her body since she could walk, her body naturally suited to the martial demands of Britannian nobility. My previous incarnation as the mage Tanya von Degurechaff had relied more on magical ability than physical prowess, and I was much more comfortable with aiming a rifle than handling a sword.
Nevertheless, I lunged forward, attempting to incorporate her guidance into my movement. The wooden blade whistled through the air with marginally more authority than my previous attempts.
Cornelia deflected it efficiently, but her slight nod suggested improvement. "Better. Your understanding exceeds your execution, but that will change with practice."
"Your instruction is invaluable, sister," I said between controlled breaths. This was not empty flattery—Cornelia's combat expertise represented a knowledge base I genuinely needed to access. Physical vulnerability was unacceptable in any survival strategy. I had tried and failed many times to activate a simple Magic Blade and strengthening formulas to no avail. It was annoying, but I had to assume my magic didn't work in this world. Working on my physical aspects was tiresome but prudent.
She lowered her sword, signaling a break. "We're only three months into our lessons, yet I sense impatience within regarding your progress. May I ask why?"
A reasonable question. While all royal children received basic combat instruction, only a handful voluntarily sought additional grueling lessons—particularly those, like myself, who showed little natural aptitude.
"The world is changing," I said carefully, reaching for the water flask a servant had left nearby. "Military matters seem increasingly relevant to our future."
"You refer to the Japanese situation."
I nodded. "Their sakuradite reserves creates an obvious point of geopolitical friction. The Empire's requirements won't diminish, nor will Japan's resistance to our influence."
"And you believe improving your swordplay will be the answer to this question?"
I allowed a small, self-deprecating smile. "The la Britannia position is precarious without our mother's influence. Learning some self-defence seems like a straightforward thing to do."
A calculated display of vulnerability—nothing too revealing, but just enough to appear honest. People, even hardened military commanders like Cornelia, respond to perceived openness. By acknowledging a weakness that's essentially public knowledge anyway, I create an impression of trust without sacrificing any actual strategic advantage.
The precarious position of the la Britannias after my mother's death was hardly a state secret… anyone with eyes could see Clovis and I lack the factional backing that other siblings enjoy, despite our alignment with the vi Britannias. Sharing this 'vulnerability' costs me nothing while potentially earning valuable empathy from someone whose military expertise I genuinely need.
"I would tend to agree," she nodded, her expression softening slightly. "Though I wonder if brother Schneizel has been filling your head with political concerns better left to those actually responsible for policy."
"Prince Schneizel has been kind enough to indulge my interest in strategy," I acknowledged. "Though our discussions focus more on historical contexts than current affairs."
A careful evasion—Schneizel and I had discussed both, but admitting that might suggest an inappropriate level of access to sensitive information he had divulged to me.
Cornelia's expression became unreadable. "You will need to choose eventually, Tanya. Alignment with one faction can close doors with others."
Was that concern in her voice? Or a subtle warning to stay away from the el Britannia sphere of influence?
"I appreciate your counsel," I said, genuinely meaning it. "As a la Britannia, my options for advancement are necessarily limited. I must seek support where it's offered."
Cornelia paused briefly before continuing.
"There are other paths," she said, resuming her combat stance. "Those with military aptitude can rise through merit, regardless of their starting position."
I nearly laughed at the irony. Cornelia was suggesting I pursue a military career—precisely echoing the footsteps of my previous life before I recognized the dangers inherent in such a path. The battlefield was the last place I wanted to be, having already died once in combat. It was certainly not a pleasant experience.
"Perhaps when I'm a little older," I replied diplomatically. "I do admire those with the courage and ability of those who can serve the Empire directly."
She nodded, seemingly satisfied with my deference to her chosen path. "Enough talk. Show me that lunge again, with proper weight distribution this time."
Perhaps there was potential for a more substantive alliance than I had initially calculated. Cornelia's faction represented military power—the most direct form of authority in an empire built on conquest. While Schneizel's diplomatic approach aligned better with my personal preferences, maintaining connections to both spheres would provide maximum flexibility as the political landscape evolved, but it was an increasingly difficult balance to maintain.
By the time our session concluded, I had improved marginally in swordsmanship and significantly in my understanding of court dynamics. Bruised and exhausted, I nonetheless counted the morning as a strategic success.
"Your footwork is precise," Cornelia noted as we returned our practice weapons to the arms master. "Almost mechanical in its efficiency."
I wiped sweat from my brow with a towel. "Thank you, Cornelia."
"It's not entirely a compliment," she clarified. "You move like you're following a textbook rather than feeling the flow of combat. Too calculated."
"I process things analytically," I admitted. It was a trait that had served me well across multiple lifetimes.
Cornelia nodded, reaching for a water flask. "I noticed. Your eyes are constantly measuring distances, calculating angles, rather than going by instinct." She took a long drink before continuing. "You remind me of myself when I first started Knightmare training."
My interest piqued immediately. Knightmare Frames, mechanized combat suits, represented the pinnacle of Britannian military technology. "Knightmare pilots need to process spatial relationships quickly," I observed.
"Precisely." Cornelia's expression shifted to something like professional respect. "It's about creating a mental model of the battlefield and understanding vectors of movement. You're already doing that, even with a sword."
A cadet approached with a message, which Cornelia read quickly before dismissing him. As we walked toward the changing rooms, I glanced at the far end of the training grounds where several Glasgow-model Knightmares stood in their maintenance bays.
"They're impressive," I said, unable to hide my genuine interest.
Cornelia followed my gaze. "They are. Though the newest models make these look like children's toys." She paused, watching me carefully. "Have you ever seen a simulator?"
"Only in technical manuals," I replied honestly.
"Hmm." Cornelia seemed to consider something. "You know, your analytical approach might translate well to Knightmare operations. They don't manufacture cockpits for children your size, of course, but..." She trailed off, then appeared to make a decision. "I have some influence with the engineering corps. Getting a simulator adjusted for your proportions wouldn't be difficult."
She made the offer sound casual, but I recognized its significance immediately, as Knightmare training was typically reserved for the most elite military prospects.
"That would be..." I searched for an appropriately enthusiastic but not overeager response. "An invaluable educational opportunity."
Cornelia's lips quirked into what might have been a smile. "Educational. Yes." She nodded decisively. "I'll speak with the engineering corps. It may take a few weeks to adjust the systems to accommodate your size, but I'll arrange for you to visit the facility next month."
Coming from her, this offer qualified as effusive praise. I bowed slightly, ignoring the protest of sore muscles.
"I'm grateful for your continued guidance, Cornelia."
As we walked toward the changing facilities, Cornelia fell unusually quiet, as if considering something. Finally, she spoke.
"It's refreshing to find someone your age with genuine interest in military matters," she remarked. "I've tried for years to share these things with Euphemia, but she's never shown much enthusiasm for Knightmares or tactical exercises. Always preferred her dolls and tea parties." There was no condemnation in her tone, only a wistful note of resignation.
This unexpected personal disclosure presented an opportunity I hadn't anticipated.
"Well, Princess Euphemia speaks very highly of you during those tea parties," I offered carefully. "Though perhaps not about military technology specifically."
Cornelia glanced at me with mild surprise. "You attend Euphie's gatherings?"
"When invited," I confirmed. "Your sister can be persistently hospitable at times."
That drew a genuine, if brief, smile. "She's always had a gift for collecting interesting people."
"She mentions you frequently," I continued, seeing an opening. "Not your Knightmare piloting skills, but your stories. She told me once that her favorite memories are when you drop the 'Princess Cornelia' facade and just speak to her as a sister—even about your military campaigns."
Cornelia's pace slowed slightly. "Really? I've always censored those stories around her. I assumed she found the realities of warfare distressing."
"I believe she finds the distance more distressing than the content," I suggested. "She admires your strength enormously, even if she doesn't share your specific interests."
Cornelia studied me with that tactician's gaze again, as if reassessing a battlefield. After a moment, Cornelia seemed to reach some internal decision.
"Euphemia is hosting another small gathering tomorrow afternoon. You should attend."
The phrasing made it clear this was less invitation than instruction. I nodded, accepting both the obligation and the opportunity.
"I would be honored."
"The engineering corps will contact you about the simulator adjustments," Cornelia said as we reached the changing rooms. "And... thank you, for the advice, Tanya. Euphie doesn't always confide in me directly."
As she strode away, I allowed myself a moment of satisfaction. The exchange had been unexpectedly productive. Cornelia had offered me valuable military training, and in return, I'd provided insight that clearly mattered to her personally—a far more effective currency in building loyalty than mere political favors.
My network was expanding precisely as planned—Cornelia for military connections, Euphemia for social capital, and through them, proximity to the vi Britannia inner circle.
Now I just needed to ensure these foundations solidified before an inevitable political storm broke across the Empire.
Night had fallen by the time I finally escaped the day's last tutor, a particularly pedantic historian with an unhealthy fixation on Emperor Ricardo's taxation policies. While I appreciated the Empire's foundation based in free-market economics, I noticed nowadays the long arm of the government had found its way into nearly every sector worth controlling.
The nobility's tax exemptions, resource monopolies in the Areas, and state-directed industrial priorities all made a mockery of true economic liberty. It was pure feudal mercantilism dressed in the language of meritocracy—efficient enough to fuel Britannia's war machine, but nowhere near the rational economic system I'd advocated for in my salaryman days. Still, I found it preferable to the command economies that had failed so spectacularly in my previous life.
I rubbed my temples as I made my way through the palace corridors, the grand marble hallways eerily quiet save for my own footsteps.
Alone with my thoughts, I allowed myself the luxury of reminiscence. In moments like these, memories of my previous life surfaced. The acrid smell of gunpowder, the weight of a computation orb against my chest, the sound of Viktoriya's nervous laughter before a mission. The 203rd Aerial Mage Battalion. My battalion.
Six years in this new life. Six years without a whisper from Being X. I'd almost begun to hope the self-proclaimed deity had finally tired of tormenting me across reincarnations. Perhaps this time I could simply live without divine interference and indulge in a well-deserved life of luxury at the top of the food chain.
Yeah, right.
I paused at a large window overlooking the imperial gardens, watching moonlight silver the carefully manicured hedges and fountains. The marble beneath my fingers was cool, polished to impossible smoothness by servants whose existence the nobility barely acknowledged.
The Holy Britannian Empire. There was an irony in the name that hadn't escaped me. Despite the "holy" designation, I'd yet to encounter genuine religious devotion among the nobility. Oh, they went through the motions—cathedral ceremonies for state occasions, perfunctory prayers before meals. But their worship wasn't directed toward any god.
"Oh Father, Emperor of our Britannia, may your strength light a flame in the hearts of us all..."
I'd heard Clovis recite those words before state dinners, eyes fixed not on heaven but upon a portrait of the Emperor. Charles zi Britannia, not God, was the focus of Britannian prayers. A religion of power rather than faith.
Being X must be seething at such blasphemy. And it was something that I rather enjoyed the thought of.
Perhaps that explained my relatively peaceful existence these past six years. Being X's power must be greatly diminished in a world where barely anybody acknowledged its existence.
It would also explain why this world's technology seemed so remarkably advanced even compared to my first life. The Knightmare Frames, Sakuradite energy systems, and computerized warfare capabilities far outstripped anything I'd seen before reincarnation. Without the shackles of religious dogma holding back rational inquiry and scientific development, human ingenuity had flourished unimpeded. I definitely approved of Britannia's atheistic approach. It was a society that put its faith in human achievement rather than divine intervention, and one where competence, not piety, determined success.
Finally, a world where advancement wasn't throttled by appeals to invisible beings. For all its brutality, Britannia's rejection of divine authority in favor of human capability was a model I could champion fully.
My wandering had brought me to the palace's eastern wing, where Clovis maintained his private gallery. Light spilled from beneath the double doors—unusual at this hour. Curious, I approached quietly.
The doors were unlocked. Inside, dozens of canvases lined the walls, illuminated by strategically placed lamps. Clovis's artistic talent was undeniable, even if his personality often clashed with mine. His landscapes captured Britannian territories with romanticized precision, while his portraits flattered their subjects without completely sacrificing accuracy. Area 3, Area 6, Area 8…
One painting caught my eye—a new addition, still on its easel. A half-finished portrait of Empress Marianne, her expression serene but her eyes somehow watchful even in two dimensions.
"Still playing at being human, Tanya?" a familiar voice whispered.
I froze, a cold fury instantly replacing my curiosity. That voice—impossible yet unmistakable.
"So, this is how you choose to reappear?" I spat, whirling to face the empty gallery. "Show yourself properly, Being X. I'm tired of your theatrics."
The air before Marianne's portrait shimmered slightly, but no physical form appeared. Instead, the painted eyes on the canvas slowly blinked.
"You still refuse to show proper respect," the voice emanated from the portrait, Marianne's painted lips moving unnaturally. "Even after I've granted you yet another life."
"You said there'd be no second chances," I laughed bitterly. "So you're a liar. Therefore you're not a completely faultless and perfect being, are you? What kind of deity breaks its own word? I didn't ask for your 'generosity,' and I certainly don't owe you gratitude for another twisted game."
"Such hostility," the portrait sighed. "And here I thought six years in the body of a child might have softened your callous heart."
"Cut the pretense," I snapped. "What do you want? Another display of faith? Another war to test my devotion? I've made my position clear—I will never acknowledge you as a deity worthy of worship."
The portrait's expression darkened. "And yet you now reside in an empire that claims holiness while worshiping mortal power. Even you must appreciate the irony."
"Is that why you're here? The Holy Britannian Empire isn't holy enough for your tastes?"
"They invoke my wrath while praying to an emperor," Being X replied, disgust evident in the tone. "They claim God's blessing while plotting fratricide for power. At least you, Tanya, are honest in your rejection."
I crossed my arms. "So what? You've come to punish them? To punish me again? Get on with it then."
"Always so combative," the portrait chided. "I came with a warning, not punishment—though you may not deserve even that much consideration."
"A warning?" I scoffed. "Since when do you offer warnings instead of manipulations?"
The portrait's eyes shifted to look past me. "That history repeats, Tanya. That those who fly too close to the sun often fall." The painted gaze fixed on another canvas across the room. "Some lights are extinguished before their time."
Too furious to be intimidated by cryptic nonsense, I barely glanced at the painting indicated—showing Aries Villa at night, its windows illuminated except for one section that remained in darkness.
"Spare me your riddles," I said. "If you have something to say, say it clearly or leave me in peace."
"Peace?" The portrait laughed, the sound echoing unnaturally in the quiet gallery. "There will be no peace in your empire, little soldier. Especially one that has forgotten true faith." The painted lips curved into a smile. "Those who rise from common origins to imperial heights often find their wings... clipped. The commoner whose nobility was earned rather than inherited stands on unstable ground."
I clenched my fists, too furious to properly parse the cryptic message. "More of your games? Six years of silence and now you return with meaningless platitudes?"
"You still fail to see beyond your own circumstances," Being X replied, disappointment evident in the tone. "Even when the board is laid before you, you recognize only your own piece."
"I recognize manipulation when I hear it," I snapped. "Whatever scheme you're orchestrating now, I want no part in it."
"And yet you are already a part of it, whether you wish to be or not." The portrait's expression shifted subtly. "The pieces are in motion, faithless one. Remember—this empire has forgotten the truth, as have you."
A sound from the corridor—footsteps approaching—broke the tension. When I looked back at the portrait, Marianne's expression had returned to its original serene pose, the half-finished quality obvious once more.
Later, I would replay those cryptic words in my mind and their possible meanings. Commoner rising to imperial heights... nobility earned rather than inherited... But in that moment, all I felt was rage at Being X's intrusion into what I had hoped was finally a life free from divine meddling.
A sound from the corridor—footsteps approaching—broke the tension. When I looked back at the portrait, Marianne's expression had returned to its original serene pose, the half-finished quality obvious once more.
"Your Highness?" Jeremiah Gottwald's voice preceded him into the gallery. "I saw the lights. Is everything—" He stopped when he spotted me instead of Clovis. "Lady Tanya. My apologies for the intrusion."
I composed myself quickly, though rage still simmered beneath my controlled expression. "No intrusion, Lord Jeremiah. I was examining my brother's latest work before retiring." I gestured toward the portrait, studying it carefully for any lingering signs of supernatural manipulation. It remained stubbornly inanimate.
Jeremiah's gaze followed mine to Marianne's portrait, his expression softening with that peculiar devotion he always showed toward the Empress. "His Highness captures Her Majesty's essence remarkably well."
"Indeed." I moved toward the exit, eager to escape both the gallery and this conversation. "If you'll excuse me, it's growing late."
He bowed slightly. "Of course. Shall I escort you to your chambers?"
"That won't be necessary." The last thing I needed was company while processing what had just occurred. "Good night, Lord Jeremiah."
As I made my way back through the corridors, fury gradually gave way to confusion. Those cryptic words kept circling in my mind: "Those who rise from common origins to imperial heights often find their wings... clipped. The commoner whose nobility was earned rather than inherited stands on unstable ground."
Was this some twisted reminder of my own past? In my first life, I'd been nothing but a salaryman, a complete commoner. In my second, I'd begun as an orphan before climbing military ranks to earn my nobility as "von" Degurechaff. Now I'd been reborn into actual royalty—perhaps Being X was threatening to "clip my wings" just as I'd finally secured a comfortable position?
In my chambers, I paced restlessly. No, that didn't quite fit. Being X had chosen Marianne's portrait specifically for this communication. Why her image, if the message concerned only me?
I paused mid-step. Marianne vi Britannia—the common-born soldier who caught an emperor's eye through battlefield brilliance. Unlike most royal consorts, her nobility wasn't inherited but earned through military prowess...
But why warn me about Marianne? Being X had never shown concern for collateral damage before. Millions could die in droves before it showed any hint of care. If anything, the self-proclaimed deity seemed to relish placing me in the midst of historical catastrophes.
Perhaps this wasn't about either of us specifically, but the entire "Holy" Britannian Empire that perverted faith by directing worship toward a mortal emperor rather than a divine being. Or maybe Being X simply enjoyed watching me squirm, trying to decipher riddles with no answer.
But I refused to believe that.
Being X's appearance after six years of silence couldn't be coincidental. Something significant was approaching, something that had drawn the deity's direct intervention.
I stopped before my window, staring out at the Imperial Palace grounds illuminated by moonlight. "Curse you, Being X," I whispered to the empty air.
Only silence answered me, but the moonlight briefly dimmed as clouds passed overhead, casting my room into momentary darkness.
Sleep did not come easily that night.
"I notice your teacup runs empty, dear sister," Euphemia's voice carried the innocent authority only a royal child could muster.
I suppressed a sigh as Nunnally giggled and carefully poured imaginary tea into my empty cup. The things one does for strategic positioning.
"Thank you, Lady Nunnally," I said with practiced politeness. "Your hospitality is exemplary."
"You don't have to be so formal, Tanya," Euphemia said, pink curls bouncing as she tilted her head. "We're family, after all!"
Family. What a peculiar concept in this nest of vipers. The word meant something entirely different here than in my previous lives. Here, familial bonds were simultaneously weapons and weaknesses, to be exploited or guarded against depending on circumstance.
"Old habits," I replied smoothly. "My tutors stress proper etiquette."
Nunnally reached for my hand, her touch gentle. "I like when you visit us. You always have the most interesting stories!"
Ah, my crafted 'adventures' from a previous life, edited for young ears. I'd found these princesses enjoyed hearing about camaraderie in difficult situations: A second lieutenant's hunt for something sweet, or a sergeant who could sing like an angel on quiet nights. Children were surprisingly effective conduits of reputation in this palace.
"You're too kind," I said, extracting my hand casually.
The scent of fresh lilies permeated Euphemia's sunlit sitting room, a disarming backdrop for what amounted to political reconnaissance disguised as childish play. Even at this age, connections were being formed that would define alliances for decades.
"Lelouch tells me you've been training diligently with my sister," Euphemia remarked.
"Yes, sister Cornelia has been generous with her instruction," I replied carefully. "Though I fear I'm a disappointment in physical combat. I would prefer training in ranged combat, but for now, Cornelia insists on doing things properly."
Euphemia laughed, the sound tinkling like chimes. "Cornelia never praises anyone, but she mentioned you had 'potential' yesterday. That's practically a declaration of love from her!"
Interesting. Cornelia had been discussing me with her sister—exactly as I'd hoped. Information flowed through these innocent channels, building my reputation without obvious effort on my part.
"Lady Cornelia is offering to adjust a Knightmare simulator for my use," I added casually, watching their reactions.
The effect was immediate. Nunnally's fingers paused over her teacup, and Euphemia's eyes widened appreciably.
"Really?" Euphemia leaned forward, curiosity overtaking her usual decorum. "She's never offered that to anyone outside the military academy before. Not even to me!"
"You wouldn't be interested, Euphie," Nunnally pointed out with sisterly frankness as she reached for another cookie.
"Well, no," Euphemia admitted. "But still, it's quite extraordinary."
"Speaking of extraordinary demands on one's schedule," I said, stirring my tea thoughtfully, "the royal calendar seems particularly full these days. Your mother has been quite busy, hasn't she, Nunnally?" I turned to the vi Britannia princess, keeping my tone casually conversational.
Nunnally nodded enthusiastically. "Mother's been receiving all sorts of important visitors lately. I heard her discussing some messages with Lord Gottwald last night—something about concerns from an unknown source."
My teacup froze halfway to my lips. "Concerns?"
"It happens all the time, even in the li Britannia estate. I'm told it's nothing to worry about," Euphemia interjected quickly. "Every royal estate deals with such things. The security measures at Aries Villa are exceptional, especially now that sister Cornelia is in charge!"
That seemed to reassure herself and Nunally, but it only heightened my concern. Being X didn't typically bother with sending his victims mundane security threats in advance. I'd need to investigate further without appearing overly interested.
"Of course," I agreed smoothly. "Cornelia is exceptionally thorough in her security protocols."
A knock at the door interrupted our conversation. A servant entered with a formal bow.
"Prince Schneizel requests a moment of Princess Tanya's time, if it pleases Your Highnesses."
I carefully masked my surprise. The Second Prince rarely sought direct meetings, preferring to work through intermediaries. His timing was either extraordinarily coincidental or deliberately calculated.
"I shouldn't keep His Highness waiting," I said, rising and performing the expected curtsy to my hostesses. "Thank you for the delightful tea, Princess Euphemia, Princess Nunnally."
"You'll be back straight away, won't you?" Nunnally asked, her voice eager and unguarded—so different from Lelouch's carefully measured tones.
"I'll be back as soon as I can," I assured her, already wondering what Schneizel's unexpected appearance might signify.
The servant led me to a nearby sitting room where Prince Schneizel el Britannia awaited, his elegant posture and calculating blue eyes reminiscent of a chess grandmaster evaluating the board before making a move. Despite only being the same age as Cornelia, he already commanded the respect of court officials thrice his age.
"Princess Tanya," he greeted me with practiced warmth. "Thank you for indulging my impromptu request."
I performed the proper curtsy. "Your Highness honors me with his attention."
"Please," he gestured to a chair opposite his, "let's dispense with excessive formality. We're family, after all."
There was that word again—family—wielded so effortlessly as both shield and sword.
"I thought I'd find you here. I understand you've been spending considerable time with the li Britannias recently," he observed once we were seated. His tone was casual, but nothing about Schneizel el Britannia was ever truly casual.
"Princess Cornelia has kindly offered combat instruction," I confirmed, watching him carefully. "And Princess Euphemia's social invitations are difficult to decline."
A slight smile played across his features. "Indeed. Our pink-haired sister has a remarkable talent for bringing people together." He paused, studying me with unsettling intensity. "Though I confess some disappointment at not seeing you and Clovis at last month's scientific exposition. The advancements in energy filtration technology would have aligned well with your academic interests."
The implied criticism was clear—I'd chosen the vi Britannia faction's offerings over his own. Now he wanted to assess whether that allegiance was fixed or negotiable.
"It was a regrettable scheduling conflict," I replied. "Clovis had committed us to Empress Marianne's garden reception that afternoon."
"Ah yes, the Empress's famous hospitality." Schneizel's expression revealed nothing. "She has quite taken you under her wing, hasn't she? Quite remarkable, given her usual focus on her own children."
I chose my next words carefully. "Her Majesty is generous with her attention. The military training opportunities through Princess Cornelia have been particularly valuable."
"Military training." Schneizel nodded thoughtfully. "A curious priority for one so young. Though perhaps not, I remember the day when Cornelia began her training. She was younger than you are." His eyes never left mine. "Princess Cornelia's approach, while admirable, represents only one avenue to shape imperial policy."
And there it was—the counteroffer. Subtle, elegant, and precisely calibrated to appeal to my demonstrated interests.
"I would welcome Your Highness's insights on alternative approaches."
Schneizel smiled, seemingly pleased with my response. "I've recently been appointed to oversee a diplomatic initiative regarding neutral territories—including Japan. The complexities of sakuradite negotiations require fresh perspectives unconstrained by traditional diplomatic frameworks."
Japan. Sakuradite. The precise flash points I'd been monitoring. Schneizel was offering access to real diplomatic influence, not just military training.
"Such perspectives are indeed valuable in delicate geopolitical matters," I agreed.
"I'll be hosting a strategic planning session in three week's time, Thursday morning," he continued. "Several policy advisors and key diplomatic personnel will attend. Should you wish to have any input of yours put forth," he paused, selecting his words precisely. "I will ensure any carefully-worded suggestion makes it into the right hands."
Thursday morning. The exact time Cornelia had scheduled my first Knightmare simulator session. The conflict could not be coincidental.
"I notice you haven't confirmed or declined yet," Schneizel observed after a calculated silence. "Perhaps you have a prior engagement?"
"Princess Cornelia has arranged for me to begin Knightmare simulator training that morning," I admitted, seeing no benefit in concealing information he clearly already possessed.
"Ah." His expression remained pleasant, but satisfaction flickered in his eyes. "A difficult choice, then. Practical military training or direct involvement in policy that may shape the Empire's future relationship with Japan." He rose gracefully. "I wouldn't presume to influence your decision, of course. Both opportunities have merit."
Both had merit, yes—but the scheme couldn't be more transparent, forcing me to declare allegiance through my choice. Cornelia would view any postponement of the simulator training as a rejection of her mentorship, while Schneizel would interpret absence from his diplomatic session as confirmation I had fully committed to the vi Britannia sphere.
"I appreciate Your Highness's understanding of my dilemma," I said carefully.
"One more thing, Princess Tanya." Schneizel paused at the door. "In uncertain times, diversification of alliances offers the surest path to security. The vi Britannia connection has its advantages, certainly, but singular dependence on any faction is fraught with dangers."
With a courteous nod, he departed, leaving me with the political equivalent of a chess fork—no move available that wouldn't sacrifice something valuable.
I remained seated, mentally recalculating my position. The timing, immediately following Being X's warning about Marianne, couldn't be dismissed as mere coincidence.
Rising, I moved to the window overlooking the imperial gardens. Below, Lelouch and Clovis were engaged in what appeared to be an amicable conversation near a fountain.
Moving too openly risked alerting whatever forces might truly threaten the Empress—assuming the warning had any validity at all.
Still, Nunnally's casual mention of "concerns" aligned too closely with the false deity's appearance to dismiss entirely. Security at Aries Villa would need examination, but discreetly, without alerting Cornelia to my suspicions.
As for the immediate choice before me—Cornelia's simulator or Schneizel's diplomatic session—neither option offered a clear advantage. Military expertise would prove valuable in any coming conflict, but diplomatic insight might prevent such conflict entirely.
I touched the cool glass of the window, watching my reflection superimpose itself over the garden scene below.
"Playing at being human," Being X had said.
Three lifetimes of experience compressed into a child's frame, navigating palace intrigues while powers beyond mortal comprehension moved pieces on a board I could only partially perceive.
What would I choose? The vi Britannian military path or Schneizel's diplomatic game? Perhaps neither was the correct answer. Perhaps Being X's intervention signaled a third option I had yet to recognize.
I turned from the window, decision crystallizing with cold clarity. Whatever forces threatened Marianne—supernatural, political, or both—represented the immediate danger. If Being X had broken six years of silence to taunt me with the assassination of my first legitimate backer, the threat transcended factional politics.
For now, survival demanded neither allegiance nor neutrality, but meticulousness, and perhaps, just perhaps, faith in something beyond calculated self-interest.
Faith.
I almost smiled at the irony. Being X would be insufferably pleased.