The journey to the Cocagne embassy was tenser than a battle to the death.
Simon and Euphemia faced each other in the royal coach, with the empress dressed in splendid finery, and him clad in his Overlord armor; an imperious couple doing their best to stay as far away from each other. They hadn’t shared a small space like this one since their bedroom argument before Louis’ escape, and neither of them wanted to be here. They would only attend Remedia’s ball to keep up appearances and set the political agenda, nothing more.
“Why does Remedia want to meet you?” Euphemia asked suspiciously.
“I assume she wants my help to lift a powerful infertility curse affecting her husband,” Simon replied. “Father cast it on Filip to humiliate him, though she doesn’t know that tidbit.”
It said a lot about Balzam Magnos that his wife didn’t even question his assertion, or how Simon learned about it. “I see… that explains why they have failed to conceive a daughter…” She scowled in disgust. “He hoped to impregnate that whore himself, didn’t he?”
“I warned you not to call Remedia that,” Simon warned her coldly. “She kept her husband’s secret and remained faithful for years, trying to find a cure.”
“You say that as if it were a heroic feat rather than the bare minimum,” Euphemia replied angrily. “True, maybe it is a struggle for a lustful bastard such as yourself.”
“Are we doing this again?!” Simon snapped. “I didn’t mean to offend you, and I am sorry for it, but you will find me less empathetic if you keep pushing me.”
“How very kind of you,” Euphemia replied with a sneer. “Then perhaps you should have thought twice about gifting Anna Paimon a necklace.”
“It’s a teleportation necklace, so she can call me if she’s in danger!” Simon protested. “Can’t a man give a gift to an old friend without any ulterior motive?”
“Not when you’re the Overlord!” Euphemia replied angrily. “All of your actions will be watched and interpreted by those who curry your favor! Now Maublanc will think you fancy his daughter, or some will whisper that she will teleport you over for a tryst!”
“Those are mere calumnies beneath our concern,” Simon countered, though he had used the same system to sleep with Remedia in Cocagne. “What else should I do? Drive everyone away and never show too much favor to anyone except you?!”
“Yes, because that's what a respectful husband does!” Euphemia grit her teeth. “Maublanc was so enamored with his first wife that he refused to remarry since. You don’t see him staring at the first woman or shifter leaving a bit of skin exposed!”
Perhaps I should have remained faithful to Eole’s ghost rather than marry you, then. Was this how people acted in a dysfunctional relationship? Feeling constantly on edge yet unable to escape? The contrast felt all the more jarring to Simon after spending a year in a stable, loving household. She’s not acting rationally.
Euphemia was projecting her bitterness from her previous marriage into this one. She was right in that all of an Overlord’s moves and actions were always scrutinized, so anything that could be used against her would be, but she put a lot more importance on it than Simon did. Being confronted with the fact that the power she sacrificed so much for might not be worth the disrespect she endured to obtain it didn’t sit well with her.
Simon didn’t need a third eye to see this marriage would end up like Balzam’s own if nothing changed. It would just be ever-rising tensions and aggression festering into schemes and betrayal. It was no foundation for a political alliance, let alone a stable marriage.
He had to act now before this got out of hand.
“Alright,” Simon said.
Euphemia squinted at him. “Alright?”
“Alright, I will treat you like you’re the only woman in the world.” However hard it would be. “I will be a model and loving husband, faithful, supportive, even affectionate. And then…”
“And then?”
“Then you can tell me if that makes you any happier.”
Euphemia studied him with heavy skepticism, before providing a small nod and getting back to the original subject. “Can you remove it? Her husband’s curse?”
“I personally cannot, but the Mana Sword might,” Simon replied. “It can dispel some powerful curses when wielded by the right person.”
Euphemia considered things for a moment before saying, “Keep it to yourself.”
Simon frowned. “Why?”
“While it pains me to admit it, the current situation suits us better. Filip siring a princess would greatly strengthen Cocagne and devalue Norbelle’s marriage.” Euphemia nodded to herself. “Remedia won’t be foolish enough to tell you what affects her husband, since it will put her at a disadvantage, so you will need to be equally evasive. The mere possibility that you could lift the curse could force her into favorable concessions.”
Simon briefly wondered if learning Remedia was in an unhappy marriage herself would have made Euphemia more empathetic to her situation, but the empress never forgot her political interests. While it annoyed Simon to his core, he had to admit she was right. Dangling the possibility of a cure could help pressure Remedia into going along with their wishes.
“Make me happy, my Overlord.”
I’m not betraying her memory, Simon told himself to ease his guilt. She’s not the Remedia I loved. Besides, Filip can’t make her happy.
The excuses sounded hollow even in his head, but he had grown better at accepting them.
“That woman you mentioned at the council, Destra…” Euphemia squinted at him. “She was your mother, wasn’t she?”
“Yes,” Simon confirmed. “My father murdered her, fed her soul to Gourmand, and hid her skull in Frightwall.”
Simon would have murdered Euphemia on the spot, consequences be damned, had she shown happiness at the news of what happened to her romantic rival, but even she couldn’t rejoice at such a heinous crime.
“My… condolences.” Euphemia looked at him with what could pass for reluctant compassion. “You should reveal what happened to her.”
“To what end?” Simon snorted. “To gain the people’s sympathy?”
“No, for justice’s sake.” Euphemia glanced through the coach’s window. “My husband’s crimes shouldn’t be covered up if we are to move on from his legacy.”
Simon would have to spend this entire reign digging up skeletons if he followed her advice when he had to prepare for the Zodiac Parade. As much as he agreed with her that his father’s crimes shouldn’t be covered up, he didn’t feel comfortable putting his mother’s fate into the spotlight; especially with her soul gone. He would rather bury her privately.
“What happened to Agares?” Simon asked, changing the subject.
Euphemia scowled. “Weren’t you listening to anything I said? It burned.”
“I misspoke,” Simon clarified his thoughts. “I asked what you made of it afterwards. Did you rebuild it?”
Euphemia looked away. “I left it as it is. Ruins and graves both.”
“We could rebuild it once we fully bring Telluria under our control,” Simon suggested. “We have the means to do so.”
“Why rebuild it when everyone who cared about it either died or fled?”
“Because you care,” Simon pointed out. “Why not rebuild your lost home once we have Telluria fully under our control? You could make peace with your past at last.”
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Euphemia didn’t answer him, but he could tell from her expression that he had given her something to think about. Simon wasn’t the only one with unresolved trauma he didn’t know how to deal with.
Either way, the coach arrived at the Cocagne embassy. It stood out from the black and red buildings of the capital with its multiple colors, tiled courtyard, and an exotic garden full of cherry trees imported from Fablan to please Remedia’s tastes. Dancing lights and the sound of drums indicated the ball had begun early, which suited Simon and his wife just well. An Overlord and his empress always ought to be fashionably late.
Simon offered Euphemia his arm as they stepped out of their vehicle. Their armored guards pushed away the servants at the door and prevented anyone from approaching them as they walked into the embassy’s main hall. The place seemed packed from wall to wall with fashionable clothes, the smell of incense and bardic songs filling the air. Private pillowed nooks allowed scholars and intellectuals to discuss away from the crowd, while dancers and entertainers gathered curious audiences.
A swarm of courtiers immediately fell upon them, but Simon’s guards repelled them and granted the imperial couple space. Simon quickly looked around and spotted familiar faces: the viceroys Koryu, Melusine, and Gavial discussing in their own private corner; Norbelle, Dassein, Antonine, Thalas, and their guards; and of course, Remedia herself. She walked up to them in a feathered peacock-styled dress that rivaled Euphemia’s own in splendor.
“Greetings, Your Majesty, Your Grace,” she said, the lower half of her face hidden beneath a fan. “Your presence today honors me and the friendship between our nations.”
“Please, we will be beyond that once our children finally wed,” Euphemia replied. The empress was now the embodiment of courtesy, all of her scorn and grudges hidden from sight. “We will become one great house stretching from Cocagne to Telluria.”
“A pleasant prospect,” Remedia said, though her eyes remained cool and sharp. “Would you kindly lend me a moment of your time?”
“Make me happy, my Overlord.” Simon closed his eyes behind his helmet, anchored himself in the present, and forced himself to nod and go along with her.
The three of them sat in a private nook, with servants pouring them Cocagne’s finest wine. Simon suppressed a wave of nostalgia as he recalled sampling this vintage in Lafontaine with Remedia. Five minutes in, and he could tell coming here was a mistake.
“I have heard about the crown-prince’s escape,” Remedia said, cutting straight to the chase. “Your ambassador informed me he might come to Cocagne?”
“The organization that helped him escape is looking for certain miasma crystals of immense power, to merge with the demons within,” Simon replied. “My treacherous brother is unfortunately compatible with the one keeping your castle afloat.”
Remedia remained eerily silent for a moment, and it was only with her many years of political acumen that she hid her shock at the news. It must have come as a surprise that the Overlord knew such an important state secret, and made her wonder just how far their intelligence network had infiltrated Cocagne’s highest echelons.
“I see…” Remedia sipped her wine nonchalantly, trying to hide her unease. “I assure you that the crystal is safely sealed. Not even the Rogue could break in without an army.”
A pity they did it once, Simon thought grimly. He needed no reminder of that particular reign.
“Let us hope those are not idle words, since the Rogue is a member of this Cobweb organization,” Euphemia stated bluntly. “My daughter will bring more forces with her to ensure Louis’ capture and execution, should he dare to show himself at your doorstep. He will be no match for her or your Phoenix without his Noble Crestone.”
“She is indeed a most talented child. I will be sure to send you Prince Louis’ head, should we find it.” Remedia locked eyes with Simon. “I doubt he will dare to challenge you, considering how you destroyed a valley with a single curse.”
How very smooth, directing the conversation to that matter, Simon thought. He was thankful his helmet hid his smile of fondness from them both. “The Overlord Class allows one to unlock abilities some consider… unbelievable.”
“Considering what your predecessors did, that is quite the dangerous boast,” Remedia commented. “Still, there must be a cost to such magic, or else you would lead the campaign to Telluria yourself.”
“My empress needs no assistance to bring that region to heel,” Simon replied while Euphemia remained quiet. “However, you are right about the cost. As far as I can tell, such high-tier curses can only be dispelled by fulfilling their exit clause. Even I cannot lift my own unless I complete the set conditions, so I would rather avoid relying on them.”
“I see. They are no different from Her Grace’s Laws then.” This didn’t please Remedia in the slightest. “Do you think there is no other way to undo them?”
“We are currently researching method to lift such spells,” Euphemia said evasively. “But be assured we will not use such dangerous sorcery against allied nations.”
“Of course not,” Remedia replied, smiling thinly at the veiled threat. “Let us raise a toast to peace between our nations, then.”
The rest of the discussion moved on to economic integration and other diplomatic advances. Simon and Euphemia reassured her that they had no intention of deviating from Endymion’s original agreement with Cocagne, instead deciding to continue slowly integrating the latter into the former’s continental hegemony until it could peacefully become an autonomous tributary like Bujan or Fablan. Euphemia raised the possibility of connecting the two regions through trains crossing the Deadlands, though Remedia wisely decided to ‘think thoroughly’ about such a project.
A change in the music interrupted their discussions and heralded the start of the actual dancing, causing Remedia to raise her fan.
“Would Your Majesty open the ball with me?” she asked, giving him the same mysterious gaze she offered him when they first met in Cocagne.
“Thank you kindly, but I intended to take the floor with my wife,” Simon replied flatly, causing Euphemia to blink briefly. “I’m sure my brother Dassein would gladly serve as your partner. He’s a better dancer than he looks.”
“So I’ve heard,” Remedia replied. Simon didn’t hear any hint of disappointment in her voice, but he could tell she had expected him to take her up on her offer.
Simon instead offered his arm to Euphemia, who took it, and then moved onto the dancefloor with the other couples. The empress briefly froze when he solidly held her by the waist and pulled her closer to him, but went along anyway.
“She was testing us,” Euphemia complained, her jaw clenching when she saw Dassein dance with Remedia. “The gall of that woman…”
“Good thing I am a faithful and loving husband,” Simon replied, which caused Euphemia to roll her three eyes. “I was serious earlier.”
“Will you be when I’m on a campaign half a world away?”
“Yes,” Simon confirmed as they waltzed. “Besides, if you want my company, you can summon me anytime. It is your wifely right.”
Euphemia scoffed as the first dance came to an end, at which point Norbelle walked up to them. “The two of you were splendid,” she said with grace, hiding her true personality, “Mother, may I borrow my new stepfather for the next one? Dassein is dying to dance with you.”
Euphemia frowned slightly, then exchanged a glance with her husband. He nodded slowly at her, and she sent him a look full of sympathy as he committed the ultimate sacrifice and switched dance partners. Norbelle fearlessly grabbed Simon’s hand as if she owned it, then snuggled against his chest.
“I’m wounded, nay, vexed,” Norbelle told Simon. “I gave you all the chances to save me from a terrible fate, and you blew them all away.”
“Verdis will grow on you,” Simon replied.
“What, like a weed?” Norbelle shook her head. “Did you and mother at least have hate-sex yet?”
“No.” Though it would have been better than what ended up happening.
“Disappointing, but I’ll be patient.” Norbelle dared to put her arms around his neck. “Dear Lauriane told me you can empower us like the Adventurer without putting silly cattle brands on our buttcheeks?”
“I can, at the cost of being able to see your stats and your location at all times.” Simon frowned behind his helmet. “Do you want this gift?”
“A good girl has nothing to hide from her parents,” Norbelle replied, trying to make things weird as usual. “Besides the fact I dearly want a few more levels so I can corrupt my eidolons, and that we have archdemons to deal with in a year’s time from what I gathered, Mother and Thal-Thal won’t accept it from you unless she’s sure you won’t exploit it. Surely you didn’t intend to bother with weaklings.”
“I did not,” Simon conceded, though her forwardness took him aback. Even Lauriane hadn’t asked to join his party yet. “Do you want my and Euphemia’s marriage to work?”
“Of course I want you to get along with my mother. I foresee she’ll become very unhappy unless I give you both a little push.” Norbelle leaned over to whisper in his ear, though her tone now cut sharper than any sword. “And if you ever beat her, I will know, and I will kill you.”
Simon suppressed a scowl of disgust at himself. His first night with Euphemia had ended in mutual abuse, and it would never happen again. “I’m not our father.”
“Just setting boundaries, brother,” Norbelle replied after pulling back. Simon dared not imagine what some would think of them after that gesture. “Now, are you granting me your experience boost or not? You have a minute before I change my mind.”
Since she asked so nicely, Simon activated the Party System. He only needed close physical proximity to send an invitation, though much like most Devil Brands, the target had to accept joining out of their own free will… which she unfortunately did.
“A party invitation at a party?” Norbelle asked, looking at an invisible screen only she could see. “At least this one is more exclusive.”
Norbelle Magnos has agreed to join your party.
A screen appeared, providing Simon with a wealth of information on his half-sister, from her true level to her elemental affinities.
Norbelle Magnos
Level 71 Summoner
Darkblood Visionary
Humanoid/Demon
Elemental Affinities:
Very Strong: Soul, Light, Darkness, Mythic, Support.
Strong: Mind, Ailments, Fire, Water, Earth, Wind, Frost, Lightning.
Neutral: Corrosion, Metal, Wood, Life.
Weak: Physical.
Very weak: None.
As Simon suspected, binding the Phoenix had allowed her to break past level seventy, and no doubt she would progress further should she manage to summon Dark Eidolons of her own.
“Impressed yet?” Norbelle teased him.
“A bit,” Simon admitted. He had far more information to read, but the dance was coming to an end and he needed a moment. “I’m surprised. I didn’t expect you to share something so sensitive with me.”
“Silly Simon, do you think I’m afraid of you knowing what I can do?” Norbelle licked her lips. “I thrive on challenges.”
Simon was about to tease her about this when he sensed a telepathic attempt at contact. Shabram.
“Yes?” he asked mentally. Shabram wouldn’t contact him on her own unless it was something truly important.
“Your Majesty, I have received news from Telluria.” He could already sense the unease in her voice. “Beleth is under siege.”
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