Chapter 61: Golden Ouroboros (XI)
Emperor of Calais and the Marriage Contract
Raphael was also fortunate enough to take a look at the expensive betrothal gift. Even he had to marvel at the generosity of Emperor Calais. It seemed that the young emperor had taken out everything he could within his authority, and his sincerity in marrying Sangxia was undeniable.
So his situation must be very bad now.
This was Raphael's only thought after reading the parchment.
Duke François had put a lot of pressure on his little nephew. Raphael did not pay too much attention to Calais, and he was not very clear about the current situation in the Calais court, but from what the little emperor took out, it can be seen that he now urgently needs an ally to help him get rid of the oppression from his older and more powerful uncle.
Since ancient times, the struggle for the throne has been a never-ending struggle. Francis III of Calais died of illness in 1075. At that time, the young emperor Francis IV was just seventeen years old. He could be regarded as the old emperor's late son. The old emperor was almost fifty years old when he was born. Naturally, he had two older brothers, but these two young and strong crown princes died one after another for different reasons. The crown of Calais naturally fell to Francis IV, who had never received any monarch education before.
The old emperor was worried about his young son ruling over the huge empire, so he appointed his most trusted brother as his son's chief regent. The Duke then successfully grasped the supreme power of the empire.
He had accompanied his brother through life and death, and gave everything for his brother's country and throne. Otherwise, the cunning Francis III would never have trusted him so easily.
But ambition and power can change a person.
Obviously, the current Duke is no longer satisfied with being a pedestal that quietly supports his nephew. He wants more - no, it should be said that he could not suppress his greedy desire even earlier.
Francis IV is already 23 years old, which means he has long reached the legal age to rule alone. However, the Duke has no intention of returning power and acts as regent, pretending to be deaf and dumb. Isn't the meaning behind this obvious?
A duke who had been to the battlefield, had troops in his hands, was in power according to the will of the previous king, was in his prime and had great prestige, and the young and inexperienced emperor. Calais was invisibly divided into two factions, which were fighting each other to the death in secret.
However, such a struggle will not last forever. As the little emperor grows older, as long as the Duke fails to successfully launch a coup, the probability of his failure will become greater and greater.
For Raphael, François's failure was doomed by the fact that he did not chop off the young crown prince's head immediately after the old emperor's death.
He waited and waited, hesitated and waited, and finally the little emperor found an ally, Roman.
So, to accomplish big things you have to be quick and ruthless.
Sangxia accepted the proposal, and the next step was to set off for Calais for the engagement ceremony. The two parties quickly agreed on the venue for the engagement ceremony. For safety reasons, the engagement ceremony was chosen to be held at the Castle of Hosanco on the border, which is located on the border between Calais and Roman, equidistant from the two countries. Obviously, the person who chose this location racked his brains to find such a place on the map where the water was kept stable.
There was frequent correspondence between Bielico and Dudley. After the location was decided, Dudley quickly sent a large number of people to Hosanco and sent invitations to the nobles to attend the ceremony. The entire capital of Calais was filled with a festive atmosphere - of course, except for where Duke François lived.
But everyone knows that this silent battle for the throne has basically come to an end. The princess of Beligo will bring the little emperor an undoubted victory, and the loser of the gamble will completely withdraw from this historical game. The only reason why the nobles are not in a hurry to add insult to injury is that it will take some time for the engaged couple to really get married, and fate has never been reluctant to play with people.
The dawn of the dust settling is already visible, but the possibility of accidents cannot be ignored.
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After all, so many wise and capable monarchs in history died on the eve of victory. Who can guarantee that Francis IV will not be the unlucky one?
The palace architecture of Tudor is world-renowned. Florence likes to use alabaster and white marble to create a holy atmosphere, while the royal palace of Belgrade prefers a romantic and exquisite classical style. The monarchs of Tudor have consistently pursued gorgeousness. Calais is rich in resources, and the royal family even owns gold and silver mines, so their palaces are magnificent to an astonishing degree. All members of the royal family seem to have a special liking for the luxurious enjoyment of the ancient Roman aristocracy, even if it makes them look very foolish.
Lights were burning day and night in the palace. Gas lamps were burning in all the rooms and courtyards - even in the remote corners that the little emperor would never set foot in his life. They did not care about the waste and took pride in it.
There is a huge garden maze in the atrium of the palace, covering an area of nearly one hundred acres. The roads inside are so narrow that only two people can walk side by side. The hedges are so dense and tall that people in them cannot see what is next to them, let alone climb up. The thorns entangled on them will warn you of the consequences of despising them. There are also many vines in the hedges, which will bloom beautiful flowers and hide the dangerous thorns under their delicate and fresh petals. There are elegant fountains and sculptures in the maze. During the day, it is a wonderful work of art, combining fun and excitement.
But if someone walked into it at night...
That would be a complete tragedy.
"Lost little lamb, come to me," a soft and magnetic male voice hummed a tuneless song, like the song of the siren in the legend, tempting the lost sailors, "Come to me, sweet wine, mellow milk, all enjoyments, everything you need."
In his hand he held a lamp, the flame of which rose steadily from its glass shade, and threw huge, twisted shadows on the dark hedges.
Such light is like a life-saving straw in the eyes of those who have been lost for a long time, but no matter how sweetly and affectionately he calls, those who are shivering in the cold and hunger will not appear in front of him.
"It's too bad that you let down a kind person," the young man holding the lantern complained in a flat tone, "You know, there are really not many good people like me."
His voice seemed to startle a little bird hiding in the corner, and it made a short rustling sound, which then stopped abruptly.
The man hiding there was trembling all over. He almost buried himself between his legs, holding his head with both hands, his body shaking uncontrollably. He tried to cover his ears with all his strength, but the haunting voice still kept drilling into his brain.
Go, go... go catch someone else, go find someone else!
He begged desperately, hoping that some other idiot would make some noise to lure the madman away.
The footsteps slowly approached him, and the orange light illuminated the surroundings. He tried to squeeze himself into the hedge behind him, oblivious to the thorns that pierced his clothes and flesh. The vines in front of him hung down branches of varying lengths, just enough to cover his figure, allowing him to hide in this naturally formed small hollow. The pair of sheepskin boots stayed in front of him for a moment, and then went away with the light.
The lights flickered on the wall, and the fading darkness enveloped him again. As the footsteps gradually faded, he breathed a sigh of relief - he had never felt that darkness and silence were so joyful.
After he had vomited out all at once, he belatedly realized the sharp pain in his back. He cursed softly twice, his body gripped by fear and unable to move. He simply collapsed there and rested for a while, waiting until all the sounds around him disappeared and only the regular sound of the wind was left. Only then did he regain his spirit and climbed out of the vines with great effort. After climbing two steps, his head hit something.
"A surprise." The mellow and soft accent was accompanied by a smile, like a polite gentleman giving a gift to his beloved girl.
But all the blood in the man's body ran cold at that moment.
He raised his head tremblingly. There was no light, and the sparse moonlight above his head fell and shone on a snow-white face.
The face was smiling so that the eyes were narrowed into two semicircles, the lips were full, the nose was high, and the long curly hair was gathered behind his back. He was bending over with his face close to the hanging vine. One could imagine how the man had patiently listened to his breathing while the man was resting comfortably just now. This imagination filled the man's every bone with fear. He sat down on the ground, his two rows of teeth chattering, and he could only gasp in fear.
The bent-over young man straightened up and said in his clear and articulate voice with a hint of an accent, "A gentleman. My God, I thought only beautiful ladies liked to hide here, but this surprise is not bad."
He raised his right hand, which had been hanging in the shadows.
An exquisitely shaped short axe flashed coldly in his hand, with bloodstains all over it.
Suddenly, a shrill scream was heard in the maze. The very regular beating sounds and faint humming became the accompaniment of the continuous screams. Until the screams stopped, the regular beating sounds did not even have a moment of rhythm disorder.
"The last one, mission accomplished."
The young man straightened up, raised his hand to wipe off a drop of blood that splashed on the back of his hand, and glanced at the vine.
"It was a perfect trap. They didn't even want to think about it."
He hummed an unknown nursery rhyme softly, walked lazily to the corner, picked up the lamp, lit it again, and left the tragic and bloody crime scene with a leisurely pace.
At the exit of the maze, a group of servants also holding lanterns were waiting silently. They stood there motionless, like breathing sculptures, until the orange light in the maze floated out slowly, shrouding the young man, whose half body was covered in blood, in a halo of light.
The leader shook out the cloak in his hand, took a few steps forward and draped it over the other's shoulders, bowing his head deeply: "Your Majesty."
The young emperor raised his head, with a gentle smile on his snow-white face. There was still blood on his face that had not completely dried, which made his smile particularly creepy. "What's wrong? Did you find uncle's nails again? Today's game ends here. Let them stay in the dungeon for now."
"No, there are no people from your Excellency the Duke in the palace right now. The news came from Hosanko that Princess Belic has already set off, and she also sent a message saying that His Holiness the Pope will also go to Hosanko with her to be a witness to your engagement ceremony."
"Ah, so it's good news," the young emperor narrowed his eyes, like a well-fed big cat, purring contentedly from his throat. His eyes were hazel, and under the illumination of the swinging lantern, they occasionally had a golden hue, like the pupils of a wild animal. "My fiancée is really considerate, which saves us the effort of communicating with Florence. A gentle and intelligent lady will also be the best queen in Calais, right?"
The other party did not answer, but lowered his head even deeper to express his silent respect.
"Don't be nervous. After all, I'm not a devil. My good uncle will definitely make some big moves soon. I hope he can be more efficient. I don't want my queen to see anything she shouldn't see. That will seriously affect our relationship—" he said seriously, "and I don't have much patience to comfort girls."
He threw the hatchet in his hand casually to the ground, took the snow-white handkerchief handed to him by the attendant, wiped the blood off his face occasionally, and walked towards the brightly lit palace. The entire luxurious and magnificent palace was silent at this moment, until its owner stepped onto the steps, and then other sounds finally appeared as if it came alive.
Raphael originally didn't want to go to Hosanko, but... well, Lucreza was obviously very curious about this matter. As a reward for the little girl's obedience and studious nature during this period, Raphael changed his original plan and followed Sangxia's convoy on the road to Hosanko.
A week after they set out for Khosanko, Amenra led his army from Periko, intending to reach Assyria before the end of the spring and put an end to the rebellion around Gonda.
Before leaving, Raphael and Amenra met in the garden. The queen still exuded her wild and vigorous beauty, and the golden eagle pendant on her chest sparkled in the sun.
"...I'm very happy to see you in person. Even though Sangxia told me how good you are, as a mother, I will never feel at ease until I actually meet you." Yamenla said with a smile.
"Also, although it is hard to believe, it is amazing that that bastard Delacroix could give birth to a good child like you. Your God is too kind to him." The queen said in a teasing tone.
Raphael couldn't help but ask, "It sounds like he used to be a terrible person."
Yamenla made a cryptic expression: "It's more than just bad, I would like to call him a scum with evil morals, a morally corrupt teacher, a bastard despised by the devil--".
As she spoke, she couldn't help but laugh along with Raphael.
"But he actually has a child like you..." The queen sighed softly, her eyes fell on Raphael's face, as if she saw a distant old friend through him.
Those were the years of her youth, her girlhood, the years she had long lost and forgotten, sealed away in a distant homeland.
"You must have had a hard time these years, child." Yamanara reached out and gently touched Raphael's hair. Her action did not contain any sympathy, just like a mother touching her child. "You have done very well. If I were your mother, I would definitely be proud of you."
Her voice was low and gentle, and the fingers that touched Raphael's forehead were rough, but so warm that it made people want to cry.
Such a touch only lasts for a brief moment.
"Don't blame fate," Yamenla put down her hand, staring at Raphael with her blue eyes, "It has tried its best to give you everything it can."
Raphael watched the queen's figure disappear in the corner of the garden, and suddenly felt a sense of loss in his heart.
The author has something to say:
How should I put it? I don't think it's my illusion. My brain has been working a lot slower since I became erectile. When I started writing this article, I was like a little fountain of inspiration. All the characters were performing in my mind at regular intervals, and I could write a lot. But my mind has been empty these past few days. Not to mention performing, I even have a hard time restoring the image of each person. The feeling of moving naturally and smoothly is gone. I'm pushing the plot stiffly every day, as if my brain has been eaten. For a writer who once experienced silky smooth output, what kind of suffering is this! ! ! ! !
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