The hall buzzed with excitement.
Riersha, visiting a performance hall for the first time in her life, couldn’t contain her wonder and let out a loud “Wow!”
“Riersha, you have to be quiet in a theater.”
“Yes, yes.”
As the surrounding eyes turned toward her, Riersha looked away and pretended not to notice, feigning innocence.
If she’d known it would come to this, perhaps she should have arrived quietly and taken her seat first.
She felt a pang of guilt that the attention meant to be focused entirely on the performance had been scattered.
Riersha gripped Pernoa’s hand tightly as they moved down the aisle.
Pernoa glanced at the ticket to check the seat number and pointed to a spot ahead.
“Here we are.”
It was the front row, perfectly centered with the best view of the stage. The stage itself was set far enough away that there was no risk of a stiff neck.
Just as Riersha was about to step into the row, a voice reached her ears.
“You’re late.”
“…Huh?”
It was a familiar voice.
Riersha’s eyes went wide as saucers.
“Are you going to stand there all day, or are you going to sit down?”
“…G-Grandpa?”
Arcmund had arrived before them and was already seated.
He held a performance pamphlet in one hand.
Faced with this unexpectedly unfamiliar sight — Arcmund of all people sitting in a theater — Riersha froze in the aisle, unable to move. Arcmund gave a deliberate cough and patted the seat beside him.
“A grandfather ought to come see whether his granddaughter’s endeavors are bearing fruit. …Hmph.”
Never mind that he’d given her the pocket money in the first place — to be excluded from the complimentary ticket list simply because he wasn’t officially an investor.
“Hehe.”
Riersha quickly slipped into the seat beside Arcmund.
Her small body sank deep into the cushioned chair, nearly swallowed whole by it.
Pernoa watched the sight with an expression that couldn’t quite hide how endearing he found it, then sighed and furrowed his brow.
“It seems no one around me is cooperating.”
He had originally planned this as a private outing — just him and Riersha.
Pernoa glanced back at his three sons trailing behind them and let out a quiet, resigned laugh.
“Well. This isn’t so bad either.”
It was the first time the whole family had gathered together in a theater like this, side by side.
Every bit of it was a miracle that had sprung into existence with Riersha at its center.
Pernoa and the rest of the family settled into their seats one by one.
Soon, a sweeping, solemn melody washed over the hall, announcing the beginning of the performance.
⁂
“Ah—! How could this be. His Majesty cannot do this to me!”
“Your Majesty, the Empress — please, dry your tears. You must compose yourself.”
A lavish imperial palace.
A beautiful woman swayed as she spoke in trembling grief, and a handmaiden rushed forward to support her.
The woman delivering the monologue was Rozetta, while the handmaiden was played by one of the regular troupe members.
“My son — my son alone must be the one and only Crown Prince of this empire!”
“Of course he shall be! It will come to pass!”
“I must go to Father! I must go to him at once — to the Kiane Ducal estate!”
Riersha swallowed hard and stared wide-eyed at the stage.
She glanced around. Everyone around her was watching the performance with expressions of pure, helpless captivation.
Sonnet gave away the heart of the story from the very first moment.
That choice would have set every imagination in the audience ablaze.
Even though The Throne of Lybunessia was set in a fictional world…
There was not a soul in the Declair Empire who didn’t understand that this story was a pointed mirror held up to their own reality.
It’s a bit unfair that the Arachrene family was cast as the ones who treat life so carelessly.
Riersha turned her attention back to the stage.
The scene shifted, and the interior of a grand, elegant estate came into view.
Oberon mentioned the total production cost exceeded nine billion gold.
She had wondered where all that money was going, given that they were using an existing venue. Now she understood why Adil had demanded such an enormous sum.
The costumes and props looked as though they had been borrowed straight from actual imperial royalty or high nobility.
Richly detailed stage settings, brought to vivid life with high-grade magic.
Music woven into the performance to deepen immersion at every turn.
Small gasps of admiration rippled through the audience.
The stage transformed into the manor of a great noble family, and Adil appeared, costumed as Duke Kiane.
“Father—! Father!”
“My daughter, Karen. What is the matter? Why do you weep so!”
“Please help me. I don’t know what to do anymore!”
Adil and Rozetta mimed a hushed, conspiratorial exchange.
The scene shifted — and thunder rolled, and rain began to fall.
A boy with dyed golden hair and blue eyes sat hugging his knees to his chest, his face buried low.
Isierd…
It was Isierd.
Outside, a torrential downpour.
In the darkness, the boy spoke his soliloquy.
“I am a prince whom even my own father refuses to acknowledge. My very existence is unknown to the great nobles.”
The boy rose to his feet and cried out once more.
“I am another brother to the Crown Prince! Ah — I want to run, to flee somewhere far away from the eyes of the Empress and Duke Kiane who seek to destroy me!”
But he couldn’t — and his body curled into itself, a wordless expression of that helplessness.
Then, from the shadows, someone stepped into view before him.
“If I help you, Your Highness — what will you give me in return?”
⁂
The performance was building toward its climax.
And Olivia Willias could not tear her eyes away.
Olivia Willias.
The one and only daughter of Duke Willias, who had just turned seven years old this year.
Her hair was swept up in a neat updo, and she was adorned from head to toe with every fashionable ornament the empire had to offer.
One might argue that dressing a young child in such extravagant jewels was excessive, but to Olivia, such things were entirely natural.
Born very late in the marriage of the Duke and Duchess of Willias, Olivia had been raised in a world of absolute abundance — no less lavishly than a foreign princess.
“Nanny.”
“Yes, yes… Lady Olivia.”
The nanny who had accompanied Olivia to the performance fidgeted with visible unease.
They had arrived a little late as it was, which had already put Olivia in a less-than-pleasant mood — and now, of all things, the content of the play itself…
Olivia spoke.
“I’ll have Father destroy this troupe immediately.”
“Oh my, I was just thinking the very same thing. This content is far too unsavory for our young lady to be watching.”
Olivia stared at the stage for a long, quiet moment, then narrowed her eyes.
“I’m offended.”
More than offended, actually. She was deeply, thoroughly offended.
Olivia found this production deeply problematic.
I am to become the Crown Princess one day.
It was enough to make even her feel personally insulted.
In a sense, Olivia’s reaction was entirely understandable.
Her father, Macton Willias, had always told her the same thing.
“Olivia. You will become the Crown Princess before long. You are a precious soul destined to one day be Empress, so you must always conduct yourself with the utmost care.”
“The Crown Princess?”
“Yes. The Crown Princess. Where else in the Declair Empire would one find a child more suited to that position than you?”
Olivia had dined and conversed with the Empress in person on more than one occasion.
Even among the circle of noble young ladies she associated with, Olivia occupied a singular position.
They may have all been born of noble blood, but between Olivia and the rest of them, there was a line that could never be crossed.
That Kiane Ducal family — that’s clearly meant to represent House Kineart, the Empress’s own family.
To take a real house and simply twist the name, then build this preposterous play around it.
Even a beggar on the street would laugh at such brazenness.
“A theater troupe, famous as it may be, is still just a theater troupe.”
Olivia muttered irritably, still unaware of which noble house was backing the Kadimo Troupe.
“This is impossible—! That wretch I thought was dead — still alive! How dare you come crawling back and think yourself fit to become Crown Prince?!”
On stage, the performance surged toward its climax as the Empress’s anguished scream rang out through the hall.
⁂
The Kadimo Troupe’s premiere had announced itself as a resounding success.
The Throne of Lybunessia II — The New Prince.
Tickets sold out in a blaze.
What’s more, when rumors began to circulate that members of the Arachrene Ducal family had been spotted attending the performance, the popularity of the show soared to even greater heights.
There were those desperate enough to pay a premium to get their hands on tickets, but the Kadimo Troupe managed the ticketing with such strict control that scalping was simply impossible.
Each sold ticket had the buyer’s name inscribed into it by magic.
Without confirmation that the holder was either the original purchaser or part of their party, entry to the venue was denied.
On the carriage ride back to the Arachrene estate.
Riersha couldn’t suppress the warmth spreading through her chest, and the corners of her mouth kept curling upward.
Most of the difficult work had been handled by Oberon on her behalf, of course, but still…
Risideon, seated across from her, broke the silence.
“Good performance, Riersha.”
“Mm-hm!”
“But…”
Risideon trailed off and closed his mouth.
Riersha looked at him curiously. Beside him, Riscal filled in.
“Is it actually possible to recoup the initial investment?”
“Obviously.”
This was only the beginning.
