Chapter 207

“I’ve never actually set foot in Europe before…”

“Then, as a seasoned traveler, I suppose I must serve as your guide,” Oitotan replied, his chest swelling with pride.

His boastful tone was irritating, but as was usually the case when Oitotan bragged, his words were rooted firmly in fact, leaving me little room for rebuttal. I watched in silence as the gangplank was lowered from the Nautilus. One by one, the crew disembarked, drawing a growing crowd of curious onlookers.

I was dressed in a European-style formal uniform I had packed for just such an occasion. Though the May air was mild enough that I didn’t need a coat, the layers of fabric beneath my chin felt stifling. In contrast, Oitotan boasted a remarkably… eclectic fashion sense. He wore European attire draped with heavy Chesapeake ornaments, while clutching a Joseon fan bestowed upon him by King Yi Hon. At first glance, it should have looked like a chaotic mess, yet it suited him strangely well. Perhaps his personality is just so eccentric that even a wardrobe like that seems normal on him.

“Shall we proceed?” Oitotan asked.

The final preparations were complete. As we stepped onto the harbor soil, the murmurs of the crowd intensified until soldiers arrived to clear a path. Upon entering the city of Le Havre, we were greeted by the Mayor, who offered a deep bow. He seemed utterly overwhelmed, his eyes darting back and forth as he hurried to guide us.

“You are to stand here when the time comes,” the Mayor panted, explaining the intricate ceremonial procedures. “His Majesty and the Dauphin will arrive by carriage in roughly an hour. When the King emerges, you must offer your greetings first, and then…”

I let his words drift through one ear and out the other, my gaze nervously scanning our surroundings. Everything was quiet. I took a deep breath as the temporary tents and decorations around City Hall were finalized. Then, amidst the blare of trumpets and a sea of fluttering banners, the royal procession entered the square. The citizens erupted into cheers and song.

I swallowed hard. “Oitotan?”

“Yes, My Lord?”

“What kind of man is the King of France?”

“To ask that only now… you must have had much on your mind,” Oitotan remarked dryly. “You’ll meet him momentarily, so why waste words? I’ll say just this: he is an… interesting man.”

The most ornate carriage in the line came to a halt before us.

“To have our allies from across the sea travel so far to meet us is a profound honor,” a voice rang out. “Ah, Oitotan. I see you’ve returned as well.”

Henri IV had arrived.

***

Though Le Havre’s City Hall was quite grand, Henri IV gave it a dismissive snort as if it failed to meet his standards. “Hmph. I find it a great pity that I must receive you in such a cramped and remote fishing village.”

It was a blatant attempt at intimidation. He had likely heard from the Duke of Sully that the Continental Covenant lacked any truly impressive architecture. Before I could retort, Oitotan smoothly intervened.

“It is fine,” Oitotan said, his French intentionally halted. “In a country where chicken is a luxury… why expect extravagance?”

Oh. So that’s how one plays the game of diplomacy.

“What do you mean by that?” Louis, the Dauphin of France, countered sharply from across the table. “Thanks to the Covenant’s support, our poultry industry is flourishing. It is a fruit of the friendship between our nations.”

Oitotan merely shook his head. “No. We are still lacking. Should not every man… eat a chicken… at least once a week?”

Oitotan, what on earth are you trying to turn this dinner into? He might be comfortable in this underground rap-battle style of diplomacy where insults are traded like currency, but I certainly wasn’t. Couldn’t we just be cordial? And Oitotan’s French had improved significantly; why was he still speaking so poorly?

As I sat there breaking into a cold sweat, Henri suddenly burst into a boisterous laugh and clapped his hands. “You haven’t changed a bit! Oitotan, you truly are a remarkable man.”

“My thanks,” Oitotan grunted.

The atmosphere seemed to stabilize, much to my relief. I maintained a benevolent smile as Henri ordered the meal to be served. The menu consisted entirely of chicken. As the Mayor and I struggled to hide our bewilderment, Henri addressed us without a flicker of irony.

“Now, it is a modest spread, but please, enjoy.”

“An interesting man,” Oitotan had said. Now I understood.

***

Le Havre’s City Hall was a hive of frantic activity. The simultaneous visit of the realm’s sovereign, his heir, and the high officials of a distant empire was an unprecedented event. Royal chefs had commandeered the kitchens, sourcing the finest poultry per the King’s command, while a stream of people moved constantly through the security cordons.

Naturally, controlling every individual was an impossibility.

“What is that cart for?” a guard asked.

“His Majesty roared about the lack of variety,” a laborer replied. “These are fresh ingredients we just sourced.”

“What? A moment ago he said he’d have our heads if any meat other than chicken appeared. Well… that sounds like him.”

The large cart rumbled up the ramp beside the City Hall stairs. The rattling inside was easily dismissed as the clatter of porcelain and cutlery. But once the laborer opened the lid in a secluded corner…

“Where is the ‘Apostate’?” a voice whispered.

“The banquet hall to the left.”

Two armed men emerged from the cramped space. The laborer adjusted a dagger hidden beneath his clothes. Carrying pouches of oil and striking flints, the trio moved through the shadows of the corridors. Behind them, thin ribbons of smoke and flame began to lick the walls.

***

“How is the chicken?” Henri asked.

“The flavor is… excellent,” I replied.

“It is all thanks to our friendship with the Covenant. Before we met you, the chickens of France were tiny, miserable, and scrawny—like they were perpetually diseased. It was quite pathetic.”

“An accurate… description,” Oitotan added.

Please, everyone, just stop…

Six of us sat at the table: myself, Oitotan, Eleanor, the Mayor, King Henri, and the Dauphin. The Mayor looked like a man on the verge of a nervous breakdown, desperately smoothing his mustache as sweat poured down his face. Eleanor, surprisingly, seemed unbothered by the courtly tension, only intervening to offer Henri whiskey whenever his hand drifted toward a wine bottle. The other three were tearing into each other like fighting cocks. I focused on maintaining “Professional Smile #3,” nodding wordlessly at everything said.

“Tell me,” Henri said, turning to me. “Your name is Nemo, correct?”

“It is, Your Majesty.”

Louis, his eyes flashing with a predatory light, leaned in as well. “Is it a name inherited from your father? Like we Europeans do?”

“No,” I explained. “The direct heirs of our imperial house all share the same name. It is more of a title, like ‘Dauphin.'”

It was a fabrication I’d created to explain why a man named “Nemo” would still be ruling the Covenant decades or even centuries from now. Henri stroked his beard thoughtfully while Louis set down his knife.

“This entire situation is quite irregular, is it not?” Henri asked.

“Is it?”

“Indeed. Your Imperial Father is well-versed in European diplomatic tradition. I never imagined he would allow such a sudden, unannounced arrival.”

Oh, no.

“Why have you come to France with such haste?” Henri pressed. “Without so much as a word of warning?”

I never thought of an excuse!

***

“Hey! Do you smell something burning?”

“Is it the kitchen?”

“The kitchen is on the other side of the— wait, what is that?”

The yawning guards snapped to attention as a pungent, acrid smell filled the air. Flickering flames were already spreading from the far end of the corridor.

“Fire! It’s a fire!”

“Call for help! Get the buckets!”

“Forget the buckets! The King is inside! You there!” a guard shouted at a group of servants passing by. “I don’t recognize you. Are you City Hall staff?”

“Pardon? Ah… yes. Yes, we are.”

“Move! There’s a fire! Warn the King immediately!”

The guards scrambled to spread the news. In the ensuing chaos, the City Hall staff and the King’s personal guards, who didn’t know each other by sight, were utterly confused.

“Was that the last of the guards?” an assassin asked.

“Fewer than I expected.”

“It was a hastily arranged event. Luck is on our side.”

They sprinted toward the banquet hall. Given the number of people already running and shouting about the fire, their frantic pace drew no suspicion. The King’s men assumed they were City Hall staff; the City Hall staff assumed they were the King’s servants. They reached the banquet hall under the guise of delivering a warning.

They intended to deliver something else entirely.

***

What do I say? I was so focused on stopping the disaster that I forgot to prepare a cover story!

As the two royals stared at me, I struggled to swallow my panic. “I… I have come as the Crown Prince of a Christian nation to promise a better future with a close European ally… to establish a more solid and friendly…”

I’m failing. My tongue felt heavy, and the more I rambled, the more bewildered they looked. Just as I reached my breaking point, Oitotan spoke up.

“Your Highness… we are here… to sell Eastern goods. Yes?”

Aha! I nodded frantically. Henri and Louis exchanged looks, their minds clearly racing. They were likely assuming a foreign prince wouldn’t travel across the world just to smuggle silk; they probably thought there were internal political factions and I was seeking support.

“Ah… apologies,” Oitotan added, placing a finger to his lips with a meaningful smile. “It is… confidential.”

That sealed it. They settled on an image of an “inexperienced Crown Prince and his heavyweight diplomatic backer.” The King and the Dauphin shared a quick nod and returned to carving their third course of chicken as if nothing had happened. I shot Oitotan a look of profound gratitude and took a sip of my wine—a Chesapeake vintage.

Whew. The hard part is over. I figured we’d stay a few days, then take Eleanor home. I didn’t know what would happen next, but since I’d averted the premonition, the rest was—

“Wait,” Eleanor said, suddenly standing up. Oitotan looked ready to reprimand her for the breach of etiquette, but her expression stopped him. She pointed toward the window. “There are flames outside!”

“What?”

“The laborers are moving!”

Oitotan stood to confirm her words and nodded to me. As I began to rise in a panic, a knock sounded at the door.

“Ah! They must be here with news from outside!” the Mayor exclaimed. “I’ll see to it!”

Because they had kept the room clear of servants to discuss sensitive diplomatic matters, the Mayor moved to open the door himself. Three frantic-looking servants bowed low as the door swung open.

“The fire… it has broken out…”

“We just noticed!” the Mayor shouted. “We must get His Majesty and the Dauphin out—”

“Understood, Sire!”

“Apologies for the interruption,” Henri said, rising with Louis.

They moved toward the door, and I prepared to follow, my heart pounding with a strange sense of urgency. Wait… I grabbed the Dauphin’s arm. He turned to me, startled, asking what was wrong. I was about to point out that it was very strange for servants to be carrying swords.

But then, the world turned grotesque. It was like looking at an AI-generated image where limbs and objects are fused in impossible ways. A human shoulder and neck are not places where a blade should be attached.

The Mayor of Le Havre collapsed, coughing up a spray of crimson.

***

Every crime has a motive, and regicide is no exception. They called the King an “Apostate.” And in truth, he was. Henri de Bourbon had broken his vows of faith repeatedly, shifting his religious stance whenever political necessity dictated. He was a traitor to the devout of both sides.

To the Catholics, his conversion was a sham. He favored the Duke of Sully—who openly practiced Protestantism—and harbored countless other Huguenots. He had signed peace treaties that allowed Protestants to maintain their strength. To them, he was a devil in a Catholic mask, leading the nation into a satanic abyss. There had been over twenty attempts on his life by those dreaming of striking down the evil heretic.

Conversely, most Protestants viewed Henri as their guardian. They believed he had never truly abandoned his faith, or at least that he would never abandon them. Most remained loyal royalists.

But not all.

“He surrendered to the Catholics!” one zealot hissed. “While England is uprooting the Catholic seed, what are we doing here?” muttered another who had failed to find a place under the new King. They believed themselves the only true followers of the Word. They had ground their blades in fury.

“I will cut off those who have not sought the Lord, nor enquired for Him!” (Zephaniah 1:6).

They had come to plunge those blades into the Apostate. They lunged for Henri. Their target was inches away.

I grabbed a porcelain dish from the table and hurled it at them. The lead assassin flinched, causing his blade to veer off course, but he was already too close to Henri to miss entirely. The King collapsed.

Eleanor screamed.

Oitotan charged forward.

But the three men ignored them, turning their focus toward the Dauphin and me.

I stepped in front of Louis.

The blade tore through my flesh.

Blood overflowed into the wine glasses on the banquet table.

And the Dauphin saw it all.