Having retrieved both Derf and Lars from Kirche and Tabitha – turned out, Louise's hunch from earlier was more than correct – and received Founder's Prayerbook from the princess, it was finally time to return to the Academy.

"So what's so special about that book?" Eddie asked, briefly peering down at the leatherbound grimoire in the pinkette's hands. It almost seemed too big and heavy for her to carry.

"Well, this is Founder Brimir's personal prayer book." Louise replied as if that was the most obvious thing in the world. "He left behind four items that are said to aid next generations of Void Mages through their power, one for each of Brimiric Nation. Their effects vary, to my knowledge."

"...who did he pray to if he was the one that began Brimirism in the first place?" Louise stared incredulously, realizing that she never asked herself this question. In his seat, Derf snickered. "Like, uh… that seems like important info to know."

"I d-don't know!" The pinkette replied defensively, puffing out her cheeks in a pout. "Doesn't matter! What matters is that it's on this book where Void spells are recorded. You can't find that kind of knowledge anywhere else. There's no fear of it becoming damaged or lost either – I see that look on your face, Eddie – since it's protected by ancient magic. And, well, desecrating it sounds like a surefire way to get Romalia on your case."

"Yeah, I wonder. You and Siesta are in the clear, but the way gossip works, not everyone might be aware of that."

"The Royal Treasury is the safest place in all of Tristain to store something."

"They said the academy vault is pretty safe." Louise resisted an urge to roll her eyes.

"Besides, I got this from Henrietta's hands either way. That's about as trustworthy as it gets, unless you suspect the head of nation of something untoward."

"Valencia sure thought so. Man, how screwed is he?" Eddie idly wondered. The spires of the Academy were on the horizon. It wouldn't be long before they would return to the ordinary schedule. Back to class, back to a school uniform, away from world-shaking events that occurred in Tristania that day.

"Verily." Louise nodded, deriving way too much pleasure from saying that than she thought was appropriate. How not to cherish such a terrible man's downfall though? "...honestly, I'm just happy we managed to clear Siesta's name. The doctors said she would be able to return to the Academy in a few days. Do you think you could pick her up from Tristania?"

"Sure thing."

The evening in Tristain's seat of power promised grand events to begin. Henrietta had a meeting with the High Council scheduled shortly, but until then she had one more personal matter to attend do. With Agnes and Wardes – who returned from his urgent trip to Romalia moments ago – flanking her, she stepped inside the prison tower. The warden led her to the prisoner of choice – one unruly father of the Church of Brimir.

Antonio Valencia's cell was the very one Siesta was previously kept in. The princess figured that a fine taste of irony is needed to fully humble the overzealous prosecutor and invader. After all, it was his men that attacked Tarbes, killed some of the residents, and took the others hostage, all to convict one woman of a crime she did not commit. The standard was serviceable – those of lower stations were usually held in the underground – but it didn't seem to keep the good father calm one bit.

"Ah… the pagan princess." He greeted Henrietta and her entourage with a tired sneer from behind the bars, his hair undone in a messy bird's mane and his eyes still bloodshot. Most of his anger had long left him, but there was still plenty of malice to go around. "To what do I owe this visit?"

"I see your wit is as sharp as ever, Father Valencia." If the princess was angry, she did not let it show, instead gently gesturing for bristling Agnes to settle down. Wardes remained as impassive as ever. Air galloping to Romalia and back in so short a time was no mean feat. "So sharp, you have yet to understand the gravity of the situation you were put in."

"Incarcerated by those who would treat a witch with all due honors, yes. I'm quite perceptive."

"Must we go through this song and dance again?" Before Valencia could gather enough force to start a tirade, Henrietta shook her head. "Actually, forget that. You'll be pleased to know that I decided to write His Holiness in regard of your predicament, asking for his guidance. Viscount Wardes here personally delivered the missive to His Holiness's retainers." Prosecutor's attempt at masking his perking up didn't quite work out. "We were fortunate to receive his response immediately, signed by Cardinal Piazzini himself."

"Is that right? Then I suppose there is yet good left in this barbaric country." Agnes, unaware of contents of the return letter, had yet to figure out why Henrietta's smile was unflinchingly polite to the point of condescension. The look of cold dominance on the princess's face was utterly alien to the Chevalier. Wardes, ever the professional, remained impassive as he wordlessly handed over the letter to Henrietta. "That, I presume, is the response in question?"

"Shall I read it for you, Father Valencia?"

"By all means." A moment of silence; the princess cleared her throat, her dainty fingers brushing the paper and the ornate capital letters used for the beginnings of paragraphs.

"We are humbled that Her Highness Princess Henrietta de Tristain would seek our advice regarding such a delicate conundrum. Unfortunately, we know of no priest, let alone a doctor of laws, from Romalia that goes by the name of Antonio Valencia." The prosecutor blinked, then the epiphany struck him as color started leaving his face. Surely not…? "Judging by the vivid description of the happenings that occurred during the trial of one Siesta of Tarbes, we can safely say that no respectable man of cloth would stoop so low to such despicable behavior in any company, let alone one as distinguished as the Tristain elite with Her Highness at the helm. The gathered quorum's opinion posited that this "Antonio Valencia" may in fact be a Reconquista subversive agent, deliberately posing as a priest of Brimir to undermine the good name of the Church and put our relations with Tristain in jeopardy." Valencia gripped the bars, teeth bared in bestial fear. Henrietta was nonplussed, reading with the same even intonation, not even flinching when the panicking prosecutor reached from behind the bars to seize her – only to be stopped by Agnes's iron hand painfully squeezing his fingers together, then shoving the stumbling priest back into his cell.

"In that regard, we leave the fate of this agent in capable hands of Tristain." Henrietta kept on reading. "We know of Her Highness's benevolence and kind heart, and so we would not be so audacious as to recommend that the agent be executed with extreme prejudice. Caution is advised: if this fake priest could fool Claudine the Carnage, there is little doubt he may still try to escape justice by pretending to be His noble servant. With those thoughts, we hope His Holiness's answer is more than satisfactory. Sincerely, Cardinal of Toledo Alfonso Piazzini."

Henrietta folded the letter and handed it back to Wardes, the same polite smile definitely looking helluva condescending to Agnes right now. "I trust you're satisfied, Father?"

"T-t-t-this is a forged letter! His Holiness would never…!"

"You can have a look at the letter, if you so wish. I trust you would recognize both the classic Romalian calligraphy as well as Romalia's official seal, as placed on this paper. Viscount Wardes?" The letter changed owners again, and soon Valencia found himself reading the very authentic and truthful account of him being thrown under a high-speed carriage. The paper slipped from his suddenly very stiff hands as the good father's knees gave out and sent him kneeling on the ground in front of the young woman he so carelessly scorned, and who was now the sole person to decide his fate. One last thought crossed his mind however.

"The witch hunter! Y-you can ask her! She can confirm I'm…!"

"Even if she were to do that, her word means less than the word of a Cardinal, I'm sorry to say." Henrietta smiled, but it was a smile so uncharacteristically devoid of compassion. "We already questioned her beforehand. She admitted to have been fooled by your clever disguise."

"D-disguise?! I'm a priest of Brimir, n-not some dirty subversive! T-that's an outrage, I-"

"You don't get to have a say in anything anymore, Antonio Valencia." The smile disappeared. The prosecutor shrunk on the floor, eyes going as wide as saucers, staring in horror at what he once thought was a demure sow who barely understood the world around her, content to smile and nod at the discretion of her advisers and Cardinal Mazarin, the ones in charge of the country.

Instead, he was staring at a queen of steel, an iron maiden as firm as she was unforgiving. "Your fate is in my hands. It is a high time you understood that fact."

Siesta was visited by an unusual guest in the evening.

Miss Montmorency came over to see how she was doing. At first the maid thought that this related to Guiche's earlier visit and so dreaded the experience. After all, this whole situation she found herself in was a result of a misunderstanding born out of jealousy. The blonde noble did come to see her and discuss the topic of Guiche – but the conversation proved more mellow than Siesta would have expected.

"Given what Guiche had said, and the honesty of that statement, I will have to conclude that you are my rival." Montmorency sighed. At least they could bond over the box of chocolates the blond heartthrob brought earlier. "You know him well, as does most of the school, staff or student. His escapades are common. Chronic, even."

"I t-try not to peer too much into students's life, Miss Montmorency." The blonde gave her a mildly annoyed look before shaking her head.

"Still, you must have heard of something. Just like von Zerbst is known for her promiscuity around men, so is my Guiche known for chasing skirts. Still, these are flickers, mere sparks of infatuation that go away as fast they first appeared." Monmon stopped, pondering what to say next. "With you, I'm afraid it could be something bigger and more genuine."

"S-surely not, Miss Montmorency… I'm just a lowly maid..."

"You needn't be so modest, princess of Albion. You gave him his health back and, by the order of Her Highness, are not a witch." The blonde flinched slightly when saying the word. "And it's my fault you ended up in this sorry situation in the first place. I'm guessing it was me calling you a witch in front of that knightess that started the whole thing."

Siesta agreed with the assessment, but decided it would be more polite not to say that out loud. "Still, whether you are a princess or a commoner, I was planning to treat you the same way: as a rival." The maid paled, but something in Montmorency's expression put her at (cautious) ease. "If you wish to compete for Guiche, then I shall take you up on this challenge."

"I, um… er..."

"But if you are going to be waffling on the matter" The blonde's expression hardened. "then break his heart now and let it mend rather than breaking it much later and much worse. What is it going to be, Princess Siesta?" Oh dear. She wasn't sure if she liked actually being called a princess. It was something of a shameful dream – but now that she was actually identified as a member of royalty by the lie of Prince Wales, if he was lying indeed – the sheer gravitas made her tremble.

Still, as she gazed at Montmorency and Montmorency gazed at her, her own expression slowly settled into a determined look. This was a fight worth fighting, she thought. An unspoken agreement replaced unbridled, one-sided anger. As far as Guiche was concerned, the two of them were now equals.

"Gentlemen, thank you for your arrival."

The seats in the Council Hall were all taken. Wales actually had to have one more chair delivered to him just so he wouldn't stand around during the meeting. Naturally, his presence alone invited questions. The officials at the table were all experienced politicians and handlers, having served the princess's father; a few of them venerable enough to even serve her long-dead grandfather. They knew their craft, but sat firmly in their beliefs and traditions.

To say a lot of them were displeased with the end result of the witch trial from earlier today would be an understatement. "Your Highness, may I ask why exactly Prince Wales is participating in the meeting?" Minister of Treasure Babaux idly stroked his grey beard, looking at the other monarch in the room. Wales offered an apologetic smile.

"Prince Wales is a representative of our staunch ally that is The Kingdom of Albion. I have utmost trust in him." Something was different about this Henrietta. It was as if the witch trial itself cast a spell on her and changed her, in the opinion of the reigning lords, for the worse. "Or do you think my assessment is incorrect, Marquis?"

"Certainly not, Your Highness." Minister of Culture Dupont filled in for his colleague with an inoffensive, emotionless smile. "We are simply unused to such, shall I say, unusual changes to the formula of these meetings. In fact, this is, I believe, the first time you requested a High Council meeting since the passing of His Highness."

"I had something of grave importance that I wished to announce. It was a matter previously discussed with Cardinal Mazarin" Here she gestured towards the old clergyman who nodded slightly in response "and touches upon Tristain as a country."

"A big statement." Chief General Du Poitiers, affectionately referred to as Bowachi, stroked his impressive mustache in thought. "And am I correct in assuming this relates to the witch trial of Siesta of Tarbes, yes?" Henrietta merely offered a slight, mirthless smile in response.

"With all due respect, was it wise to disagree with Prosecutor Valencia's assessment?" Minister of Commerce Donbury asked, shifting on his seat. "His behavior was nothing short of appalling, but it isn't as if his point wasn't sound."

"Do you not find the defense of Éléonore de la Vallière's adequate?"

"I never said that, Your Highness." A moment of silence. The ministers looked between each other, clearly not sure what to make of this new, decisive Henrietta. It was as if something possessed her. No one dared say something like that out loud, naturally. Their job was to support the monarch, not to undermine them. Of course, if circumstances pointed towards said monarch's inability to effectively rule, The High Council could have such a figure steered towards self-improvement.

"Either way, I trust all of you watched the trial in question." The ministers nodded at varying intervals. Agnes, standing by Henrietta's seat, refused the urge to roll her eyes. "Having proceeded over it, it opened my eyes to a particular problem that applies not just to Tristain, but perhaps to all Brimiric Nations as well."

"Whatever do you mean?"

"All of us in this room agree that The Church of Brimir is the dominant faith in Tristain, let alone all of Helkeginia, correct?"

"With all due respect, Your Highness, Brimiric Faith is the only faith." Minister Dupont raised an eyebrow. "There is the elven faith, explicitly stated as humbug, and then there are various pagan rituals, offensive to the good name of all peoples of Helkeginia."

"Not anymore, Minister." Henrietta's lips quirked in a smile as she rose from her seat. There was scarcely any of that demure princess they all knew and loved steering appropriately. "By royal decree, I announce as thus: Tristain shall be the first of Brimiric Nations to practice religious tolerance. As long as no harm comes upon the others, my subjects will be able to worship whatever they desire. Siesta of Tarbes's witchcraft trial was the first and the last that we'll have here."

The moment the princess sat down, the room erupted in voices of ministers, ranging from confused protests to outright outrage. Among all this sat Prince Wales, amazed at the finality of his dear cousin's words. A controversial statement, no doubt. "We greatly discourage such an idea!" Minister Babaux stated firmly, but his voice – still shaken from the sheer audacity of the revelation – didn't give him much authority.

"I'm well-aware. I'm not asking for advice, merely informing you as faithful servants of the Crown." Henrietta smiled mirthlessly.

"Cardinal Mazarin approved this?! That seems highly unlikely!"

"I did." The wizened clergyman nodded in confirmation, having spoken for the first time since the meeting started. "It is my belief that faith should expand to protect even those who do not believe. Tristain being the first to propose such an idea is easier to swallow than Gallia or Albion, if it could."

"How… how do you figure, Cardinal?"

"I believe it will be perceived less as a power move of a hungry tyrant, but rather a wise step by a young monarch who, above all else, wishes for the safety and well-being of her subjects."

"Does Romalia know…?"

"Romalia's representative committed a great disservice to Tristain." Henrietta's face was impassive. "Let it be understood that this is not a gesture of rebellion however. Rather, I am taking this step myself, towards the brighter future of the country I was cast to rule."

"If your judgment is incorrect, Your Highness, Your Eminence..." General Du Poitiers was the one official who did not appear incensed at the announcement, even if his brows were firmly furrowed. "then we have to expect war, either from Romalia or those who would curry her favor. Are you prepared for that?"

"I have thought about the possibility. We wouldn't have to entertain the notion if Albion were disposed…"

"But it isn't!" Minister Dupont threw his hands up in the air. "This entire thing is a farce, Your Highness! We should reconsider-"

"Enough reconsidering!" The princess's hand slammed down on the desk, silencing the entire room. Agnes raised an eyebrow, idly taking in the shock of the officials before her. "Gentlemen, as an ancient ally of Albion we are more than obliged to help it recover." Henrietta smiled and looked over to Wales. "And to that end, I'd like to ask our specialist regarding Albion and the Reconquista… what can be done to rout the rebels once and for all."

It's been a while since the last chapter came out. Between studies, RPG Maker taking most of my creativity, and a general dearth of ideas, I'm not quite satisfied with this chapter. Still, this should be the last one to contain so much politics – hopefully we can move on to more action-y stuff henceforth. As always, read and review. :)