Two Kingdoms’ Independence

Polia Kingdom’s first major colonial city, Beyru.

With a population exceeding 300,000, this metropolis was effectively under the firm control of Prince Vincent. Although a separate Governor-General’s Office existed, the administration had, in practice, split into two internal factions.

This had been possible only with the king’s tacit consent. At any rate, the city was in an uproar. A messenger from the mainland’s Ministry of Foreign Affairs had brought news that left everyone excited and alarmed.

“We will grant independence to half the colony centered on the city of Beyru, establishing a single state under Prince Vincent.”

Who in the world granted independence to a colony? Yet the current King of Polia truly intended to do so. Other nations, upon hearing this, would likely deem him mad.

Polian settlers living there were bewildered. They belonged to the Polia Kingdom, and suddenly their home would become an independent country? Some decided to repatriate to the mainland, while others—having too much invested—chose to stay. Prince Vincent persuaded many to remain by promising every possible concession; the number wishing to return dwindled.

Meanwhile, Prince Vincent spoke with his maternal grandfather, Duke Gwens, about the matter.

“It’s a real shame.”

“There’s no helping it. It’s too late to strike at Prince Rubid.”

“If only I had crushed him and consolidated everything, we could have founded a unified state over the entire colonial territory. Now the land is divided, and the population split.”

“The other empires’ colonies are already clashing. Had we done the same, we might not have earned independence at all.”

Hearing his grandfather’s reasoning, Prince Vincent could only agree. The chance to “strike” had passed amid the Great War’s spillover into the Colonial Continent. He knew well—through his own channels—how massive the war in the Old Continent had grown.

Boldness had its place, but the burden might have been too great; for independence’s sake, restraint was necessary. The conclusion was unavoidable: he and his younger brother would stand side by side, each forming a separate state. Thinking on it, Prince Vincent turned to Duke Gwens.

“More importantly, will you be all right? You’ll become a duke of a new country.”

“What does it matter if I’m no longer a duke of Polia?”

Independence meant he could no longer retain a Polian title. Though the colonies were less developed, his grandson would be king there; that was enough. Still, there was a downside: he would lose the prestige of being a duke in Polia—the “kingdom among kingdoms.”

“What irks me is splitting territory evenly with Rubid. The population under our control is larger.”

“It’s the king on the mainland who decided. What can we do? Be satisfied we secured independence at all.”

“Sigh… I suppose so.”

Even saying it, Vincent felt deep regret—something that might gnaw at him for years. His consolation: he held the most developed infrastructure in the colonies. With that foundation, his state could advance far faster than Rubid’s.

“They said we must submit the country’s name by May.”

“True—a nation needs a proper name to be properly independent. What shall we call it?”

“Traditionally, one draws on a region’s characteristics—or on the name of the sovereign who opens the new realm.”

“My name?”

“The Kingdom of Vincent” had a certain ring to it. He’d given no thought to local toponyms—most came from indigenous usage and did not appeal to him.

“The Kingdom of Vincent… I do like it.”

“Do you? I don’t find it bad at all.”

“Then my children must drop ‘Polia’ from their surname and take ‘Vincent’ instead.”

As for himself, as king he would be “Vincent di Vincent,” but founding the country mattered more than his name. His mind had room for only one thought now: becoming king.

He had once resigned himself to a life without a crown. Now that the chance had come, exhilaration was inevitable. Duke Gwens, watching his grandson, felt pleased—and set a goal.

“Our house will begin anew here as well.”

The House of Gwens would start afresh in a new land and a new nation. With their wealth and influence transplanted, he deemed their prospects excellent.

As they settled on the new kingdom’s name and fanned the flame of independence, Prince Rubid—nursing the same desire—named his own state after himself: Rubid.

Thus the Kingdom of Vincent and the Kingdom of Rubid emerged. Their birth was unusual—two princes who had fallen out of the succession race founding separate countries—just as it was unusual for a king to relinquish colonies so readily.

Each side compiled documents on national names, borders, and other particulars and sent them to the Polian mainland, which immediately began the work of independence. Even so, many Polian officials wondered if this was truly right.

As the paperwork moved and word leaked to the public, a wave of opposition rose. However you sliced it, how could a nation give up territory? Demonstrations erupted.

This was the first large-scale protest Ian had faced since becoming king. He had anticipated it; he ordered the civil police to encircle the demonstrators in force and contain them.

He considered protest acceptable—but not violence. Tens of thousands of police ringed the crowds, blocking and surrounding them, while masses filled the squares, shouting against colonial independence.

Foreign correspondents stationed in Polia photographed the scenes; other states watched, perplexed by a policy they could not fathom.

Thus March proved loud and turbulent. Fortunately, no violence occurred. By April, the demonstrations dwindled. People realized colonial independence did not affect their daily lives, and fewer were inclined to protest.

Some protests continued, but numbers dropped to the thousands; the police presence shrank accordingly. In that climate, Ian made a sweeping announcement approving colonial independence.

On April 15, Ian’s voice spread by radio across the mainland and to the colonies: independence for two countries would proceed in June 1913.

The two states—named after the princes—would open as the Kingdom of Vincent and the Kingdom of Rubid. In return, both gave firm assurances: they would establish diplomatic relations with Polia and lock raw resource export prices for twenty years.

With independence assured without bloodshed, both princes could only agree. As attention burned hottest around the two kingdoms’ independence, Ian was meeting privately with Princess Adrina.

They strolled side by side along a garden path at the royal palace, and Ian spoke quietly.

“I’ve been busy, and we haven’t had a proper talk.”

“It’s all right. I heard how busy you’ve been. You made quite a decision.”

“It was not so grand. It simply seemed the right course. More than that, I owe you an apology.”

“An apology?”

“The treasure of the ruins.”

“Ah. Yes.”

She immediately grasped his meaning. If there had been multiple relics, perhaps—but with only one, she could not lay strong claim to it. Of course, she had no idea the “treasure” was now hollow.

“They’re examining that glass-like shard, but I’m told nothing unusual has turned up.”

“Is that so? Then why does my brother want it so badly?”

“That is the question. I suspect there’s more beneath the surface.”

Ian knew the truth: his Third Ability had awakened, and his power had surged—proof that the shard’s value was immense. But he could not say so; instead, he shared one thing he did know.

“By the way—why did Emperor Jedic reach out to you?”

“So you knew…”

“My kingdom is full of eyes and ears. There is little I don’t know.”

The approach had happened when she briefly left the palace; under discreet watch, the contact had been detected. Ian did not know the content, which is why he asked.

“Does he suspect you?”

“I don’t think so. He told me to learn more about the goblins—and about Your Majesty’s thoughts.”

“That puts you in a tight spot.”

“Exactly. Now he wants me to play the spy. Sigh.”

She exhaled, bitter at her situation. Ian felt all the more sorry—for he had, in a sense, used her.

“For simple information, I’ll pass along what I can.”

“Truly?”

“So long as it isn’t too secret.”

“Thank goodness. I didn’t know what to do. Honestly, though I’ve been insisting on staying here, if I do nothing, they’ll likely drag me back home by force before the year is out.”

Being recalled meant she would be forced again toward a political marriage—the fate she wished to escape. Knowing this, Ian broached the next subject carefully.

“Princess Adrina, please don’t misunderstand what I’m about to say.”

“‘Misunderstand’? What do you mean?”

“I’ve weighed this over and over. Without your help we wouldn’t have found the ruins—or recovered the treasure, since you moved decisively.”

“Did I really do anything? Without Your Majesty’s help, it would have been impossible.”

She truly believed that. Even with information, she had no means to reach the island, nor to protect herself. She was just one princess among many, with no base.

“But if you hadn’t brought the information, none of this would have happened. Frankly, I know you could be left out in the cold.”

“I… suppose so.”

“‘Suppose so’? You’re giving up very easily.”

“What else can I do? I can only accept a reality I can’t change.”

“Then let me say this—and please, as I asked, do not misunderstand.”

“What is it?”

Ready to hear him out, she stopped as Ian did. He cleared his throat and spoke.

“What would you think of becoming my fiancée?”

“Wh—what?!”

“Don’t take it the wrong way. Even if you hold out for a while, in time you’ll be called back to the empire. An engagement would give you a reason to remain here.”

“So… a sham engagement, so I can stay?”

“Yes. And not for ulterior motives. I’ve already considered marriage.”

“M-marriage?!”

“It would be a political marriage for you, but I intend to give you freedom. For my part, the appearance of being married is useful. You would be free to live as you wish—and if in time you wanted a divorce, I would grant it. I promise never to lay so much as a finger on you.”

“W-why would you go so far?”

“Because I’m sorry. You shared the ruins’ secret, and received nothing. I want to help you, at least in this way.”

Hearing this, Princess Adrina thought—as ever—how unusual he was. He would even consider a nominal marriage solely for her sake. And yet a flicker of pride stung her: “never lay a finger on you”? Was she so unappealing?

‘I do get told I’m quite pretty…’

“C-could I think it over?”

“Take all the time you need. I’ll wait.”

Relieved, she nodded. She, too, needed time to think.