Once all the chess pieces were in place, Elizabeth and I began our game of territory.
It was an exceedingly simple game.
When the Imperial Army appeared with its forces in tow, Elizabeth fled. This retreat was adorned with qualifiers like "scorched-earth tactics" or "war of attrition." Should anyone in the Kingdom of Sardinia dare criticize this, Elizabeth would immediately shut them down by asking if they wanted to face the Empire in another decisive battle and lose again.
Conversely, when the Frank noble armies or forces gathered from all over like a pack of foxes showed up, Elizabeth would instantly shift her stance and pounce. Elizabeth killed her enemies as ruthlessly and decisively as a shark tearing into a bleeding fish.
Our Imperial forces did the same.
When Elizabeth approached, we would deftly alter our course to avoid her, but the moment the Sardinian noble armies mobilized to intercept us, we would rush in as if we had never been cautious in the first place.
It was as if the two of us were guests seated at opposite ends of a lavishly set banquet table, gradually reaching out to devour dish after dish. We didn't even need to eat each other—there was more than enough food to go around.
Sardinian cities fell, farmlands burned, and warehouses were plundered.
What was remarkable was that Elizabeth and I had not exchanged a single word throughout all of this. No letters were sent, no crystal balls used for communication. To the outside world, the two of us were treated as bitter enemies and mortal rivals.
But much like skilled dancers who, despite meeting for the first time at a ball, somehow manage to match each other's steps perfectly, we would move in concert—when she moved her forces one way, I would go the other, luring the enemy elsewhere—and we never once drifted from each other's intentions.
The moment the Sardinian royal family had to make a choice came swiftly.
Though Elizabeth was fortunately putting up a valiant fight across various fronts, she still couldn't do anything about the Imperial Army. Elizabeth herself publicly declared that "facing the Empire in open field is the most lavish and extravagant form of suicide in the world."
Even if Elizabeth had the will to fight, her soldiers did not.
Now, the enemy trembled at the mere mention of Laura de Farnese's name. They would march out to the battlefield if ordered, but the moment even the shadow of defeat loomed, the atmosphere was such that they would flee—"We'll lose again! Run, or we'll be massacred!"
An armistice.
There was no other answer beyond those four grim words.
And to Sardinia, "armistice" was nothing more than a more elegant way of saying "surrender."
"Y-Your Excellency the Court Count... these terms are far too harsh..."
Sardinia's Foreign Minister's hands trembled violently. In his hands was the armistice proposal presented by our side.
"The northern regions of our Kingdom of Sardinia are where the major port cities and industrial heartlands are concentrated... if we give these up like this, the future of the kingdom..."
"The future of the kingdom."
I murmured, as though amused. The Foreign Minister clamped his mouth shut.
"Duke. Have you not heard that those who do not know the past have no future?"
"Y-Your Excellency the Court Count."
"Do you remember what our Empire's Emperor proposed as the very first set of terms?"
The Foreign Minister fell silent. It was not the silence of someone who did not know the proposal.
"Restore the honor of the Farnese ducal house. That was 'all' we asked for."
"......"
"It was not as though we asked for it for free. We specified more than generous compensation. Yet how did your nation respond? Not only did you say it was out of the question to rehabilitate a band of traitors, but you even put the Count of Pavia forward to publicly humiliate Duke de Farnese."
The Foreign Minister opened his mouth to offer some rebuttal, but I raised my right hand to cut him off.
"And how did our Empire's Emperor respond to this insult? He asked for nothing more than a sincere apology. That was all. Duke, I ask because I am genuinely curious — was it truly so difficult to offer a single word of apology?"
"......"
Cat got your tongue? I'm sorry, but I still had a few more angles to press.
"And what about the second proposal? All we asked for was the Duchy of Parma-Piacenza, which rightfully should have been passed to Duke Farnese as an inheritance, along with the Duchy of Milan as part of war reparations. And once again, your nation responded by dragging in the Habsburg Republic......"
"I have nothing to say."
I smiled faintly.
"As well you should not, Duke. Your nation is a shameless, brazen disgrace, utterly devoid of even a shred of diplomatic courtesy."
"C-Court Count......"
"Do not expect even the slightest mercy from us. Your nation has two options left. Accept our terms. Or refuse them.
I rose to my feet and brought my face close to the Foreign Minister's.
"But should the day come when we must conclude a fourth round of negotiations, oh, I assure you — we will not be confining our discussion to merely the northern part of Sardinia. You have my word. In fact, I find myself rather looking forward to that day already."
"......"
"Go and tell your King — that witless, utterly useless king who does nothing but let his own people be plundered and hand over the defense of his realm to a foreign monarch — nothing else. Tell His Majesty to expect precisely the end that awaits those who disregard the Empire's counsel."
If you do not remember history, history will remember you.
What the Habsburg Emperor had said on the eve of war had been so profoundly striking that, of late, it had come to be regarded almost as a dynastic proverb of the Habsburg Imperial House. Unable to muster another word in the face of my resolute ultimatum, the Foreign Minister turned and withdrew without so much as attempting a reply.
That November, in the dead of winter, the Sardinian royal court agreed to a comprehensive ceasefire.
Foreign officials dispatched from the ten nations of the continent gathered in Florence. Acting in the stead of the Habsburg Emperor, I affixed my seal to the treaty. The ceasefire agreement, named the Treaty of Florence, contained the following provisions:
1. The Duke of Farnese shall be granted the right to inscribe the blue landscape painting — once the emblem of the House of Farnese — upon his coat of arms. This shall no longer serve as a cause for war henceforth.
2. The Duke of Farnese shall hold sovereign authority over Milan, Bergamo, Pavia, Piacenza, and La Spezia. The Duke of Farnese shall owe no obligation whatsoever to the King of Sardinia.
3. The King of Bretagne shall hold sovereign authority over Genoa and Nicaea.
4. The Emperor of Anatolia shall hold sovereign authority over Venice and Padua.
5. Until the Grand Duke of Florence reaches his legal age of majority, the Grand Duchy of Florence shall be governed in regency by the Empress of Franc, Catherine de' Medici. However, the Empress Catherine de' Medici shall irrevocably renounce all rights of succession to the Grand Duchy of Florence.
6. Sovereign authority over the Piedmont region shall be distributed among eight nobles of Franc, and their right to rule shall be recognized. These nobles shall owe no obligation whatsoever to the King of Sardinia.
7. In addition, all territories occupied by the Habsburg Empire during the course of the war shall be returned to the Kingdom of Sardinia.
8. Merchants of the Batavia Republic, the Kingdom of Castile, the Kalmar Union, and the Habsburg Republic shall be permitted to conduct tariff-free trade within the Piedmont region and Venice.
I stamped the treaty document with great satisfaction, then looked up at the Sardinian Foreign Minister. He stood there clutching the seal, his hand trembling. I offered him a broad smile.
"What is the matter, Your Excellency? Is the seal perhaps too heavy for you?"
"......"
I understood all too well the wretched state of mind the Foreign Minister must have been in. This treaty imposed a one-sided hemorrhage upon Sardinia — no, not merely one-sided, but an absolutely devastating one.
If one were to pick the five wealthiest cities in the Kingdom of Sardinia, Venice, Milan, and Genoa would certainly be among them. These three cities were all ceded to a foreign power at once. It was not a temporary loan for ten or twenty years — it was a permanent surrender of sovereign rule.
Even Florence, another great city, was handed over — albeit temporarily — to a foreign empress consort.
The northwestern territories were torn to shreds by the nobles of southern Franconia.
In exchange, the only compensation our Empire offered the Kingdom of Sardinia was a single thing — to stop the war.
Signing such a humiliating 'instrument of surrender' meant an indelible stain of disgrace upon one's family for generations. That was why the Foreign Minister had been hesitating. I pretended to support the old man by the elbow, then leaned in and whispered in his ear.
"We are perfectly free to continue the war, Duke."
"......"
The Foreign Minister's body trembled. The old nobleman stared at me. Was the emotion in his eyes rage or terror? Either way, he quickly averted his gaze. He was a man far lacking in both courage and character compared to the Marquis of Rodi.
In the end, the Foreign Minister stamped the seal with a firm press.
I seized his right hand and shook it vigorously.
"Could there ever be a more joyous day? The war that brought nothing but despair and devastation to both nations has finally been declared at its end. I, Dantalion, Court Count, express on behalf of His Imperial Majesty my deepest gratitude to your nation and to the delegations of ten nations present here today!"
The envoys gathered nearby broke into applause in unison. Not a single nation among them showed the slightest regard or respect for the Kingdom of Sardinia. Well, of course, the representative of the Habsburg Republic held perfectly still, but they were the worst offenders of all, so I won't count them.
That evening, a grand ball was held to commemorate the end of the war.
Since Laura had to remain behind with the crowd to handle administrative matters, I attended the ball with the Saint of Longueuil as my partner. Naturally, the Saint of Longueuil kicked up a tremendous fuss at first.
"Why me again! Can you not find a single woman proper enough to bring to a ball!"
"Who else could I possibly bring to such an occasion? Saint, please — have I not kept my promise to give the Kingdom of Bretagne a chance to reclaim its standing, or have I not? Well? As a token of my sincerity, surely you can accompany me to a ball."
"That has nothing to do with this — and this is this!"
I had no idea what she was talking about.
However, it soon came to light that the Saint of Longueuil likewise had no male she could reasonably bring as a partner.
Queen Henrietta had already sent word that she would not attend, as she "detested balls," so if the Saint of Longueuil were also to bow out, it would constitute an outright diplomatic slight. There was nothing to be done — she had no choice but to accompany me to the ball.
"This is the last time," "You have no idea how awful it is dancing with someone like you," "Henrietta is always like this!" — and so on, she kept pouring out complaints nonstop until we arrived at the ballroom. With a face like that, it was no wonder this young lady didn't have a single lover.
Nothing happened at the ball. It was an ordinarily splendid affair.
Elizabeth was in attendance as well.
Having apparently come without a partner, she stood alone, leaning her back against a pillar.
After dancing the first waltz with the Saint of Longueuil, I approached Elizabeth and extended my hand.
"Would you do me the honor of dancing with me, mademoiselle?"
"Is there any reason for us to dance *again* after coming all this way?"
"None."
I smiled.
"But there's no reason not to dance again either, is there?"
Elizabeth let out a soft laugh and lightly placed her hand on my right hand.
The Second Chrysanthemum War thus came to an end.