[Code Geass]
The Imperial Palace's grand hall in Pendragon was nothing short of colossal.
It consisted of both inner and outer sections. The outer area, rather than a site for mourning, more resembled a parade ground flaunting power and national might.
The decorations were magnificently extravagant. The vast, audience-chamber-like structure, capable of holding two hundred thousand people, was paved entirely in marble. Square stone pillars engraved with golden fleurs-de-lis lined both sides. The walls were lacquered and gilded into a dazzling purple-red, inlaid with onyx, amber, crystal, and gemstones, shimring with every shade of yellow from lemon to golden red, brilliance so intense it was suffocating.
At the end of the audience avenue stood a polygonal semicircular viewing platform, with purple and white banners and curtains hanging from above. At the center of the dod ceiling glead Britannia's national emblem: the eagle-lion, the serpent, and the crown. At the heart of the morial—
A massive portrait of the late Third Prince Clovis was displayed. He held a red rose, his handso golden-haired visage smiling gently, the picture of refined youth. Beneath the portrait lay a bed of fresh flowers in yellow, purple, and white.
"Your Highness, Princess!"
As Vela entered, the palace guards snapped to a perfect salute.
Returning the gesture, Vela proceeded toward the royal waiting chamber.
The waiting chamber was not large. In the center sat several sofas and coffee tables, surrounded by tall, refined bookcases and antique ornants. By the ti Vela arrived, many of the royal family's power-holders and Knights of the Round were already present.
"Royal Sister."
"Your Highness."
"Princess Vela."
…
Stepping with composed rhythm, Vela responded with a kind smile, nodding politely to each.
Inside, all rose to greet her—except the three elder siblings above her in succession, who remained seated. Every attendant and adjutant bowed deeply.
Her half-siblings rose as they should, voicing, "Royal Sister," performing chest salutes and curtseys as appropriate.
Even the proud Knights of the Round followed suit.
Except for the First Knight, Bismarck, who remained at the Emperor's side, the others did not hold enough weight to posture before Vela. With her strong maternal lineage, powerful retainer faction, natural talents, and current authority as Northern Asia's governor, she stood as one of the three most promising heirs to Britannia's throne alongside the Crown Prince and Second Prince.
Especially the Fifth Knight, Luciano, and the Eighth Knight, Ron—
Both dropped to one knee, bowing low with knightly salutes.
Vela quickly reached out with a hand, gesturing for the two to rise.
Truly, the Third Princess of such formidable maternal heritage… The gazes of the princes and princesses flickered, while the knights' expressions shifted subtly.
But whatever their thoughts, none voiced them. They simply watched in silence.
"Brother Odysseus. Brother Schneizel. Sister Guinevere."
Vela found a seat, glancing toward the three elder siblings seated with calm authority.
The mature, brown-haired, bearded man was Crown Prince Odysseus, heir apparent.
The handso, golden-haired, violet-eyed man was the Empire's Pri Minister, Second Prince Schneizel.
The alluring woman in a low-cut court gown, with dark purple lipstick and extravagant hair ornants, was the First Princess, Guinevere.
"You've returned?"
Odysseus sensed her gaze. Smiling gently, he nodded with warmth, even serving her tea himself. But his tone soon fell with quiet sorrow. "I never thought Clovis would be assassinated in Japan while serving as Governor. Let us hope Cornelia can pacify Area 11 smoothly."
"Mm, barring surprises."
Vela shrugged, appearing relaxed.
In front of this elder brother, gentle and kind, treating all equally, caring for both the Empire's honor and his family's safety—but relatively lacking in ability—court intrigue rarely surfaced. That was precisely why Vela spent the most ti with him, and shared the closest bond.
"rely restorationists from forr Area 11. If the Empire conquered it once, it can conquer it again."
Guinevere, bored, cast a glance at Vela sipping her tea, propped her cheek in her hand, and stared idly at the clock.
"Let Cornelia sweep through Area 11 again. If her forces are insufficient, she can petition Father. Vela, isn't your jurisdiction bordering Area 11? The European front against the E.U. commands Britannia's largest field army…"
"I'm fine with it."
Vela traced her finger along the rim of her teacup. "So long as Father authorizes it—or if Cornelia requests…"
"Best not to provoke the Federation too much."
Schneizel, glancing lightly at the latest Area 11 battle reports, reminded them: "It is rare that the Federation sits under such a rotten court—weak sovereign, overmighty ministers, a clique of eunuchs corrupt, decadent, and utterly without ambition. Let them decline and infight a while longer. That ancient empire, even decrepit as an old man, still contains hidden strength not to be underestimated."
Vela readily agreed.
The reason she had spoken as she did with Cornelia was precisely because she was confident the strong-willed 'Witch of Britannia' would refuse.
Area 11 was both a strategic gateway to the western Pacific and ho to the world's largest Sakuradite reserves. Such a vital stronghold should have been guarded by a tiger—or at least a wolf. Instead, Britannia sent Clovis, a decorative spearhead, to govern. That was the problem.
For the past seven years, not even a single Knight of the Round had been stationed there.
Geopolitics made the reason obvious: concern for the Federation.
The Empire did not want to provoke the Federation into launching a national salvation movent, toppling the eunuch clique.
An opponent so incompetent was priceless. Protect them carefully. Thus Area 11 was left lightly garrisoned, with gestures of goodwill and favorable Sakuradite exports used to lull and corrupt them.
A eunuch-dominated Federation was more effective than Vela's million soldiers annihilating their millions of troops in the north.
"By the way."
As though recalling sothing, Vela's lips curved faintly as she shifted the subject. "Brother, your marriage—the union with the Federation's Empress. How goes the negotiations?"
Glug—
"Cough, cough, cough…"
Odysseus gave a polite yet awkward cough. Setting down his teacup, he looked slightly troubled. "Vela, why bring this up now? Today is Clovis' morial. Hardly fitting."
"I support you completely."
Vela gave him a thumbs-up.
As for the morial of her younger brother Clovis—co now. He had been assassinated months ago, his corpse long cold. Anyone truly grieving had already wept and moved on. Today was mostly ceremony. She was here to send him off one last ti. As for throwing herself upon his coffin in anguish… well, she could do it. But excess was as bad as insufficiency.
"She's too young."
Picturing his potential fiancée, the pale-haired, red-eyed child-Empress, Odysseus sighed, covering his face.
He knew royal marriages were not a matter of personal choice. He had no objection in principle. But with such an age gap, it felt like raising a child bride. In Britannia's own laws, such conduct was punishable by death. Though, of course, laws wore two faces—one for nobles, another for commoners.
Vela smiled knowingly.
Truly, she ant it. She sincerely supported him.
Odysseus, this life—you must wed the Empress Lihua of the Federation!
Whoever stands in the way of this union, she would cut them down.
This was the key to uniting Britannia with the Federation, paving the way for world unification. It would minimize war, reduce the Federation populace's resistance, and ease the burden of conquest.
Personal feelings, tragic romances—these had to yield before such a grand goal!
After all, she couldn't very well marry the girl herself.
"Speaking of marriage. Vela, you are twenty-five now, aren't you…"
Guinevere suddenly interjected.
"Stop."
Vela raised a calm hand, cutting the topic off. "Sister, your marriages, Cornelia's, Schneizel's—all unresolved. Why should I be in a hurry?"
As the conversation drifted further astray, Schneizel sighed softly. Just then, the clock struck the hour. He shifted the topic: "The morial is about to begin. It's ti to move."
With that, he rose.
Odysseus, sentintal as ever, nodded. "Let us escort Clovis on his final journey…"
Vela and Guinevere also stood.
With the lead set, the dignitaries in the waiting chamber all rose.
Tap, tap.
Guided by the master of ceremonies, through layers of imperial guards, Vela ascended the densely arrayed steps of the viewing platform. As she advanced toward the central seating dais, attendants to her left and right peeled away to their assigned posts, leaving the procession noticeably thinned.
The seats on the dais were few, arranged in a horizontal line, with the emperor's gold-and-crimson velvet throne occupying the center.
A wide lectern was placed at the front of the platform, facing the audience avenue.
Following the order of succession, Odysseus, Schneizel, Guinevere, and Vela each took their places…
At that mont, all territories, colonies, protectorates of the Holy Britannian Empire, and indeed every major global dia outlet broadcast the scene live.
...
anwhile, Area 11.
Tokyo Settlent.
Ashford Academy, auditorium.
The entire faculty and student body gathered in solemn silence, listening to the live broadcast of the morial ceremony from Pendragon.
Tch!
Among the crowd stood a tall, slender youth with a refined figure, long straight black hair, and a faintly brooding, handso face. Ashford Academy's 'lancholy Black Prince'—Lelouch Lamperouge. In the depths of his unfathomable violet eyes flashed loathing and hatred.
His gaze fixed upon the screen, where mbers of the Britannian royal family took their seats.
His so-called blood kin.
Crown Prince Odysseus—the dullard, nothing more to say.
Britannia did not recognize primogeniture or strict succession. Order was but rank among the royals, a matter of birth.
Guinevere—bright like polished copper, glittering, but brittle. She could never shoulder the title of First Princess.
The true threats were Schneizel and Vela.
They, like Cornelia, newly appointed Governor of Area 11, were dangerous—but even more so.
Schneizel, the current Pri Minister: brilliant, calculating, endlessly scheming.
Lelouch rembered clearly his mother's praise for Schneizel. Back when he was still recognized as a prince, before his title was stripped, in none of his talents—not even chess, his own forte—had he ever once defeated Schneizel.
And Vela…
Hah. Among Charles' offspring, none embodied the words 'grand noble' and 'monarchist conservative' more than she.
So unlike his mother, 'Marianne the Flash,' who ca from the commoner knightly rank.
Knightly rank—the lowest noble title in Britannia, non-hereditary, bestowed for rit, lasting but one generation.
Vela's maternal line was entirely different: the ancient Hohenzollern dynasty.
Since Imperial Year 1798, when revolution erupted in Europe—Napoleon Bonaparte rising in France, Trafalgar won against Britain, Napoleon landing with 120,000 troops on Britannia's isle, Queen Elizabeth III abdicating and abolishing monarchy, the revolutionary tide swept across Europe. Napoleon marched east, defeating the Holy Roman Empire, Austria, Prussia, Russia. The crowns of Europe all fell. (Note: In this tiline, Napoleon never crowned himself emperor.)
Countless noble families, with their wealth and retainers, fled overseas.
From Britain, France, Prussia, Austria, Russia—these aristocrats fled to the Aricas, forming the nobility of today's Holy Britannian Empire.
Among them, the Hohenzollerns, forr royal house of Prussia.
For over two centuries in the Aricas, they thrived. Intermarriage among nobles continued. With Britannia's culture of militarism and survival of the fittest, the Hohenzollerns, steeped in military tradition, erged foremost. In history, they had allied and intermarried with the Habsburgs, the Orléans, the Romanovs—thus claiming dominion over Eastern, Central, and even parts of Western Europe.
After all, they had fled, but in principle, they had never abdicated.
Emperor Charles had wed Princess Victoria Adelheid of the Hohenzollern family as his second consort.
Thus Britannia gained both a casus belli to declare war on the E.U. and a legal foundation for dominion. Likewise, as the child of royal-blood union, Vela inherently possessed the lawful right to rule over Europe.
This was why she had been dispatched to Euro Britannia as Governor of the Eastern Front, commanding the vast land and air forces of the Russian theater, supported fully by Grand Duke of Velaines.
Her maternal faction was powerful.
Her retainers, vassal branches, and forr subordinates were innurable.
Her followers and supporters spanned every corner of the Empire's court and beyond.
She stood in natural opposition to Fifth Consort Marianne the Flash's family of commoner knightly rank.
In Lelouch's childhood mories of the White Aries Palace, the happiest tis, it was Cornelia and Euphemia who often visited to see his sister, or Clovis who ca to play chess or paint portraits with him.
Cornelia, largely out of affection for his sister and admiration for Marianne. Euphy, like Nunnally, a pure-hearted companion. Clovis, usually eager for chess matches or artistic endeavors.
As for the others—
Crown Prince Odysseus and First Princess Guinevere, the age gap made them feel like elders. Schneizel would sotis visit to lecture Lelouch and Nunnally on the outside world, or play chess with him.
But the Third Princess, Vela, was different. Among those of his generation, she was one of the few who kept her distance from the White Aries Palace.
There was contact—
But little.
Even the Sixth Princess, Carine, who bickered with Nunnally on every encounter, visited more often than Vela.
Though she seed gentle and refined, speaking with elegance and courtesy, beneath her warm smile lingered a veiled indifference. Greeting her was easy, even pleasant—like basking in spring sunlight. But trying to converse deeply was nearly impossible.
He had often heard his mother and Cornelia ntion her.
Cornelia once returned from exams disheartened, saying that whether piloting Knightmare Fras, studying core academics at the Military Academy, or in extracurriculars like shooting, wrestling, fencing, or riding—Vela was always leagues ahead. A gulf so vast it was overwhelming, excelling in both body and mind.
The sa "why can't you be more like her" talk ca up often.
Even his mother said so—when Nunnally fussed, she would remind her that at her age, Vela could sit quietly for an entire day beside their father in the Twin Palaces, watching him review state papers.
Lelouch had few direct mories with her.
Once, on Nunnally's birthday, Vela unusually attended a family gathering at the White Aries Palace. That day, Lelouch had just crushed Clovis again at chess, his spirits high, and sought a new opponent. He chose Vela. And was crushed utterly.
She had not held back.
Her moves ca with relentless pressure, near instantaneous, as though no thought was needed. The young Lelouch, unaccustod, lost all rhythm, forced into constant retreat, flailing helplessly—defeated at record speed.
"The future is yours."
Ruffling his hair with a smile, she left him with those words of comfort, then turned away to speak with adults and older siblings, leaving him with Nunnally and Euphemia's cheerful chatter.
Only later, after his mother's death, after losing his title and being sent with Nunnally to Japan as hostages, did Lelouch reconsider her deanor and words. Now he was certain—this royal sister had known sothing.
When he used his Geass of Absolute Obedience to compel Clovis, the answers only reinforced his suspicion—
"Who killed my mother?"
Clovis: "Second Prince Schneizel, Second Princess Cornelia, and Third Princess Vela. Those three know."
"Were they the masterminds? Tell everything you know."
Clovis: "Third Princess Vela may know the full truth. After you and Nunnally were sent to Japan, I investigated Marianne's assassination. She was too calm. And all of Consort Marianne's patronage of the Ashford family, their Knightmare developnt projects and engineers—all of it was seized and absorbed by her."
Recalling those scenes, Lelouch's eyes flickered with violent change. His fists clenched unconsciously, his chest heaved.
Struggle—inevitably, he would trample the others beneath his feet. Every half-sibling who despised his existence, his mother's existence, Nunnally's existence—they were all enemies to be destroyed!
Just then—
"Truth and hope in our Fatherland."
"And death to every foe."
Amid the anthem All Hail Britannia, the solemn chorus of male voices began. The atmosphere grew ever more austere as a towering figure appeared upon the platform.
Broad shoulders and thick waist wrapped in the Prussian blue of a resplendent military dress uniform, long white hair ticulously curled in the style of old monarchs, and that face—loathed and cursed by countless—yet brimming with undeniable arrogance and majesty. All marked his identity beyond doubt—
Charles zi Britannia.
The mont he appeared, the domineering aura and piercing gaze that seed to crush all before it turned the morial ceremony into a parade ground echoing with bayonets and marching boots.
The herald announced with reverent tone: "Presenting His Majesty, Charles, 98th Emperor of the Holy Britannian Empire, to deliver his address."
Clack.
Strong hands gripped the edge of the lectern. Head held high, chest proud, Charles spoke with fervor, his tone anything but mournful:
"n are not created equal."
At once, words utterly at odds with the the of a morial.
"So are born swift, so beautiful. So are born to poor parents, so with sickness. From birth, in growth, in talent—humankind is never the sa."
The Emperor's resounding voice carried instantly across the globe through the live broadcast.
"Yes—humanity exists to be unequal. Therefore n struggle, compete, and through such conflict, the new replaces the old. Inequality is not evil. Equality is evil.
"The E.U., proclaiming equality of rights—their terms of office breed only ignorant politics. The Federation, leveling wealth—they produce only slothful, degenerate n. But we Britannians are different.
"In struggle, in competition, cos evolution. Only Britannia advances. Only Britannia marches toward the future.
"The death of my son Clovis is proof of Britannia's ceaseless evolution.
"Go forth to battle!
"Seize, plunder, claim, dominate! At the end lies the future!"
His thunderous voice shook the grand hall, echoing without end. On the platform, Vela sat with hands folded at her abdon, leaning against the high-backed chair, silently watching the Emperor's back.
A textbook speech of social Darwinism.
Incredible—that such a man's wish was to build a world without lies…
At the climax, Charles raised his arm, voice steely and unyielding:
"All Hail Britannia!!"
"All Hail Britannia!" ×N.
In that instant, deafening shouts thundered like waves.
Her lips curved faintly. As if swept by the fervor, Vela's eyes trembled lightly. The throne… so it must be.
...
After the morial concluded—
Night cloaked the imperial capital of Pendragon, dazzling beneath its lights.
Vela returned by carriage to the Twin Palaces.
"Your Highness, Duke Hohenzollern awaits."
At the palace gate, a servant approached silently, bowing in report.
"My uncle, hm."
Walking on, Vela asked casually: "Which talents has Uncle co to recomnd this ti?"
"Present are Lord Blücher, as well as mbers of the Rundstedt, Haig, Bock, Lewinski, Model, Hötzendorf, Mackensen, and Brusilov families…"
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