Out-face-smacking a King

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Face-smacking: face (脸) is usually a Chinese term for honor, dignity, or reputation. Face-smacking usually means trying to strike down said dignity, a verbal smackdown of sorts.

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King Mikhail Vya de la L'air gazed out towards the sea of retainers.

At his left, was the Grand Duke Amaryllis, and to his right was the Archduke Vya. The former his most loyal servant, and the latter his brother. For twenty years, he had upheld the dignity of L'air and the kingdom of Elevyar.

For twenty years, he had been the one chosen by Souveraine, the one under the penta-flower.

For twenty years, he had to deal with those trying to upset his seat.

"Your Majesty, I beseech you to deal with the Resilia situation!"

Marquis Vanahan flailed his limbs, resembling a fly drowning. Thrusting himself on the floor, he looked up desperately at the throne.

'I have to give it to him, he's a good actor.'

Only those from above could see the sinister glint in his eyes.

The Resilia situation.

It had been ten years since the formerly-illustrious kingdom had been thrown into anarchy, and war. It was more than a turbulent situation, it was a controversial one - so much so mainly because no one had made a move on it yet. Once a pawn would be thrown forward on the board, it could be seen as trying to take over the Resilian land.

Elevyar, Likator, and Evangeline were at an impasse.

The Resilia situation had been a sore spot for the monarchs of all three respective kingdoms.

'Vanahan…'

The nobles in the Council court looked at the Marquis with mixed emotions. Those in the Royalist factions were looking at the Marquis with slight disapproval, while those in the Anti-Royalist factions' eyes gleamed with anticipation.

There were two main political parties in the Elevyarian Noble Council: Royalists and Anti-Royalists. In addition, there were more factions in the two parties. Royalists supported the current King because it benefited them, while Anti-Royalists disliked the current King and wanted Mikhail replaced.

Anti-Royalist factions were split into those supporting the Archduke Vya, the seemingly 'rightful' heir to the throne and part of the Imperial bloodline, called the 'Monarchist' faction, and those who wanted the monarchy gone in favor of a more democratic government, called the 'Radicals.'

Royalist factions were currently split into two factions, as well: those who wanted the Anti-Royalists gone, the original 'Royalists,' and those who wanted radical changes without overthrowing the current King, also called 'Radicals.'

A mix of both Royalists and Anti-Royalists were scattered throughout the council, and both of them were equally a headache to deal with.

Marquis Vanahan was an Anti-Royal Monarchist, the faction that Mikhail had the most hard time dealing with at the moment. Now, the Anti-Royalists were closing in, pressuring him to deal with the Resilia situation once again. The Monarchists were particularly aggressive, wanting the Likatorites and Evangelinese to deal with Mikhail before promoting the Archduke Vya, borrowing a knife to kill.

Mikhail sighed internally.

Politics really were a headache.

The light-haired Countess Dubois, a Royalist Radical, interjected. "Marquis Vanahan, please exercise proper court etiquette when bringing an issue to the attention of His Majesty. You are in the presence of the Council."

The marquis finally lessened his squirming, formally bending his knee into a genuflecting position. "Your Majesty, there are hundreds dying in the former Resilia every day. Please, have an ounce of compassion, send some of the Order...I-"

Mikhail opened his mouth. "Silence, Marquis."

'The dimwit.'

"I have been informed that recently, rogues near the Resilian border have increased their activities. Deaths have also increased. If the Marquis would like to be so compassionate, and take responsibility for the deaths being caused by the people you want to rescue, instead of throwing forward a proposition with no clear plan whatsoever, it would be appreciated by the Court."

Before the Marquis could continue, Mikhail cut him off.

"Duke Rella's territory seems to bear the brunt of it. Since the Marquis values compassion so much, this Majesty will issue a command dispatching the Marquis Vanahan to the border. That will be all."

The Marquis floundered, "Your Majesty-"

'Ah.'

"This Majesty is bestowing upon you an opportunity to address the situation the Marquis was so concerned about. Is this not a gift?" Mikhail moved his gaze from the writhing Marquis to the Archduke beside him. "Isn't it, brother?"

The Archduke Vya hesitated.

'Answer your supporters, Alexei.'

"Of course, it is a bestowment of an esteemed opportunity, Your Majesty," the Archduke responded after a pause.

'The next person who brings this up shall be sent to the border. That will be what I'm trying to put in their heads.' Mikhail surveyed the whispering crowd. 'But the border situation really is getting worse. I must consult with Duke Rella.'

"Ah, isn't it time for recess?" Mikhail asked, languidly. "We will start again in two hours. I hope this issue has been resolved." Pressuring the nobles with his gaze once more, Mikhail swept his court robe, gathering it as he rose to his feet. The court exited their seats, bowing. With Souveraine's royal scepter in his hand, Mikhail slowly descended the throne.

His attendants followed him as he made his exit.

'Wait.'

Mikhail turned his head, the attendants behind him leaping to the floor.

"Countess Dubois. Duke Rella. You may stay behind to seek a private audience."

After one last sentence, the King made his recess exit just as he sighed once again.

'Twenty years…'

But it felt like it had just been yesterday.

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Hundreds of people, all dressed in rags, in tents in a makeshift camp.

In the center was a tattered marquee, inside of which were a small group huddled over a makeshift table. A makeshift wooden penta-flower carving, placed on the right of a line on a map on the table's surface.

All of the group members were armed, with specks of blood on their clothes.

The border rebels.

One figure, who seemed to be the leader, stabbed their finger at the line.

"We attack in two months."

"Where first?" inquired another voice.

The leader's finger shifted from the border to a small dot.

"We start here. A small town."

Under the dot, scrawled in pen, was a name.

ROOK.

----

The original Yu Yan's memories weren't very helpful.

She remembered hazy etiquette lessons, of actions that weren't hers, of sneering nobles that strung her along like puppet strings. Of a warped life from an even worse perspective. Yu Xin had taken 'Yu Yan's' trust and mangled 'Yu Yan's' nonexistent ambition and placid nature into a figurehead with vision so clouded that it rivaled the bathroom mirrors at Yu Yan's former school. Sometimes the memories were off-putting, like she was watching a horror movie she had no memory being the main character of. In her memories, 'she' did things she didn't do, said things she didn't say, and loved people she didn't love.

Even though their souls had merged, it was like remembering a previous life. But although Yu Yan somewhat believed in previous lives - after all, she had transmigrated - she wasn't the same person as her former self.

But, watching Yu Xin cutting off the original's every road of escape, from 'her' former friends to 'her' classmates, and plunging 'her' into a pit full of snakes that viewed 'her' as an irritating bug, had been unsettling...to say the least.

Almost painful.

Although they were separate people, Yu Yan's animosity for Yu Xin was second to none. The original and Yu Yan weren't the same person, but, after all, only she of all people knew how much 'she' had trusted Yu Xin. The current Yu Yan had no doubt that if Yu Xin were alive and walking, he would be the target of Yu Yan's first assassination.

Yu Yan stared at the dusty mirror in the inn room she had rented.

A face stared back at her.

'Her' face.

No, it was her face now.

They looked similar. Both of them had almond-shaped dark eyes, with dark hair and a small yet swooping nose. In her former life, Yu Yan had dressed well enough, enough to be called - well, what was the word of the level between beautiful and gorgeous? But she wasn't bad.

In most of the stories, the girls were usually nation-toppling beauties that practically fell over the usually male protagonist's feet. Either that, or they were Mary Sues who played hard to get. Rare were those who could stand on their own, usually because the stories were set in worlds where they didn't have the opportunity to.

Yu Yan hadn't been a nation-toppling beauty, in both lives.

For that, she was grateful. Otherwise, she might've slashed her whole face...

When the original had been young, she had been pushed onto the mantle of 'heir.'

Just like her.

'Aii, what am I getting so sentimental for?' Yu Yan blinked, turning her gaze from the mirror to the bed. She rubbed her eyes. Usually, when she started dwelling on her feelings, she was either sleepy, hungry, or both.

She had arrived in Vya, the capital city of the kingdom, at evening and had walked around a bit before deciding on an inn near the Academy.

Was it the scar? The mask? The sword that she threateningly held at the right times?

The innkeeper even gave her a discount.

What a nice guy.

Yu Yan had even deepened her voice, tucking her dark hair into an androgynous bun. She removed the hairband as well as her cloak and mask, making sure to lock both doors. Placing a glass cup over the door handle and the windowpane, the glass would break if someone tried to break in. After washing her face in the small interconnecting bathroom, and drawing the curtains, she went to sleep.