Chapter 131: Traveling Through the Middle Ages 131

Chapter 131: Time Travel to the Middle Ages 131

'Whoosh—whoosh—'

The sounds outside the window caught the attention of the young noblemen and women in the hall. They quickly looked toward the window and saw fireworks lighting up the night sky. Someone immediately exclaimed, "Fireworks? I don’t recall hearing about any preparations for one tonight?"

When they asked the palace servants, they too seemed unaware.

Someone clever figured it out and said, "This must have been arranged by Prince Guillaume. Didn’t someone see Prince Guillaume and Princess Balzac leave together earlier? Princess Balzac headed toward the balcony... If there’s a fireworks display in the courtyard, the balcony would indeed be the best viewing spot."

This explanation made sense to everyone, and because of it, those who had initially intended to go to the balcony to watch the fireworks halted in their tracks. There were always perceptive people around—and this didn’t even require much perception. Everyone knew that when the Crown Prince summoned Princess Balzac, it was clearly for a private moment. Barging in now would just make enemies.

Meanwhile, on the balcony not far away, Louisa was indeed with Guillaume. To be precise, the two stood there awkwardly, avoiding each other's eyes. Just moments ago, Louisa had bluntly rejected Count Medeke, leaving him no choice but to depart in a huff.

Only then did Louisa notice Guillaume, who had been standing in the shadows at the edge of the corridor for who knows how long. It was often said that there were no secrets in the palace—and for good reason. With its open, interconnected layout and lack of doors, anything said or done could easily fall under someone else’s watchful eyes.

The servants and attendants preparing the fireworks below were clearly unaware of what had transpired on the balcony. They simply followed Guillaume’s instructions and began the display at the appointed time. Up on the balcony, Louisa and Guillaume stood silently, the only sounds between them being the 'whooshing' of the fireworks and the flickering firelight.

Louisa desperately wanted to say something to break the awkward tension, but she had no idea what. She didn’t know how to react when her fiancé overheard someone else’s "confession" (if you could call it that).

She thought that since she had outright rejected Count Medeke without any ambiguity, it should be fine. But then she remembered that she had tacitly acknowledged his claim—that she didn’t truly love Guillaume—and felt guilty. She didn’t believe that lacking romantic love for a political marriage partner was wrong or her fault. But facing the person involved, especially when that person had genuine feelings for her, was another matter entirely.

Louisa lowered her eyes. To Guillaume, it was a beautiful pose, one that made her seem as docile, shy, and innocent as many women of the time. But he knew better. From what he understood of her, she thought like a man—self-centered and anything but docile.

As for shyness and innocence? Well, sometimes she did display a certain naivety when it came to matters between men and women, but that had nothing to do with bashfulness or purity. For instance, just moments ago, she had bluntly rejected the advances of a notorious flirt without the slightest hint of hesitation.

In fact, until she got annoyed, her reaction had been almost too indifferent. Guillaume could tell that Louisa’s anger stemmed from Count Medeke’s insincerity. It was all a performance, yet even after she offered him an out, he refused to take it and instead accused her.

As for Count Medeke’s accusations, Louisa had denied some and tacitly accepted others. Setting aside the denials—Guillaume didn’t believe Louisa was the type to lie—he believed her over the count’s obvious lies. Especially when considering Count Medeke’s ties to Queen Anna, Guillaume had every reason to suspect his sudden courtship was part of some scheme.

But the part Louisa had tacitly accepted... Guillaume found it difficult to describe how he felt in that moment.

Before he met Louisa, he had never considered "love"—that thing so often glorified by court poets—worth paying attention to. If anything, "love" had been trivialized by the frivolous pursuits of courtly ladies and knights, reduced to a mere pastime to stave off boredom. It was something Guillaume had always regarded with skepticism.

He did acknowledge that pure, noble love existed within the court—but it was so rare that he had never expected to encounter it himself. Especially not in his own life.

Yet fate was unpredictable. Who could have guessed that on his journey to the Palatinate, he would meet a woman who would make him feel this way? No, not even a second before Louisa walked into the church on the day of the coronation had he anticipated it.

And now, mere moments ago, he had been feeling happy—though he wasn’t entirely sure. Despite his royal status, genuine happiness had been a rare experience for him. He had simply felt an overwhelming joy, a deep satisfaction that filled his heart with both anticipation and a hint of unease.

He didn’t know what to call this feeling, but he suspected it was happiness.

Then, just as quickly, he overheard Louisa’s conversation with Count Medeke and realized a truth he had subconsciously avoided: it was entirely possible that Louisa did not love him.

Of course, of course—that was perfectly normal. Back in the Palatinate, Louisa had outright rejected him. He loved her, yes, but that didn’t mean she was obligated to return his feelings. As she had once put it, if she had to reciprocate every man’s affection, she’d be far too busy!

Guillaume couldn’t deny it. Wherever Louisa went, young knights were always eager to approach her, to shower her with attention. Some were bold enough to act, while others hesitated and missed their chance.

Now, through his own methods, he had secured her as his fiancée—soon to be his wife. He could officially make her his before God and man. He had long since realized that this was the only way to truly have her.

But that didn’t solve the other problem: Louisa’s "love." Did women always love their fiancés or husbands? No, not necessarily—Guillaume was absolutely certain of that.

Though society preached that a good woman must respect, remain loyal to, and love her husband—that this was the only way to maintain a strong marriage—Guillaume, having grown up in court, had seen far too many couples who were estranged in spirit, sharing a bed but not their hearts. Marriage was no guarantee of love, nor even of loyalty.

Guillaume had never dwelled on whether Louisa loved him. For one, it wasn’t in his nature to ponder such things. And secondly, perhaps it was an instinctive, subconscious avoidance—until he was certain he could have her, he hadn’t wanted to consider it.

Now, he was on the verge of securing Louisa through marriage—though for now, it was only an engagement, and things could still change. Just look at Philip, who had been engaged to Louisa for years before the betrothal was abruptly dissolved. That example alone made it clear to Guillaume that an engagement was no guarantee—only marriage would make it official.

However, the engagement still served a purpose, and they wouldn’t have to wait for years—Guillaume and Louisa were set to marry in just a few months.

Now, speaking of "love," Guillaume felt a sense of loss—yes, he couldn’t exactly be angry. On one hand, even before Louisa, he wasn’t exactly a romantic. As Louisa had just stated, political marriages weren’t always about love, and he understood and accepted that. On the other hand, he’d known where Louisa stood for a while.

Sure, he’d hoped that Louisa might come to love him simply because he was her fiancé—after all, before reality set in, people tended to be optimistic—but Guillaume, accustomed to expecting the worst in battle and avoiding wishful thinking, had always kept in mind the possibility that Louisa might not love him, even when things were going his way.

With such expectations, anger was naturally out of the question, though a sense of loss was unavoidable.

Just as Guillaume found himself in a rare slump, Louisa also gathered her thoughts, deciding this was an opportunity to clear the air for her own sake—and this seemed like the right moment.

So, against the backdrop of fireworks, she spoke softly but clearly to Guillaume: "Your Highness, you must have heard earlier. To be frank, I don’t love you—in fact, I don’t even understand ‘love,’ nor am I particularly interested in it. I apologize for this, as I know you love me… if I’m reading this right."

"But I can promise you this: as your fiancée and future wife, I’ll do right by you. If you grant me the same respect you would any other noble, I will offer you loyalty and reverence in return… From what I’ve seen so far, I believe you are not one of those terrible men or rulers. I think we’ll manage just fine."

These were indeed Louisa’s sincere thoughts. Guillaume could be a bit full of himself and indulged in the usual macho nonsense of the time, but that was nearly unavoidable. Beyond that, he was a solid king—and truth be told, machismo wasn’t exactly a flaw for a king.

Though Philip, the male lead of the original story, was a whiz at running the kingdom, keeping Wasong in line, and strengthening royal authority, Guillaume was no less capable. Living in this era, Louisa had a deeper appreciation for this.

Both were pragmatic individuals, but while Philip excelled in governance, Guillaume had invested his extra skills in military prowess—a crucial asset for any ruler of the time. One could say administrative skills set the baseline, while military skills determined the ceiling.

Since he was a good king, he would be a reasonable liege—or "superior." Yes, Louisa viewed her future husband as her "superior." And she wasn’t wrong, given that she was the future Countess of Brulado, and Guillaume, as the future King of Wasong, would indeed be her liege and direct superior.

A decent lord wouldn’t jerk his wife and vassal around, maintaining at least basic respect. Moreover, Guillaume, the original book called him the "poster boy for knighthood," embodied the idealized virtues of a knight—even if not in the most literal sense.

This indirectly affirmed Guillaume’s character.

Being a stand-up guy didn’t mean he’d be husband material, but Louisa didn’t need a good husband—because, in a way, she wasn’t exactly wife-of-the-year material herself. However, with his integrity, she wouldn’t have to worry about betrayal—as long as she remained loyal, she could enjoy a stable and free position as queen.

In some ways, this might even be better than marrying Philip. After all, Philip had more schemes than a chessboard, and she’d never been great at handling those types. And, realistically speaking, Guillaume’s love for her was an advantage.

Love was flaky and could fade, but it was still love. As long as she didn’t squander it, whatever goodwill was left would still grease the wheels for her.

Guillaume was certain of Louisa’s sincerity—this was more of an intuition, shaped by his impression of her. She wasn’t like traditional court ladies, who might let you down easy, like a proper court lady. Just as she had bluntly refused Count Medeke, or long ago in Pfalz, she could’ve chosen more diplomatic, "courtly" ways to reject him.

But she hadn’t. She had spoken the truth… Even though Guillaume loved her, he couldn’t deny that this trait wasn’t ideal for a future crown princess or queen. The wife of a crown prince or king was expected to be more "diplomatic," more "courtly."

One could say this wasn’t ideal for the "Crown Prince" or "King," but for Guillaume himself, it wasn’t bad. In some ways, he had been a victim of courtly pretense throughout his childhood and youth. He had never adapted well to a world where everyone wore masks and nothing felt real.

It was hard to say whether he liked war, but he certainly preferred military life—perhaps for this very reason. Military life, even in peacetime, was simpler and more honest than courtly intrigue. And during war, the battlefield was the most brutally honest place of all.

Everything else could lie, but the battlefield never did. Victory was victory, defeat was defeat—no eloquent words or dramatic performances could change that.

Yes, though he hadn’t voiced it, Guillaume did appreciate Louisa’s honesty, even when it was directed against him. Yet, for the first time, he found himself agreeing with certain courtiers: "Sometimes, a kind lie is more welcome than a blunt truth." He almost resented Louisa’s honesty.

No, "resent" was too strong—"dislike" too definite. He simply… in that moment, wished Louisa were a more polished court lady. Perhaps then he could have snapped out of his lovesick daze sooner. Or at least, she could have offered a white lie to spare his feelings.

In the end, Guillaume said nothing. The joy he’d felt earlier now sat in his gut like a rock.

Louisa and Guillaume watched the dazzling fireworks display in silence—fireworks that drew gasps from the nobles gathered by the windows. Fireworks were different from the gunpowder-based displays of the East; while China’s Yuan Dynasty already had sophisticated pyrotechnics, they hadn’t yet reached the West.

Chinese fireworks originated in the Tang Dynasty, flourished in the Song, and reached their peak in the Ming and Qing eras. Anyone who had read the Ming-era novel *The Plum in the Golden Vase* would recall vivid descriptions of lantern festivals, where fireworks lined the streets.

But even without Eastern fireworks, pyrotechnic displays had existed worldwide for centuries—some borrowed, others independently developed. Even in China, before gunpowder-based fireworks, there had been various flame-based performances, remnants of which lingered in folk traditions.

The next day, following tradition, Louisa entered the palace again to "express gratitude." Wasong didn’t call it that—the king wasn’t quite so exalted—but the meaning was similar: she was there to thank the Wasong Royal House for choosing her.

Normally, she would have been received by the king and queen, but given Louis III’s condition, Louisa wasn’t sure she’d see him until she was led to his chambers—and indeed, she did, with Queen Anna also present.

Anna now visited Louis III daily, ensuring his well-being. Frankly, given the circumstances, she might have been more invested in his survival than he was. After his initial will to live faded, Louis III, trapped in his immobile state, often wished for death.

Upon entering Louis III's chamber, Louisa's first impression was the overpowering smell of incense hanging thick in the air.

This was likely meant to mask various unpleasant odors... Even though Louis III was a king and lacked no attendants for cleaning and care, one had to consider the primitive care standards of the time and the general lack of awareness about proper care. So while he didn’t suffer from skin diseases, maggots, or necrosis like many who lacked proper care, there were still plenty of unpleasant smells lingering around.

Yet, despite the abundance of spices and burning incense meant to conceal them, Louisa could still detect the scent of decay. It was that distinct odor of an elderly person nearing death, mixed with the lifelessness of the surroundings and the prolonged gloom of low spirits—all blending into an overwhelming sense of decline.

Beyond that, there was nothing particularly memorable during the audience. Louis III was just a bedridden, paralyzed old man who had suffered a stroke, no more regal than an elderly relative she had once seen in a hospital in her past life. As for Queen Anna standing nearby, her attitude made perfect sense. Given her current adversarial relationship with Guillaume, her demeanor wasn’t entirely incomprehensible.

When Louisa left, Queen Anna no longer had to maintain her facade. Her smile disappeared like a snuffed candle. She clutched a flower from the nearby vase, squeezing its stem until sap oozed out, staining her hand. Only when she noticed this did she slowly wipe it away with a handkerchief, saying coldly, "Your Majesty, did you see?"

"Oh, I remember—back when you could still speak—you once said you wanted to meet this 'Louisa of Brudo' if given the chance. To see what kind of girl could completely captivate Guillaume, who isn’t the type of young man easily swayed by beauty... Now that you’ve seen her, what do you think? Do you understand why Guillaume fell for her?"

Of course, Louis III couldn’t respond, so Queen Anna was merely thinking out loud.

"...Yes, young and beautiful, of course, but it’s more than that. She’s a girl somewhat like Guillaume—not particularly skilled in the court’s schemes and intrigues, but they have their own way of doing things. Once they’ve marked someone as friend or foe, they rarely waver. They're cut from the same cloth!"

"That’s right, they see me as their enemy because I’ve sheltered those you indulged. Ha! Look at you—you’re still alive, yet your authority means nothing now! I dare say, if you were still ruling on your own, your son would regard you as an adversary too."

Queen Anna seemed to be mocking Louis III, but he knew she was only trying to justify her struggle against Guillaume. After all, for a queen to oppose the Crown Prince—and likely the future king—was no easy task, especially given their stepmother-stepson relationship, which made her position even more precarious. So she invoked Louis III’s name, using him as a fig leaf of legitimacy.

Louis III didn’t particularly care that his past "indulgences" had led to the current predicament. If he had truly been in control of governance, as Queen Anna claimed, he wouldn’t have allowed those people or those matters to take root and flourish in the first place.

As Louis III drifted into trancelike wandering thoughts, Queen Anna continued her soliloquy: "Which side would you take, Your Majesty? Between your son on one side, and your wife and your other sons on the other—yes, there’s no doubt now, peaceful coexistence between them is impossible."

Queen Anna had already come to regret becoming the leader of the "opposition," but she was swept along now. Often, people don’t make choices entirely of their own will—they’re swept along into a decision, into a situation they can no longer escape.