Later that day, during the afternoon break.

A group of servants busied themselves with many tools, utensils and porcelains decorated with extravagant patterns, rich both in form and in artistry. Any blacksmith was capable of producing hundreds of spoons if the applicant had ties with royalty, however, no hammer could replicate those fine valleys and hills with such precision. And thus the whitesmith’s guild often prized itself as the closest to the king’s family and acquaintances, their claims backed both with pride and truth.

Thousands of artisans dreamt of working directly for their suzerain, alas the minimum criteria were so complicated only a few chosen could be selected to become dedicated producers of various items. Painters were asked to immortalize their suzerain on a canvas and also to maintain the clarity of the walls’ and pillars’ tint. Tailors were constantly sweating next to their sewing machine to fabricate more and more clothes for all purposes.

Every worker had to possess talent for quality and beauty, otherwise their entry would be denied or worse case, their salary diminished.

Servants had their own worry on their own, they needed to keep a meticulous behaviour at all times. Cleaning the rooms and corridors, washing the sheets and the carpets, delivering the food from the kitchen to the dining room. And yet those tasks only encompassed the time they allocated for their master as they also had to repeat most of those chores for the entire staff working inside the castle.

While the pendulum rang the fifteenth hour of the day, the elegant round table had already been transported alongside everything necessary to enjoy an alleviating pause. Two chairs with soft cushions for the bosom and the back were prepared, then finally one of them knocked on the door, waited for the reply, before a duo of maids opened the large double door to allow the prince inside his room.

“Your Highness, as requested your tea was brewed with the leaves Mr. Philepin sent you as a gift. The snacks were baked following the usual recipe, however, the sugar is from a different source as our Head Butler has seen fit to please your palate.”

“Of course” laughed Louis at the mention of the Head Butler’s unwanted attention to this detail, “After all, he knows best about my taste. You may leave now.”

Bowing to their master, the servants allocated to preparing the tea break left the room, leaving only a couple of them behind to take care of the prince’s necessities. While the tea was sufficiently hot for spouting the usual semi-transparent white gas, the closest servant began to fill his master’s cup. Another maid stood still next to the entrance to act as an intermediary to receive guests, whereas the third and last one also waited on standby nearby just in case.

Watching this scene unfolding before his eyes for the nth time, Louis couldn’t help but smile inside his head, pondering if this etiquette originated from the famous three-man formation.

But as he was about to take a sip from his cup, a knock interrupted his thoughts and the servant at the door pronounced the name of the prince’s guest.

“Lady Clémond wishes to meet Your Highness.”

Receiving visitors even during break time wasn’t unheard of for the sole heir of the kingdom. What was unexpected, however, was the identity of said visitor, as such a person wouldn’t usually come and meet the prince unannounced.

After one brief lapse of thoughts, Louis gave his permission to the servant who allowed the door to open. The next person coming in the room was a woman with delicate features and an extravagant dress covered with ribbons and jewels. It was akin to a piece of the starry sky torn from heaven, and tailored into a magnificent cloth of power, wealth and beauty.

The eye-catching profoundness of her allure seemed to absorb the surroundings as the colours boldly contrasted with the brilliant and vivid place where the royalty stood in. So much that people would found themselves believing the act was done on purpose to contradict a few local aspects, and they would be right.

“My prince, may the Day Goddess smiles upon you” Vinithite Clémond Vanessa Dimtus, fiancée of the prince, offered as a pleasant introduction, gently bowing as if facing a person of equal status.

“And may she smiles upon you as well, my dear fiancée” answered the prince by lifting his cup of tea as a show of invitation.

Smiling after receiving his benediction, she approached the table and sat opposite to the prince, waiting for a servant to fill her cup before pursuing the conversation.

“Is business still doing fine? Ever since this morning I’ve had this little bird chirping in my ears about this regretful incident-ouch, hot hot…”

While holding back his laugh, the prince took a sip, enjoying the pleasant fragrance.

“I’ve been told about it too. A worker at one of the factory misused the machinery which heated up and ended up exploding, damaging part of the complex and putting on hold the line of production there. It’s a common occurrence, indeed.”

“You don’t seem too upset about it.”

“I’ve just been thinking a bit about it. On a bright side, the explosion only damaged some goods, everything can be rebuilt anew and work will resume in a few days. No one lost their lives, and this is the best outcome I could hope for.”

“But many seized this opportunity to criticize those same factories you’re praising every day” retorted the lady before munching on a peach-flavoured biscuit, “Mmh, those are delicious…”

Perhaps curious after hearing her critic, Louis grabbed for himself the same biscuit for tasting. Despite its crispy appearance, the biscuit actually melted on the tongue leaving behind a humble savour of peach with a heavy pinch of sugar. Noticing the peculiarity, he tried to warn his fiancée about it, which she quickly took to heart and stopped her gluttony from taking over, maybe reminiscing how a few of her entourage ended up after indulging themselves for too long.

“About those rumours… It really can’t be helped” sighed the prince, “Most come from the populace’s ignorance and credulity, while the rest are born from outside my reach.”

Thinking his wording odd, lady Clémond inquired he prince to clear her confusion, which he gladly began to explain after picking a second biscuit.

“Have you seen how a machine operates? It’s a wonder of metal and ingenuity, built on a robust balance to repeat a monotonous task again and again. The gears rotating in repetition, the pipes holding on the pressure of the vapour flowing inside which results in a controlled cycle from which we can exert immense strength.

I truly believe this is the wisdom of the fire the Day Goddess wanted to share with us.”

“Well if those machines are so divine like you described them, then why did they explode?”

“That’s the neat part, my dear fiancée: they’re not supposed to explode, but at worse to break down. There are rare cases where the pressure chamber could burst for some reasons, however, our blacksmiths stand way beyond such minor mistakes and would not dare to deliver a fragile container to the royal family.”

“So you mean…”

It was sabotaged. The phenomenal industry mankind managed to construct from rocks and stones, one of the most beneficial breakthrough of History and the greatest boon in economy of this kingdom, was still despised by a resentful minority.

Their casus belli were numerous: it could have been because they feared this incomprehensible age of machines, or because the fire they so much worshipped was unceremoniously used as a heater, but of course the worst possibilities were because a few either desired to see how devastating such explosions could become or because they were secretly pushing against the new rising force in the nation.

Unsettled by those prospects, lady Clémond had her eyes fixated on her tea while her mind was gazing at something else.

“That’s a bit unfair of a strategy, don’t you think?”

“It’s more or less fine. As long as their objective remain as bland as wrecking one or two machines, there is hardly anything to worry about.”

Seeing his fiancée not easing up, the prince added another comment on the subject. If they did escalate it any further, it would reach a scale where he could interject a tad more directly rather than merely providing funds for repairs and speeches for the crowd.

After all, accidents are bound to happen a few times in a year, however, may it occurs often enough to seem suspicious, the police would not suffice to resolve the issue with only an intervention. The populace would worry, then turn this worry toward the man responsible for bringing up those touchy machines which could more than potentially harm others. In other words, Louis would by general consensus be compelled to act one way or another.

People would most certainly expect him to apologize for said accidents, after all he was the pioneer who built all those factories. If he was at least half as decent as a human being, he would repent for the many deaths he has caused with his far-from-pious idea.

However, an apology wasn’t the only word one could share during an official statement.

“Actually” continued the prince on his momentum, “I’ve been building quite the reputation and the connections ever since I started this political adventure. Just like me, more and more are agreeing on the benefice of relying on machines instead of humans to perform heavy labour. People from renowned families, people from beyond this country’s boundaries. It’s like I’ve sparked a new trend that nobody could ignore any longer.”

Hearing those words, lady Clémond felt a sense of urgency. Her mind warned her of a subtle but undeniable feeling aching from her waist.

If she dared to read between his lines, she somehow had the impression Louis felt both untouchable and irresistible. Even when grazed, he would remain stainless. Even when abandoned, he would find a new hearth somewhere else. Even if she were to be cut off from the royal family, he could easily and certainly in less than a week meet another suitable partner.

Her eyes sparked a faint gleam, not from the holy fire, but of a hardly masked envy.

“A country doesn’t run on sweat ideas, my Prince, but on stability and wealth. If the majority believes machines are harmful, then they are harmful and will be forever rejected. If people believe fire is to remain a sacred torch for mankind and not to be trifled with dirty hands, then it will remain as a divine symbol placed above everyone’s head.

Please remember that we’re standing here because they believe we all share the same concepts and not some baseless novelties.”

The remark sounded oddly familiar in Louis’s ear. Perhaps he has heard those same words spoken by his father a year or so ago. They sounded similar, respectful and also full of contempt. Did entertaining traditions really went against celebrating innovation? Despite lacking the obvious mark of the Day Goddess, a large amount of heads still treated him as a prince. So where exactly was he wrong about his endeavour? Or was he wrong at all?

With those thoughts in mind, even he couldn’t help but lightly chortle.

“You look so confident and religious, my dear fiancée, yet I see no fire in these eyes either.”

“Your Highness!” she snapped at slammed the table, “May I remind you that everyone is waiting for the day you become chosen by the Day Goddess?!”

“And may I remind you that everyone else is waiting for the day of my coronation more so than a benediction?” calmly replied the prince.

Gritting her teeth in ire, lady Clémond slammed once more the table before leaving in a hurry the room as her mood was about to rupture. Disregarding etiquette for this time, she abruptly opened the doors and walked away while clenching her fits.

Meanwhile, Louis sipped another little mouthful from his tea, enjoying either her small outrage or the remanence of her latest snide remark.

The afternoon break passed in the blink of an eye, and as always he has been told again about the importance of one single trait in a human.

However, fortunately or not, that didn’t truly matter for the heir to the throne. With or without Her benediction, mankind would still progress forward. That was his wish all along.