The two sit there in silence for a while, letting the cold pulsing heartbeat of machinery and howling of rushing air provide the conversation.

  The Argent Dawn wasn’t alone in this most arduous task of international transportation; the battlecruiser was just one amongst the dispatched ‘tactical, long range action response squadron’ from the Fourth Legion (Sophia herself had no idea what those words meant, but they were big and seemed important).

  Organized like a formation of migrating geese surrounding a single matriarch, the seven total vessels had between each of them enough speed to cross nations overnight, enough imperial marines to storm a medium sized palace, and enough firepower to burn an industrial city to the ground; all within the same week if needed.

  Two escort cruisers the Erythryn Coast and Reichland, two reconnaissance frigates Falcon and Kinglet, assault cruiser Foudre stocked with her extended platoon complement of fifty marines, the aerostatic tender Mercurial Wing, and the flagship Argent Dawn.

  Part of her mind activates, the military theory forced upon her during her education reforming into a cohesive process of thought. That’s a lot of ships and firepower for delivering a simple Fourth Princess and a national heir.

  Something else argues the point. Well, this is the Ensolian Imperium. You can’t just toss one of the heirs and her husband on a fast reconnaissance frigate and call it a day.

  The hippocampus clicks its mental tongue. Oh but you could, remember they put mother, the Empress herself, on the Songbird last year. Made her live in a closet for the entire four day round trip across the Stygian Sea. Fifth fastest crossing ever done in fact.

  This entire show is all for a reason, a political reason.

  Beneath them a coastline approaches.

  The planned route hadn’t taken the shortest path from Capital, the squadron avoiding the Wailing Fang Mountain Range and instead opting for a western approach entirely. The General had planned it out herself, trading travel time for maximum safety; no risk of downings at mountainous altitudes above the ‘death zone’ or any chance of a ‘mysterious disappearance’ above the radio blind ridges. A vast majority of this trip was to be spent over Imperial Territory and the Adranic Ocean, in constant contact with Imperial radio repeaters, merchant shipping, and various other sources of confirmation away from prying eyes.

  A path with three exceptions.

  This was the first, and even from this distance she could see the small dots of city lights approaching the vessel from below.

  “Yunclair.” Prince Zai whispers the name as he notices it too.

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  “Yunclair…” Princess Sophia has no idea what the name means, but the Prince thankfully continues to explain from his personal knowledge of his Dominion.

  “Part of the Sanji State. The city is…” He corrects himself with new information. “...was the main port of call for the Grand Adranic Fleet. Today, it’s mostly a trade port. Lots of imported goods from the…” The young man takes a slow breath. “... from trading with the Imperium.”

  It’s huge, sprawling, and industrial; so much more than a simple ‘trade port’ as Zai had put it. Even from this high up Sophia could make out the finger-like protrusions of harbors into the dark black ocean, the illuminated isles of unsleeping factories, and the dimly lit blotches of a population in the midst of sleep.

  A rolling fog bank, absorbing the droning pillars of light from a lighthouse a few miles north of the coast, approaches the city with the gentle embrace of an ocean of endless life. Lines of ships cutting through it, queueing themselves for import into this vast port city.

  And these two were above it all, watching it like gods to animals below.

  “It’s beautiful.” Sophia quietly observes, waiting for an answer to a non question.

  There’s a sadness in Prince Zai, something inside him welling up as he watches his subjects from the cloudline.

  “What’s wrong?” Sophia asks.

  He quickly turns from her, a strange sternness as he snaps at her. “Nothing.”

  But there was something, and Sophia’s own brain makes the political connection for her from a discussion spoken over the dinner table.

  Four years prior, when Naomi was just about to leave for the Republics across the Adranic, she discussed it alongside Beatrice and Father. Diplomacy in the way of implied military force; a paradoxical conclusion in where a stronger military would result in a stronger peace.

  Gunbarrel Diplomacy was what they initially called it.

  Well, Sophia was the one to actually coin the term, mostly as an excuse to leave the table then.

  There’s more to this fleet of seven than just simply bringing you to your husband’s home.

  Throughout Imperial history, to marry off any heir to another nation was a sign of the utmost respect — and subservience. To have a daughter or son in the heart of another country was to place a hostage in the hands of an ally, a message to their people that this was no simple allegiance to be thrown away — to give a child to another meant that it was a matter of blood: unbreakable, untarnishable; living eternal like silver.

  Just like in the times before, Sophia realized that this wasn’t just a simple escort; this entire act was a message to the Dominion from the Ensolian Imperium:

  This Princess that we have given you is no hostage of yours. Look to the skies, where you believe your gods reside. Look, and be in awe at the powers we can summon in but a single week of time.

  Understand that, if a single harm befalls a daughter of the Empire, we shall bring upon you an unthinkable atrocity. If even a single drop of her blood is spilled by your hand, know that your great cities will be reduced to glowing slag, your people slaughtered without discrimination, and every scrap of your culture erased from history.

  Treat her well and she will love you as her own, but deny her and her wrath will be the finale of your civilization.

  Prince Zai derives the message he thinks is given to him specifically.

  Princess Sophia the Eighth is no partner of yours; she will instead take your nation under her chains with or without you. This is no marriage for you, no partnership as the kind you have prayed for: your survival here will be paid by everything you ever deserved and ever wanted. If you want to live, you first must lose everything to live for.

  Sophia rolls her eyes slightly at the idea of this newfangled act of gunbarrel diplomacy executed by her mother. This is a pretty harsh message for the Dominion. I’m pretty sure they’re nice enough to not hurt me.

  Some political part of her pulls intrigue, a small warning from her frontal lobe. Don’t spoil yourself; take care in Tianci. For you may be safe, but your eye candy may not be.

  The young woman steals a peek at her husband, attempting to pry something out of that longing look.