Chapter 17

“That’s the whole story.”

Right after returning to Torinia Castle from the hunting tournament, I reported to my father everything that had happened there.

“I’m just glad you’re safe…”

My father let out a relieved sigh.

The official stance of the royal family was that the hunting tournament had concluded without incident.

Of course, the count who shot arrows at both me and Prince Karvenil was temporarily detained, and we were questioned directly by the king.

However, the tournament itself proceeded as planned, and during the closing ceremony the following day, the king declared, “Once again, the event ended without any casualties. A happy ending for all.”

“Well, an attempted assassination is certainly a troubling affair.”

“The king judged it to be an accident.”

The king had deemed the matter non-criminal.

The minor count was made to offer an apology with a “Sorry about that,” and we were expected to respond with an “It’s fine,” and accept it.

The only penalty imposed on the count was a five-year ban from attending the hunting tournament.

You might think that’s too lenient, but in the first place, the king doesn’t have the authority to judge a noble.

After all, the king is merely one noble among many.

At most, he can act as a mediator between nobles in their disputes.

So even if Prince Karvenil or I had died from that arrow, the punishment would likely have just changed from “five years” to “permanently.”

And we wouldn’t have been able to complain about it.

The tournament host is obligated to ensure that bandits don’t attack during the hunt, but they are not responsible for ensuring that the tournament itself is safe—because, frankly, that’s impossible.

Because hunting always comes with risks.

It should go without saying that there's a possibility of death. If someone dies because they were too careless to realize that, it’s their own fault. If you don’t like it, don’t participate in the hunt. Just shut yourself up in your territory for the rest of your life.

That’s the end of the discussion.

At most, the king might say, “I’ve prepared the setting, so please resolve it among yourselves,” and that’s all he can say—and all he will say.

The minor count in question would refuse to discuss it. He wouldn’t show up to court. He’d likely hole up in his territory until he died.

The victims’ families would just have to accept it in silence.

…That is, assuming the minor count makes it back to his territory alive.

If everyone knows that letting him live means justice will never be served, then the solution is simple—don’t let him live.

That’s how nobles in this world think.

In reality, someone like Marshal Count Lazarbel or Count Arobera would likely rally the nobles in their faction, shouting something like, “Princess Roselia was murdered by a coward! This is war!! Let’s go, everyone!!” and lead a mob to launch a retaliatory assault.

Thor-kun and Prince Bartona would probably join in that lynching too, and the king would turn a blind eye.

A noble’s lynching is carried out through magic.

Explosive magic, the kind used in warfare, would be fired off in volleys—there probably wouldn’t even be a corpse left.

Of course, then his family would be the ones left to suffer in silence…

Incidentally, being banned from the hunting tournament for five years is an enormous disgrace for a noble.

It’s like being told outright: “You suck, don’t come back until you’ve trained for five years.”

It’s a deeply humiliating sentence.

If you tried asking for compensation, people would just say, “Wait—are you saying it’s okay to shoot Princess Roselia with an arrow as long as you pay money?” And that would be the end of it. There's really no harsher punishment than what was given.

So officially, the case is closed.

Since the involved parties have reconciled, there’s nothing more to be done.

…Well, I could’ve made a fuss if I really wanted to.

But Prince Karvenil—who should’ve been a fellow victim—started comforting the count, saying, “Well, probably just an accident. These things happen sometimes,” which robbed me of the chance to protest.

If I lost my temper at that point, people would just think I was petty.

“But wasn’t that count friendly with Prince Bartona? Couldn’t it be that Prince Bartona, who desires the throne, tried to assassinate Prince Karvenil?”

My father grinned slyly as he said this to me.

After all, if Prince Karvenil had died, the one who would’ve gained the most was Prince Bartona.

And the culprit—the minor count—was closely associated with Prince Bartona.

…Suspicious, don’t you think?

Or so the theory goes.

“In that case, how do you explain the fact that I was also shot?”

“Perhaps it was a stray arrow?”

“So it’s an incident if it concerns Prince Karvenil, but just an accident when it comes to me? That’s a pretty convenient theory.”

That theory, by the way, has a fatal flaw.

“A brass arrow wouldn’t be able to kill a noble in the first place, would it? You’d need a gold one.”

Brass can hold magical energy, yes—but not nearly as well as gold.

And in the size of an arrowhead, the amount of magic it can contain isn’t sufficient to kill a noble.

If you wanted to kill a noble, you’d need a golden arrow.

And those are strictly prohibited in the hunting tournament.

To prevent accidents, of course.

If the minor count had used a gold arrow, the case would’ve been a shade of gray so dark it was practically black—but he had used a brass arrow.

It was, by all accounts, a white-case scenario.

“Accidental misfires happen every year somewhere or other. It just so happened that this time, the targets were Prince Karvenil and me.”

Hunting tournaments aren't exclusive to this occasion—they're held all over the western continent.

And accidents occur almost every year.

This time, it only became news because the people involved were high-profile. Normally, no one would even bother reporting it.

It’s just like a car accident.

Given all this, it should be judged as an accident, not an incident.

“Kukuku… Yes, you’re right. I’d say Roselia has it exactly right.”

My father laughed as he spoke.

If I could reason this much, then of course he could too.

He was just teasing me.

“But there will still be people who don’t see it that way.”

“Do you think so?”

“There are always those who scream ‘conspiracy’ no matter the case.”

…That’s true. In my previous life’s world, there were plenty of conspiracy theorists too.

Those types start with the conclusion that there must be a malicious culprit behind everything, so it’s pointless to try to argue with them.

“And in the world of high society, the truth doesn’t matter.”

In other words, there will be those who insist it was an incident—even while knowing full well that it wasn’t.

Surely there are people out there who want to stir discord within the royal family and will use this as fuel.

Spreading rumors costs nothing.

And once the gossip is out, fools will embellish it with their own imaginations and shout it from the rooftops.

You’d be hard-pressed to find a simpler diplomatic maneuver.

“The royal family will likely struggle to put out the flames for a while. What a nuisance.”

Even if we were to bring up a marriage alliance with the royal family now, they’d probably just say, “Could we discuss that later?”

I suppose that means my marriage prospects will be shelved for a while.

…To be honest, part of me is a little relieved.

“In any case, I’m glad nothing serious happened. I’ll write a letter of thanks to Lord Thor as well. Speaking of Lord Thor…”

“…Yes.”

Ah, I knew this topic would come up.

“I hear you took his hand at the evening party. Oh, don’t make that face. I’m not scolding you. Refusing might’ve made a worse impression. Words spoken at night don’t carry much weight anyway.”

It seemed that, to my father, it wasn’t a particularly serious matter.

I exhaled in relief.

Truth be told, it had been bothering me.

“Convincing him is my job. Roselia, just act as you always have—no need to worry.”

“Understood.”

It appears my father has no intention of marrying me off to Thor-kun.

A dynastic union between House Larknoll and House Budoudarl would only provoke backlash from the surrounding lords, so it’s a perfectly reasonable stance.

“Changing the subject… You know that in April, the Founding Festival will be held in our country, yes?”

I nodded at my father’s lead-in.

As the name suggests, the Founding Festival is a celebration of the kingdom’s establishment. It’s held once every four years.

It’s a grand event attended not just by the kingdom’s nobles but by aristocrats and diplomats from neighboring countries as well—a major festival and social gathering.

Why once every four years?

Why is it held in the Duchy of Budoudarl?

There are two reasons.

One is to reduce the burden on participating nobles.

Infrastructure in this world is underdeveloped, and just traveling somewhere is a massive ordeal.

If the festival were held annually, attendance would decline. So instead, they hold it every four years and say, “We’d really appreciate it if everyone could make the effort to come.”

The other reason is its scale.

Nobles from all over the country and even from foreign lands attend, so a shoddy banquet would be out of the question.

But the royal family doesn’t have the financial or organizational resources to host such a lavish event—even if only once every four years.

That’s why the tradition is for the royal family and the Three Great Houses who aided in the founding of the kingdom to take turns hosting it.

From the royal family's perspective, it reduces the financial burden.

From the perspective of the Three Great Houses, it allows them to show they stand on equal footing with the royal family.

It's a win-win custom.

Though the Founding Festival itself takes place once every four years, a separate annual banquet celebrating the kingdom's founding is held in the royal capital each year.

The banquet where I danced with Thor-kun was one of those.

That said, compared to the actual Founding Festival, its scale is considerably smaller.

Normally, only nobles affiliated with the royal family attend.

I only went last time because, as part of the peace talks, the Duke of Larknoll needed to meet face-to-face.

I don’t usually bother attending.

“In conjunction with the festival, Blanche will make her social debut.”

“Ohh.”

For nobles, a social debut is a momentous event.

It marks the transition from a private citizen to a public figure.

It also means they are officially entering the stage of diplomatic marriage politics.

She will be granted retainers from our father, and even if only in a small way, she'll begin managing her own court.

Blanche is adorable, and more importantly, she's a princess of the Duchy of Budoudarl—so marriage proposals will likely flood in from all directions.

“That’s wonderful news. Then Blanche will be the star of the show this time.”

“No. You will also be one of the stars, Roselia.”

“…Me as well?”

Which means… they’re planning to make some sort of major announcement about me.

Perhaps an official engagement to Prince Bartona?

…No, we just talked about how the marriage negotiations were stalling. That can't be it.

In that case, there’s only one likely answer.

“I will name Roselia as co-ruler of the Duchy of Budoudarl.”

At those words, my heart gave a startled leap.

Becoming a co-ruler would mean I would share equal authority with my father.

Any royal decree I issued would become law in Budoudarl.

I’d be able to preside over trials without needing his approval or delegated authority.

I could even mobilize the military and declare war.

Of course, if Father and I issued conflicting orders, his would take precedence.

“That’s… an honor, but also daunting…”

Honestly, it felt like too heavy a burden.

I do my best, and I think I’ve been managing things reasonably well, but I can’t imagine being capable of doing everything my father can.

That anxiety must have shown on my face.

My father gave a wry smile.

“Don’t worry. Nothing will change significantly in practice. It’s largely a formality.”

“I see… In that case, I humbly accept.”

“Good.”

When I bowed deeply, my father responded with an exaggerated nod.

Still, being appointed co-ruler at age twelve…

Well, I’ll be thirteen by the time of the Founding Festival, but still—that’s early by any measure.

“…You’re not, by any chance, seriously ill or something, are you, Father?”

“Rest assured. I have no intention of handing over this seat for at least twenty more years.”

Apparently, it wasn’t due to any health concerns.

Then why now?

When I asked, my father raised three fingers.

“First—because you’ve become dependable, Roselia. You may be young, but your ability is more than sufficient. Those with exceptional talent must be given appropriate positions. And the earlier one gains experience, the better.”

He folded down one finger.

“Second—to silence the bothersome men of the cadet branches. By publicly declaring that Roselia is the legitimate heir, both internally and externally, we solidify her position. The sooner this is made clear, the better.”

It’s not that women can’t inherit territory.

But such succession is often viewed with skepticism.

If I were not to inherit, the rights would pass to one of the males from the cadet branches.

There are quite a few men who secretly harbor hope, thinking, “Maybe I have a shot at this?”

They’d never say it out loud, but some of them probably believe they’re more qualified than I am.

This declaration will crush those hopes and ambitions.

“And third… this one is not to be spoken of to anyone.”

“Yes.”

After confirming my answer, Father folded down one of his fingers.

“I may need to be away from the duchy for an extended period. In that case, simply being the heir won’t carry enough authority.”

“I see.”

So that’s the main reason.

If he’s talking about an extended absence, and says being “the next head” wouldn’t be enough, that probably means he won’t be able to return for quite some time.

In which case, the answer is obvious.

“You’re not going to ask the reason?”

“I merely find it regrettable that a seat at the Round Table will be left vacant.”

“…Truly, you are an astute child.”

Apparently, my guess was right.

The kingdom was founded when three great nobles came together to support Yugape El Parteria as king.

These three great houses are what we now call the Three Pillars.

The House of Budoudarl.
The House of Corkmoor.
And the third—House Cartaria.

They are the largest noble house in the kingdom’s southwest.

They didn’t show up to the recent hunting tournament either.

Naturally so—because they’re currently in opposition to the royal family.

“Will the Founding Festival be the final deadline?”

“Most likely. It’s one thing to skip a royal-hosted social gathering. But if they fail to show even at our celebration, then it’s fair to say they’ve broken with the kingdom.”

Father wore an expression of distaste.

Well, of course. War with the Duke of Cartaria wouldn’t benefit us in any way.

The only one who’d gain from it is the royal family.

“But in any case, unless the west is stabilized, the royal family won’t be able to focus on the east.”

We want to form a marriage alliance with the royal family in order to counter the empire along our eastern border—and its ruling imperial household.

In short, when the enemy comes from the east, we’ll need the royal family to send reinforcements.

If they say, “We’re too busy with a western war to help,” we’re in serious trouble.

Ideally, the royal family and House Cartaria would just say, “Sorry about earlier.” “It’s fine,” and reconcile…

“But given our position, we can only align ourselves with the royal family.”

The conflict between the royal family and House Cartaria centers on an inheritance dispute.

Specifically, it’s a matter of succession.

That’s because Prince Karvenil’s late mother was born into the House of Cartaria.

Originally, the house had a male heir.

But he died suddenly in a plague, leaving the position of next head vacant.

In response, the previous Duke of Cartaria appointed his daughter—already married into the royal family—as his successor.

The house’s vassals also gave their approval and recognized her as the next ruler.

It should have ended there… but after the old Duke’s death, the vassals took it upon themselves to install a male cousin from a cadet branch as the new Duke.

To Prince Karvenil’s mother, this was no less than having her father’s entire estate seized by a distant male relative.

Her husband, King Oreanis, and the royal family’s honor were publicly disgraced.

The situation nearly escalated into war—until she died suddenly.

As a result, the issue of succession was left unresolved.

But now, her son—Prince Karvenil—is asserting his claim to the title.

Given all this, we have no choice but to support the royal family—or rather, Prince Karvenil.

Because supporting the current Duke of Cartaria would be tantamount to accepting the idea that a male from the paternal line has priority over a direct-line female descendant.

In other words, if a cadet branch member of House Barks were to say, “Then shouldn’t I inherit the Duchy of Budoudarl instead of Princess Roselia?”—no one would be able to refute him.

That’s why Prince Karvenil is so openly and insistently asserting his claim to the ducal title.

As the next in line to the throne, his influence is not something even the current king can ignore.

Of course, that doesn’t mean we’re obligated to go along with Prince Karvenil’s personal ambitions.

Not unless I marry Prince Bartona and form a marriage alliance with him.

In short, Prince Karvenil is forcing us to choose between two options.

Either I marry Prince Karvenil, and in exchange he gives up the title of Duke of Cartaria…

Or we help him secure that title, and in return, he gives up on marrying me.

At the very least, unless Prince Karvenil secures control over either the Duchy of Cartaria or the Duchy of Budoudarl, he won’t be willing to cooperate in a war against the Empire.

He prioritizes strengthening the royal family over uniting the kingdom.

He’s “Royal Family First.”

“A compromise might be that the prince receives the ducal title, but the current duke retains actual control… is that a possible middle ground?”

“Hmm… the Duke of Cartaria might accept that, but the prince won’t.”

I continued discussing the matter with Father, but we couldn’t come up with a good solution.

We’re nobles from the kingdom’s southeast, and we don’t have deep knowledge of the southwest’s political situation. More importantly, we’re not even direct parties to the conflict.

There’s no point in twisting our minds over this.

“Speaking of visitors, it seems the Grand Duke of Plumela is also planning to attend. …And we haven’t even sent out the invitations yet. Always one step ahead, that man.”

“My! Grandfather is coming?”

The Grand Duke of Plumela is my maternal grandfather.

He controls territory to the east of the Duchy of Budoudarl and is one of the Empire’s great nobles.

The Grand Duchy of Plumela is one of the most advanced regions on the Western Continent, rich in mineral resources.

And my grandfather himself is a battle-hardened noble who survived the chaos of war.

One of the strongest nobles on the Western Continent.

Incidentally, all of my grandfather’s children and grandchildren have died from war or illness—except for me.

I am his only direct-line grandchild.

Which means I’m the one who will inherit his lands.

That’s one of the reasons I’m so popular.

“He plans to bring his vassals along, too.”

“It sounds like it’s going to be lively.”

At my comment, Father gave a wry smile.

…He probably doesn’t really want Grandfather to come.

Even though they’re allies, Father and Grandfather don’t always share interests.

“For the Founding Festival… should we invite the Imperial Family as usual?”

“Of course. We can’t very well not invite them, and if we do, they’ll surely come.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t turn into trouble.”

My grandfather once fought for the imperial throne against the previous emperor.

And he lost many family members and friends in that war.

He still bears a grudge against the current emperor—purely because he’s the son of the former one. Hate the monk, hate the robes, as the saying goes.

One of the reasons the House of Budoudarl has a strained relationship with the Imperial Family is because of that history between my grandfather and the emperor.

“If they do send someone, it’ll probably be the Crown Prince, right?”

“Most likely. …At the very least, make sure to dance one number with him.”

“I understand.”

The Crown Prince is one of my potential suitors.

Although… given how firmly Grandfather opposes it, he’s probably near the bottom of the list.

“At this year’s Founding Festival, you’ll have to be even more careful than before. If we can avoid war with the Imperial Family… that would be ideal.”

“Agreed.”

I do intend to inherit the territory.

But I have no desire to inherit their hatred as well.

If things can be handled peacefully, that would be best.

Surely, they don’t really want to wage war against us either.

After all…

“We are imperial lords who possess the right to enthrone.”