Chapter 19

In the southern part of the Duchy of Torinia, within the territory of Count Couranbelle, there existed a knight’s domain.

Inside its small castle were six people.

One was a man in his late twenties, lying in bed.
Another was a girl in her mid-teens, lying beside him in the same bed.

Surrounding the pair were four others:

The father of the man in bed.
The father of the girl in bed.
The high priest of the local temple.
And a silver-haired girl in her early teens—namely me, who now declared in a loud voice:

"On this night, I, Roselia El Budoudarl, hereby proclaim before all present that the physical union of the bride and groom has been consummated. Congratulations on your marriage."

I said this with a smile and began to applaud.
The men surrounding the bed followed suit, smiling as they clapped along.

This surreal and baffling ritual was what counted as a wedding ceremony in this world.

Here, marriage means “a pairing of a man and woman for the purpose of producing children.”
In other words, marriage is sex.

The act of physical union (i.e., sex) between bride and groom within the bed signifies the marriage, and the ceremony consists of witnessing that union.

Put simply, weddings in this world are public sex ceremonies.
…Is this a porn shoot?

Just kidding.

In reality, once the bride and groom are seen entering the same bed, the marriage is considered official.
Whether they actually engage in sex afterward is a private matter between the two.

Come morning, the bloodstained sheets—evidence of the bride's defloration—are retrieved (or forged, if necessary) and displayed on the castle balcony.
They are then delivered to the castle town and surrounding villages.

The commoners, upon seeing the blood that came from the bride’s you-know-what, cheer loudly:
“Wow! The lord’s son has married (had sex)!! The next generation is secure! Hurrah!!”

…Are there no normal people in this world?

No, I suppose it's me—seeing this as abnormal—who's considered the pervert in this world.

By now, the absence of any concept of privacy in this world doesn’t surprise me.

Even my first period somehow became public knowledge nationwide, and it turned into a celebration.
Sure, I can understand the royal court knowing, but why do the regional vassals, city merchants, and even the serfs need to be aware of my menstruation status?

…Actually, I guess they do need to know.

If I couldn’t bear children, it’d be a major issue.
If the date of my first period wasn't publicly confirmed, it might spark social unrest.

“The princess still hasn’t started her period... The country is doomed...” or something like that.

So yes, every citizen of the Budoudarl Principality knows the date of my first period.
This country is done for.

Anyway, to marry, you must have sex. And for that, witnesses are required.
Preferably neutral third parties—and the higher their status, the better.

This time, that role fell to me.

I was asked to attend, if it fit my schedule, and I agreed.
The wedding banquet the next morning would be attended by nearby lords, so it was convenient for me too.

Thus, the following day, the reception was held.

Knightly wedding feasts aren’t particularly extravagant.
A room about the size of a classroom holds a large table with dishes laid out—that’s about it.

Knights live only slightly better than wealthy farmers.
Often, after buying magic stones, horses, or weapons, many fall to near-poverty.

“We apologize for the humble fare. It may not suit your tastes, Your Highness.”

The groom’s father—a weathered old knight and lord of these lands—spoke to me somewhat apologetically.

My attendance was unplanned, and given his limited means, throwing a celebration worthy of my rank was out of the question.

“Think nothing of it. I’m glad to eat the same food as everyone else.”

That was the truth.

Whenever I travel, I prefer to eat what the locals normally eat.
If they served me palace food, I’d honestly feel disappointed.

“I can see the care and sincerity you put into preparing this.”

Looking straight into the old knight’s eyes, I spoke warmly, then deliberately looked away—toward a beef dish.

In this world, cattle are extremely valuable.
They can plow fields and produce milk.

Beef is rarely eaten. When it is, it’s from old, frail cows that can no longer give milk or plow.

So the presence of beef at this reception was significant.

In short, they’d slaughtered a cow for me and turned it into this dish.

That’s why I made a point to acknowledge their effort.

Of course, I didn’t come empty-handed to this wedding.

I brought a monetary gift and gave the newlyweds a small present.
Overall, my visit should’ve been financially beneficial for them.

“You knew that beef braised in wine is my favorite… How thoughtful of you.”

“Your Highness’s kindness touches me deeply.”

The old knight replied, visibly moved.
I asked him a question in return.

“By the way, how have things been lately? The harvest this year, any trouble with monsters, daily life…”

It’s the same question I always ask knights when I meet them.

The old knight nodded respectfully.

“This year has been a good one. The harvest was plentiful, and the people are content. It is all thanks to the Duke and Your Highness…”

First, the conversation begins with praises for his direct superiors—my father and me.

If he were to suddenly start with “We’re actually struggling quite a bit,” it might come off as criticism of our governance.

“But lately, prices have been rising, and my back’s been getting worse by the day…”

Yet in the end, it always leads to the same conclusion: “We’re managing, but it’s getting tough.”

Every knight says something along those lines. And rightly so.

If a knight were to claim, “We're doing just fine,” the response might be, “Great, then we’ll count on you for the next war!”

Knights, after all, want to avoid being dragged into wars that offer them no benefit. That’s why they always keep some excuse at the ready to refuse when the time comes.

“Rising prices” is the most common refrain.
As for “my back hurts,” that’s a classic old man excuse.
Whether it’s true or not—who knows.

“Oh? Is that so? Your back, you say…”

“Yes, the cold hits especially hard at my age…”

The old knight—now dubbed the Backache Knight—launched into a full-on performance about his aching back. His commitment was so over-the-top I couldn’t help but chuckle.

“In that case… would you please stay still for a moment?”

“…Stay still? Your Highness?”

“Please don’t move.”

With that, I stepped around behind the Backache Knight.

Placing my hand on his back, I activated a healing spell.

“Th-This is…”

“How is it? I hope it’s helped ease the pain at least a little.”

As I spoke, the Backache Knight began rotating his hips back and forth, testing it.

Then, slowly, he straightened his posture more than before.

“The pain I felt just moments ago… it’s vanished as if it were a lie. I feel as though I’ve been reborn. I’m at a loss for words…”

So said the formerly Backache Knight—now wearing a rather conflicted expression.

Sure, the pain was gone. But he could no longer use his back as an excuse.

And now he owed me a favor.
On top of that, since I was the one who healed him, he couldn’t even complain about it.

In this little game of deception, I’d come out ahead. He let his guard down—that’s on him.

“If it’s not too presumptuous… might I ask that you bestow this same blessing upon our lord as well?”

“…Oh?”

By “our lord,” the ex-Backache Knight must’ve meant the Count of Couranbelle, his immediate liege.

As I prompted him to explain, he continued:

“The truth is, we did wish to invite the Count, but he claimed his official duties left him too busy to attend… As he always says. We’re beginning to suspect his health might not be in the best condition. There’s been concern among the retainers. With his physique… well, his knees, perhaps… Oh, I shouldn’t say.”

The knight theatrically covered his mouth.

As expected, the Count of Couranbelle had been invited but didn’t show up.

Of course, we nobles sometimes turn down such events when we’re busy—but at the very least, a few words of congratulation are typically sent.

Apparently, there wasn’t even that.
And not just this time—it’s always like that.

Knights may not be as concerned with appearances as nobles, but they still have their pride.

Having one’s own liege fail to attend his heir’s wedding? That would stick in anyone’s craw.

By the end, this was little more than thinly veiled badmouthing.

I see.

This was a subtle tip-off: We local lords are all dissatisfied with Count Couranbelle.

And that was his price for the healing spell.

At this rate, he likely knows quite a bit about the relationship between the Barques–Budoudarl and Barques–Couranbelle families too.

A truly crafty old man.

“Still, Your Highness is truly remarkable. I have a daughter myself, but you seem so much more mature—hard to believe you're the same age.”

“My, you have a daughter?”

“Yes, though she’s terribly spoiled… As her father, I can’t help but envy the Duke.”

“Oh no, I still have so much to learn myself…”

Since it wouldn’t be ideal to spend the entire gathering discussing politics, we shifted to more casual small talk.

There are plenty of harmless, neutral topics suitable for social occasions like this.

As we chatted, some commotion stirred near the entrance.

It seemed one of the invited guests had arrived late.

A knight and his attendant entered the banquet hall.

Roughly two hours late.

That said, in this world—where communication and transportation are unreliable, and no one has a precise timepiece to begin with—this kind of delay doesn’t really count as “late.”

…Actually, looking at things globally, it’s probably just the Japanese who are unusually uptight about punctuality.

“My, my, has it already begun? Oh!!”

The tardy knight scanned the room dramatically, and upon spotting me, exaggeratedly raised his voice.

Then he strode over in wide steps.

I shifted slightly, turning only half my body toward him, and gave him a brief glance.

“It is an honor to make your acquaintance, Lady Roselia.”

“Oh?”

I turned to him with an air of belated recognition, as if just noticing him.

…It's generally frowned upon for a subordinate to appear eager to greet a superior.

He launched into a lengthy introduction—his family, his domain—and then dropped to one knee before me.

“Princess, might I humbly request permission to offer my loyalty to your noble feet?”

“By all means.”

With that, I turned my gaze to Delawear, who stood at my back.

She moved with practiced efficiency, knelt before me, and untied my shoelaces.

I slipped my foot out of the shoe and looked down at the knight.

“…With gratitude.”

The tardy knight extended one hand flat, like a serving plate.

I placed my foot, wrapped in silk stockings, onto his palm.

The moment his hand touched it, his body gave a startled jolt.

“Is something the matter?”

“…No, not at all.”

Now visibly more tense, the tardy knight brought his face closer to the top of my foot.

Then, deliberately, he made an audible kissing sound.

“I am honored beyond words… truly, profoundly honored…”

He murmured with deep reverence.

Compared to earlier, I could tell his attitude had changed.

It’s not uncommon for knights to behave differently before and after kissing the top of a noble’s foot.

At first, I worried—Wait, do my feet smell awful or something?—but that turned out not to be the reason.

The cause was magic power.

There’s a distinct difference in magical capacity between nobles and knights.

That difference equates to a difference in combat prowess and aura—a difference in pressure.

To a knight, a noble is someone of overwhelming strength—a figure to be feared.

It’s like how humans feel about grizzly bears.

But because I’m a girl, people tend to underestimate me.

I don’t fully understand it, but the words “female noble” or “princess” apparently evoke more delicate and graceful imagery than they do strength.

Not to brag, but I’m rather slender, and I’m dressed in a refined gown with a polished appearance—so that impression likely gets reinforced.

It’s like hearing “bear” and thinking of Winnie-the-Pooh or Kumamon.

Even aside from that, the bears you see in animal parks are often portrayed in a comical, endearing way—so it’s not that strange for people to think, Oh, how cute.

But if you saw those massive paws and claws up close, you’d instantly realize—This is a wild beast.

The knight’s shift in demeanor mirrored that realization.

It was the result of magic sensitivity, visual impressions, and human cognitive bias.

…Here’s my personal theory: the custom of “kissing the top of a noble’s foot” likely originated as a ritual to make the difference in magic power unmistakable.

Bringing one’s face near a noble’s foot is akin to sticking your head near a bear’s jaws for a playful nibble.

It drains your will to resist.

“My body trembles with joy at the divine presence you emanate…”

The tardy knight said this, presumably to cover up his reaction, which had come from sheer fear.

Most likely, the noble he’s most familiar with is Count Couranbelle.

His magical power is slightly below average for someone of count rank.

I, on the other hand, am twelve years old—and already surpass count-level magic capacity.

It was like expecting a black bear and getting a grizzly instead.

For reference, a duke-class would be something like a polar bear.

My father is just slightly above duke-class, so he’d be a king-sized polar bear.

Incidentally, if I keep absorbing magic-impairing stones at this rate, I’ll surpass him.

...And Thor-kun, who has already surpassed me, must have an extraordinary amount of mana.

How much mana will he have once he becomes an adult?

"...The difference in divine power is the difference in capacity. I’ve truly come to understand the smallness of my own being. As expected of you, Princess. Those who inherit the land and blood of Budoudarl are on another level."

The tardy knight stood up shakily, clearly excited, and said that.

In this world, strength is a virtue.

It’s a muscle-brained man’s society where being macho is the best, and weakness is a sin. That’s why having a ruler with a large mana reserve is a huge point in their favor.

Unlike bears, nobles have reason. If you speak to them, even knights can understand that, so there’s no excessive fear toward them.

...Though I wonder who he was comparing me to.

"Your family line, if I recall… you speak Oskic in daily life?"

"...Yes. Was my Eilic not sufficient?"

『Not at all. I just thought it would be nice to converse in Oskic for a change. May we continue in this language?』

When I switched from Eilic to Oskic, the tardy knight’s eyes widened.

『Haha, I appreciate your consideration. ...But you speak it so fluently.』

『I believe that true understanding cannot be reached without sharing the same language. As the governor of Budoudarl, it is something I consider necessary.』

In this world, it’s common for the ruling and subordinate classes, or lords and vassals, to speak different languages.

Even among nobles, differences in language are not unusual, so the ability to handle multiple languages is essential.

Well, half of my language learning is more of a hobby.

I kept speaking in Oskic and continued some small talk with the tardy knight.

"Your domain is known for its white grape wine, isn’t it?"

"Oh… you knew that?"

The tardy knight sounded surprised.

White grape wine, of course, means white wine.

"People in the court were talking about it."

Just like Earth’s wines come in various ranks, wines in this world also have different grades.

And the wine produced in the tardy knight’s territory is more of a commoner’s drink—in other words, cheap wine.

But according to the winemakers, “cheap wine is best for making Roselia wine.”

Indeed, I’ve sampled Roselia wine made from various base wines, but oddly enough, the taste didn’t always correlate with the quality of the original.

Since distillation reduces volume anyway, cheaper wine is more suitable... or so they say (and really, expensive high-quality wine sells better on its own).

So, as it turns out, the white wine from the tardy knight’s territory is being purchased by members of the court and turned into Roselia wine.

Of course, since the method of making Roselia wine is kept secret, the knight only sees it as, “Somehow, our cheap wine has been selling really well lately...”

That’s how I happened to know about his territory. In short, it was a coincidence—I don’t actually have encyclopedic knowledge of every little domain’s specialty goods or geography.

But the tardy knight probably thought I had taken an interest in his impoverished land.

He seemed genuinely touched.

"Princess. Might I have a word in private…?"

"...Yes?"

The tardy knight slowly leaned close to my ear.

And whispered softly.

"There’s something I’d like to tell you later."

"...Then, later it is."

And after the banquet ended, the tardy knight came to see me.

He shared an extremely valuable piece of information regarding Count Couranbelle.

---

A few days after the wedding.

I headed to Couranbelle City.

It’s not that you can’t enter the interior without passing through here—but it’s not somewhere you can simply skip, either.

"...Welcome, Princess Roselia."

A slightly stout male noble—Count Couranbelle—greeted me in front of his own castle.

Count Lazabell had come to greet me at the city gates...

Well, I suppose I’m not exactly welcome here.

And with good reason.

He’s one of the central figures of the anti-Roselia faction, openly opposed to my accession.

Count Couranbelle is the most prominent among the cadet branches of the family, and also happens to be the older brother of my stepmother.

If I didn’t exist, he could act as guardian to Blanche, exert real influence—or even claim the title of Duke of Budoudarl for himself.

It’s only natural he resents me.

Though honestly, he’s probably just had a rocky relationship with Father since long before I came into the picture.

Father likely thinks, “The cadet branches are getting too full of themselves.” While Count Couranbelle probably thinks, “How dare he, of all people, treat me—his brother-in-law—as insignificant.”

"My apologies for not having prepared a proper welcome. Your visit was quite sudden."

"No need. I plan to leave before the day is done. Please, don't trouble yourself."

If I avoided this place out of fear of assassination, I’d be mocked for cowardice—but that doesn’t mean I intend to overstay. I plan to pass through before anyone brings out the bubu-zuke.

"Oh my, in such a hurry? In that case, if you'd taken the route we suggested beforehand, you could have made a much quicker passage..."

Count Couranbelle had indeed requested, in advance, that I follow a specific route.

Naturally, I ignored him.

He has no authority to dictate our path.

Consideration, yes—but deference, no.

He didn’t like that, clearly. He was in a foul mood.

But I was in an even fouler one.

"Is that so? It’s true the path was rather rough."

"It is a remote mountain road, after all... As expected... Next time, perhaps—"

It was your suggested road. Don’t complain.

Just as he was about to say that, I cut in.

"There was a checkpoint along the way that we weren’t informed of. I imagine some bandits may have set it up..."

Count Couranbelle’s expression changed instantly.

A feudal lord has the right to erect checkpoints and collect tolls within their territory.

However, under the laws of the Duchy of Budoudarl, they are required to report the location and function of such checkpoints.

Incidentally, the one who tipped me off was no longer the “Tardy Knight” but now my “Informant Knight.”

"Ba-bandits must have built it without permission... A lapse in my oversight. Could you possibly inform me of the location? I will deal with it at once..."

"No need to worry."

I gave him a radiant smile.

"I’ve already destroyed it with my magic. The bandits have been dealt with as well. ...Would you like to inspect the site?"

I smashed the checkpoint. I killed the guards too.

Want to check the heads? You’ll recognize them. They were your men, weren’t they?

So how do you plan to explain this?

When I silently posed that question, Count Couranbelle trembled and shook his head.

"N-no... That won’t be necessary. I apologize for troubling you."

"Not at all. There's no need for thanks. Even my eyes have limits. There will be places beyond my sight... But I would appreciate it if there were no second time."

Next time, I’ll rip your eyes out myself.

After leaving him with that unspoken message, I departed Count Couranbelle’s territory.