Chapter 23

It happened exactly three days before the Founding Festival began.

A procession of carriages adorned with dazzling decorations arrived at the gates of the city of Budoubel.

Surrounding the carriages were soldiers clad in breastplates and armed with spears that shimmered silver. Upon closer inspection, the equipment wasn’t made of iron—but of actual silver.

These were none other than the famed Silver Longspear Troops of Plumella, known as the strongest force on the continent. And if that’s the case, then their master could only be one person.

The procession came to a slow, orderly stop.

From the most lavishly decorated carriage, an elderly nobleman stepped down.

His hair, streaked with silver and white, gave away his age, but his golden eyes gleamed brightly with vitality. Even beneath his opulent garments, it was easy to tell that he possessed a powerful physique.

As he disembarked, the other nobles began stepping out of their own carriages one by one. What stood out about all of them was that their fashion did not follow the style of the Kingdom.

The elderly nobleman began walking slowly toward the castle gates—and stopped about two meters in front of us.

"Welcome, Lord Governor of Plumella. As the Governor of Budoudarl, I bid you greetings."

"The gratitude is mine, Lord Governor of Budoudarl. I thank you for your invitation, as the Governor of Plumella."

They deliberately refrained from calling each other 'Duke' or 'Archduke'—perhaps to emphasize their equal standing. They certainly seemed intent on underlining their titles as governors of their respective lands.

While I was pondering that, both my father and the Archduke of Plumella—and even the nobles standing respectfully behind him—all turned their gazes on me.

Looks like I can’t afford to mess up this greeting.

If Father had warned me beforehand, I would’ve prepared something properly. I really wish he wouldn’t spring pop quizzes like this on me.

Thinking quickly, I gathered my skirt and lowered my head with grace.

"Welcome to our land, Lord Governor of Plumella. As the one who shall inherit Budoudarl, I bid you greetings."

After offering a graceful bow, I smiled and smoothly switched languages.

『It has been a while, Grandfather. Although this is a gathering to celebrate the Kingdom's founding, I hope to present myself as a worthy heir to both Plumella and Budoudarl.』

In response to my greeting, the Archduke of Plumella—Goldia F. Plumella—nodded in satisfaction. I don’t know if I scored full marks, but at the very least, it seems I didn’t say anything inappropriate.

Then he opened his arms wide.

『Roselia! I’ve missed you so much!!』

『Eek! P-Please stop! G-Grandfather!!』

My grandfather pulled me into a tight embrace.

It felt more like he was trying to crush me than hug me.

『Everyone is watching... a-and... I-I can’t breathe...』

『Ah... pardon me.』

He relaxed his grip slightly.

I let out a quiet sigh of relief and slipped out of his arms.

Noticing the warm, awkward gazes around us, Grandfather gave a deliberately exaggerated cough.

『I had feared you might have become too immersed in Eil to remember yourself, but that was needless worry. Your Nialma was flawless.』

『Oh my. I assure you, I’ve never once forgotten the days I spent in Plumella.』

There are many languages spoken across the Western Continent, but only two are widely regarded as international tongues.

Eil in the west, and Nialma in the east.

Eil is spoken mainly in the western half of the continent—from Budoudarl westward—especially throughout the Kingdom.

Nialma, on the other hand, is used east of Budoudarl, particularly throughout the Empire.

In Budoudarl, both languages are spoken, but the official court language is Eil.

My grandfather had probably been worried that I might have become so influenced by the Budoudarl Principality that I’d forgotten I was still the heir to the Plumella Archduchy.

So I used Nialma to dispel those doubts.

For reference, both Father and Grandfather gave their greetings in Eil.

It’s considered proper etiquette in diplomacy to speak in the host’s language.

『And besides, when Father and I are alone, we—oh, dear.』

The words slipped out of my mouth unintentionally.

I then made a show of covering my lips, as if to say “Oops.”

The Principality of Budoudarl is a vassal not only to the Kingdom but to the Empire as well. We are under feudal contract with both the King and the Emperor.

In recent years, our stance has leaned toward the Kingdom—but before that, we were closer to the Empire.

Among the knights as well, there were both Eil and Nialma speakers.

So the claim that “the court language is Eil” was really just for show—in practice, both Eil and Nialma were used side by side.

Naturally, the ruling family spoke both fluently.

My father, for instance, is a native Eil speaker.

That’s because his mother was from the royal family and spoke Eil.

On the other hand, I’m more comfortable with Nialma.

My mother was a Nialma speaker, and after her death, I spent some time living in my grandfather’s domain.

I try to think in Nialma (or Eil) as much as possible.

I wouldn’t want to slip up and speak Japanese by accident—it’d make me seem like a weirdo.

Thanks to that, even my dreams are mostly in Nialma or Eil now.

...Honestly, I’ve started to forget Japanese lately.

I mean, I never get the chance to speak it anymore.

Incidentally, about half the people in the Principality of Budoudarl—especially among the serf class—speak a different language altogether: Osc.

It’s not unusual in this world for the ruling and ruled classes to have different native tongues, but Budoudarl is an especially stark example.

Because of that, in cities like Budoubel, being bilingual is a given, and trilingualism isn’t rare either.

『I see. Then I have nothing to worry about.』

Grandfather gave my father a brief glance, then nodded in satisfaction.

My father, meanwhile, smiled—but I imagine his feelings were more complicated inside.

The two of them had once fought over who would raise me.

So honestly, they don’t get along.

The reason they’re acting civil is for the sake of national interest.

Well, probably also to show me some consideration.

While we were speaking, I felt Father’s gaze on me.

『...Oh my. We’ve chatted long enough, haven’t we? Everyone, please come inside. We can continue greetings later—especially since I see a few unfamiliar faces among you.』

I smiled and turned my gaze toward the nobles who had been standing quietly behind my grandfather, waiting for the conversation to end.

Some I recognized, others I didn’t.

In fact, they were all quite young overall…

Normally, when it comes to diplomacy abroad, you’d expect older nobles with experience in courtly matters.

But these ones ranged from their mid-twenties to mid-teens. There was even a boy who didn’t seem much older than me.

The moment they noticed my gaze, they all straightened their posture.

Some of them even blushed.

Oh… I see how it is.

『Ah, right. Then I’ll introduce them to you later.』

Grandfather instructed the young nobles to return to their carriages.

Before climbing into his own, he turned back and added:

『I chose healthy young men with potential. I’m sure they’ll appeal to you, Roselia.』

…So they’re all suitors, huh.

After guiding them inside the castle, I greeted each noble individually.

The younger ones not only introduced themselves, but also tried to court me—some even asked me to be their dance partner right then and there.

Of course, I had no reason to refuse, so I accepted… but still.

『Well? Roselia. Aren’t Nialma men sturdier than those Eil types?』

『Well… yes, I suppose…』

When my grandfather asked, I gave a vague nod.

How should I put it… I mean, this might sound weird, but I feel like I’ve figured out my grandfather’s "type of guy" and now I can’t un-know it. It’s… complicated.

So he likes that muscular, athletic type.

He’s probably not happy about Prince Bartona being the chosen stud.

Bartona is more on the lanky side, after all.

As for kingdom nobles that Grandfather might approve of…

Maybe Thor-kun?

He may not look it, but he’s got muscles. He’s strong, good at war, too.

…Not that it really matters whether Grandfather likes him or not.

I’ll just marry whoever suits me best.

---

The Founding Festival lasted for three full weeks.

During the day, there were formal ceremonies, luncheons, and meetings on key matters of the kingdom.

In contrast, the evenings were filled with song, dance, and social gatherings—night banquets.

The main ceremonies ended within the first few days, and the latter half of the festival mostly consisted of luncheons and evening banquets.

For the high-ranking nobility, the daytime meetings were more important. But for most nobles, the evening gatherings—which allowed for casual information gathering—were valued more.

This was especially true for young nobles like Thor.

Because the night banquets also served as venues for choosing one’s future partner.

In other words, while the evening was more relaxed than the day, it was still a battlefield in its own right.

“Father, the opening speech hasn’t even started yet…”

Despite that, Thor spoke up in disapproval toward his father, who had already begun drinking.

Eating and drinking before the toast was clearly a breach of etiquette.

Surrounded by the disdainful stares of the other nobles, Thor felt increasingly humiliated.

“If they keep delaying, that’s their fault.”

Duke Larknoll brushed aside Thor’s complaint.

He continued munching loudly on some nuts—who knows where he even got them.

(...He probably pressured one of the servers.)

Roselia would surely hear of Duke Larknoll’s behavior soon.

Thor let out an internal sigh, silently begging for mercy.

“...Finally.”

Almost the moment Duke Larknoll muttered this, the sound of music echoed through the hall.

The first to appear on the stage was the Duke of Budoudarl.

However, he only gave a brief greeting before announcing that he would leave the proceedings in the hands of his “co-ruler”—his daughter—and casually stepped down.

And then, taking his place was…

“““Ohhh…”””

Roselia.

A chorus of admiration rippled through the nobility.

She wore a dress of deep purple.

Dozens of layers of sheer lace were woven together, intricately embroidered with fine golden thread.

Dyed with generous amounts of rare Tyrian purple, the dress was a testament to the superior dyeing techniques and economic power of the Principality of Budoudarl.

Her beautiful silver hair was elegantly adorned with a golden rose-shaped ornament inlaid with rubies.

But what drew the most attention… was the green cape draped over her shoulders.

“…What a stunning green.”

Duke Larknoll stopped crunching his nuts and murmured in awe.

It was a green like emerald, like fresh spring leaves—vibrant and alive.

A color that could never be produced by simply mixing blue and yellow.

Unlike the rare Tyrian purple, this green was one of a kind in the entire world.

“And yet when worn by Princess Roselia, it’s nothing more than an accessory.”

Even the purple dye and goldwork paled in comparison to her presence.

They were nothing more than local products—creations from the lands she would inherit.

She was the greatest female heir of the Western Continent.

A flawless gem fit to crown a throne.

The successor of the Imperial Diadem Domain—or perhaps the Diadem itself.

A supreme trophy, crafted by the gods for a true sovereign.

Her name was Roselia El Budoudarl.

Whoever claimed her would rule the continent.

Everyone in the room understood that.

“Even I have to admit—just laying eyes on a gem like that sends a shiver down my spine. …Thor? Are you listening?”

Receiving no response, Duke Larknoll furrowed his brow in annoyance and turned his gaze from Roselia to his son.

“…”

Thor was staring at Roselia.

He wasn’t simply looking at her.

Nor was he gazing up in awe, or watching in fascination.

His eyes gleamed with intensity.

Like a raptor gazing down from the open sky… or a lion crouched in the shadows.

With a sharp, piercing gaze, he fixed his eyes on his prey—her.

Duke Larknoll was stunned by the expression on his son’s face—but then, he let out a grin.

“…Thor.”

He called his son’s name softly and gave him a strong slap on the back.

Thor jolted upright, startled, then turned to his father in a flustered panic.

“Y-Yes, Father? What is it?”

Thor, seemingly only now realizing what was going on, looked confused. Duke Larknoll bared his teeth in a broad grin.

“You’ve grown into a fine young man.”

“…Uh, thank you?”

Thor tilted his head, unsure.

Larknoll stifled a laugh at his son’s response.

---

Phew… That was nerve-wracking.

After somehow making it through my speech, I passed the baton to Count Lazaabel.

With deliberate flair, he waved his right hand—the one I had treated earlier—and gave a brief greeting before raising his voice with a hearty, “To the toast!!”

The nobles lifted their cups, took their first sips, and began mingling freely.

Originally, the honor of the toast would fall to Count Couranbell, the High Steward of Ceremonial Wine Service.

However, since he boycotted the banquet, Count Lazaabel took his place.

He wasn’t the only one. A handful of vassals boycotted the event as well.

Their absence made it publicly clear who supported or opposed my ascension as co-ruler.

“Shall we go, Blanche?”

“…Yes, Sister.”

I made my rounds with Blanche to greet the guests.

Today was her debut in noble society.

Naturally, I couldn’t leave someone so inexperienced to handle things alone.

At first, she stumbled over her words and hesitated a bit, requiring some gentle support from me… but she quickly regained her usual composure.

Judging that she was ready, I quietly slipped away from her side.

She looked a bit anxious, but… being overly attached to her older sister wouldn’t help her reputation.

At Blanche’s age, a few social missteps won’t cause any real harm—and it’s better that she gains experience now while she can.

“What a splendid banquet this is, truly… Princess Roselia. It’s a shame my father couldn’t attend.”

The first to approach me once I was alone was Prince Karvenil.

By “father,” he meant King Oreanis, who was staying behind in the capital.

The moment Blanche was out of the picture, he brought up politics… how transparent.

“Those who missed this event are truly unfortunate. Wouldn’t you agree?”

In the end, the Duke of Cartalia never showed up.

They had only said, “We’ll come if we can,” so I wasn’t expecting much—but still.

Their absence wasn’t just a slight to the royal family; it was a challenge to the Duchy of Budoudarl as well.

Incidentally, I was one of the reasons for their absence.

If they had made a show of celebrating my ascension as co-ruler, it was only a matter of time before Prince Karvenil would say: “Oh? So you’re okay with a female heir now? Then you’ll recognize my claim to succession too, right?”

“Yes… it’s quite a shame. We had food and wine prepared for everyone.”

“We may have to melt down the tableware.”

Nobles and knights traditionally use silver for their tableware.

That’s because silver repels magic.

It’s a critical strategic resource—used to forge weapons.

However, hoarding too much silver weaponry invites suspicion from neighboring lords.

That’s why it’s commonly stockpiled in the form of tableware, used during banquets and ceremonies.

It sends a double message: “We have this much military strength,” while also claiming, “We have no intention of using it as weapons,” thereby promoting peace and diplomacy.

Thus, “melting down the silverware” is the complete opposite—it signals preparation for war.

“What a shame… to sully them before they’re even stained.”

I neither denied nor affirmed it.

I had no desire to go to war with the House of Duke Cartalia, nor could I declare the purging of Count Couranbel here and now.

“Fufu… Indeed. Tableware exists so we don’t have to dirty our hands.”

Prince Karvenil left the scene in good spirits.

Then, as if to switch places with him, Prince Bartona approached and spoke to me.

He wore a wry smile.

“My apologies… It seems my elder brother is somewhat… stirred by the exotic atmosphere.”

“Ufufu, I’m glad to hear he’s enjoying himself.”

“But truly, the cuisine of Budoudarl is wonderful. So refined…”

Prince Bartona praised the food and architecture of Budoudarl, as if to sweep away the bloody topic from moments earlier.

It didn’t feel bad. In fact, it was rather pleasant.

He likely knew exactly what sort of conversation would please me.

I couldn’t say whether he’d continue to treat me this way after the marriage, but if he did, I felt I could live a life free of stress.

He would probably take the lead in bed as well.

Though, on my part, I’d probably just lie there like a dead fish.

As I was thinking such things, I heard a lively tune begin to play.

Right on schedule.

It had been decided that the first dance would be with Prince Bartona.

“How ravishing…”

“Princess Roselia!”

Just as Prince Bartona was about to offer his invitation—

A loud voice echoed through the hall.

The voice belonged to a young man with red hair.

He looked to be in his mid-teens.

His build was solid and robust, brimming with youthful energy and confidence.

His long strides and somewhat arrogant, irreverent demeanor somehow didn’t leave a bad impression.

Somehow, he reminded me a little of my grandfather.

I had the feeling this was exactly the kind of man my grandfather hoped I would marry.

And yet, if he were to become my husband, I’m sure my grandfather would be vehemently opposed.

Bard ef Eargl.

Crown Prince of the Empire.