Chapter 6

“…Much obliged.”

Marshal Lazabel managed to squeeze out just those words before giving a small bow and leaving the scene.

I think that was the right decision.

Thor looked like he had no intention of discussing the prisoners any further.

Still, the mood had soured a little.

Nothing to be done about it. I suppose I’ll help clean up after the Marshal’s mess.

Just as I thought that, a beautiful melody began to play.

It started a little earlier than I’d heard it would.

Most likely, the musicians picked up on the atmosphere and began ahead of schedule.

A wise decision.

“Oh my.”

I deliberately turned to face the musicians, then shifted my gaze to Thor.

He immediately straightened up, looking tense.

“Princess Roselia.”

“Yes?”

“…May I have your hand?”

“With pleasure.”

As we began to dance, the mood in the hall softened.

The others must have taken the hint, as they too started to dance.

“How am I doing…? I believe I’ve improved since last time.”

Though clearly nervous, Thor’s voice carried a touch of confidence.

Back then, he was barely managing to keep up with the steps, but now he even had room for conversation.

“You’ve worked hard for my sake, haven’t you?”

“N-No, it’s not as if I did it for you in particular. I simply reconsidered how important these things can be.”

So before, he didn’t care at all, huh.

Well, with a father like Duke Larknoll, that’s hardly surprising.

“Indeed. I’d like for us to be partners—not in swordplay, but like this, hand in hand. Not just in form, but from the heart.”

Thor used the word ‘form’—as in, superficial or temporary.

Maybe he didn’t mean anything deep by it, but it felt like he was implying we’d go back to fighting the moment the truce ends.

That caught my attention a bit, so I probed gently.

“Ah, th-that’s… Oh!”

“Kyah!”

Thor’s step faltered.

I stumbled, losing my balance.

Not good—no time to recover.

I pitched forward, falling straight into him.

“A-Are you all right…?”

“Yes…”

Somehow, I ended up clinging to him.

When I looked up, his face had gone completely pale.

Well, since I fell because of his mistake, it’s only natural.

“I apolo—”

“Thank you for catching me.”

I raised my voice a little so those nearby could hear and gave Thor my thanks.

Then I looked up at him and winked.

“If… something dangerous were to happen to me again, I’d be happy if you would help me like this. Of course, I’ll come to your aid as well.”

Of course, I’m talking about dancing.

Not war, obviously.

“A-Ah… O-Of course!”

Thor’s face flushed from pale to crimson as he nodded.

That’s a verbal promise, then.

I can consider his earlier “form” remark nullified.

“By the way… um, Princess Roselia.”

“Yes?”

“Would you… mind getting off me now?”

Still blushing furiously, Thor turned his face to some far-off direction.

He could at least look at me, couldn’t he?

…Ah, wait. If he looks down, he might see my chest.

“Oh dear. Pardon me.”

And so, we began to dance once more.

After dancing two or three more songs with Thor, I took my leave from him.

He looked reluctant to part, so I told him, “Let’s dance again before the end.”

Leaving the obviously delighted Thor behind, I headed straight for the food.

I care more about satisfying my stomach than any romantic flutters.

Perhaps due to cultural differences, the seasoning was noticeably different.

My home country has a major trade port, so spices are relatively easy to come by.

We also have a thriving olive oil industry.

Because of that, our food tends to be rather spicy and oily.

Compared to that, the dishes here have a much simpler seasoning.

Some nobles in this world might find it a bit plain or even poor-tasting, but I like it.

You can really taste the ingredients themselves.

Also, there’s a faintly unique scent to the cuisine.

How to describe it… almost like the smell of the sea.

Probably from fish sauce, I’d guess.

Nobles from the southern and central regions of the kingdom might not be fond of it.

“My, that was some quick thinking earlier, Princess Roselia.”

“Quick thinking? Whatever do you mean, Count Arobella?”

As I reached for a dish that looked vaguely like meunière, a man called out to me.

It was Count Arobella.

A noble affiliated with the Budoudarl faction, and one of the key players in this war.

The “quick thinking” he referred to must have been about that earlier slip-up.

It seems he noticed how I covered for Thor's mistake.

“Are you on good terms with Lord Thor?”

“We happen to like the same food… Actually, I’m quite fond of raw oysters.”

If I replied with a clear “Yes, we’re close,” he might overthink it, so I chose to keep things vague.

“Oh, is that so,” Count Arobella said with a smile, nodding.

“I’m quite fond of raw oysters myself. Truly, I hope we can still enjoy them next year, and the year after.”

He was probably trying to say: Peace is the best path, isn’t it?

No—he wasn’t trying to confirm something like that.

“In that case, rest assured. Oysters are harvested in our domain too. You won’t go without.”

Between peace and you, I would choose you. I will never abandon you. If you’re attacked, I’ll protect you—so rest easy.

When I conveyed that sentiment, Count Arobella visibly relaxed.

“...Please give my regards to Duke Yortgull.”

Duke Yortgull.

In other words, my father.

He is both the Duke of Budoudarl and the Duke of Yortgull.

However, he does not have complete control over the entirety of the Yortgull Duchy.

Our family has inherited the Budoudarl Duchy for generations, so he’s more commonly referred to as the Duke of Budoudarl.

The fact that Count Arobella deliberately used “Duke Yortgull” carries a strong political implication.

Not that the meaning is difficult to grasp.

Count Arobella’s domain is one of the counties that comprise the Yortgull Duchy.

In essence, his message was: “Please continue to protect us, boss.”

That’s all there was to it.

“Of course,” I replied.

Count Arobella looked satisfied and walked away.

Elsewhere, I spotted Thor speaking with another nobleman—Count Calmanbell.

They were probably having a similar conversation.

This war began due to the conflict between Count Arobella and Count Calmanbell.

Both their domains are part of the Yortgull Duchy.

So nominally, both are my father’s vassals—but in practice, they weren’t.

While my father holds the title of Duke Yortgull, he did not exercise effective control over the whole duchy.

But at one point, the situation shifted.

Count Calmanbell formed a vassal contract with Duke Larknoll and attempted to seize Arobella’s territory.

Count Arobella, who until then had been acting cocky with a “Who cares about Duke Yortgull?” attitude, panicked. He hurriedly bowed his head to my father and begged for help.

Since my father holds the title of Duke Yortgull—at least in name—he had no choice but to intervene in the war.

And so we ended up dragged into a war from which we had nothing to gain.

Ultimately, the House of Duke Budoudarl paid reparations in exchange for both sides returning their territories to their prewar borders.

Now, if you ask who outranks whom between dukes and counts—the answer is the duke.

But among nobility, they are technically equals.

Kings, dukes, counts—they’re all just nobles in the end.

No matter how grand the title, if you can’t exercise actual control, it’s meaningless.

Titles like duke or count are no more than nominal (and ancient) administrative designations.

Which is why there are absurdly powerful counts, and some rather pitiful dukes.

Afterward, other nearby nobles and even foreign diplomats who had come from afar began speaking with me one after another.

Their topics varied—some cautioning against expansion, others confirming alliances or protection—but without exception, they all tried to find out how I felt about Thor.

More precisely, they were trying to gauge my father’s stance through me.

Both Thor and I are heirs to noble houses ruling vast territories.

If we were on bad terms, it could escalate into a war that might engulf not just the kingdom—but the entire western continent.

On the other hand, if we got along too well and entered into a marriage alliance, that too would be a problem.

Such a union could create a force strong enough to surpass even the royal and imperial families.

For mid- and small-sized noble houses that would inevitably be caught up in either outcome, it’s a troubling prospect.

...Though perhaps it's only those minor houses that are overly concerned.

“Our king is most pleased that the heirs of neighboring allied houses have chosen to join hands rather than cross swords. …The royal family believes that when the Crown and the great houses act in step and in harmony, it leads to the preservation of the kingdom’s peace and stability.”

The one who delivered this carefully worded warning—“A truce is fine, but don’t go drawing new borders or forming marriage alliances that could disrupt the kingdom’s order”—was a diplomat dispatched from the royal family.

From the royal family’s perspective, it was probably more convenient for the great lords to clash with each other from time to time. Not that they’d ever say it out loud.

“Oh my! That’s wonderful to hear. My father, and I as well, share the king’s sentiment. After all, we sit at the same round table. Each house should reach out a hand in friendship—competing over rank is pointless. …By standing together, hand in hand, we can protect peace from those who would disrupt it.”

Both my father and I intend to strengthen ties with the House of Duke Larknoll. And yes, we respect the king as a national leader—but let’s not forget, noble houses are equals among each other. You have no right to meddle in someone else’s diplomacy—or marriage.

“Please be sure to convey our thoughts to His Majesty… and to the princes, who will carry the next era alongside us.”

As long as you don’t interfere on your end, we won’t meddle in your royal succession games either. You can rest easy on that front. Let’s play nice.

“Haha… Certainly. I will relay your words to the king.”

It seemed my response was more than satisfactory for him. The royal diplomat bowed his head and turned on his heel.

While all that was happening, the gathering was drawing to a close.

As promised, I shared a dance with Thor.

Our dance marked the official end of the evening’s social event.

“Um… Lady Roselia… If there’s another occasion… may I have the honor of taking your hand again?”

Thor asked me with some hesitation, clearly reluctant to part.

I nodded deeply and smiled.

“Of course.”

…Though, by that time, I may very well be engaged—or even married—to someone.