Chapter 7

Having successfully concluded the ceasefire agreement, I arrived at the northern castle of our domain—Torunia Castle.

After taking a short rest and tidying myself up, I headed for my father’s study.

“Father, it’s Roselia.”

“Come in.”

Father wasn’t at his desk. Instead, he was seated on the sofa.

On the table in front of him was a spread of sweets and fruit.

Although we were here to talk business, the atmosphere was clearly meant to be casual.

As I took the offered seat on the sofa, a waiting servant poured us some tea. After bowing, the servant quietly left the room.

Now it was just Father and me.

“First of all, good work, Roselia. I’ve already heard the general account from Delawear, but I’d like to hear it from you directly.”

“Yes, Father.”

I calmly recounted the details of who I had spoken with and what we had discussed during the gathering—just as I had planned beforehand.

Apparently, what I told him matched Delawear’s report perfectly.

Father nodded in satisfaction.

“I see. Then... what kind of hospitality did the Duke of Larknoll’s household show you? What impression did they leave?”

“Frankly speaking, they fell short of expectations for a duke.”

To be honest, I thought it was kind of shabby.

The castle that served as the venue felt stark and unimpressive. Honestly, even some of the more showy count families might’ve been able to offer more flair and extravagance.

“But I did sense sincerity. I don’t believe the shortcomings were due to any disrespect—they seemed more like the result of inexperience. And the food was quite good.”

It seemed even the Duke of Larknoll’s side was aware of their own shortcomings.

That’s probably why they used ingredients like raw oysters—which are a hassle to prepare—to make it clear: We’re doing our best here. We’re not trying to slight you, really.

“I see. I heard you ate quite a lot of raw oysters. Were they really that good?”

“They more than lived up to the rumors. I guess it’s true—cold places really do produce better oysters.”

“Fufu, is that so? Then I suppose at every future gathering Roselia attends, oysters will become a must-have dish.”

“I’d welcome that very much.”

There’s no diplomatic harm in having your favorite foods be known.

As long as it’s not something too bizarre, of course.

And raw oysters are pretty standard in our kingdom.

“Still, it seems your relationship with Lord Thor is drawing more attention than expected.”

“Am I standing out too much?”

“No, quite the opposite. It works in our favor. It serves as a nice bit of pressure against the royal family. If only the king would just give his approval already…”

The marriage alliance between House Budoudarl and the royal family—my marriage to one of the princes—is practically a done deal.

The issue is which prince I’m to marry.

The king wants to pair me with the First Prince, while Father prefers the Second Prince—Prince Bartona.

From a security standpoint, marrying the next king makes sense. But that would give too much power to the royal family.

There’s a real risk our domain could be absorbed into royal territory. From the king’s perspective, of course, that would be the ideal outcome.

On the other hand, a marriage between me and Prince Bartona would be difficult for the king to accept.

It could divide the royal house—and if Father and Prince Bartona form a strong alliance, it could even lead to rebellion.

So Father had me get close to Lord Thor.

Basically to say: If you won’t meet our demands, we’ll form an alliance with the Duke of Larknoll instead.

Thor’s being used as a decoy, in other words.

“…The real issue may be Lord Thor’s affection toward you. It seems he’s not even trying to hide it. What’s your take?”

“Honestly, it’s gotten to the point where I feel a little guilty.”

“I see…”

It seems Father hadn’t expected Thor to develop feelings so easily in his role as a pawn.

He held a hand to his forehead.

He’s clearly worried Thor will spiral into a bitter, vengeful mess if he gets NTR’d—betrayed in love, in other words.

Emotional drama sparking a war isn’t exactly unheard of—and definitely not a laughing matter.

“Shall I be more direct in rejecting him?”

Like: I’m sorry, but I don’t see you that way. Let’s just be friends, okay?

If I say it now, maybe the damage will be minimal.

Things would definitely get awkward, though.

“…No. For now, we can’t afford to worsen relations with the Duke of Larknoll. And I’d still like to keep the marriage route as a last resort—just in case the royal family and the Empire join hands.”

Our Budoudarl Duchy borders the Empire, and we’ve had territorial disputes for some time.

The worst-case scenario for us is the royal family forming a marriage alliance with the imperial family—then we’d be pincered from both sides.

If the Duke of Larknoll joins that alliance, then it’s game over.

Father’s current diplomatic strategy is all about preventing the completion of a “Budoudarl Encirclement.”

I’d really rather not inherit land surrounded by enemies on all sides, so I sincerely hope Father succeeds.

“In the meantime, bring up Blanche’s name in conversation.”

Blanche is my younger half-sister—Father’s daughter with his second wife.

There’s also another girl named Rouge.

Including me, that makes three legitimate daughters of Father.

It’s clear he wants to put Blanche forward as my substitute.

If Thor is attracted to my lineage or looks, he’ll probably be interested in Blanche too.

…Well, men are mostly into appearances anyway.

I’d know—I used to be a man myself.

Still… something about it feels a little off.

“Should I let Blanche know?”

“I’ll tell her when the time is right. She might throw a tantrum otherwise.”

“I see.”

Thor-kun has a well-proportioned face, and he seems gentle toward women—so I’d say he’s closer to a high-quality prospect.

…But I wonder if Blanche would object?

From a pedigree standpoint, it’s true that a third-generation noble family with less than a hundred years of history doesn’t quite match up to the Budoudarl Ducal House—one of the most prestigious on the continent.

“By the way… Roselia, how did Lord Thor come across to you?”

“Let me see… I felt he had low self-esteem, and perhaps a delicate heart. But he’s also diligent and hardworking.”

His dancing had improved far more than I’d expected.

I think at heart, he’s sincere and honest.

…Which probably explains the complicated feelings he seems to have toward his father.

“…That’s quite a favorable impression.”

“Is it?”

Still, I do find talking to him easy.

Compared to nobles who are always trying to trap you into saying something—like the Second Prince, for example—he’s definitely more pleasant.

Although, that’s only because he’s convenient for me.

“I have no real eye for judging men. If you, Father, feel someone is suitable, I would be happy to marry him.”

“…I see.”

Father looked a bit conflicted.

In this world, it’s a father’s role to decide his daughter’s husband. Given that, I thought my response was proper… but maybe not?

Ah, but Blanche does voice her own desires more clearly. Maybe I’m just too obedient?

Still, it’s not like there’s someone I want to marry.

But I also can’t just say I don’t want to marry anyone.

Which leaves only one thing to say: You decide for me.

“Well then. Let’s change the topic a bit.”

Father stood up as he said this and walked over to his desk, retrieving a box from atop it.

He brought it over to the table and opened the lid.

Inside was…

“A sea beast pelt, gifted from the Duke of Larknoll.”

The western continent, where we live, is bitterly cold in winter.

Because of that, outerwear like cloaks and coats made from fur is a necessity.

Commoners use accessible furs like sheep or rabbit, but…

Nobles, by nature, believe it’s unbecoming to wear the same kind of fur as the masses.

Among high-end options, fox and marten are prized—and for the elite, nothing tops sable.

But lately, there’s a new top-tier fur that’s taken noble society by storm.

That is—sea beast fur.

Probably from an animal like an otter, or something similar.

The Duke of Larknoll monopolizes its distribution.

So if you want to wear this luxurious fur, you either have to cozy up to the Duke or pay a fortune to discreetly acquire it through merchants.

This gives the Duke of Larknoll a strong foothold in noble diplomacy.

Wearing sea beast fur is practically a declaration of closeness with his house.

It may sound like “just an otter,” but don’t scoff.

For instance, if I show up wearing a sable cloak, someone might sneer, “Oh? Your dress is first-class, but your fur’s second-rate? You do know sea beast fur is in fashion now… don’t you?” And then they'd proceed to look down on me.

That’s just my personal issue, of course…

But what truly matters is that all nobles under House Budoudarl’s banner—our vassals and faction members—would be subjected to that same kind of mockery.

“Can’t you do something about this, boss?” they grumble at me with passive-aggressive complaints from the inside as well.

Of course, as a great noble house, we can’t exactly bow our heads and beg the Duke of Larknoll for fur.

Groveling would disgrace us—but so would continuing to lack access to this prestigious material.

That’s why receiving this sea beast fur as a token of friendship carries immense diplomatic weight.

“Ahh… Personally, I prefer the sable I’m used to. But since it was a gift, I suppose I must wear it.”

Father was in an extremely good mood.

He probably really wanted one of these himself.

As for us, we returned the gesture with a gift of silk textiles.

Silk is one of the Budoudarl Duchy’s specialties.

Just as the Duke of Larknoll monopolizes sea beast fur, we—well, we can’t quite say we monopolize silk… but if you want the finest quality, you need our connections.

I imagine the Duke of Larknoll has experienced the same kind of frustration we have.

By exchanging gifts mutually, it didn’t look like either side conceded.

It’s a WIN-WIN relationship for both of us.

This is how it should be. Exactly like this.

At the very least, I prefer sea otter fur over human limbs.

Though I do feel sorry for the otters that have to die.

“You’re the one who received it, Roselia. You should wear it first. There’s likely to be a royal hunting event in late autumn—this will be perfect. It should be tailored into a cloak by then.”

“What about you, Father?”

“I’ll wear it last.”

Apparently, putting it on right away after receiving it is considered unseemly.

People might mock him with a smug, “If you wanted it that badly, you could’ve just said so, hahaha!”

So first, I—who directly received the fur—will wear it.

Then, we distribute it to family and cadet branches.

Next, if our vassals or faction nobles start asking for it, we hand it out to them…

And only once Father has seen all their reactions and judged it safe, will he wear his own.

Nobility is such a pain.

Or rather, it’s more about Father’s personality—his political mindset.

He’s someone who prefers low-risk, low-return strategies.

There are pros and cons to that approach, but as the current head of the already well-established Budoudarl Ducal House, I think it suits him just fine.

“And... I’ll be heading to Budouberu Castle soon. I plan to leave in two weeks. I’ll be counting on you to manage things while I’m away. I expect to return by late autumn.”

“That sounds... busy, as always.”

Budouberu Castle is our southern stronghold. It’s not a place one comes and goes from frequently.

“I’ve been away from it for quite some time. I can’t keep leaving everything to Antocia.”

Antocia—Father’s second wife, my stepmother—was originally the third daughter of a cadet branch of the Budoudarl House.

In short, she wasn’t someone educated to be the wife of a grand noble like the Duke of Budoudarl.

Because of that, her behavior is often careless and prone to missteps.

In fact, she’s already caused one major scandal before.

She’s not someone who can be trusted with responsibility.

Of course, Father has since dispatched capable knights to handle the actual affairs, so I doubt she’ll make the same mistakes again...

But still, I can tell he’s uneasy.

As for why Father married someone like her... well, that story is long and messy, so I’ll skip it for now.

All I’ll say is that my late mother was involved, and because of that, I was dragged into the drama and ended up being intensely hated by Antocia.

And I hate her too.

I still remember the irrational punishments I received under the name of “education.”

I’m the type to hold grudges, you see.

“Is there anything you’d like me to pass on to them?”

“Please tell them I wish them well for the harvest festival. And to Rouge, tell her to keep studying hard. Oh, and I’ll have some new soap wrapped up—would you give it to them for me?”

Thanks to my efforts in spreading the word, Blanche and Rouge have become soap users.

They’re both fond of fashion, so I think they’ll love the rose-scented soap.

“Well... I don’t mind. Come to think of it, I heard you brought some to the Larknoll Duchy as well?”

“Through merchants, of course. No need to worry.”

Compared to silk, soap isn’t exactly a luxury—it’s more of a novelty.

Giving it directly to Thor-kun myself would have been risky.

So instead, I had the merchants accompanying us carry it and sell it to the nobles and knights gathered at the social event.

I also had them bring things like olives and spices, and purchased dried seafood and fish sauce as souvenirs.

This is a common method nobles use to exchange mid-tier goods—items not expensive enough for formal gifts but still worthy of recognition.

It wasn’t just for the soap, of course.

“I’m not particularly worried... but I still don’t understand why you’re so invested in it.”

Father had praised the Roselia Wine enthusiastically, but when it comes to soap, he’s dismissive.

Probably because it lacks value as a formal gift.

Not just Father—nobles in this world tend to look down on industries like that.

They’re keenly interested in luxury items for political maneuvering, or food and weapons for war, but rarely care about industries that might actually improve the people’s lives.

It’s probably because magic exists—a kind of superpower monopolized by the privileged class.

Sure, I understand. Instead of painstakingly making soap to enrich the people, earn foreign currency, increase the population, and gradually build national strength, it’s more cost-effective to win over nobles who already possess superpowers with things like furs and silk.

Besides, even if you put effort into managing your territory, there’s always a chance it’ll be lost through inheritance anyway. In that case, all that effort goes to waste.

Far more efficient to throw yourself into the marriage game—into diplomatic matchmaking—and expand your holdings that way.

“I want to turn soap into an industry on par with wine. …Though to you, Father, I suppose it’s just garbage.”

“…I’ve apologized so many times already. Don’t hold a grudge forever, please.”

My sarcastic jab earned a wry smile from Father.