The North was a land conquered by the Empire hundreds of years ago. Although the indigenous people and the newcomers now coexisted in a mixture, the relationship with the Emperor—who strictly forbade them from moving anywhere else even if they were permitted to migrate—remained sour.
The northerners claimed that the Emperor, who had ordered them to stop the evil dragon Gwasalante, was the very one who kept provoking it. They were a people of great pride, and they loathed the Emperor for dumping young Peon here without providing proper support.
Moreover, because they were so insular, their local xenophobia was fierce; at the same time, they harbored a deep-seated persecution complex, convinced that the central government looked down upon them. The target of that persecution was the young Grand Duchess, who had been stripped of her title and cast out.
Peon at least possessed the pride of having been raised by them. Having arrived as a young child, he had literally crawled in the dirt alongside the northern soldiers and grown up learning their traditions. He was a proud son of the North, and also a figure capable of advancing into the center.
But the Grand Duchess who had come to Lyussenford after turning twenty was not one of them. To the locals, she was merely a sophisticated central noble who looked down upon them.
“You don’t need to receive greetings like that. Don’t pay it any mind.”
Peon’s face, as he spoke clearly and firmly to the new Grand Duchess, had already stiffened into stone. Those damnably stubborn, narrow-minded people. He swallowed the curses hovering on the tip of his tongue and slowed his stride, worried that the Grand Duchess, trailing behind him in her heavy cloak, might be struggling. Because there was a long line of people from Lyussenford Castle behind them, he deliberately used formal, respectful language toward Kaella.
After regressing, there were so many things he could see clearly now. Peon ruthlessly judged himself an utter fool who truly needed to have died at least once to come to his senses. And the people of Lyussenford were even worse.
Starting a battle of nerves against a Grand Duchess seven years younger than the Grand Duke by leaving her standing out in the cold? Even if she had been a Grand Duchess without a maternal home to back her before the regression, she was now the only daughter of the wealthy Duke Ostain and the next Duchess Ostain!
‘Whether her background is flashy or shabby, you just hate the Grand Duchess. That’s it. I get it.’
He understood. He knew exactly what they were thinking. Peon was now sick to his stomach, absolutely weary of it all. It hadn’t been easy to coax and soothe these narrow-minded people, to feed their egos while molding them into an elite army. He knew that sometimes they thought of him not as the Empress’s son, but as a child of the North. Still, he had endured and endured again. What other choice did he have?
But the Grand Duchess had been enduring, too. Had he not known that? He did. There was no way he could have been ignorant of it. Nevertheless, by remaining silent, by looking away, and by being indifferent, he was a sinner. There was no room for extenuation.
“No, it is only proper, so I must do it.”
Watching Kaella respond so mildly, Peon searched his memory for how she had been “at the beginning.” Before the regression, when she first arrived here, she had arrived with eyes sparkling with enthusiasm, eager to do everything well. But this was the first time he had seen her mutter so indifferently, devoid of expression.
“I must accept the greetings, Your Highness. If traditions and etiquette are broken because of me, you will be the one to face the criticism.”
“That I’m blinded by a woman?”
Peon chuckled, and Kaella flinched.
“If I am to be criticized, so be it. It does not matter to me.”
Because it sounded as though he had heard enough of that regarding Beatrice, Kaella lowered her gaze. Inside the dark and chilly Lyussenford Castle, the sound of footsteps echoing on the stone paths, the frost forming white on the specially crafted windows, and the early setting sun—everything was familiar and depressingly tedious.
But she had to do it. Kaella, who was seeking a way to die without causing harm to her father, knew well that she had to fulfill her duties. Only then could she be proud even in death. It was exhausting, the burden of having to worry about things even after death. Couldn’t she just die? But Ostain rested on her shoulders. She couldn’t.
“Even so. I must receive them.”
If the Grand Duchess insisted, the Grand Duke would not stop her. However, she had to sit in the Grand Duchess’s seat in the audience chamber of Lyussenford Castle and receive the greetings of the people she would command. She sat wrapped in his cloak—the one the Grand Duke had personally draped over her. Beside her, the Grand Duke, who had expressed his annoyance at the fatigue of the journey, watched the crowd with piercing eyes.
“We sincerely congratulate you both on your marriage. Welcome to the North.”
A fire was lit in the audience chamber, casting bright, flickering light. The wealthy Lady Ostain, wearing the Empress’s large ring, received the greetings of the northern nobles. She offered only a formal smile; she was not radiant like Beatrice. That was right. Kaella had a powerful point of comparison: Beatrice, who had briefly visited Lyussenford when the building materials of Monde Castle had to be sold off.
“She’s more plain than Lady Lavalle.”
Whispers immediately reached her that Kaella was not as pretty as Beatrice. The beauty of women was always a subject for evaluation.
“She doesn’t even smile much.”
This was a jab implying that she must hate having come to Lyussenford.
“They say she’s the Lady of Ostain. With all that gold overflowing, I suppose nothing else catches her eye?”
Because her status as someone wealthy and the Emperor’s niece was an eyesore, the bitter murmurs crawled toward Kaella like thick, hazy, poisonous fog.
“It seems the Grand Duke is already quite fond of the Grand Duchess?”
“If Ostain were to provide us with military funds, I would do the same.”
Peon tracked the faces whispering in the shadows, waiting for the moment to cut those throats. He saw those who cursed the Emperor yet took money from Krain behind his back; those who had sold out Lyussenford to get their children into the central social scene; those who were spies planted by the Emperor; and those who had clamored for war only to flee when it arrived.
He had to cull them, every one. Peon would sharpen his cold, blue-steel sword for those cowardly, irresponsible men. If he cut off their heads and offered them to Kaella, would it lighten his sins even a little?
As if that were possible. Peon only had to keep the person by his side safe and sound, then send her back to Ostain. He had to send her away before the storm blew in. He had to promise her an eternal farewell.
Even if the mere thought was agonizing.
･ ｡ﾟ✧: *. ꕥ .* :✧ﾟ. ･
It seemed that feelings of rage or a desire for revenge upon seeing hateful faces again were things only for healthy, vigorous people.
Having returned to Lyussenford Castle, where she had once poured all her efforts, Kaella felt only a deep exhaustion. She knew well that no matter how much she tried, how much she flared in anger, or how much she poured out her sincerity, some things simply could not be changed. All the neglect, the cutting words, the contemptuous glares, and the shame heaped upon her would force even a proud king to his knees. What could a Grand Duchess without a backing have done?
“Your Grace, the Grand Duchess, here is the list of dishes for this evening’s celebratory banquet. Would you please verify it?”
Amidst the gloom, the head maid, who had managed to chase her down, held her back. The Grand Duchess had no authority over this menu; she was merely meant to look and say nothing. It seemed that unique and traditional northern dishes would be served in abundance. Kaella smiled bitterly, scanned the list, and spoke.
“I cannot eat Tur Berry as it makes me ill, so I cannot consume this dish called Perenko.”
At those words, the head maid, who had been bowing politely, flicked her eyes upward.
“But Your Grace, the Grand Duchess, this is a traditional guest-welcoming dish of Lyussenford and a main course at that. You must eat it.”
Was she in her fifties? Kaella, trying to guess the age of the head maid—which she could no longer remember clearly—smiled gently.
“I am aware of that, but did I not say it harms my health?”
“Perhaps it is because you are not used to eating it? If you eat more, you will develop an immunity. You must try everything.”
Kaella watched Doris Windgood, the head maid who had always tried to lecture her, with a steady gaze. Doris was of northern noble descent and one of the many who claimed to have raised Peon personally. She was overflowing with pride in Lyussenford and believed it was her duty to instill its traditions into the Grand Duchess.
“……I will inform the chef.”
There could not be a head maid who insisted on her own way after the Grand Duchess had said no. Kaella had neither the energy to argue nor the strength to do so; she simply looked at the maid, and the woman, startled, retreated. But the head maid had only said she would “inform” the chef; she wouldn’t change the menu. She was a person of immense stubbornness.
‘Not bad.’
Tonight, with all the northern nobles gathered to celebrate the Grand Duke’s marriage, it wasn’t bad.
After sending the head maid away, Kaella looked at her new room. It was a stiff, pedantic, hideous, and tacky room that the maid had decorated according to her own tastes. Every object in the room seemed to be screaming ancient virtues at Kaella: “You must be chaste and obedient!”
She laughed feebly, sat on the hard chair, and began to write a letter to her father—the first and last of its kind.
･ ｡ﾟ✧: *. ꕥ .* :✧ﾟ. ･
The girl, born in Ostain and known for being bright enough to become the errand girl for the young Lady in the Duke’s household, went by the name Marie. Marie, the youngest of the three personal maids who had followed the Lady to the cold Lyussenford, stood in line with the others, watching the Lady, who had attended the evening banquet, with anxiety.
Even now, the title “Lady” was more familiar to Marie than “Your Grace.” And once the Lady of Ostain, always the Lady of Ostain. There was no exception.
“Marie, if you ever return to Ostain, please deliver this letter to my father.”
What could the Lady be thinking, having entrusted the letter to Marie and not the others? Marie prayed only for the Grand Duke, who had taken such good care of the Lady during the journey, to return quickly.
But the Grand Duke was currently out with the knights, performing a ritual of lighting the bonfires. So, the Lady was left alone, listening silently while the northern nobles spoke all at once about “how deep the history is and how delicious” the food called Perenko was.
It started simply. The Grand Duchess had hesitated after looking at that dry, unappetizing meat dish and had called the head maid over.
“Did I not say that I cannot eat Tur Berry?”
The Grand Duchess had asked very quietly and with great dignity. Of course, the maids from Ostain, including Marie, were wide-eyed, seeing that dish for the first time and learning that the lady they had served for so long could not eat it.
“Ahem, Your Grace, the Grand Duchess!”
However, the head maid raised her voice, taking advantage of the Grand Duke’s absence.
“Perenko is a traditional dish of Lyussenford, filled with our pride! It was prepared with Tur Berry, but can you not just pick it out and eat it? If you have come to Lyussenford, it is only proper that you eat the food we have prepared with such care!”
In an instant, the gaze of the room shifted, and Marie was horrified. As the knights briefly stepped out, the remaining elderly nobles looked over, and one northern noble nearby asked, “What is the matter? Is Perenko not an interesting dish to you?”
To Marie’s eyes, it was a blatant trap. Yet the Lady, who was renowned in Ostain for being smart, answered with odd honesty.
“It is not that, it is just that Tur Berry is a food that makes me uncomfortable.”
“No, why? It is a fruit that grows in cold places, is it not?”
“When I eat it, my body itches and breathing becomes a bit…”
Before she could finish, it was a shock to Marie that the loud-voiced people in the hall began to preach about how good Tur Berry was for the body. Was this not the Krania Empire? How could they be so rude to such a noble person?
“It is a food that is good for the body!”
“Indeed. If you eat Perenko, you will have a peaceful year. It is an important food that prays for the peace of Lyussenford.”
“Uncomfortable, you say? That’s just because you aren’t used to it! You must eat plenty to overcome it!”
“Yes, that’s right! It seems the Grand Duchess needs to learn some brave courage upon arriving in Lyussenford!”
The clamor erupted, with everyone shouting about Perenko and Tur Berry, pouring out a lecture disguised as encouragement. It felt as if something terrible would happen if she didn’t eat it.
The maids from Ostain were intimidated. It was a terribly rude treatment of the Lady! The northern people were large in build and boisterous in voice, and it felt as if Kaella, small and delicate, would be crushed. Her face had turned pale, and she was expressionless.
Even more eerie was that the nobles who had been pouring their words onto her suddenly fell silent. In the quiet that followed, the head maid declared like a judge, “Please do not disregard our sincerity, Your Grace. We would be deeply heartbroken. Are you not becoming a person of Lyussenford now, too?”
“I, too, am a person of Lyussenford. I only hope that there will not be a situation where I get severely ill. That would be a shameful thing.”
The Lady pulled up the corners of her mouth with a pale, white face. A loud, booming laughter erupted from the others.
“How ill could you possibly get? If you are a person of Lyussenford, you will bravely overcome it!”
With “Lyussenford” attached to the end of every sentence, her eardrums were ringing. Knowing full well that the people remaining here were particularly loud, Kaella moved her fork. She took the dry meat, heavily soaked in pickled Tur Berry and juice, and chewed.
“How is it? It’s fine, isn’t it? You were needlessly scared while eating it so well.”
The maids from Ostain were speechless at this sight. Kaella repeatedly put the tasteless meat into her mouth and chewed slowly, expressionless. When she was first married, she had realized it was strange after eating a little, spat it out, and never touched the dish again.
Even here, the Grand Duchess had been firmly marked because of this one dish—the dish that was cooked in mountain-high piles once a year and then mostly left over. No matter how much she said that it made her throat sting and made breathing difficult, everyone would flare up, saying, “The weak and cowardly southerner dares to look down on Lyussenford.”
Thinking about it, she should have just eaten it all and died right there on the spot. What kind of foolish dream had she been dreaming? The idea that God had pitied her and brought her back to life was ridiculous.
Everything was still the same here, and she was still just a young Grand Duchess. She had tried her hardest, but the gazes of the head maid and the chef were always terrifying. She had endured and endured, and then she had watched as the maids she brought from Ostain succumbed to the cold one by one. She regretted watching one of them die of fever. She should have at least sent them back to their hometowns.
Perhaps now, she could send them back.