Beneath the Surviving Princess's Joyful Facade - Side Story 6

The next morning, Miesa, her hair now dyed black, woke up excited in the small but tidy lodging.

“I want to wear makeup too.”

“That won’t be enough. How about making the Lord the leader of a mercenary group instead? Madam, you could join me as a ragged boy mercenary…”

Siata, always enthusiastic about disguises, suggested, but Miesa shook her head firmly.

“No, absolutely not. I don’t even like men’s clothes, and you want me to be ragged?”

In the end, they compromised and decided to pose as a young merchant couple with a maid and hired mercenaries for their journey.

Miesa wore a simple traveling dress, and while Eirik had only covered the scar on his distinctive cheek, they couldn’t fully hide their affluence. However, their attire wasn’t entirely out of place, given that trade had been booming in Kazen, a small town that had seen increased commerce with the outside world, much like the rest of Cladis.

It was simply their striking appearance that caused passersby to stop and stare as they walked down the street. But Siata had only been ordered to hide the “lord couple” identity, not to avoid drawing attention, so she remained quiet.

On a bright autumn day, Kazen’s streets were bustling with people celebrating the harvest festival. As they made their way to the market area, the lively atmosphere intensified, with colorful flags hanging everywhere, stalls piled with various goods, and the sounds of merchants calling out to customers. Children ran laughing between the adults, adding to the cheerful commotion.

The village’s harvest festival was entirely different from the one in Cladis’s castle. It was much more energetic—a wandering minstrel played the lute surrounded by young women, while actors promoting an evening play shouted loudly. With each step, something else caught Miesa’s eye, raising her excitement.

“I want to try that!”

“What?”

Eirik, willing to indulge her, looked in the direction Miesa was pointing, his face growing serious as he saw a group of men gathered around a javelin-throwing contest.

“Honey, that’s not…”

“I know how to do that! Gella once won a similar contest.”

Despite the cool autumn air, a few of the men had their shirts off, and any trace of a smile vanished from Eirik’s face. The thought of Miesa standing among sweaty men made his expression harden further, especially as one man spit into his palm before gripping a javelin—a gesture that made Eirik wince.

“It’s dangerous, so no.”

With their identities concealed, his speech was short, sounding almost curt. But Miesa didn’t care, clinging to his arm.

“But they’re blunted and not dangerous at all. They didn’t even add any metal tips.”

“No. There are far more fun things to do.”

Eirik grabbed her hand and marched forward, but everything he saw ahead seemed even less suitable. What annoyed him most was the drinking contest, where contestants quickly drank from oversized wooden mugs filled with cheap liquor. He couldn’t let Miesa get on stage in front of leering men, who would surely eye her with filthy intentions.

“Let’s see…”

“I want to do that! I’m good at drinking now!”

Somehow, the noisy atmosphere of the drinking contest had fully captivated Miesa. Eirik held her hand firmly, trying to convince her otherwise.

“No. When we get home, I’ll gather some workers and organize the same competition. Okay?”

He could gather some knights and sensible men from the mansion staff, creating something appropriate enough. But Miesa began to stomp her feet.

“You always say no!”

“I haven’t always said no. Here… maybe that one’s alright.”

Eirik stopped in front of a large table where people were playing a card game. Miesa, quick to learn chess and card games, had gotten so good that she could challenge both the former margrave and margravine—even beating Eirik from time to time.

“Great!”

Miesa eagerly approached the table, but once Eirik got a closer look, he realized he had made a mistake. A man sat silently weeping in front of the table—it was clear he had just gambled away everything he had.

“What game is this?”

Miesa asked a well-dressed young man standing nearby. His hair, auburn verging on brown, wasn’t as fiery red as Duke Salachez’s, but it stood out. He turned absentmindedly at Miesa’s voice, his mouth falling open.

Who is this?

Eirik frowned. The group of six men were all well-dressed, but this young man stood out even more, drawing Eirik’s attention.

Perhaps he was a young local noble who might recognize the couple. Eirik tried to recall his face, but the red-haired young man—still gaping—was quickly pulled away by his companions.

“He must be shy. Poor guy.” Watching the young man leave, Miesa murmured softly.

As Eirik continued to stare after him, he whispered to Cullen, “Check where they’re from.”

“Yes, sir.”

Once Cullen had disappeared, Eirik turned back to see Miesa now chatting with a friendly-looking middle-aged woman, with Siata firmly by her side—at least there was little to worry about.

“Ah, so Bailey lost money again, you say? His poor father must be so upset.”

“Bailey? Oh, is that the butcher’s son?”

Miesa’s voice grew louder as she asked, and another woman nearby joined the conversation.

“Yes, yes. Do you know about their family too? I guess everyone in Kazen knows Bailey. A few years ago, he caused such trouble—his father was at his wit’s end.”

“So, that woman Bailey was crazy about—she ran off with all his money? Did they ever catch her?”

Miesa blended naturally into the group, chatting as if she were one of them.

“They never caught her. But his younger brother took over the butcher’s shop, and they’re doing well.”

“Then where did he lose all that money? I heard his father took everything away from him.”

How did Miesa know so much about the butcher’s family in Kazen? Eirik gave a wry smile, overhearing the women too busy talking to notice.

“The butcher shop makes money, but you know there’s always some leak.”

“Bailey’s mother is too soft-hearted. What good is the father being strict when she gives him money secretly?”

Clicks of disapproval sounded all around, Miesa included.

“Anyway, are you folks here to start a business?”

The women’s attention eventually turned to Miesa. She shook her head with a disarming smile.

“We’re just here to enjoy the harvest festival. My husband has been so busy that he wouldn’t play with me, so I nagged him until we came.”

“Oh my, I see.”

“If that’s the case, I wonder why he married me instead of just marrying his work.”

Though she lowered her voice, Eirik, standing nearby, heard every word. He suppressed a smile. Who exactly was Miesa mimicking from the Cladnier mansion? Watching her gossip about her husband among the women was charming and amusing.

“Is that your husband over there?”

The ladies glanced toward Eirik, then back to Miesa.

“Do you have children?”

“Not yet.”

Miesa always said “not yet.” Likely because it made the questioning less bothersome.

“Why not? Is he too busy, running around and fooling around while his wife is so beautiful?”

“Who knows what men think?”

With the chatter growing more animated, Miesa spoke up louder, “My husband doesn’t go anywhere; he works at home. And I thoroughly check every letter he receives.”

Unable to suppress his laughter, Eirik grinned. It was true—he did work at home, and Miesa did open the vault and browse the documents on his desk. But her intent wasn’t quite as she portrayed it, showing her cleverness once again.

“Good for you, madam—keeping everything in line.”

“Yes, that’s how it should be.”

Their curiosity would extend only so far—just a fleeting interest at a festival. The butcher’s son was already long gone, and a new challenger had taken his place at the table.

Across from the challenger sat a man with narrow eyes and a sly smile. With a round just ended, the challenger tossed more coins onto the table.

“This time, we’ll play pairs.”

“Fine, pairs it is.”

Unlike before, they now played a simple matching game, turning over two cards at a time.

“How can anyone win at that? Those guys play it every day.”

“But remember, someone won quite a bit of money earlier in the morning.”

Whoever had won that money was surely one of their accomplices—a classic scam. These naive country folk had likely fallen right into their trap.

“Anyone else who wants a turn, step up now.”

As the challenger at the card table struggled to make a decision, the narrow-eyed man called out loudly, making the challenger’s shoulders stiffen even more.

Eirik hesitated briefly, unsure of how far to intervene. Revealing his identity as the lord and sending them to the authorities would delay their travels. However, his hesitation lasted longer than usual, and Miesa’s response was far quicker than normal.

“I’m next!”

She called out loudly, turning back with a triumphant expression. When her eyes met Eirik’s, she even signaled with her hands.

[You], [No problem], [Say it].

He hadn’t actually said there was no problem. To be precise, he had merely suggested it might be alright. But rather than stopping her, Eirik simply smiled in encouragement. The eyes of the crowd were already on them, and if anyone knew Miesa’s extraordinary memory, it was Eirik.