Beneath the Surviving Princess's Joyful Facade - Chapter 51

The rainy season came and ended earlier than usual this year.

For over two weeks, Eirik stayed by Miesa’s side, and thanks to him, Miesa gradually dispelled the fear in her heart.

Eventually, as long as there were no thunderstorms, she didn’t need to block her ears. She became able to handle the sound of rain without fear, so the paper plugs were removed from her ears.

Around this time, Miesa began to quietly watch Eirik’s face not only in the early morning but also during the day.

“Why are you staring at me like that?” Eirik asked.

“…It’s nothing.”

Miesa couldn’t believe that a man like her husband existed. It was like a dream that a knight more wonderful than a prince in a fairy tale treated someone like her so well and considered her family.

She stared at him, wondering if the person in front of her was real or a figment of her imagination. But explaining that seemed embarrassing.

“I would like to know why you keep looking at me with that expression. If you don’t tell me, I won’t know,” Eirik pressed.

“No, it’s nothing,” she insisted.

When she continued to look at him without explaining, Eirik became anxious.

Today, seeing her face turn red as she looked away, he felt he had an inkling of what it might be. Eirik sat in his office and called for one of his knights.

“Commander, did you intend to meet Sir Bahrain? He said you summoned him,” the knight said.

“Cullen, please step out for a moment,” Eirik instructed.

As always, Cullen left the room without protest. Sir Bahrain, who had become a symbol of fertility within the knights, began to sweat nervously during his private meeting with the commander again.

“I heard your sixth child was born recently,” Eirik said.

“Oh, you didn’t have to mention it… Thank you,” Bahrain replied, surprised by the unexpected kindness from the commander.

Handing over a suitable gift, Eirik watched as Bahrain gratefully accepted it.

“Your first child is a daughter, right?” Eirik asked.

“Yes, the first, third, and fifth are daughters. The second and fourth are sons. It was the turn for a son, but the sixth was a daughter, breaking the pattern we had worked so hard to build,” Bahrain said, jokingly.

Eirik didn’t laugh. “How old are your eldest and third daughters?”

“Fifteen and eleven. They’ve grown up and don’t even respond when their father talks to them,” Bahrain answered.

The ages were just right. Eirik adjusted his posture and asked, “How should one deal with adolescent girls?”

“…Well, I…” Bahrain stammered, bewildered by the question, but answered earnestly, “My wife nags me to make sure I’m clean and don’t smell in front of the children.”

This didn’t apply to Eirik, who washed every morning and evening due to the summer heat.

“And she told me to only hug them lightly on the shoulders. No more carrying them around or having them sit on my lap,” Bahrain added.

This was challenging for Eirik, who furrowed his brow.

“My wife insists that once daughters are over ten, I should treat them like the neighbor’s kids. Even our seven-year-old runs away from my stubble, saying it’s prickly,” Bahrain continued.

Eirik’s face grew more stern, and Bahrain’s voice got louder.

“I still remember when they were little and called me ‘daddy.’ Now they flinch even if I just touch their hair, saying it messes up their hairstyle,” Bahrain said.

“…Other than not touching them, are there any other peculiarities?” Eirik asked.

“Yes, I’m told never to scold them. Just greet them with a smile as if they were strangers,” Bahrain replied.

“I see.”

“Even if we’re in the living room together, I’m supposed to act like they’re not there until they speak to me first.”

Bahrain, seeing that his advice wasn’t particularly helpful, apologized, “I’m sorry I couldn’t provide more useful information.”

“No, it’s fine. That’s enough. You can go now,” Eirik dismissed him.

Sir Bahrain, thinking the commander might be trying to win over a noble’s child, left the office lightly.

“Young madam, new clothes have arrived,” Gella announced with anticipation in her voice.

“They were ordered quite some time ago, but due to the rainy season, they only got delivered today.”

However, as Gella unpacked the clothes, her enthusiasm gradually faded.

“They look just like your old clothes.”

Miesa replied in a nonchalant tone, “I asked them to make them the same way. They’re comfortable.”

“Well, I suppose there’s no helping it. Would you like to try them on?” Gella said, helping her into the new clothes but still sounding somewhat disappointed.

“The fabric is much nicer, though. Young madam, it would have been better if you’d chosen brighter colors.”

“Didn’t the chef mention today’s menu is stew? I’ll make sure to match that color,” Miesa giggled, then lowered her voice and asked, “By the way, why don’t you call me ‘baby madam’ anymore?”

Gella responded, “You have to act like a baby madam to be called one.”

Gella had been taking meticulous care of Miesa, and they had spent more and more time together in the bedroom. Initially, Miesa wanted to maintain her dignity, but eventually, she opened up, feeling like she had the first real friend of her age.

“But I get treated like a beast and a madwoman. I want to be treated like a baby too.”

“…Yes, baby madam.”

Gella was overly tender-hearted. Now, seeing her flustered, Miesa playfully chattered, “‘You’re the best at matching my moods.’“

“Whoever that person is, they sound really annoying,” Gella remarked, occasionally giving her thoughts on the voices Miesa mimicked, often quite accurately. Miesa laughed.

Wearing her new clothes, Miesa spun around like a child, curtsied, and then flopped onto the bed. She no longer feared the memories of her childhood that came flooding back.

“The mansion has been a bit chaotic since yesterday,” Miesa noted.

“Oh, a new maid is supposed to arrive tomorrow. Mrs. Manere, the Viscountess.”

“Why so late?”

“They said she would come after the rainy season… Didn’t the young master tell you?”

Had she missed Eirik’s attempts to tell her by avoiding him? Miesa sighed softly and pointed to the book on the bedside table.

“Have you finished reading the book you started yesterday?”

“Yes. But what is this script?” Miesa asked, pointing to the title of the book Gella handed her.

“Uh, I don’t know either. I’m only familiar with herbalism and disease-related texts, which is why I often skipped parts when reading to you.”

“That’s true,” Miesa acknowledged.

Gella skipped so much that Miesa often had to read the book herself to understand it fully.

“Is there a big educational gap between nobles and commoners?” Miesa asked, suddenly curious. The letters Gella and the maids couldn’t read were ones she had learned well enough as a child.

“Oh dear. It’s not much of an education. Neither I nor the maids here are typical commoners,” Gella explained, recounting stories from her village. Many couldn’t read properly, and numerous people lived hand-to-mouth.

Gella, who started traveling with a doctor at fourteen and joined the order at eighteen, had a sociable personality and a wealth of knowledge.

“You joined at the usual age for marriage.”

“Well, not all of us marry,” Gella said.

Many reasons keep commoners single—poor family circumstances, many siblings to care for, and so on.

“Nobles are different, aren’t they? Babies get betrothed, and young girls marry men much older. Marriages in noble families are extremely important.”

“Just like continuing the lineage.”

“Oh, yes…”

Miesa pondered over Gella’s words, feeling like they filled in gaps in her understanding.

“Is starvation common in the estates?”

“Not exactly common, but it’s a long story.”

Gella explained the struggles of poor soil and weather, leading to poor harvests and the need to buy food from other regions.

“Even with money, there might not be food available. It’s ironic.”

Miesa tilted her head, prompting Gella to explain further.

“Last year’s harvest runs out by summer. People have to make do until the next harvest. They end up slaughtering cattle and pigs, but there’s a limit to that too.”

“Is the yearly budget insufficient?” Miesa sighed softly. “Taxes are collected from other regions for northwest defense. Every year, 80,000 Jeres is allocated to the Cladnier estate. How many people live in the estate for it to be insufficient?”

“Eighty thousand Jeres? That number is unimaginable.”

Casually calculating, Miesa tapped her fingers. “That’s the salary for the youngest maid in the sewing room for 208 years.”

“Young madam, that’s scary…”