Beneath the Surviving Princess's Joyful Facade - Chapter 130

That day, Miesa did not leave the office until late.

Eirik, who had been pacing the bedroom while waiting for her, stood still and looked at the door as it opened. Miesa walked in and, seeing him standing in the middle of the room as if he had been waiting, smiled and asked, “Were you waiting for me?”

Miesa seemed to be in a very good mood. However, a faint scent of blood lingered on her.

“Your Majesty, I’d like to talk tonight,” Eirik said.

“I’m really tired today. Can we do it tomorrow?” she replied.

“…Please make time tomorrow,” Eirik insisted with a sigh and stepped back.

Miesa quietly observed him and then headed to the bathroom. The lady-in-waiting who had accompanied her to serve her was pale with fright but failed to capture Miesa’s attention.

The next morning, Eirik waited until Miesa finished her meal before requesting to dismiss everyone. It was expected, so Miesa readily sent everyone away. Once even Duke Salachez, who had been darting his eyes around, left, Eirik took Miesa’s hand.

“Your Majesty.”

“Yes.”

“Please allow me to call you by your name.”

“Go ahead. You don’t really need permission for that,” Miesa replied, smiling smoothly but avoiding his gaze. His straightforward eyes were hard to face today.

“Miesa, I believe you know what I want to say.”

“…I’m not sure.”

“You agreed to hand Sellas over to Grand Duke Hagail, didn’t you?”

“And you agreed not to concern yourself with what happens in that room.”

“Miesa, being entangled with those who destroyed your past and letting it ruin your present isn’t good for you,” Eirik said, holding her hand gently.

But Miesa laughed. “How can you divide the past and present so cleanly? When I close my eyes, those events still play out clearly.”

“Miesa.”

“Vermel died too easily, Eirik. I don’t want to have that kind of regret ever again.”

Miesa withdrew her hand from his grip with a smile and stood up.

She added, “It’s okay if you don’t understand.”

Gella, who had been sent to the Crispin Marquisate territory, did not return quickly. The time Miesa spent venting her anger in the office grew longer. However, she didn’t neglect her duties.

Officials began to realize that the new queen wouldn’t let things slide as easily as they had hoped, and they started to lower themselves more and more.

“When explaining the last commercial tax rate survey, the Braff region trade guild had a tax rate of 7 percent, but the document submitted today shows 13 percent.”

“That was last year’s rate; it’s different for next year.”

“The tax rate changes next year? Why?”

While the late king, Vermelique II, would nod along with any convenient explanation, the new queen openly showed her displeasure and asked for detailed explanations. After the ordeal with confusing prices, she hated having any inconsistencies once something was in her head.

“Is it just Braff that’s increasing? Or all other areas as well? Who approved this? Bring me the documents.”

“It was a mistake. I apologize,” the official confessed.

Officials learned it was better to admit mistakes honestly. Furthermore, since the queen knew the circumstances of the local lords better than expected, they couldn’t make excuses even if they wanted to.

“In the Popper region, wasn’t the heir killed in a land war with the Kanite region two years ago? So, is this person who has become the head of the family a newly adopted son since then?”

“I heard the harvest wasn’t good in the Hetia region last year. Does that mean the tenant farmers’ harvest for this year is already mortgaged?”

Miesa only asked questions as she listened to reports from each department. As she inquired about things she was curious about, parts that didn’t make sense emerged. When she focused on those parts, the officials would backtrack, saying they would correct them. If she asked what exactly they intended to correct, within a few days, a suitable and acceptable plan of correction would be presented.

Duke Salachez, who observed this from the side, felt proud as if he were the one achieving these feats. As a bastard who grew up being despised, Duke Salachez had always lived with an inferiority complex about not receiving a proper education. However, each time the queen managed to put the nobles in their place, he felt a refreshing sense of relief.

Yet, even from Duke Salachez’s perspective, there was something peculiar about the queen’s actions.

She never held the pen herself. She always had the Minister of State take notes of her orders, and if no one was available to write them down, she would memorize the details and later recite them verbatim to the responsible official. The only time she grudgingly took up a pen was to sign her name.

It wasn’t long before Duke Salachez discovered the reason for this.

“Eirik, go in and rest first,” the queen suggested.

As night fell once again, the queen, seated at her office desk, advised Eirik to rest. He reluctantly followed the royal order, appearing as though he had resigned himself to something. Yet, contrary to his concerns, she did not visit the secret chamber daily.

Miesa, at night, would dismiss Viscountess Manere and secretly practice her handwriting. The only people aware of this were Duke Salachez, Gella, and Captain Tilberg, who remained standing at one side of the office until late at night.

“Once I’m good at it, I’ll write Eirik a letter,” she mused.

She hadn’t held a pen since she was eight years old. While learning things mentally was quick, learning something new with her hands was not easy for Miesa.

She practiced late into the night, using the elegant script of Madam Cladnier as a model, clumsily writing one letter at a time.

“Your Majesty, how long do you intend to keep the Margrave in the dark about that poison, Finime?” Duke Salachez asked from the far-off sofa, resting his chin on the back. The queen always forbade anyone from coming too close when she was writing a letter, claiming it was embarrassing.

“I’ll tell him when Gella has confirmed everything.”

“Isn’t it taking too long to find out? Even the royal doctors haven’t heard of this poison,” Salachez commented.

“Since humans created it, there must be an antidote, and as long as we take action within time, there’s no need to mention it now,” Miesa replied.

“Are you avoiding worrying him? The Margrave seems like the type who needs to know everything to feel at ease. Wouldn’t he be upset to find out later?”

Though he hadn’t known Eirik long, Duke Salachez understood him that much. Despite everything, he still held some fondness, considering himself Eirik’s only friend.

“Still, it’s not that simple,” Miesa replied.

“What makes it so complicated?” Salachez pressed.

Miesa fell silent.

She was troubled by how she kept clashing with Eirik lately. Knowing how he always watched over her, if he found out there was something wrong with her body, he might insist she stay confined to her room.

Or he might even take back the gifts he gave her, claiming they were to ensure her peace of mind. If that happened, they’d likely end up raising their voices and hurting each other’s feelings.

She was already running wild lately, and Eirik might silently endure it while feeling burdened. But if they clashed again…

“Gella won’t take long. I’ll tell him when she returns.”

In her heart, Eirik was perfect in every way.

Yet, a nagging sense of insecurity lingered, worrying that there would be limits to his understanding of her erratic behavior.

That’s why she reduced her visits to the secret chamber to every other day and spent time practicing her writing instead.

Her life had changed entirely from being a scorned princess to becoming the ruler of a nation, but all this was just within a few months. Miesa felt it wasn’t much different from when she practiced formal speech instead of clearing up misunderstandings at the Cladnier estate.

Thus, Miesa diligently wrote letters every night, wanting to surprise him, while Duke Salachez incinerated the papers as if they were confidential documents, leaving no trace.

***

The problem arose one week before the last day of that year.

More than fifty days had passed since she sat on the throne, so several noble ladies requested an audience.

From their perspective, the situation was uncertain. If there had been a queen consort, they could have easily entered the palace and figured out the royal affairs, but the unfamiliar presence of a reigning queen made them restless.

“May the goddess’s glory and blessing be upon the highest,” one of the ladies said.

None of them had the courage to meet with her alone, so they gathered in a group of ten and came together, only to be rendered speechless when faced with the queen. Although their husbands had repeatedly warned them to be cautious with their words, the person in front of them appeared to be nothing more than a delicate and youthful royal figure.