Beneath the Surviving Princess's Joyful Facade - Chapter 89

As the king’s indifferent gaze roamed the room, it settled on the new Margrave.

Eirik Cladnier. The man’s face, which once held an air of righteous self-assurance, now seemed a bit worn. This caught the king’s interest momentarily.

But then his eyes landed on the monkey of Celia Palace, clinging to a certain mother and daughter, baring her teeth in a grin. It was no fun, though, as the Cladnier family seemed neither embarrassed nor ashamed by such antics. The king’s mood darkened as he watched.

“If she had any sense, she wouldn’t act like that,” Anika murmured in her Sidate-accented voice. She had a knack for reading his moods, which had kept her in his favor the longest. Vermel gestured for her to sit on his knee, and she obliged with a sly smile.

As she settled, he yanked her hair playfully, pointing at the nobles below. Should he pair her with that one tonight, or perhaps the older man? His mocking kept Anika trembling, and his lips curled into a cruel smile.

“Such a prude, but you still have preferences?” he taunted as she whimpered.

Just then, the court steward approached and bowed. “The former Margrave of Cladnier wishes to pay his respects, along with the new Margrave.”

“Ah, very well. Bring them in,” the king replied, a flicker of interest returning to his eyes.

The concubine quickly slipped off the king’s knee and settled back at his feet, her expression composed as if nothing had happened.

Once she had caught the king’s eye, it was dangerous to both intrigue and bore him. Anika, more than anyone, knew how to walk that tightrope.

“You’ve always wanted the neck of the Celia Palace monkey, haven’t you?”

“I have indeed. But now, I think this might be more entertaining.”

Though the king bent low to whisper in Anika’s ear, she pointed instead to Duke Salachez.

“And what do you intend to do with it?” the king murmured inappropriate suggestions into her ear while the former Margrave stepped forward to deliver his greetings.

“I have grown old and ill, and so I have passed on my title. I wish to retire to my estate.”

“Do so,” Vermel replied, waving a hand dismissively. Eirik then stepped forward to offer his respects as the new Margrave.

“I will follow in my father’s footsteps, guarding the kingdom’s borders and serving the crown with loyalty.”

“You shall,” Vermel said with another wave. The Margrave and his son gave their brief greetings and left. Vermel, finding the banquet dull, turned his attention back to his concubine.

As the Cladniers returned without incident, the king’s loyalists exchanged knowing glances. To those seeking to amuse the bored king and prove their own loyalty, the new Margrave was an irresistible target.

“Former Margrave, come, let us discuss old times,” said the court steward, leading the old man away. Several others turned their attention to Eirik.

“So, the princess has become the Margravine.”

“She seems quite spirited. Perhaps she’s enjoying her freedom after being cooped up indoors for so long.”

Eirik took in the group around him. The lineup was predictable: Count Carlisle, who had spurred on the Marquis of Crispin, and Viscount Maleca, the widower of the late Mrs. Maleca.

“Those are baseless rumors,” Eirik replied calmly. “My wife spent so much time playing in the garden under the summer sun that she’s still tanned from it.”

Count Carlisle shifted tactics. “I heard there was significant opposition from your vassals during the succession process.”

“It’s widely rumored that the new head of Cladnier is watching their vassals closely. If you need advice, feel free to ask anytime.”

Eirik inwardly sighed. If only they would challenge him with swords instead of these tea-party words.

“It is common for a lord to dismiss vassals who do not align with his vision. The Cladnier family even has its own order of knights. There is no reason to endure vassals who do not share our values.”

Madam Cladnier sat with Miesa on a sofa at the edge of the banquet hall. As Miesa, who had fallen asleep, let her head droop, she offered her lap as a pillow. Some familiar ladies nearby watched with mixed expressions.

“She’s asleep, your daughter-in-law,” one remarked.

“It’s late for Miesa,” Madam Cladnier replied.

“Yes… But my dear, your lovely face has become so haggard. How unfortunate.”

Madam Cladnier merely smiled. The ladies had no idea that her haggard appearance was due to preparing for the impending coup.

“It’s hard enough for someone with poor health to endure such emotional strain.”

It had been over ten years since her full recovery, but they kept bringing it up. Madam Cladnier glanced around, muttering lightly, “So many people have come.”

“Indeed. Oh, even the Marquis of Crispin is here, audacious as ever.”

The ladies quickly redirected their scorn towards another target. In the distance, the Marquis of Crispin was passionately speaking to a young nobleman.

“The marquis is looking for a son-in-law. Though the marchioness couldn’t care less about their family’s future and wants to send her daughter off anywhere.”

“I remember the marchioness constantly belittling the Crispin family, saying it wasn’t worth continuing.”

Madam Cladnier listened with a bitter smile.

“They’re trying to use their daughter’s looks to attract someone. What else do they have left but Lady Rakane’s face?”

“I heard…” One lady covered her mouth with a fan and whispered conspiratorially, “Their daughter wants to become the head of the family herself.”

“How ridiculous. A mere girl.”

“Astonishing,” Madam Cladnier replied appropriately. She knew that as soon as trouble arose, Rakane Crispin had secretly sought out Eirik, trying to negotiate with him. She couldn’t entirely blame the girl for struggling to find a place under such parents.

In the absence of Edil, Madam Cladnier found the chattering of these ladies a valuable source of information. She nodded and kept engaging with them.

The ladies jumped from one topic to another, dissecting financial situations and their children’s social circles. Madam Cladnier gently stroked Miesa’s hair, listening intently, while her eyes scanned for her son.

From afar, she saw that Eirik was surrounded by the king’s sycophants, yet he seemed to be handling them calmly. When their eyes met, he wrapped up the conversation and began walking towards her. It seemed the banquet would conclude peacefully. She paid no mind to her husband, who was off drinking somewhere.

While she was gently patting the softly snoring Miesa, the Countess of Carlisle approached and greeted her warmly.

“So, you’re now the former Margravine. How does it feel to have passed on the title to your son?”

“It’s quite a relief.”

Knowing well the trouble this woman had caused, she kept her answer brief. But the Countess, feigning sympathy, continued, “If it were me, I’d be too worried about the household to ever let go. Truly impressive.”

“After managing for about 30 years, I found the work wasn’t as demanding as I thought. The system has been well established since long ago.”

The Carlisle family was a newly established one. Upon hearing Madam Cladnier’s comment, Countess Carlisle’s lips trembled with barely contained anger. A baroness standing nearby added her thoughts.

“By the way, the embroidery on the Margravine’s dress looks quite antique,” she remarked.

It wasn’t just that the embroidery didn’t match the dress; the pattern itself had been in vogue about 50 years ago, when the head maid was still young. While Madam Cladnier merely smiled, Eirik pushed through the crowd towards them.

“I suggested it. The fabric was too thin and transparent,” Eirik explained, approaching his mother. He gently lifted Miesa from his mother’s lap, and a scoffing laugh came from behind.

“Even with a wife like that, he still keeps an eye on her,” someone muttered.

“Why, there are men like that, you know,” another added. “They deliberately choose women who are mentally unsound or ignorant girls…”

Madam Cladnier’s anger flared, and she glared at the women who spoke. But Countess Carlisle, emboldened, quickly fanned herself and muttered, “It’s only Marchioness Crispin who has reason to feel wronged. She almost sent her precious only daughter to someone with such perverse desires.”

It seemed the rumor that Countess Carlisle had incited Marchioness Crispin hadn’t spread yet. Her shameless demeanor left Madam Cladnier astounded.

Eirik found the situation amusing and let out a laugh. Madam Cladnier, however, felt differently. No mother can stay calm when her son is being insulted.

“They consider it unjust to nearly kill someone from another family, yet they have an issue with my son cherishing his wife?” she retorted.

“Mother, there’s no need to respond seriously,” Eirik said, letting out a laugh of disbelief as he stepped in front of his mother.

Turning to the ladies, he added, “My wife has fallen asleep, so we will be taking our leave.”

However, their expressions were far from pleasant. They seemed resentful about the respect they had shown to the Cladnier family all this time. Some even glared at Eirik and his mother as if they were criminals.

As mother and son carried Miesa out of the banquet hall, whispers trailed them like shadows.