Beneath the Surviving Princess's Joyful Facade - Chapter 158

Miesa was busy learning something from Gella, who was preparing for her wedding.

“No, Your Majesty. This hand and foot must move separately.”

“I know that, but it’s difficult.”

Late at night, in the space between the royal bedchamber and the corridor, they had moved aside the sofas and tables to practice dancing.

“No, Your Majesty, like this.”

Gella was teaching Miesa a traditional dance performed by the women of Cladis during the autumn festival. Traditionally, they wore a wreath made of wheat stalks on their heads, but Miesa’s hair was now soaked with sweat.

“I can’t believe you’re struggling with something so simple.”

As Gella muttered in disbelief, Miesa flopped onto the floor and cried out in frustration.

“There are 3,200 people in the Kazen region, and 1,080 of them are mobilized soldiers! For each soldier’s household, we’re giving out one sack of flour and ten containers of lard—!”

“Alright, Your Majesty. Catch your breath first.”

As Miesa whined like a child, Gella gently consoled her. Wiping Miesa’s sweaty face with a towel, Gella couldn’t help but laugh.

“You’re so smart, but your body….”

“I injured my bones and muscles a lot when I was younger. If not for that, I would be good at this too.”

“Yes, Your Majesty. I’m sure you would.”

Though Gella knew it was a poor excuse, she nodded anyway, brushing back Miesa’s damp hair with a click of her tongue.

“Oh, look at all this sweat. That’s why I told you to take a bath after practice.”

“I can just bathe again later. Now, how does this hand movement go again?”

“Watch closely.”

Gella sprang to her feet and gracefully moved her legs while waving one hand. Miesa, still sitting on the floor with her mouth agape, finally stood up again.

“I’ve got the first part down.”

It was the second verse that caused trouble. Muttering to herself as she imitated the first part, Miesa asked a question, “By the way, during the middle part, where you link arms with the person next to you…”

“Yes?”

“What if I’m dancing with a man who isn’t my husband? Do I link arms with him too?”

“The harvest festival dance of Cladis is traditionally performed by women only. In the past, some men tried to join in and dance with their wives, but people found it so unsightly that it’s no longer done.”

“…Hmph.”

Pouting, Miesa mimicked wrapping her right arm around someone’s. Then, after a few awkward steps, she proudly glanced up to her right.

“What are you looking at?” asked Gella.

“Eirik’s eyes are about this level.”

“Oh….”

Gella regretted asking the obvious question. While she bit her lip in embarrassment, Miesa smiled, feeling as if she were dancing with Eirik for the first time.

The name Gella, once a commoner in a public clinic, then a lady-in-waiting to the queen, and now adopted by the Count of Raviate and soon to become a grand duchess, was the subject of endless gossip. It was inevitable.

“I suppose the queen arranged this as part of her efforts to win over Grand Duke Hagail.”

Those who misunderstood the queen’s memory and meticulousness as cold and calculating believed so.

“Grand Duke Hagail must be incapable in certain areas. She must not be an ordinary woman.”

At first, rumors surfaced about Gella’s background, but her identity was solid enough that no one could dispute it.

“She used to be part of the Cladnier knight’s order, right? There’s no way Cladnier would accept just anyone as a doctor.”

“People who were deployed to the borders years ago said she healed the broken leg of the second son of the Conaird family.”

There were so many witnesses to Gella’s skills during the war that those questioning her reputation were now considered ignorant.

“Maybe she used her medical skills to fix the grand duke’s condition?”

That theory seemed more believable.

“Besides, they say the queen favors her greatly.”

“Is it true about the dowry?”

“It’s true. Count Raviate was planning to give her something modest since she’s his adopted daughter, but when he heard the list of gifts from the queen, he was so overwhelmed that he gave up.”

This final rumor was deliberately spread by Duke Salachez. And rumors spread faster than anything.

Amid the growing curiosity, Grand Duke Hagail married his bride in March.

It was unprecedented to hold the wedding of a grand duke in the Grand Temple, but Miesa insisted. Why should the heir apparent be treated with less respect than the former princes and princesses?

Thus, Gella found herself unexpectedly standing in the Grand Temple for her wedding. She could only look on in awe, recalling the time when Miesa had pointed out the temple from the carriage.

As Gella, adorned like a flower, walked into the temple, Miesa struggled to hold back her tears but eventually failed. The nobles, who had been watching closely, whispered in surprise.

“Her Majesty… seems more emotional than expected.”

“Indeed. The queen is surprisingly affectionate… And Grand Duke Hagail seems happier than anticipated…?”

“And the grand duchess… keeps crying while looking at the queen…?”

Though the nobles were perplexed, one thing became clear to them: opposing this new grand duchess would not only mean facing the queen’s wrath, but also turning Grand Duke Hagail with his newfound senses, into an enemy.

Thanks to the contrasting tears and triumphant smiles of the three, the attention on the twelve guests from Kazen was minimal.

Gella’s family, visiting the capital for the first time, wore brand-new clothes and blinked in astonishment, utterly overwhelmed by their surroundings.

***

“Tell them the business is over.”

Eirik sat with his feet propped up on the slave trader’s desk, smoking a cigar. The slave trader, his knee wrapped in bandages, obediently relayed Eirik’s words to the customer in front of him.

The slave trader hadn’t been in business for long, and after a clumsy mistake in Sidate, he hadn’t received proper payment for the slaves he delivered.

He had learned that in such situations, capturing Sidatean peasants would cover the loss. Thus, he had visited a battle site, gathered a few trinkets from Cladnier soldiers, and dragged off some villagers, when he spotted a man.

The man’s face and build were far too refined for a rural peasant, and he thought he’d struck gold. But as soon as they returned to their homeland, disaster struck. The man who had remained quiet until then suddenly turned, hefted a mace—one he’d brought along just for show—and wielded it effortlessly, killing half his men.

On top of that, the man was suspicious to a fault, refusing to eat any of the food they offered. He had raided the safe as if it belonged to him, calmly used the money to rent a place for his “father,” and then occasionally showed up here to wreak havoc.

The slave trader was at his wit’s end. But when the man had forced his father to write a letter, he realized that getting involved with this person was a grave mistake. His dealings would now entangle Sidate’s rulers and the royal family of Esquillir.

The kingdom of Trea wouldn’t protect a lowly slave trader if trouble arose with foreign royals. So, despite losing the use of one leg, the slave trader didn’t dare complain.

He had already paid compensation for his dead employees and medical expenses for the injured, and now he silently endured this man’s rampages. He sighed at the thought of how he would pay the rent.

Still, tomorrow would mark two months. The slave trader prayed that this plague of a man would soon return to Sidate or Esquillir.

“Oh, and tell the boy.”

The black-haired plague’s scarred face twitched whenever he opened his mouth, making him look even more brutal. But the slave trader simply clasped his hands together submissively.

“Yes.”

“When he collects the box from the Sidate consulate tomorrow, let him know that I’ll kidnap him.”

“Please, don’t hurt Jamil. He’s my nephew.”

“…Fine. Instead of kidnapping him, I’ll just swipe the box like a pickpocket. Tell him to act as if nothing happened and go on his way.”

Eirik nodded generously and returned his attention to the map of this small port city. He would follow the boy from the consulate and wait for him at the entrance to this alley.

A pickpocket—how ridiculous. Even he found it amusing and chuckled to himself. When the slave trader caught his eye, Eirik shamelessly extended his hand.

“I’ll need about 700 arks today.”

The slave trader gritted his teeth as he dug into his pockets and handed over the money. The total came to 600 arks, including silver and copper coins, but Eirik scraped up every last coin with a smirk.

Having collected the money, Eirik put on the trader’s coat as if it were his own, pulled a scarf over his head, and lowered it to cover his eyes. The scarf, usually worn to block desert sandstorms, was a common sight on mercenaries in the city.

With his face obscured by the scarf, the trader’s bulky coat, and his scruffy beard, Eirik now looked every bit the part of a rough mercenary. Even those who knew him wouldn’t recognize the well-groomed Eirik Cladnier under this disguise.

With that, Eirik left the office and strolled leisurely through Trea’s city streets. On his way, he stopped by the market, bought some cheap cigars, food, and a few more clothes, all while still having plenty of the stolen money left.

Back at the inn, the atmosphere was as rowdy as ever. Though it was a relatively clean inn in a bustling part of town, it was constantly filled with noisy travelers, which helped Eirik and the count blend in. Even if Sidate soldiers searched every corner of Trea, they wouldn’t expect the two men to be staying in a place like this.

Among the rowdy mercenaries, it was difficult even to call for the inn’s staff, but in the midst of the chaos, Eirik managed to arrange a carriage for the next day. The inn frequently dealt with foreigners, so his limited knowledge of Trean wasn’t much of a barrier.

“You’re back.”

“Here, eat this, and wear these clothes tomorrow.”

Count Semenov, who had spent the entire day bored in the inn, looked dismayed at the women’s clothes Eirik handed him. But Eirik just laughed as he settled into a chair by the window and lit a cheap cigar.

By mid-April, Trea’s weather had already become hot and humid.

Eirik unbuttoned a few of his top buttons. Everyone here saw him as a mercenary, so his mannerisms became rougher by the day. At this point, he felt like he could put his muddy boots up on a well-set table.

If Miesa saw him now, what would she say? She would laugh. He missed the sound of her laughter terribly. Eirik exhaled a long puff of smoke, full of yearning.

But the wait wouldn’t be much longer. Soon, he would hold her in his arms again, and they would talk about these hardships as though they were distant memories.

***