Chapter 33
“…We’re actually married.”
“Huh?”
“This marriage is real.”
“……”
“We’re not just pretending to be a couple, right?”
The Grand Duke murmured softly, his words pitched just for my ears.
“The temple has formally acknowledged our marriage contract.”
“Oh… yeah. The documents are legitimate.”
All we’d settled on was dissolving the union after a year. Nothing more.
Why was he adjusting to this so quickly?
Not long ago, he’d been adamant about avoiding any pretense of a genuine partnership.
Now, though, his gaze pinned me with a look of quiet reproach, as if I’d somehow deceived him.
It had been some time since my last lunchtime visit to the inn.
Marie, who’d promised to treasure the brooch I’d given her as a family heirloom, had settled down and retreated to the kitchen to ready a pot of stew. I scanned the dining room in the meantime.
Even though I’d arrived during a lull, the place seemed unnaturally deserted.
The observation stuck with me.
I could still recall the hearty welcome from Marie and Jacques on my first trip here—the way that bowl of tomato stew had warmed me to the core after a full day roaming Goldrain.
I hoped the inn would thrive.
I hadn’t abandoned my intention to stay out of other people’s affairs.
Yet kindness deserved reciprocation, especially since I’d received so much here.
Marketing was my forte, after all.
How might I draw in more patrons?
The proprietors were gracious, the meals savory, and the lodgings likely spotless.
If the business lagged despite those strengths, demand must be the issue.
The spot?
Not ideal, but proximity to the Goldrain district made it decent enough.
Few travelers passed through. They needed to lure locals instead.
Lost in these musings, I noticed Jacques and several hands hauling in hefty baskets.
Restocking time, evidently.
“Ah, Your Highness! Welcome back.”
Indeed, here I was again.
Jacques set down his load and offered a subdued greeting. I waved him on, urging him to keep at it.
One by one, crates brimming with produce and provisions vanished into the kitchen.
“Expecting a crowd today?”
Marie emerged from the kitchen bearing a bubbling cauldron of stew and loaves of newly baked bread. The volume of supplies prompted my question.
“Oh, no, Your Highness. I simply prefer bulk buys. Keeps the pantry full…”
This went beyond a large order—it was enough for a banquet. Were they economizing through wholesale?
“How many days’ worth is that?”
“Two or three, roughly.”
“That much in two days?”
“Well… not exactly. We often have surplus.”
“What? Wouldn’t smaller batches make more sense?”
“I’d love to, but customer tastes are unpredictable. Without knowing what’ll sell, I overprepare…”
She caught my stunned look and hastened to clarify.
Oh no.
Any seasoned restaurateur would cringe.
Forecasting supplies and curbing waste were fundamentals. At this rate, profitability seemed doubtful.
Hold on—I was jumping ahead to customer acquisition.
The inn lacked even a menu.
Patrons could request virtually anything, and the owners would oblige.
Wonderful for satisfaction, disastrous for stock control.
They accepted the hit to maintain their approach.
Still, excess spending was folly.
“Oh!”
Inspiration struck.
“Why not offer a ‘Today’s Special’?”
“A ‘Today’s Special’?”
“Select one featured dish daily, promote it as the house recommendation. Order it, and toss in a discount or complimentary side.”
Unable to foresee orders, they could steer them.
Marie’s confusion lingered, so I expanded.
“Folks like me might crave tomato stew specifically. But plenty wander in undecided. The special gives them a nudge.”
Free wine? A wee pudding?
A tiny incentive would sway most toward it.
They’d stock mainly for that item, simplifying procurement.
Bare minimum for alternatives would slash waste.
Jacques, who’d overheard, exhaled in admiration as I wrapped up.
“What a clever notion!”
Marie’s eyes lit up.
“Yes! Patrons would flock to it! Your Highness, where do you get these gems?”
Their enthusiasm brought a flush to my cheeks.
It wasn’t original—just standard practice from my former life.
Daily specials, crowd-pleasers, combos…
Basic stuff, ubiquitous back then.
Claiming invention felt cheeky, but who could tell?
I brushed off the twinge of conscience.
As they buzzed over tomorrow’s options, I polished off my stew and departed.
My carriage rolled up to the Grand Duke’s castle gates amid an odd stir.
The portals swung wide for entry, revealing a hubbub within.
Guards were grilling a detained young girl with brusque intensity.
“What’s this about?”
Norton inquired, prompting a guard to peer into the carriage with unease before replying.
“A castle girl was nabbed with a dubious stack of papers. Appears they’re the Grand Duchess’s.”
“What?”
His voice carried, so I flung open the door and alighted. Norton scrambled down to attend me, but I strode forward unescorted.
“What exactly do you mean?”
The guard snapped to attention at my approach, replying with a quiver.
“Your Grace, this girl…”
“This child, you mean.”
My correction eased his rigidity somewhat.
“Ah, y-yes! She claimed an errand, so we admitted her. On exit, we spotted papers tucked in her garb. Fine stock, so we inspected—looks like Your Grace’s handwriting…”
I held out my hand; Norton swiftly claimed the documents from the guard and passed them over.
These were…?
Rough drafts I’d jotted while rehearsing my note to Ferdinand. I eyed the girl the guards restrained. No clear recognition, but a faint familiarity nagged.
“Where’d you find these?”
She clamped her mouth shut, mute. The guard clutching her collar jostled her hard.
“Her Grace demands an answer! Speak!”
Her brown locks thrashed wildly.
“Stop! She’s only a child!”
He recoiled, grip slackening, shooting me a wary, slightly aggrieved glance—like a dutiful man unfairly scolded.
The drafts held no grave secrets, but…
Leakage mattered more than content.
I was publicly the pampered, secluded third daughter of Marquis Freis. Yet these lines hinted at frictions with the marquis and Ferdinand.
To snoopers probing the family, such scraps were gold.
They might mimic my script.
Worse, the Grand Duke’s castle counted as a military site. Pilfering the Grand Duchess’s correspondence? That screamed grave offense—treason, even.
Unease churning, I faced the girl anew.
If not the marquis’s ploy… who else pried into me?
Lacking personal attendants or maids, my rooms saw plenty of traffic.
Carelessness with possessions had been mine, regardless.
Mid-thought, Norton unsheathed his blade and advanced on the mute child.
“Who dispatched you?”
The edge hovered at her throat; terror widened her eyes. Her lips quivered, yielding words.
“I-I just wanted to see the castle…!”
“Best confess fully. Knights may dispatch intruders summarily.”
Norton’s cold stare intensified, inching the steel nearer.
