Chapter 7
“Ugh, what a racket.”
Since the crack of dawn, the clamor of clattering plates and scurrying footsteps had echoed through the corridor straight into my chamber.
As guests bickered over schedules while shuffling past, I hauled myself upright in bed.
Down in the dining hall, the knights were already digging into breakfast. The first one to catch my eye lurched to his feet with an awkward bow.
“Greetings to the Grand Duchess.”
At his cue, every knight pushed back from the table and chorused their salute.
“Greetings to the Grand Duchess!”
Please! This is mortifying. Just sit and eat already!
Even for the recipient, the stiff protocol felt excruciating. Yet rebuking them would breach decorum, so I met their deference with a gracious smile.
“Good morning. I trust you all slept soundly?”
The senior knight, a touch rattled—clearly unprepared for my overture—replied haltingly.
“We rested well, thanks to your graciousness.”
His manner had shifted since yesterday. The stern face persisted, but his voice carried far less edge.
Was it the shared supper that had thawed him a degree?
“I’m pleased,” I replied, sweeping my eyes over their laden table.
“That aroma is tempting. What’s for breakfast?”
“Tomato stew,” one knight answered.
The piquant, subtly sweet scent drifting about set my stomach rumbling.
“If it pleases you, we can send a tray to your quarters,” the senior knight suggested, picking up on my intrigue.
I’d planned a brisk morning stroll… but wouldn’t this be the perfect chance to warm up to them?
“Mind if I join you here?” I ventured.
“Pardon?”
“It’d be pleasant to dine together.”
The senior knight—whom I’d braced for a courteous demurral—simply inclined his head.
“Tell us your choice of dish, and it shall be readied at once.”
“Tomato stew for me, too.”
Subtle looks darted among the knights.
“It might not befit your station,” one ventured tentatively.
“No worries. I’m keen to sample it.”
Startled as they were by my choice of company, they swiftly cleared a spot at their table.
An uneasy hush settled while my serving was fetched. I’d urged them to carry on eating, yet they laid down their spoons, apparently deeming it unseemly to dine ahead of me.
Guess it falls to me to ease the tension…
“Incidentally, I haven’t caught your names. Yours?” I asked the rigid senior knight beside me.
“J-Johas, Your Grace.”
“Delighted, Sir Johas. And you?”
One by one, I shared my name and drew theirs out—stammers giving way to clearer voices.
“And you’re Sir Leon, aren’t you?”
“Y-Yes! Spot on!”
Hailing Leon by name flushed his ears crimson.
“An honor that you recall it!”
“I noted it because you savored yesterday’s feast so thoroughly,” I offered, dodging with a half-excuse.
“Pfft.”
My quip landed like banter; muffled chuckles escaped a few knights. Leon’s cheeks blazed tomato-red.
“I meant it as a compliment,” I hastened to clarify.
“…Still an honor, Your Grace!”
Flustered though he was, Leon’s response cracked the ice wide open.
Moments later, a piping bowl of tomato stew steamed before me.
“It’s Blenheim fashion, so the heat packs a punch,” the innkeeper warned with a warm grin before withdrawing. “Say the word if it’s overwhelming, and we’ll whip up an alternative.”
Blenheim fashion?
Johan, sensing my intrigue, elaborated.
“In Blenheim, we whip up this fiery tomato stew the morning after revelry. When the innkeeper offered any fare, we put in our request.”
Ah, a cure for the night before.
The ruddy, hearty broth brimmed with meat and tomato chunks, sparsely garnished otherwise. That telltale spicy whiff beckoned irresistibly.
“It could be fiercer than you’re accustomed to,” Johas cautioned, anxiety etching his features at the prospect of my discomfort.
“I adore spice, truly. Dig in, everyone.”
For all my encouragement, their eyes flicked my way as I lifted a heaping spoonful. Curiosity gleamed—what would the Grand Duchess make of it?
Like some traveler sampling kimchi abroad for the first time.
I savored a full bite.
Wow!
Such a vibrant, scorching rush—it had been ages. I dove right in for seconds.
“Mmm,” I sighed contentedly, delight spilling over. A far cry from the pallid broths at the marquis’s table.
“To your liking?” Johas inquired.
“Divine! So zesty and revivifying!”
My fervor brightened their faces, as if they’d brewed it themselves.
“Every soul in Blenheim adores it,” one declared.
“Thrilling that Your Grace savors it so!” another beamed.
“Most outlanders can’t stomach the fire,” a third noted.
From then on, the table buzzed with energy.
Savoring the stew had cleared some invisible hurdle. Even the reticent ones piped up with pointers—sop bread in it, or chill the leftovers for a twist.
I scraped my bowl clean with the wooden spoon.
“May I… trouble you for seconds?”
“Keeper! Another round of tomato stew!”
“Make it two—for me as well!”
Ultimately, the cook fired up a fresh cauldron.
Gradually, the knights loosened up.
Five more days by carriage lay beyond the gates. I dined with them invariably—at inns or amid the woods.
Bereft of other retainers from the marquis’s estate, it made perfect sense.
The setup eroded their early reserve.
Initially, they only answered my prompts. Soon, they struck up chats unbidden.
I mined every opening for Grand Duke lore.
Rivaling the Emperor in might, he’d never ventured from Blenheim.
Capital whispers ran rampant: a fiendish monster-slayer, a grotesque hermit, a brooding beast.
Exaggerations, no doubt—yet I knew precious little myself.
“What’s the Grand Duke’s preferred dish?” I probed.
“Tough call. He eats it all,” came the reply.
“Hobbies?”
“Felling beasts?”
Not illuminating.
“His temperament?”
Yearning for substance, I pressed on.
Johas rubbed his scalp before answering.
“Put it this way… he’s rather aloof.”
“Rather?” Leon snorted. “He can ghost through a day wordless.”
“Never witnessed a smile,” another contributed.
“Count your blessings,” a voice countered, head wagging. “His smile? That’s your death knell.”
“Last winter, wasn’t it? Thought I’d shatter like ice,” one recalled.
“Folks jest that if Blenheim’s ice cliffs took human form, they’d mirror the Grand Duke,” another guffawed, gnawing lamb jerky.
Their merry banter halted as Perel’s sharp look silenced them.
“Your Grace,” Perel interjected, papering over the cracks, “the Grand Duke lacks the capital nobles’ polish and warmth, yet he’s a fine man at heart.”
Perel cued Johas with a glance. Johas paused, eyes heavenward for phrasing, then harrumphed theatrically.
“Indeed. His Grace—the Commander—is unparalleled,” Johas proclaimed stoutly. “Youngest Swordmaster ever, at fifteen. He spearheads every monster hunt, safeguarding the north.”
Perel’s brow creased—off-script, perhaps—but the knights bobbed heads and piled on.
“Duke Kyle’s a Swordmaster too, sure, but no match for the Commander, out slaying beasts daily.”
“No one in the Empire wields sword aura to cleave monsters like him.”
Enough, I thought. Message received.
“He scants himself but watches over us fiercely. The territory reveres him.”
“The ideal sovereign: valiant, sage, unyielding.”
Swept up in adulation, they left no room for my interjection.
So, to distill: the Grand Duke devours anything, masters warcraft, stays distant, sports a lethal grin.
And loathes Freis kin—me included.
No simple conquest.
But surrender? Not my style.
I’d once sweet-talked ironclad clients into contracts through dogged charm. Endured a despising boss and thrived.
I’d bridge to the Grand Duke, come what may.
Munching knight-offered lamb jerky, I firmed my silent vow.
