Chapter 26
The North had been a land conquered by the Empire hundreds of years ago.
Though the natives and newcomers now mingled and coexisted, the Emperor strictly forbade anyone from leaving for other regions, only allowing migration inward. This kept relations between him and the North strained.
The Northerners claimed that the Emperor, who had ordered them to block the Evil Dragon Kaslante, was the one constantly provoking Kaslante. They were fiercely proud and hated the Emperor for abandoning a young Pheon here without proper support.
Their insularity bred strong clannishness, coupled with a deep victim complex that the central powers looked down on them. The target of that complex was the young Duchess who had been stripped of her title and cast out.
Pheon, at least, gave them a sense of pride in having raised him. He had come as a child, rolling in the dirt with Northern soldiers and growing up immersed in Northern traditions. He was their proud son—and a bridge to the center.
But the Duchess who arrived in Lüsenford in her twenties was not. To them, she was just a refined central noble who looked down on them.
“You don’t need to accept their greetings. Don’t worry about it.”
Pheon’s face had already hardened as he spoke clearly and firmly to the new Duchess.
Those damn close-minded bastards. Swallowing the curse on the tip of his tongue, he slowed his pace in case the Duchess, trailing behind with her heavy cloak, might tire.
With a crowd of Lüsenford Castle folk strung out behind them, he deliberately used formal speech toward Kaella.
After regressing, so much was now visible that hadn’t been before. He ruthlessly judged that he had indeed been a hopeless idiot who needed to die once or twice to come to his senses. And the Lüsenford people were even worse.
Starting a battle of wills by leaving the Duchess, who was seven years younger than the Grand Duke, out in the cold?
Even before regression, she had no family left, but now she was the only daughter of wealthy Duke Ostein—and heir to Ostein!
‘Doesn’t matter how glamorous or pathetic her background is. They just hate the Duchess, plain and simple. Got it.’
Got it. He understood their thinking all too well now, to the point of nausea. Building up their pride, coaxing and soothing them into an elite force hadn’t been easy.
He knew some saw him not as the Empress’s son, but as the North’s son—the child they had raised. Still, he had endured, again and again. What other choice was there?
But the Duchess had endured too. Hadn’t he known? Of course he had. No way he hadn’t. And yet he had stayed silent, overlooked it, remained indifferent—he was guilty. No extenuating circumstances.
“No, it’s only proper, so we must.”
But as he watched Kaella respond so mildly, Pheon recalled what she had been like ‘at first.’
Before regression, what had she been like when she first arrived? He remembered her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm, vowing to do her best at everything. But this expressionless, indifferent murmur was new to him.
“We must accept the greetings, Your Highness. If traditions and etiquette are broken because of me, you’ll face the blame.”
“Blinded by a woman?”
Pheon let out a short laugh, and Kaella flinched.
“Blame? So what if I get it. I don’t care.”
It sounded like he’d already heard plenty because of Beatrice, so Kaella briefly lowered her gaze.
In the dim, chilly halls of Lüsenford Castle, the stone path echoed with steady footsteps, frost clung white to the specially made windows, and the sun set early—everything felt so familiar, so wearily tedious.
But she had to do it. Kaella, searching for a way to die without harming her father as much as possible, knew she had to fulfill her duties.
That way, she could die with a clear conscience. It was exhausting to worry even after death. Couldn’t she just die? But Ostein rested on her shoulders. No.
“Still, greetings are in order.”
If the Duchess insisted, the Grand Duke wouldn’t stop her. However, if she must, she would receive them from her seat in the audience chamber of Lüsenford Castle.
He personally draped his cloak over her—urging her to keep it on against the cold—and she accepted the greetings wrapped snugly in its folds. Beside her sat the Grand Duke, irritated by travel fatigue, glaring at the people with sharp eyes.
“We sincerely congratulate you both on your marriage. We welcome you to the North.”
Fires were lit in the audience chamber, brightening the lights. The wealthy Ostein Duke’s Daughter, wearing the Empress’s large ring, received the bowing Northern nobles’ greetings without emotion.
She offered only a formal smile, nothing radiant like Beatrice’s. Yes, Kaella had a strong point of comparison. Beatrice, who had come to Lüsenford briefly when she even sold off Mond Castle’s building materials.
“Plainer than Lady Lavalle.”
Whispers immediately followed that Kaella wasn’t as pretty as Beatrice. Women’s beauty was always up for judgment.
“She doesn’t even smile well.”
From her expression, she must hate coming to Lüsenford, they jabbed.
“Ostein Duke’s Daughter, huh? With all that gold overflowing, what wouldn’t catch her eye?”
In the end, her wealth and status as the Emperor’s niece were thorns in their sides, and the grudging murmurs spread like a thick poisonous fog across the floor, creeping toward Kaella.
“His Highness already favors the Duchess, it seems?”
“If Ostein provides military funds, I’d do the same.”
Pheon, here to ‘view’ the Duchess, scanned the faces muttering from a distance behind. When to behead those necks. When to root them out right here.
Traitors who cursed the Emperor more than anyone yet took Kline’s money on the sly, those desperate to debut their children in central society even if it meant selling out Lüsenford, spies planted by the Emperor from the start, loudmouths who clamored for war then fled when it broke out—they were all visible.
He had to weed them out. Pheon would raise his honed blade against these cowardly, irresponsible loudmouths who shirked responsibility. If he severed their heads and laid them at Kaella’s feet, would his sins lessen even a little?
As if. Pheon simply had to keep her safe by his side and send her back to Ostein. Before the storm hit. He had to promise her eternal peace.
Even if just thinking about it tormented him.
*
Seeing those hated faces again stirred anger or vengeance in the healthy and vigorous, perhaps.
Returning to Lüsenford Castle, where she had poured in every effort, and facing those same old faces left Kaella utterly exhausted. She knew well that no matter how hard she tried, raged, or poured her heart into it, some things just wouldn’t work.
The contempt, the cutting words, the scornful glares, the flood of humiliations—even a proud queen would kneel. What could a background-less Duchess do?
“Duchess, here is the menu for tonight’s celebratory banquet. Would you please review it?”
Even then, the head maid who had chased after her caught up. ‘Review.’ The Duchess had no authority over this menu.
It was just for show. Northern dishes, distinctive and traditional, would fill the banquet tonight. Kaella gave a wry smile as she skimmed the list, then said,
“I can’t eat Ferenco because Tourberry makes me ill.”
At that, the head maid, who had bowed politely, snapped her eyes up.
“But Duchess, this is Lüsenford’s traditional welcome dish and main course. You must eat it.”
In her fifties, perhaps. Kaella, vaguely recalling the head maid’s age, smiled faintly.
“I know, but didn’t I say it harms my health?”
“Maybe you haven’t tried enough? Eat plenty, and you’ll build immunity. You have to try.”
Kaella stared steadily at Head Maid Doris Windgood, who always tried to instruct the young Duchess.
A Northern noble by birth, one of many claiming to have raised Pheon personally. Bursting with pride in Lüsenford, she believed it her duty to instill Northern traditions in the Duchess.
“…I’ll inform the head chef.”
There could be no head maid defying the Duchess’s refusal.
Kaella had no energy to reply or even bother, so she just looked at her, and the head maid flinched back startled. But she’d only ‘inform’—she wouldn’t change the menu. The woman was stubbornly obstinate.
‘Not bad.’
With all the Northern nobles gathered tonight to celebrate the Grand Duke’s marriage, it wasn’t bad.
After dismissing the head maid, Kaella gazed at her new room.
A rigid, dogmatic, utterly hideous and rustic space, decorated entirely to the head maid’s tastes. Every item in the room seemed to scream at Kaella, ‘You must be chaste and meek!’
She smiled weakly, sat on the hard chair, and began writing the first and last letter to her father.
*
Born in Ostein, the girl who rose from errand runner to the Duke’s Daughter’s lady-in-waiting through her smarts and diligence had the common name Mari.
Among the three dedicated maids who followed the lady to frigid Lüsenford, the youngest and lowest-born, Mari, stood with the others, anxiously watching their lady—now attending the evening banquet.
To Mari, ‘Lady’ or ‘Miss’ still felt more natural than ‘Duchess.’ And once an Ostein lady, she remained one forever. The only change would be to Ostein Duke later—no exceptions.
‘Mari, if you return to Ostein, deliver this letter to my father.’
Why had the lady given the letter specifically to her, not the others? Throughout the long journey to Lüsenford, Mari had prayed only that the Grand Duke, who had cared so well for the lady, would return soon.
But the Grand Duke was out with the knights performing the fire-lighting ritual.
So the lady, left alone, silently endured the Northern nobles prattling on about how profound the history and deliciousness of Ferenco—or whatever it was called.
It started like this. The lady—no, now Duchess—paused at the tough-looking, unappetizing meat dish and called the head maid.
“Didn’t I say I can’t eat Tourberry?”
The Duchess asked very quietly, with perfect dignity.
Of course, Mari and the other Ostein maids were seeing Tourberry for the first time and had no idea their long-served lady couldn’t eat it, so they just stared wide-eyed.
“Ahem, Duchess!”
But the head maid seized the Grand Duke’s absence to raise her voice sharply.
“Ferenco is our Lüsenford pride, a traditional dish for Lüsenford folk! It has Tourberry, but just pick it out. Since you’ve come to Lüsenford, you must partake in the dish we’ve prepared with care!”
Eyes snapped toward them in an instant, and Mari panicked. With knights briefly away, the remaining older nobles and ladies turned, and a nearby Northern noble asked,
“What’s wrong? Does Ferenco not interest you?”
To Mari, it was a blatant trap question that had even the Ostein maids gaping in shock. Yet the clever, wise Ostein lady—famed for it—responded with startling honesty.
“No, it’s just that Tourberry bothers me.”
“Why? It’s a fruit that grows in the cold.”
“It makes my body itch, and breathing gets hard…”
Before she finished, the loud voices in the banquet hall erupted, extolling Tourberry’s health benefits. To Mari, it was shocking.
Even so, to openly contradict the Emperor’s niece and heir to Ostein! Wasn’t this the Kranian Empire? How could they be so rude to such nobility?
“It’s good for you!”
“Of course. Eating Ferenco brings a year of peace. It’s an important dish for praying for Lüsenford’s peace.”
“Bothersome how? Oh, you’re just not used to it! Eat lots! You overcome by eating more!”
“Yes, exactly—overcome by eating! The Duchess needs to learn sturdy courage now that she’s in Lüsenford!”
“Eat! Go on, eat! Take it slow, one bite at a time, finish the plate, and soon you’ll devour a whole basket of Tourberry. Right?”
“Of course. Doctors say avoid this or that just to sell medicine—it’s all sales talk.”
Amid the raucous praise disguised as encouragement about Ferenco and Tourberry, it felt like disaster if she didn’t eat.
The Ostein maids gaped, cowed. Utterly rude to the lady! Northerners were big and loud-voiced; petite, delicate Kaella seemed not just swept away but crushed.
No, to Mari, the lady already looked crushed. Her face pale, expressionless.
More chilling: the nobles who had bombarded her fell silent, and in the quiet, the head maid declared like a judge,
“Please don’t scorn our sincerity, Duchess. It would pain us deeply. Aren’t you becoming a Lüsenford person now too?”
What was this? Senior Ostein maid Cecil moved to intervene, but the lady gestured under the table to stop. Mari just prayed for the Grand Duke’s quick return.
“I’m a Lüsenford person too. I just hope I don’t get terribly ill from eating. It’d be embarrassing.”
The lady tugged her lips up with her pale face. Forbidden to move by her order, the three maids didn’t find it funny, but loud wahahaha laughter exploded.
“How bad could it be? Lüsenford folk tough it out!”
“Right! A little sickness—what, stronger than Lüsenford’s cold?”
“We’ll pretend not to notice if you’re embarrassed!”
Lüsenford, Lüsenford clung to every sentence, ringing in their ears.
Kaella, knowing these remaining folk had especially booming voices, moved her fork. She put the Tourberry-pickled, juice-soaked tough meat in her mouth and chewed.
“How is it? Good, right? You were scared for nothing.”
“Lüsenford adds courage! Must’ve been tough in the soft South!”
The Ostein maids were speechless at the spectacle.
Kaella expressionlessly repeated putting the tasteless meat in her mouth and chewing slowly. At her first marriage banquet, she’d eaten a little, realized it was off, spat it out, and never touched it again.
Even here, served mountain-piles once a year, most went uneaten—enough to brand the Duchess forever.
No matter that it scratched her throat and made breathing hard, they all bristled: ‘Weak, timid Southerner dares scorn Lüsenford.’
In hindsight, she should’ve just eaten it all and died right there. What vain dream had she chased? Thinking some god pitied her and revived her—ridiculous.
This place was unchanged, and she was just the young Duchess. Despite desperate efforts, the head maid and chef’s gazes were always terrifying.
The young Duchess, struggling to adapt without adult help, faced new ordeals.
Enduring and enduring, she regretted watching her Ostein maids fall ill to the cold one by one, one dying of fever. She should’ve sent them home.
Now, perhaps she could.
