Arina’s expression froze completely at Isabelle’s teasing words.
“…D-Don’t tease me. Speak properly. If you keep joking, even if you’re an old woman, I’ll impose a strict punishment.”
A few seconds later, realizing Isabelle’s playful tone, Arina pursed her lips, her cheeks and ears flushing red.
“But it’s true that he’s worried about not seeing you lately, my lady.”
“…!”
“Why not call him over yourself? Keep him by your side. Now that he’s a count, granting him the status of a court noble wouldn’t be unreasonable.”
“No! If he stays connected to the ducal house, it’ll endanger him!”
“Your Highness…? Arad is already in danger. It’d be safer if he became a royal consort and received official protection sooner rather than later.”
“That’s not it… If he gets tied to the ducal house and dies young…”
“How many times must I tell you that’s just superstition? If even the Imperial family doesn’t believe in it, why should you?”“I… I know, but still… it’s just that… I already…”
Flustered by Isabelle’s remarks, Arina stumbled over her words, unable to form a coherent argument.
Cluck, cluck.
The Archwitch clicked her tongue silently, shaking her head as she observed her flustered young liege.
For all her titles—unofficially the youngest Swordmaster and the Grand Duchess of Renslet—the current Arina seemed no different from any other young noblewoman.
‘It was amusing at first.’
The first spring of Arina’s life had arrived, but the endless stagnation was beginning to frustrate even Isabelle.
‘Of all times, she had to push him away back then…’
Isabelle had a general idea of what had transpired between Arina and Arad.
Between the details Arina had let slip during consultations and testimonies from the senior knights who had accompanied them in the Demonic Realm, Isabelle pieced together the story:
Arad had confessed first, and Arina had rejected him—something she now deeply regretted.
“For his safety, you should elevate him to royal consort status as soon as possible.”
“But… I already turned him down back then… And now it feels like he’s avoiding me…”
“Are you sure? Are you certain Arad doesn’t want to marry you?”
“I-I’m not sure… It’s just a feeling…”
“Hmm… Then why not confess to him instead?”
“M-Me?! No, no, no, no, no! Absolutely not! Impossible! How could I? You old hag, are you trying to embarrass me to death? I’d rather face 100,000 Imperial soldiers alone!”
Arina reacted with such violent resistance that it almost seemed like she was having a fit.
‘Well, confessing to someone you’ve already rejected is no easy feat, even for someone as iron-willed as her.’
In a society as conservative as this one, the very idea of a woman confessing first was almost nonexistent.
Moreover, Arina wasn’t just any noblewoman; she was the Grand Duchess of a border territory.
And she had previously rejected his confession. For her to now confess in return?
“Ughhhh…”
Just imagining it seemed to make Arina dizzy, and she swayed on her feet.
“Besides… it has to be certain, doesn’t it? You were the one who said that I must marry someone who truly loves me to have a proper heir.”
There was, perhaps, an even more decisive reason holding her back.
“To truly know his feelings, I need Arad to confess to me first.”
“Hmm… that’s true.”
Isabelle, who had been dismissing superstitions and advocating for a confession just moments ago, now nodded in agreement.
Truthfully, even Isabelle privately acknowledged the so-called curse of the Renslet ducal house.
She merely tried to mask it as superstition for the sake of the house’s dignity.
‘I’m glad I laid some groundwork with Arad earlier.’
Her eyes sparkled mischievously as she addressed Arina.
“Then, if Arad proposes again, what will you do? Will you accept him?”
“…!”
“You’ll say yes, won’t you?”
“…”
“I’ll take your silence as a yes.”
“…Is there even a way to make that happen…? He seems to have completely given up on me since then…”
“Of course there is. Incidentally, I’ve developed a transformation spell inspired by one of Sir Arad’s magitech tools.”
“A transformation spell?”
“Yes.”
Isabelle grinned slyly before asking her young liege in a suggestive tone.
“Your Highness, would you consider disguising yourself and working at his trading company?”
“…?”
It took Arina several seconds to process the sheer absurdity of Isabelle’s suggestion.
“You want me to work at Arad’s trading company? With him?”
“Yes!”
“Hag! I’m the Grand Duchess of the North!”
Arina declared with a stern expression.
“Performing various tasks under different identities may have its value, but as a Grand Duchess, my duty is to govern the North.”
Her words reflected not her status, but her sense of responsibility.
“Oh, please! Since when have you been so diligent about governance? It’s always been Haita and me handling things, hasn’t it? Your Highness just stops by the High Tower occasionally to sign documents!”
Isabelle’s tone was sharp, her exasperation evident. It seemed she’d been holding this in for some time.
“That’s…!”
“Your predecessors were the same, and so were their predecessors, and their predecessors before them. If neglecting state affairs is a Renslet tradition, then so be it!”
“…!”
Arina had no response to that.
Indeed, before and after becoming the Grand Duchess, she had frequently wandered the North under the guise of secret inspections. This had been possible only because such a system had been in place for generations.
“It’s truly remarkable when you think about it. How has the North managed to survive all this time?”
“That’s because the Grand Duchesses have always handled domestic affairs…”
The North, a land plagued by constant wars and invasions, naturally prioritized martial prowess and charisma over administrative skills in its rulers.
Swinging swords on the battlefield was far more effective for maintaining public morale than poring over documents in a castle.
As a result, governance had traditionally fallen to the duchesses, witches, and bureaucrats.
“Yes, exactly. The duchesses have always assisted with governance. Which is why you, my lady, should settle down with a royal consort soon…”
“…”
Arina’s shoulders slumped.
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