Chapter 114
Maindulante dominated the entire northern part of the Empire. There weren’t many routes for imperial citizens wishing to enter its lands. For those leading merchant trains with wagons and workers, there was only one real choice for safe passage into the north.
The Marquisate of Tipion.
The great Ilopium Mountains, which divided the Empire of Bistor’s north from its other regions, had a stretch where the range seemed to have been scooped up by a giant—leaving a sudden gap.
Around that gap, travelers to and from Maindulante built a village, which grew over time, and for the past three hundred years, it had become one of the empire’s most prized territories.
And the lord of that territory held the name Marquis of Tipion.
The Marquis, Huddys Tipion, grumbled at the knight outside his carriage window.
“How much farther?”
Farther? Maindulante was always vast. Even its gateway, Dreikum, was a full day’s journey from any other town nearby.
But the Marquis was already in a bad mood before they’d set off. To a lord who enjoyed finding fault and rattling everyone around him, the knight answered meekly.
“My apologies.”
“Tsks!”
The Marquis clicked his tongue loudly, his wrinkled eyes twisting with cold irritation.
“There’s not a single appealing thing about this place, no matter how hard you look. The arrogance, making me come in person to this barbarous land.”
No one had invited him, but he was sincerely disgruntled about it. If an old man like him were to travel all this way, shouldn’t the young man have stopped him and come first instead?
Shouldn’t they have asked what he wanted and offered it?
Yet the message announcing his visit received no reply. As if he wasn’t even worth talking to.
“Still misunderstanding this old man, it seems.”
The knight knew what the Marquis was referring to.
It had probably been six years ago. Back then, Cledwyn Maindulante, still just a student at Noble Academy and a young boy, abruptly cut off contact with the grandfather he’d once respected.
Since then, the Duke of Maindulante hadn’t visited Tipion’s lands, not even for the Marquis’s birthday or the big holidays unique to the north. Not a word of greeting was exchanged.
The knight, low-ranked at the time, didn’t know what had happened, but senior knights said there’d been a severe ‘misunderstanding.’ That “our Marquis” had supposedly brought in mysterious ruffians to harm his grandson.
What a terrible thing to say. Everyone knew how deeply the Marquis grieved for his beloved daughter’s early death. He worried greatly over his grandson, left alone at a young age.
The Marquis wasn’t a kind master to his subordinates, but his warmth toward his family was considered proof of his humanity by the people of Tipion.
If the knight had known the truth, he might have doubted whether the old man in the luxurious carriage was even human. But at least as far as the knight knew, this was the truth in Tipion.
Thanks to this, Cledwyn’s reputation in Tipion was dreadful.
Using the word ‘misunderstanding’ so casually, the Marquis leaned back in the plush seat and bit his lip, growing more agitated.
Unlike his men, the Marquis knew what he’d done. But in his mind, everything could be traced back to Cledwyn’s mistake.
Why, after all, did he have to fall out of favor with the imperial family? If he’d only looked loyal enough, would the imperial house have gone so far as to try to kill him?
And—
‘He didn’t die, so what’s the problem?’
In noble society, you could snarl at each other one day and marry off your children the next. That’s the burden of leadership.
But to let minor slights sever ties with his only helpful kin? Ridiculous.
‘Foolish brat.’
When he first heard that the Duke had abruptly brought in a girl from the Elandria family’s collateral line and installed her as advisor, the Marquis was greatly displeased.
He’d thought that position should have been his.
It was unusual for a noble to serve as a manager in another’s lands, but not impossible—especially for an advisor, with a young lord and an older relative, it was almost like naming a guardian.
‘If only I’d accepted that post while he was still naive, I wouldn’t have had to suffer so long.’
The Marquis regretted it. If he was capable of such feelings.
He should never have gotten involved in what happened six years ago. Since it failed, what did getting involved earn him? Only years of his grandson’s coldness.
‘If he was bound to be swallowed anyway, it made sense to join in.’
Who could have known that child would survive the imperial family’s grasp, clear out those troublesome elders, and manage everything?
‘Still, it’s good he didn’t die six years ago.’
If Cledwyn had died, the territory would’ve been carved up among various lords, perhaps even handed to the Duke of Elandria.
Now, at least, the vast north could fall into the hands of the Marquis of Tipion.
All the Maindulante lot were stubborn. Surely they were dissatisfied with the boy-tyrant’s capricious rule.
If the right climate and opportunity arose, with his age, experience, and prestige, the Marquis could claim the advisor’s seat under the pretense of watching over his grandson—and thus rule the great northern land, pacifying the lesser lords as needed.
‘What’s an eighteen-year-old girl to me?’
Such a drastic appointment was, of course, symbolic of this strange meritocracy.
A competent subordinate is good for the lord. But what lord hires officials just for reading well, quick understanding, or foreign languages?
The people always held even collateral nobles in higher regard, listening better to them.
The Marquis’s head hurt just thinking about the “commoners” Cledwyn had paraded around Penmewick. Taking a girl from a minor noble family and placing her at the top—what a mess.
That’s why he’d urged Karl Sidney to spread dissatisfaction about the advisor.
‘That fool.’
Since he’d lost contact, he was likely dead. The Marquis worried that, thanks to that idiot, the Duke’s influence over his subordinates had only grown.
“Achoo! Isn’t it too cold in here, Your Grace?”
The woman across from him sneezed and complained. The Marquis clicked his tongue.
“It’s not the carriage. It always gets cold around the Ilopium Mountains.”
“It’s not even winter yet. People actually live in places like this?”
“You’ll have to get used to it. If all goes well, you’ll be living here too.”
“Hmph.”
The woman scoffed.
Light from the window caught her face.
A couple of strands of elegantly coiled hair fell across her smooth forehead. Beneath them, blue eyes gleamed with a greenish tint, full of mischief.
She had striking, likable features—not classic beauty, but a bold look that drew the eye.
Though boredom and contempt now colored her face, the Marquis knew who she resembled when she smiled kindly.
A talent he’d searched all over his domain to find. The key to his plan.
“Be quiet now, Catherine. Mind yourself before the Duke.”
“Of course.”
Catherine snickered, turning to look out the window.
She’d complained about the cold, but Catherine knew. If all went to plan, soon no amount of cold would matter compared to the wealth and power she’d hold.
The carriage rolled on toward Penmewick.
❖ ❖ ❖
“Nerys Truydd, Your Grace.”
Seeing the face of the one who greeted him in front of White Swan Castle, the Marquis of Tipion froze for a moment.
Those calm, jewel-reflecting eyes.
Graceful manners and an unbowed air.
He’d heard rumors of her in noble circles—a child of the Elandria family’s collateral line, born with Jeweled Eyes not even the main house possessed.
But Nerys Truydd’s name was always a passing curiosity. He hadn’t paid her much mind until Karl Sidney told him the new advisor’s name.
A child from a minor noble branch, suddenly appearing in Maindulante and becoming advisor? And has Jeweled Eyes on top of that? Nonsense.
But the Nerys Truydd he met in person…was more than expected.
“I didn’t think the advisor herself would greet us.”
He couldn’t stay frozen for long—his pride wouldn’t allow it. He twitched his brow and answered her greeting.
“Of course I must come myself to greet Your Grace. However…”
Nerys trailed off, looking at Catherine as she poked her head out of the carriage. Catherine smiled brightly.
Her smile was, by most standards, very likable—but the person standing in front of her was far too striking. In grace, and even in beauty.
‘No comparison.’
This could be a problem.
The Marquis deliberately helped Catherine down from the carriage with exaggerated courtesy and introduced her with a look of deep affection.
“My cousin’s daughter.”
Catherine lifted her skirt and curtsied elegantly.
“Catherine Haricote.”
“Nerys Truydd, Miss Haricote. If there is anything you need during your stay, please let me know.”
Nerys received the greeting without raising an eyebrow. Catherine clapped her hands with a delighted expression.
“Thank you. I didn’t expect to meet a lady my own age here. I hope you’ll look after me while I’m here.”
“A lady? I’m not from such a distinguished family.”
“Oh, then, Miss Truydd…”
“Please call me ‘Advisor’ during your stay.”
Catherine, interrupted, fell silent. There was no need to explain that “Advisor” was a more distinguished title than “Lady.”
‘If she isn’t from a great house, what does that make me?’
Neither of them bore their main house’s name—they were both from collateral lines. Nerys’s words, while sounding humble, effectively lowered Catherine by comparison.
As their outwardly pleasant conversation ended and Catherine fell silent, the Marquis slightly revised his opinion of Cledwyn’s hiring practices.
‘So it wasn’t baseless.’
That method of delivering a polite insult with formal courtesy—a way great nobles signaled unwelcome guests.
Nobles never turn away visiting guests, especially other nobles—or even wandering beggars seeking shelter must be offered at least a potato in a barn.
“Blessed is the one who gives a traveler shelter,” the old saying went—and in the cold north, that sentiment was even stronger.
So when unwelcome guests arrived, nobles would subtly make them uncomfortable to show their true feelings.
It was a polished reception, like something from a manners lesson—textbook for handling unannounced visits from unfriendly nobles.
The Marquis quickly calculated his next move while maintaining his expression.
A beauty of his grandson’s age. If she graduated from the Academy, she must already have a connection to him. Wasn’t the answer obvious?
He’d once wondered how such an inexperienced child had gotten this seat.
‘They must be separated.’
If anything, her Jeweled Eyes made it easier. His grandson hated the imperial family—if he planted the idea in his mind that this girl might be connected to the imperial house, splitting up the young lord and his advisor would be simple.
“If there’s anything you need during your stay, please let me know. I will see to it myself.”
Nerys gestured inside White Swan Castle. The Marquis sent Catherine a fond look and escorted her inside.
Following behind, Nerys frowned slightly.
If she wasn’t mistaken, Catherine’s face looked strangely familiar.
