A Contract Marriage for Attilenta's Revenge — Episode 13
I studied Henrik, trying to read what lay behind his eyes as he pointedly ignored Tatra.
Henrik was a man with the ambition to command an entire battlefield. He didn't merely dream of the moment he would ascend this country's throne — he dreamed of something far beyond it.
If I had to guess, the Biauby family must have wielded considerable influence. And for a man envisioning such a future, it was simple common sense that he could not afford in-laws who were too powerful.
He had taken me as his wife to make use of me in the war. So pushing aside a woman he had once been close to was, by the same logic, both justified and sensible.
"Lady Biauby. If you're fond of tender-hearted men, as it happens I know an excellent candidate."
That was the common sense of it. The virtues of marriage I knew from home evidently held sway here as well.
Unconsciously, I clasped my hands tightly beneath the table — straining to crush the resentment and bitterness surging up, stirred by the faces Tatra's presence conjured in my mind.
"He's a trustworthy adjutant. If you wish, I'd be happy to introduce you."
Though I hadn't said a single word to her, Tatra bit her lip slightly and turned her gaze on me. The resentment and jealousy in her eyes were so nakedly honest that, in a strange way, I almost envied her.
No — it wasn't only that sincerity I envied.
"Your Highness... I can hardly believe you'd say such a thing. Even my father still holds me as close as a bird in his hand, saying he hasn't yet found a household worthy of me..."
Tatra faltered at the end, looking flustered. She wore a wounded expression, but beneath it her intent was firm: the man she adored was settled in her heart, and no one else so much as registered in her eyes.
And that, presumably, was why she guarded against me so warily. Honestly, I found it absurd.
"I had actually hoped to ask, Your Highness... how you came to meet Prince Henrik in the first place..."
I fidgeted idly with the rose ornament the head maid had recommended and pinned into my hair.
It was just as I was about to change the subject, trying to deflect the discomfort welling up inside me—
"Lady Biauby. That is a story for the two of us alone, so I'm afraid your curiosity will have to go unsatisfied."
Henrik didn't so much as sigh, dealing with her coldly still.
"I'd suggest we finish our meal first."
My stomach didn't settle easily, but I felt grateful to him all the same. Henrik was simply holding up his end of the bargain — and I was the one reaping the benefit.
Taking a leisurely sip of wine for show, I set the glass down.
"I quite enjoy how lively this hour has become, Prince Henrik."
And I smiled at Tatra — a smile measured with just enough goodwill, never too much.
"He keeps me at his side because he needs me, you see, Lady Biauby."
This is a waste of emotion, Attilenta. And yet, knowing that, I said it anyway.
Perhaps this was simply the proper bearing of a princess consort. If I showed myself wary of a romantic rival, it would make my relationship with Henrik look good in everyone else's eyes.
It was all so unexpected that my thoughts tangled into knots. I didn't know the right answer, yet here I was rationalizing to myself — it felt like building a tower on sand.
Even in the midst of it, I studied Henrik once more. His expression was unchanged. As always, he seemed as though nothing at all had happened, his mouth composed and his amethyst eyes perfectly calm.
He was exactly the kind of man who could keep his footing no matter what happened here.
Calling to mind what he'd said when he gave me the ring, I resolved to be more proactive.
I raised my ringed hand and laid it gently over the back of Henrik's — flaunting, almost, the Ring of Bwędia he had given me.
"If you truly want it that badly, Lady Biauby, you could enter his household as his concubine or mistress."
"I— what did you say?"
"You're bold enough even at this table, so I'm sure you understand what I mean. Why not ask His Highness yourself? It makes no difference to me, after all."
As I said it, I leaned slightly toward Henrik — the very picture of a wife resting against her husband's shoulder.
Tatra would have understood my meaning perfectly. Even if you came as his mistress, I wouldn't care in the least. I'm that certain of the prince's love — and that confident in dealing with the likes of you.
Sure enough, Tatra's sweet, gentle mask shattered on the spot.
"Pri— Princess Consort, why would you say some—"
The elegant atmosphere at the royal table froze over in an instant, but I carried my point through to the end.
"Oh dear — I'd advise against scowling like that. People might get the wrong idea. That you're temperamental and difficult, I mean. I know perfectly well you're nothing of the sort, of course."
Tatra's face flushed crimson before anyone's eyes. I watched her struggle for a moment, then rose slowly from my seat.
"Prince Henrik, Prince Leszyca, Princess Warsza. Might I excuse myself and take some air on the terrace? The food was so splendid that I've finished far sooner than I expected. I'd be grateful for your leave."
"By all means, go — Attilenta."
Henrik was the first to nod. Leszyca and Warsza signaled their assent as well. I withdrew at once and turned away, offering Tatra nothing more than a flicker of a glance before leaving my seat.
The smile I had worn before them all vanished in an instant.
Ah. I did the exact same thing Selena would have done.
It didn't feel good at all. Had Selena felt this way too? No — surely not. She never could have.
Only then did I look out past the window. It was the middle of the day. It struck me as truly peculiar that this country's grand banquets began around noon rather than in the evening.
Maybe I should have a drink or two to match this strange atmosphere. I hoped I'd grow used to Bwendowska's liquor in time. I plucked a glass from the tray a servant was carrying and swept out onto the terrace.
The meal with the royal family had ended. At the heart of the banquet hall, the royal orchestra was playing. Watching the guests dance freely and listening to the lively, bright music, Henrik was smiling. Drinking the wine his adjutant poured for him, he looked like a man thoroughly enjoying the festivities.
"I'm told that even among dogs, the smaller ones tend to be the more ill-tempered. Does that not ring true, Sir Krakow?"
Sir Krakow, standing behind Henrik, pressed a hand to his forehead, his expression gone rigid.
The head of the Biauby family held real power. Even in the councils where the ministers gathered, his influence ran strong. Sir Krakow thought of the woman his lord had married. She had come from a foreign land — perhaps she simply didn't know what manner of family the Biaubys were, and had spoken without meaning any harm.
Whether she had done it knowingly or not, the fact remained: she had needlessly made an enemy. And his lord, Henrik, wore the face of a man who had merely witnessed an amusing scene — as if he'd decided a small animal was throwing a tantrum, and thought nothing more of it.
The knight offered his lord an honest word of counsel.
"Your Highness. If a rival for the Princess Consort's place arises, that is partly your responsibility as well."
"I know. So what would you have me do, Sir Krakow?"
Was even this within Henrik's calculations? Suppressing a sigh, the knight spoke.
"...Grant that your wife my sister as her personal maid. She is excellent at handling matters of this sort."
Henrik answered, his leisurely smile undimmed.
"It seems to me she could do without a personal maid."
He acted like a man utterly oblivious to his knight's concerns.
"She is the Princess Consort. Having one is fitting to her station."
"I wonder where she learned the customs of this court. Truly, it baffles me."
Henrik tried to fathom what she must have learned in her homeland. A princess of one kingdom and the wife of a duke — she had evidently received an education of the highest refinement.
"Yes, Your Highness. She is already superb — but with a little more polishing, she would be utterly flawless, without a single flaw to find."
Henrik lifted his wine — darker in color than his own eyes — and drank it with great composure.
"You're right, Sir Krakow."
For a woman enjoying the standing of the Krakow house to enter royal service as a lady-in-waiting, she would need the recommendation or the sanction of her family's head — namely, the permission of Henrik's own knight, Sir Krakow.
"If she's your sister, I know I can trust her."