News of the Banquet
My head refused to work, drowned in sheer embarrassment — and the culprit was the girl currently thrusting her face mere inches from my own. A fresh scent drifted off the pink hair swaying right in front of me. Her eyes were a deep crimson, the kind no one could ever have called innocent — not even in jest. And her pale skin, a stark contrast to the black cloths she had been draped in until a moment ago, filled my vision.
"What? What are you looking at? Kyaa~"
...
Two daggers were strapped neatly to her thigh — not blades meant for cutting or slashing, but ones specialized purely for the thrust. Slender, elongated blades, almost like a pair of rapiers, proved as much.
"Hm? Oh, you know these too?"
"...I know of them, roughly."
She must have felt my gaze settle on her, because she looked down at her own thigh and drew one of the daggers with a soft shff. Even its shape was unusual. Unlike ordinary daggers, whose edge ran along one side alone, this one was honed on both — the classic profile of a double-edged dagger. And its guard was remarkably short, all but nonexistent, which gave the whole thing the look of an awl.
"How odd..? Nobles these days hardly know a thing about daggers."
...
"Then again, I suppose that figures. With knights posturing at their elbows day in and day out, swinging one-handed swords and longswords about, where would they ever find the room to care about daggers?"
...
"People who take up the sword for show, not survival."
Her tone carried the faintest trace of hostility, as if such people were beneath contempt. Then, with no hesitation whatsoever, she plopped herself down on the bed.
"How much a single sword actually weighs. How one is meant to grip it. What it even feels like to cut something—"
...
"In a real fight, there were those who died flailing around because they didn't even know that much."
Everything out of her mouth after that was story after story from her own experience. The fellows who'd lorded it over everyone without ever having held a sword — the moment one was pressed into their hands, they could barely manage it with both, let alone hold it properly, and their bravado hissed out of them like air from a punctured lung. The boy in her class who swaggered more than anyone — hand him a sword, set a Lowest-Rank Demonic Beast in front of him, and he'd frozen solid in fear, swinging wildly with no thought for his own strength or stamina. She had found it all terribly funny.
These were hardly the sort of stories you'd expect from a duke's daughter — from a house counted among the Four Great Families, no less. Yet she brought them up without a shred of embarrassment, and her expression as she did was one of pure delight. The face of a child lost in fond old memories.
I had been watching that face of hers for a moment when she suddenly jerked her head up and smacked her palms together with a crisp clap.
"Oh! Right. I had something to tell you."
"...To... me?"
"Yeah. The old man from earlier told me to hand it over right away, but it slipped my mind. One moment?"
The words were barely out before she flung aside the black cloths still pooled over her and began patting herself down, this way and that.
...
"Hmm.. now, where was it? Just wait a little longer, okay?"
The black garment she wore had no coverage at the shoulders to speak of, and what little there was clung tight to her frame. Objectively speaking, the outfit bared a great deal — and in the sunlight spilling through the terrace, her pale skin seemed to stand out all the more for it.
"...I'll turn my back. Do let me know when you've found it."
"Huh? Ah no, you really don't have to—"
"Is this the room?"
"Y-yes.. yes, Your Highness the Princess."
Creeeak— the reddish-brown wooden door swung open. The sturdy panel, so beautifully carved when I had first entered this room.
"..Whoa."
"Hm... it would seem Father has taken quite a liking to him, hmm? To be housed in a room like thi—s..."
And then they entered — the owners of the voices that had been chatting softly outside the door for the past minute.
...
"P-Princess, why all of a sudden..."
One of them was a woman who carried the most noble blood in the land: the crimson-haired princess of the Empire, Kiana Frabel. And the other who followed her in was, likewise, a face I knew.
"Oh? Young master, so you were her—e..."
The owner of silver hair that gleamed all the brighter under the sunlight. Ella. The girl who had parted from me only minutes ago now walked into the room at the princess's side.
"...I pay my respects to Her Highness the Princess."
"Y-you..."
"To what do I owe the honor of Your Highness visiting such a place as—"
"You're undressing?!"
"...?"
Her face blazing scarlet, she jabbed a finger past my shoulder. The crimson of her hair and the crimson of her flushed skin suited each other remarkably well — hers was the face of a kettle about to boil over, white steam primed to burst from the crown of her head at any moment.
And she was not the only one turning red.
"Y-young... master..."
For some reason, Ella — standing politely at the princess's side — had covered her eyes with her palm, her face every bit as scarlet.
...If you can see everything right through your fingers, what exactly is the point of covering them?
"Y-you... so the rumors really were true..!"
"...?"
"I knew it... so it was... true after all..."
Though I had no idea what she thought she'd realized, the princess went right on muttering to herself, while Ella kept peeking at my back through the gaps in her fingers. I could only tilt my head at their reactions—
"Found iiiit!"
"...?"
"This. This is it. Here!"
Someone seized me by both shoulders from behind and spun me a full turn. My gaze followed, naturally enough.
"...What is this?"
What my eyes settled on was nothing other than a single scroll — one yellowed page, its color faded as if from age. And yet the cord binding it looked anything but old; it was soft enough that one might have believed it woven from the finest of fabrics.
"I'd recommend reading it alone. Only, and I mean only, when you're by yourself."
...
"Well, the contents inside might just be classified, after all!"
"...I'll keep that in mind. Now then, if you'll excuse—"
"W-wait just a moment. M-Miss Shino?"
"Your Highness..? What brings you all the way here..."
The princess had cut into the conversation out of nowhere, and Shino Charlotte looked genuinely taken aback. Her status aside, Shino was the daughter of the Ducal House of Charlotte — a house that had served none but the imperial family since time immemorial. To her, this was little different from her own master's very person appearing before her without warning.
"I-I..."
And yet, the princess's condition was deeply strange. Her eyes kept darting back and forth between Shino Charlotte and me; at times she hung her blushing head, and over and over she let out a strange little uuu.
"Your Highness, are you feeling unwell somewhere...?"
"N-no.. it's just..."
"I'll fetch a physician right aw—"
"M-Miss Shino... a-and you!"
"...?"
"Th-that... is..."
Her lips kept working, her face kept burning. And by the time the color of her face had become a perfect match for the color of her hair, those lips finally, slowly, began to part.
"W-we're still far too young to be doing... that sort of thing..!"
"...?"
"Sh-shameless!"
And with that, a cry rang out that was not quite a scream — and entirely unforeseen.
"My lady, how about this dress?"
"No, for our lady, this one would be far—"
"Or perhaps this one would suit her as well—"
A house known to the world as a family of mages, where hardly anything ever happened that could be called an uproar: the Ducal House of Renuiel.
"Everyone, please..."
"Ah, my lady!"
"Which one catches your eye, my lady?"
Yet today, the house of Renuiel was abuzz like never before. This, from a family that had never shown the slightest interest in anything beyond magic.
What on earth was in that letter..?
The incident had begun simply enough. A servant of the ducal house had found a letter of unknown arrival sitting in the mailbox.
"M-My lady... there's a rather strange letter..."
"Hm?"
And so the letter had made its winding way to the head of the house herself. Left to ordinary procedure, a letter bearing no sender's name would have been sent straight back — but the unusually lavish seal and envelope had caught the eye, and so it had been brought before the Duchess after all.
"..Ah, I have so much to do.. why now, of all times..!"
The letter's effect, at least, was undeniable.
"M-My lady...?"
"..I'm perfectly well. Go and see to my daughter — help her prepare for dressing."
"Ye... yes?"
For Isabella — who had been shut away in her room, peacefully buried in her study of magic — the news was nothing short of a thunderbolt.
"Mo-Mother, why me, all of a sudden..?"
"..Believe me, I've no desire to go either. But an invitation has arrived from the imperial family."
"Th-the imperial family..?"
"Yes. It appears a banquet is to be held."
But what could be done about it? This was an invitation from the imperial family, of all places. And the Renuiel ducal house, as it stood, hadn't even the flimsiest pretext with which to refuse.
"..Had it come even a little later, I might have used 'that matter' as an excuse.. tsk."
And so Isabella found herself summoned, willy-nilly, to the Imperial Palace. Yet unlike her mistress, whose spirits had thoroughly deflated, the servants were each and every one of them visibly thrilled.
"My lady, this one suits you beautifully as well..!"
"No, no — for my lady, this one is far..."
And perhaps they could not have helped it. She had never cared for anything but magic — despite possessing a face too beautiful for words, she had never once adorned it.
"A-my lady, please, don't be like that — just try this dress..."
"My lady, let me do your makeup... My lady?"
She could make anyone watching her feel an almost physical frustration — and for the servants at her side, this could only be the chance of a lifetime. A chance for the lady they served to outshine anyone in the world. A chance to dress her up with their own two hands.
"..Even so, it's not as though there's anyone I wish to look good for—"
"You never know?!"
She was, after all, a girl with little passion for anything beyond magic, and the timid little rebellion she attempted was crushed almost the moment it began.
"You never can tell, my lady. The banquet might just be where you meet your destined beloved."
"No, that's — that's going too far.."
"And besides, my lady, just look how beautiful you are. It's entirely possible, truly!"
Counterarguments abounded, but Isabella let them pass unspoken. She had no particular wish to trample on the rare liveliness the maids had shown since she first came to this house.
..Someone I want to look good for, they say..
She turned the question over quietly in her heart. Did the person she was now have anyone she was fond of? The her of the past would have answered at once — Allen of House Reinhardt. But—
...
Now, for some reason, the words would not come. Because of the doll of a certain man that kept boring its way into her head. The doll of that man who had lately thrown the whole Empire into an uproar.
The voice of the man who had, back then, forgiven her without so much as a flicker of resentment drifted through her memory, and those spaced-out eyes of his kept surfacing before her, unbidden.
..I wonder how he's been doing, these days—
"My lady, and this one?"
"Huh? Oh.. oh..."