Chapter 57
Chapter 57
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 57
Chapter Title: Banquet Intrigues
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If he didn't consider the North his own, then Uncle could deal a serious blow simply by using the Southern Duke's power to cut off food supplies to the entire North.
Food was different from other things.
In a world where, except for crops like wheat or rice, it was impossible to store anything for a full year.
Grandfather had said one or two years, but that only applied to nobles who could afford to hold out that long.
Poor commoners would start dying the moment supplies were cut off.
So even Grandfather seemed unwilling to push Uncle that far, avoiding any threat to his position as heir...
'The problem is our family.'
Sending Aunt to be the Empress's chief lady-in-waiting to strengthen ties with the imperial palace... that was probably meant to check my returning father, right?
After all, he'd lost control over internal appointments and postwar administration.
Even setting all that aside, Dad was the legitimate eldest son just by existing.
From Uncle's perspective as the second son, he must be a real thorn in the side.
Lost in thoughts of the tangled power dynamics, I stayed quiet for a long time. Grandfather gave a faint smile.
"It's too complicated for a child like you to understand."
That faint smile scattered weakly, like a sigh at dusk or smoke rising from scorched earth, before his next mutter.
"Getting old is truly pathetic and miserable. Worrying over nonsense like this. I'm nothing but a useless old man."
If only Grandfather were a bit younger. If only he were healthier.
His voice carried regret that, in that case, he could have pressured or persuaded Uncle with more time.
I gazed silently at Grandfather's face.
I knew it wasn't my place to interrupt, so I'd kept my mouth shut tight. But I had to rebut that last mutter.
"Gwandpa isn't a useless old geezer..."
"Don't flatter me—what do you even know?"
His face, soft while explaining the North's situation to me, hardened as he scolded sternly, glaring.
Any ordinary child would have burst into tears.
Even I, with an adult mind, felt a bit intimidated.
...You're so spry, you don't need to lament being old that much, do you?
But I couldn't say that outright, so I chose my words carefully.
"Mariella doesn't know much 'bout grown-up stuff. But I've heard ya fought for the North your whole life."
The servants sent from the main house hadn't just caused trouble here.
They praised Grandfather and Uncle nonstop.
I could dismiss the Uncle bits as flattery, but not that Grandfather had spent his life wandering battlefields, guarding the empire's borders.
His fingers were covered in scars at every joint.
Just like Dad's.
Scars no one who just sat wielding a pen could ever get.
Hands stitched over with scars like poorly sewn leather by a bad craftsman.
Hands that bore the full weight of time deserved respect.
"Your father would never say that."
"The maids an' servants all say so. Gwandpa's amazin'. Ya still do tons of work. I saw it. All for the North."
"..."
"Not a useless old geezer. Good Gwandpa."
Grandfather didn't reply.
He looked like he was pondering what to say, so I boldly stuck my head out toward him.
If I'm cute and good, just pat it!
Grandfather stared at me, then placed his hand on my head.
It was a bit less awkward than a few days ago—a tentative pat.
That was answer enough. I beamed at him.
"So when we doin' exercise?"
If you want to live longer, younger, healthier—steady exercise is the way, right?
Keeping my smile, I pressed. Grandfather slowly raised his arm.
I poked his triceps with my fingertip. He flinched and pulled back harder.
Seeing his much straighter shoulders than before, I covered my mouth and giggled.
Marquis Schleman was indeed as arrogant as Grandfather had said.
His message said he'd arrive in a week, but he dragged it out by two extra days before sauntering into the ducal residence.
He entered without a hint of apology—how brazen.
Uncle fawned over him obsequiously, rubbing his hands.
Even if the marquis technically outranked him as a marquis, Uncle was still the ducal heir.
"—That's what I mean! Crops should be growing now, but the rain won't stop, so the South's in a bad spot too!"
Even at the banquet Grandfather had prepared, Uncle stuck close to the marquis.
The marquis raised his voice haphazardly, mouth still full of half-chewed food.
With Uncle's backing, even Grandfather was invisible to him.
"Is the rain that bad?"
"Yes! Why else would Duke Petersen ask to adjust the food supply contract? His Grace cherishes Sir Dominic, his prospective in-law."
"If that's the case, some adjustment is inevitable as allies of the South."
"As expected of the young lord! His Grace brags so much about Mark, his grandson-in-law-to-be. So clever..."
Every time the marquis opened his mouth, half-chewed lamb chunks rained down.
...Makes me nauseous. Can't eat. I carefully set down my lamb.
How did he learn table manners? What does he take the Northern Ducal House for?
Not just the marquis—Uncle yapping beside him annoyed me too. My glare naturally shifted to Aunt, seated next to him.
Aunt sat by her son Mark—my cousin—tending to him.
She placed appropriately cut lamb on his plate.
I couldn't tear my eyes away, entranced.
If only Mom were alive...
Only nobles here.
So Dietrich and I came without our nurse.
Dad was patrolling the banquet hall for security, no time to sit.
I felt his occasional glances, but he couldn't tend closely.
Other collateral relatives eyed Uncle, avoiding us.
We sat alone, forlorn.
If only Mom were here...
Feeling sad and envious, I kept peeking at Aunt.
Then I noticed something.
I wasn't the only one staring at Aunt and Mark fervently.
Monica, seated with her back fully to Aunt, was peeking too.
What’s that about?
Aunt, focused on Mark, noticed and subtly turned toward Monica.
Contempt flashed across Aunt's face.
I saw her sharply strike the back of Monica's hand, who was carefully picking up a piece of lamb.
Did I see that wrong?
Aunt turned back to Mark, her face smiling beautifully like a painting.
Staring with my mouth half-open in shock, I saw Monica quietly set down her fork.
Her head hung low; I couldn't see her expression.
"Baby Ella, why're you barely eating? Don't like lamb? Want me to cut bread?"
"No. Full."
"You're not full. You look like a squished stuffed doll. Gotta eat till you're all puffed up."
With that, Dietrich tickled my belly wildly.
Can't let that slide.
I shoveled a huge bite of paprika salad—the stuff he hates—into his mouth.
With Grandfather and nobles all around, Dietrich grimaced but chewed it anyway.
He half-swallowed, face crumpling.
"I surrender."
After extracting his surrender, I peeked at Aunt again.
Monica's hands still dangled under the table.
Her head stayed bowed.