The Sham Betrothal Backfires
I was about to recite some dashing line, but Mazar beat me to the punch by a step. His gaze was ice-cold. Still a young man who hadn't weathered true hardship, yet those eyes blazed with ambition.
“Miss Ket. You've found yourself quite the compatible actor. However.”
Mazar's eyes gleamed.
“I have dreams of my own. I'm sorry to you, who went to such lengths, but I can't just give up like this. I'll be back soon.”
He turned on his heel and strode out the door. Better than being outright chased off moments ago, I suppose.
I confirmed Mazar vanishing down the corridor before glancing aside.
“Phew, barely saw him off. Armed.”
Armed was practically clinging to me—an awkward pose for everyone involved, so it was time to disentangle.
Unexpectedly, she stared up at me, her face flushed beet red.
“Y-You said—”
Ah. Got it. To anyone just overhearing, it might sound like a sudden love confession.
No wonder she was flustered. I opened my mouth to swiftly clear the misunderstanding.
“Relax. Didn't you say you'd pick me as your partner in this fake engagement scheme? I was just playing along.”
Armed's expression returned to its usual blank slate, tinged with faint fatigue.
“Yeah. Figured as much.”
She soon flashed a soft smile.
“For something fake, you sure went off on a passionate rant. Don't tell me... you like me?”
To Armed, that was a question dredged up with maximum courage. A simple yeah and she'd be scouting wedding venues on the spot.
But Kriel just smugly launched into the secrets of fooling Mazar.
“How's that for improvisation? Weaving a story just believable enough not to crumble under lies.”
“...Huh?”
“A knight never speaks falsehoods, but he must possess a certain flexibility.”
It was the kind of deceptive rhetoric devils from ancient fables might spout.
Armed nodded limply, feigning admiration. She nearly blurted you really do live up to your looks, but reined it in—that wasn't something to say to her (future) fiancé.
No helping it. At least he's agreed to the engagement in principle, so I'll bide my time for the right moment—
“By the way. You okay with Mazar declaring he'll be back soon?”
“What can he do? We've announced our engagement. Let him bring those horns of his if he wants.”
Armed thought, so what can you do, Mazar? With a fake fiancé already lined up to trot out, he had no moves left.
It didn't take long for that prediction to shatter.
Armed had been scrutinizing Orishin—this horse-head spirit was weirdly noisy for a spirit—when someone knocked on her door.
She stretched and opened it. The horn dagger analysis was at a standstill; perfect timing.
Clear her head a bit, then dive back in. Probably some academy member here with research results or experiment advice.
Armed opened the door without a second thought.
Standing there was an imperial standard deliveryman, sporting a winged badge.
“Are you Armed Ket?”
“Pardon? Oh, uh, yes.”
“Here's a notarization request sent by Mazar Gabi.”
NOTARIZATION REQUEST
From: Mazar Gabi
To: Armed Ket
Regarding the alleged engagement you referenced in rejecting my proposal: Provide the name of the officiating priest with notary qualifications. Failure to do so will be taken as admission of invalidity. If no satisfactory response, I will file suit in imperial court.
— Mazar Gabi
“Wha—?!”
Armed summoned superhuman patience to clamp down the curse bubbling up. The deliveryman was just doing his job.
She saw him off politely, then tore into the envelope and scanned the contents.
“Ha, shit.”
He's got some brains after all... Armed muttered hollowly.
Thanks to Armed's generosity, Kriel was bunking in another guest room on her floor. She'd claimed it was for convenience in asking about dagger research up close, but it was really just courtesy to a colleague tackling tough work together.
He'd left Tuon polishing the greatsword and was settling in with a book when urgent footsteps echoed outside.
“Kriel! Get out here!”
As expected, Armed's voice.
Had she found some fatal flaw in Orishin? The longer the mage's diagnosis, the better for Kriel, but he'd grown fond of the guy.
“Something wrong?”
No wounds on Armed. Didn't seem like Orishin had gone berserk mid-treatment with a kukuku, time to corrupt!
“Mazar's side latched onto something annoying.”
She roughly explained the letter in hand.
By imperial law, an engagement needed certification from a qualified third-party notary—usually a priest.
Mazar's letter boiled down to: Who's the priest who officiated your engagement?
Fail to name one, and it was as good as admitting the engagement was invalid. No reply? He'd sue in court. P.S. included.
“If it'd just been a straight ‘I reject your proposal,’ fine. But faking a fiancé to dodge it? That's grounds for court.”
Armed added that coming down to Argentlam Duchy to avoid her family's faces had been a blunder.
Originally, Mazar Gabi's suit was purely personal—not a house-to-house match.
But while Armed was away hosting the academy conference, the two countess consorts—acting heads in place of their comatose patriarch—had replied to the Gabi house's formal proposal with we'll consider it.
A sly maneuver exploiting her absence and their legal proxy status.
“Faking an engagement after officially receiving a proposal? Straight-up fraud. Damn it...”
“Looks like the Gabi side's hardball tactic to force their hands clean backfired.”
Kriel scratched his head.
Orishin: Oh, just in case—suggestions like ‘call a proper notary now and make it official’ won't fly. Mazar's side will just grill that priest on the date.
“Horse-head? How'd you get all the way here?”
Orishin: Pink kiddo, even if I look stuck to a sword, I can fly pretty damn far.
Armed had taken to calling Orishin “horse-head” naturally. Wonder of wonders—everyone she met did the same. Well, it did match his looks spot-on.
Kriel nodded firmly and spoke up, borrowing the ancient spirit's wisdom.
“Orishin. Got any experience or sage advice for our mess?”
Orishin: Would I? Sure, I've daydreamed about fancy wedding spots, but never had occasion to crash one.
Couldn't get notarized now—and even if they did, the lie would unravel anyway.
Suddenly, a possibility flickered through Kriel's mind.
What if they found a priest who could lie?
“Does the Eve Kaha church have any doctrine against false testimony?”
Orishin: Er... not that I recall. Those corpse-lovers don't give a damn about the living world. It's all ‘how to treat the dead.’ Still, common sense says a priest wouldn't—
Kriel flashed a satisfied smile.
Orishin: Hold up. Hey. You aren't thinking—?
“Just call a priest who can lie.”
Orishin agonized: Should he rein in this mad knight, or beg for materialization magic plus snacks to munch on?
Calling Morgina here? That'd be one hell of a spectacle.
Sensing strange currents from the east during a vision relayed from the high priestess, Morgina received sudden word upon emerging from secluded training.
More precisely: A carrier pigeon—no, crow—had come and gone.
The letter: Need consultation on engagement issue. Can you come ASAP?
Morgina nearly keeled over from the blood pressure spike.
She kicked open her grandmother's door.
“Kaaaaah! Grandma! What the hell is this?!”
“What're you on about? Think I peeked at your mail? Spill first.”
“A letter from Kriel, and I'm only finding out now!”
“We did tell you ‘a letter came.’ You were the one who said ‘damn old hag, your training's got me too beat to talk, later.’”
Morgina's head drooped limply.
...Only to snap back up a second later.
“Training's done, so I can head out again, right? Any branches calling for special support?”
The Eve Kaha pontiff nodded.
“No clue what's going on, but...”
Need consultation on engagement trouble. Can you come as soon as possible?
— Kriel
(Sent one week prior)
Hold on, Kriel. Morgina bolted from the cathedral, letter abandoned.
Destination: Argentlam Duchy.
The pontiff scooped up the fluttering letter sheet.
Date stamp: Already a week old.