My Friend's Daughter
"An actress? Your Highness, why on earth would you...?"
The suggestion was so far out of left field that I asked the question in sheer disbelief. Why would someone of her exalted station as a princess want a profession that required parading her face before the masses?
At my reaction, Greta folded her fan with a perfectly serene expression and propped her chin on her hand.
"Why? Is there some reason I shouldn't?"
"There's nothing in Imperial law that forbids it, of course. I'm asking because I don't understand why you'd put yourself through that. You were the one who wanted to keep your identity hidden. Why would you now volunteer to put yourself on display before the people?"
She tossed a glance out the window and gave a light shrug.
"I saw Theus on that little square screen not long ago."
"Ah. His Majesty's daily news coverage."
"That's right. Eating meals, observing training drills. In ordinary life, it's nothing more than the mundane routine of my young, foolish little brother. And yet tens of millions of people were going wild over that tiny screen, cheering and worshipping him. Watching that... I found myself getting a little greedy."
Her blue eyes glittered with a peculiar light.
"Controlling the public's gaze. Commanding their emotions. That's a rather attractive form of power, don't you think?"
"......"
Right. I'd forgotten that the Imperial family and the nobility were, at their core, a bunch of attention junkies.
"Besides, to be perfectly honest, life at the palace has been rather dull and boring lately."
Greta's crimson lips curved into a smooth smile.
"When I thought about it, among all the things a person of Imperial blood is allowed to do, I couldn't think of a more entertaining diversion. And if I just hide my identity, no one will ever know I'm a member of the Imperial family..."
She was as brazen as ever. She'd dressed it up as a simple pastime, but lurking behind those words was the ambition of a professional attention-seeker — someone who understood the media's power over the masses and wanted to stand at its center, basking in every eye.
"I've sacrificed a great deal for my brother, for my father, and for you, Chancellor. Can't you grant me this much?"
I let out a sigh.
"Hah... That's fighting dirty, Your Highness."
"Hmph. That's what you get for not answering my question. While we're on the subject — when do you intend to give me an answer to my proposal, Chancellor?"
Princess Greta leaned deep into the sofa, and the moment she set down her teacup, she struck. A remark that burst out of nowhere in the middle of a conversation about drama auditions, completely ignoring all context.
I immediately pressed a hand to my forehead.
"I've already told you no. Several times."
"And what reason is there that I shouldn't? I'm no longer a candidate for the throne. I'm simply a woman who happened to be born with Imperial blood."
Greta's blue eyes curved into crescents as she smiled sweetly.
"There's not a single reason you and I shouldn't marry. Besides, until young Theus comes of age, you're essentially the one running this Empire. Is there a more perfect match for you anywhere in Imperial lands?"
"That's not the issue..."
My words died in my throat. This was the real reason that, despite being the Empire's regent and the chancellor who held every last scrap of power, I found myself exhausted and deeply uncomfortable every time I dealt with her.
Right after the Late Emperor closed his eyes on the final battlefield — before the grief had even begun to fade — Greta had launched a ferocious confession offensive against me. She'd dressed it up as a political marriage for the stability of the Imperial family, but those eyes of hers belonged unmistakably to a fully grown predator.
The reason I'd cut her confession down in a single stroke and spent my days running from her, however, was perfectly clear.
"...Princess. You're only eighteen."
"I think that's a perfectly suitable age for an engagement, don't you? Dame Sylvia?"
The stray spark flew, and Sylvia — who'd been holding her breath in the corner — flinched.
"Th-that's right!!? Noble young ladies of the Empire typically get engaged at sixteen...!"
Sylvia stammered as she caved to power, but both hands were clamped over her mouth and her eyes were sparkling.
Look at that face... She's having the time of her goddamn life.
"See? Even Dame Sylvia, who's famous for being a stickler, agrees with me."
"Haaah..."
I let out a long sigh. Age wasn't the problem. Hell, I liked young, pretty women too. But a far more fundamental ethical barrier stood in my way.
The first time I met the Late Emperor, the little girl fidgeting at his feet with a doll in her arms was Greta. That sniffling little thing who'd clung to my pant leg — now eighteen years old and launching marriage proposals at me. Just picture it. It was goddamn uncomfortable. This was the first time I'd ever truly felt something resembling a guilty conscience.
Think of the Late Emperor — my comrade-in-arms who'd crossed the line between life and death with me during the Century War, a man who'd been like an older brother to me. If he were looking down on this from heaven, I'd be lucky if he didn't burst out of his grave, grab me by the collar, and scream:
Right. Greta was my friend's daughter.
"How many times do I have to say no, Greta."
I finally snapped, dropped the honorifics, and refused her outright. In public, I treated her with all the formality due a princess. But in private meetings like this, the old habits would occasionally slip out.
Far from being hurt by my firm rejection, Greta smiled — a captivating, almost seductive smile.
"Hehe. It's been so long since you called me by my name. I rather like it."
Greta folded her fan, propped her chin on it, and gazed at me.
"Well, I have plenty of time. Imperial women are known for their patience. I'll slowly eat away at the Chancellor's heart. But what I said about wanting to act — that was genuine."
I shook my head, giving up. Eat away at my heart... what a terrifying way to put it. One moment she was launching a confession offensive, the next she'd pivoted right back to business. That unpredictable nature of hers was this woman's weapon.
"Very well. But being a princess doesn't get you a free pass. If you want to act, you'll have to audition first."
"An audition. So you intend to test me."
"Of course. This is our first drama. I can't just slot in a lead who can't act."
I rummaged through a drawer and pulled out a classic script I'd scribbled down — the kind I'd seen countless times in Earth's trashy melodramas. Then I filled a teacup on the table with a reasonable amount of water and pushed it toward Greta.
"I'll give you the scenario. Your husband has been having an affair with a commoner woman. That commoner woman is sitting in front of you right now. She's shamelessly demanding that you leave him. Now — show me rage."
Greta skimmed the short lines written on the parchment. Her blue eyes lit up with a peculiar gleam.
"This is... the plot of a drama...? Chancellor, have you lost your mind?"
I started hedging, saying whatever came to mind.
"I-it's just a script. A script! Even situations that would never happen in real life — you have to handle the emotions well to become a great actress!!"
This medieval society wasn't quite mature enough yet to accept the scenarios of a trashy melodrama. Still, once they got a taste, they'd never be able to quit.
Greta nodded, looking as though she'd accepted the explanation.
"Will you play opposite me, Ian?"
"No. I'm the director. Sylvia."
"...Excuse me?"
"Sit. You're playing the other woman."
"What? The other woman?"
Sylvia recoiled in horror and tried to flee, but she was forcibly planted in the chair across from Greta. Her face went ashen. She looked at me and mouthed the words:
You crazy bastard!
I neatly ignored her.
"And... action."
The moment my cue dropped, the very air around Greta transformed completely.
Oh-ho...?
The face that had been smiling mischievously at me just moments ago froze over in an instant, cold as a sheet of ice. She looked down at the trembling Sylvia with a frigid gaze.
A voice laid down like frost. At the same time, Greta's hand picked up the teacup from the table.
Splash—
Her wrist snapped in a perfect arc, flinging the water across Sylvia's face.
"Pffah!"
While Sylvia coughed from the drenching, Greta rose from her seat and roughly seized Sylvia's chin, jerking it upward.
A madness settled in Greta's eyes.
It was perfect. I nearly stood up and gave her a standing ovation.
She's a genius. No — that's not acting. That's just Greta's true nature, isn't it!?
There are actors like that. People who, once they take on a particular role, make it impossible to tell where the acting ends and the real person begins. The impoverished protagonist's mother. The tycoon's wife. The thug. The airheaded beauty. The lackey. Actors who merge so completely with a character that just naming the role summons their face.
Greta... I hated to admit it, but she had a gift for acting.
I was going to lose my mind. If she was this good, I'd be the one begging her to act. To take a classic Earth meme written in a script and nail it this perfectly — and for a princess of another world to pull it off with such flawless acting. With this level of talent, she was guaranteed to become a villain — or a tragic heroine — seared forever into the viewers' minds.
Greta finished the scene and smiled at me.
"Well? How was that, Mr. Homewrecker?"
"Homewrecker...? You... passed. Damn it."
I couldn't lie.
"Heheheh. I like that. That look of helpless injustice. That's one of the things I love about you, Chancellor."
"......"
Only then did Greta turn, a look of satisfaction on her face.
"I'll see you next time, then. I believe I've accomplished what I came for today."
Click, click—
And just like that, the princess's storm of a visit was over.
I handed a towel to the soaking-wet Sylvia.
"You okay? Sorry... Here, dry off."
Sylvia took off her glasses and wiped the water away as she spoke.
"This kind of scene isn't actually going to appear in the drama... right?"
"Why?"
"Because I think it would be hazardous to one's mental health."
I stroked the sniffling Sylvia's hair as she wiped her face with the towel.
"That's just your opinion. Be honest — it was a little thrilling, wasn't it?"
"...Are you actually insane. What's thrilling about getting water thrown in your face. Are you a lunatic?"
I let Sylvia's words go in one ear and out the other as I thought.
Hold on... should I change the project title to The Princess's Temptation?
A hundred times more provocative than The Duke's Daughter's Temptation.
Exactly one month later.
The main editing suite, third basement floor of the broadcasting station. Empty mana recovery potion bottles and coffee cups formed mountains on the floor, and hollow-eyed video-editing mages lay sprawled across their keyboard artifacts like corpses.
"At last..."
The lead editing mage, clutching a master crystal, choked up with emotion.
"Wooooaaaaahhh!!"