The Answer Is Marriage

"Diana, what are you saying? Are you telling me you refuse to appoint a guardian at all?"

"That's my affair. You needn't concern yourself with it."

My business was concluded, and I was about to tell him to see himself out when Count Kolkos waved a hand, cutting off my next words to ask again.

"Diana, is it that you feel guilty toward your parents? Because a guardian would seem to be taking their place?"

"..."

"No, Diana. That isn't what a guardian is. As you well know, a guardian is—"

"Someone who exercises the family's rights in my stead. How could anyone possibly be compared to my parents?"

Count Kolkos, and my mother and father? Merely imagining the three of them on the same plane made my blood run backward. I cut him off, cold and hard.

"Yes, Diana. You understand the matter perfectly. Which is why you must hurry and choose a guardian—"

"Enough. Whatever you say, my mind will not change."

At that, Count Kolkos shook his head and spoke.

"Diana, you are still young. Tending to a great family all alone at your age is no small task. I don't know whether you've realized this, but without a guardian, you cannot so much as touch the family's money properly."

Strength crept into Count Kolkos's voice, which had begun as soothing cooing. His neck had flushed a deep red, evidently angered by this unexpected turn.

"And why would that concern you, Uncle?"

"Diana, I am your only living blood."

His snake-like eyes, feigning tenderness ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and worry, darted ceaselessly as they sized me up.

There had once been a time when I believed that sharing blood meant he would love me the way my parents had. The result was a betrayal of terrible cruelty.

Cassion and Jenice, who don't share a single drop of my blood, turned out a hundred times better.

"Diana, think of the retainers of House Ehrenberg. Without a guardian, their wages cannot even be paid."

The family fortune could be spent freely for only a single year after the head's death—and even that was limited to the fixed expenses already recurring month after month.

If that grace period ran out with no guardian appointed, then just as Count Kolkos said, we would be unable to pay even the servants' wages.

House Ehrenberg was granted an unusually long grace period. Though only a few months of it remain now.

Ordinary houses had to name a guardian within a year, but ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the royal family had specially granted House Ehrenberg an additional six months. Considering how vast House Ehrenberg was, and what a grave matter the sudden deaths of its lord and lady had been, it had been a reasonable concession.

Six months. That is all the time I have left.

Whatever it took, it had to be done within that span.

While I sat silent, sunk in thought, Count Kolkos reached out his hand—toward mine, resting on the table. The mere thought of that hypocrite's skin touching mine raised gooseflesh down my arms, and I whisked my hand away before his could reach it.

He hasn't even considered the possibility that I might appoint someone other than himself, has he? Disgusting man.

"Diana, think of House Ehrenberg. Delay the appointment, and nothing good will come of it."

Count Kolkos was petty and dim, but there was one thing about me he understood with perfect accuracy: that I loved House Ehrenberg dearly. And he wielded that knowledge with great skill.

The words he would intone like a magic incantation whenever I questioned anything he did. The memory of it made my skin crawl.

Not this time. What is done for my sake is what is done for the family's sake.

I shook my head and said with finality, "Don't waste your breath trying to persuade me. My decision will not change."

Count Kolkos clamped his mouth shut. His grip tightened on the arm of the sofa.

"You must have been through a great deal lately, Diana. I shall come again."

Having played his last card and reaped nothing for it, Count Kolkos could not entirely hide his fluster. With the corners of his mouth pulled stiff, he grudgingly promised a next visit.

"You could come ten more times and my mind would not change, Uncle. So please—don't come again."

But when I bluntly crushed even that promise, Count Kolkos's face contorted. Unable to hold his temper, he sprang up from his seat and snapped:

"You... just how far do you intend to mock this uncle of yours?"

As he drew himself up to his full height, a vast shadow fell across me. He looked down at me as though scolding a wayward child.

"Mock you? I merely wish to deliberate carefully."

Count Kolkos's gaze transformed in an instant. He spoke through his teeth, eyes blazing:

"Diana, grief for lost parents is a heavy thing, I grant you—but how long do you imagine you can leave this family to rot? I have soothed the household and stalled until now, but I can stall no longer. You must wake up to reality. Then again, what could a thirteen-year-old possibly understand?"

And there it was—condescension dressed up as a lecture. Count Kolkos's bare face, his naked greed, finally showed itself.

So shallow. That's all it ever was.

Watching him tremble after only a few prods at his temper, I was almost ashamed of the girl ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I used to be for ever being taken in by him. I considered throwing one more barb at him, then held my tongue. Even a single word spent on him was a waste.

But the patience I had scraped together ran out almost at once—because Count Kolkos crossed a line that must never be crossed.

"Your father and mother would have been glad to have me as your guardian."

I had held my tongue when he invoked the family's name. I had held it when he spoke of a guardian stepping into my parents' place. But this—this I could not swallow.

My mother and father would have welcomed Count Kolkos as my guardian?

Doesn't that mean my parents wished for me to be miserable?

Absurd! Utterly absurd!

I clenched both fists and said, "Uncle, have you ever heard this sort of story?"

"What sort of story?"

"The story of a family that chose its guardian poorly and was ruined for it—hounded into the streets, name and all."

"Wh-what did you say?"

Shock spread across Count Kolkos's greasy face.

"There's a tale making the rounds lately, you see. A household took in a dog to guard the estate, and the dog bit its masters and seized the house for itself. It seems to be quite famous. You truly haven't heard it?"

"Diana, are you comparing me to—"

"Whatever you're imagining, that is exactly what I mean, Uncle."

I lifted my chin and glared up at him with everything I had.

Whatever else might happen, Count Kolkos was in a position where he had no choice but to accept my decision. No matter how furious he became, he could not resort to anything drastic. Which meant a provocation of this degree was entirely permissible.

And indeed, Count Kolkos's brow knotted itself tight, then slowly smoothed. He drew a long, deliberate breath, straining to bank his anger.

"Diana. Where did you hear such talk?"

Choosing retreat over quarreling with me, the fury had drained from his voice; he asked the question with tenderness he had manufactured from nothing.

Heard it? I lived it.

"Pay no heed to what others say. Trust only what you see and suffer with your own eyes."

Count Kolkos postured as though dispensing the profoundest wisdom in the world.

I scoffed inwardly. That is precisely why I can't trust you—because the wretch I have seen, heard, and suffered with my own eyes and ears is you.

By now, merely breathing the same air as Count Kolkos had become unbearable. It was time to bring things to a close.

"I have just one favor to ask of you, Uncle."

"Diana. Ask me anything at all."

"Walk out that door and never seek me out again. Let it be as it was while my father lived—you on your provincial estate, I here. And beyond that: take no interest whatsoever in whether I live well or poorly. Simply go on living, content in the knowledge that somewhere out there, a drop of your blood survives. How does that sound? Not so very difficult, is it?"

Had he truly expected me to beg him for a doll, or a box of expensive chocolates? With shock written across his face, Count Kolkos barely steadied himself and forced the words out.

"How could I possibly leave a child like you alone and retire to the countryside?"

Being this dense had to be a talent in its own right. I had spelled it out in the plainest possible words, and still it didn't land.

Arguing with a fool only made my own mouth ache, and I owed him no duty of comprehension anyway. So instead of answering him, I crossed the parlor and flung the door wide open.

"Goodbye, Uncle."

I hoped with all my heart that this would be our final farewell. It was a farewell offered with complete sincerity.

"My lady, is it true? You told Count Kolkos to his face that you refuse to take him as your guardian?"

How on earth did Jenice know? Apparently there were little rat spies in this house, eavesdropping and carrying the news along.

"It's true. But where did you hear that?"

"The rats. Anyway, my lady—what are you planning to do? The kids are in an uproar."

"The kids?"

"Yes! The maids and the footmen. If you don't appoint a guardian, all our wages get frozen too. I could survive a month or two going unpaid, but the others..."

Our manor had an unusually high proportion of young servants. It was because my soft-hearted father had kept taking in children from the slums, the ones who could find no honest work anywhere else. They lived from one month's pay to the next, or else fed entire families on their wages, which made them exquisitely sensitive to the subject of money.

Chasing out Kolkos was all well and good, but there are far too many problems left to solve. I have to calm the servants, meet with Cassion, settle the guardian question. Can't I sort it all out in one stroke?

Taking it step by careful step would take far too long. I was a little worried, too, about having scraped raw Count Kolkos's temper, and the shrinking window in which a guardian could be named weighed on my mind.

Only six months left now, if I've counted right?

Tallying the days in my head left me feeling lost. I had to find a way. If only some brilliant idea would present itself.

"That's it! That will do perfectly."

In that instant, an outrageous idea flashed through my mind.

When I cried out without warning, positively glowing, Jenice asked, bewildered:

"Pardon? Do what?"

"Get married."

"What? Who? To whom?"

"Me. To Cassion."

"I beg your pardon? You're going to marry someone, my lady?"

"Cassion. The Third Prince of the Kingdom of Petrora."

Jenice's jaw dropped.

The statute I had read long ago swept past like a shaft of light.

Marry into royalty, and I would need no guardian at all—I would be regarded as an adult on the spot, recognized as the lawful head of my house. Then I could spend the family's fortune as I pleased and conduct the family's affairs with my own two hands.

If I pointlessly propped up some stranger as guardian, the past could very well repeat itself. Trustworthy adults were far scarcer than one might think. There was Aunt Chyo, of course—but Chyo was destined to become the head of Chyorny.

And Auntie wants to live free as the wind.

Were she to become my guardian, her face would inevitably become known to the world. And then Chyo of Chyorny—and that wish of hers to drift like the wind—would all burst like a soap bubble.

So the answer was simple: skip the guardian appointment entirely, and make myself the head of the house.

A perfect plan. One that lets me repay a debt and take my revenge in the same stroke.

What I had to do, the road I had to walk—it had all become as clear as a finely drawn map. My marriage partner: Cassion. For the sake of my vengeance, and to repay the kindness Cassion had once shown me, I resolved to marry him.

But wait—can I actually marry him?

The King's opposition and Dayson's scheming were problems, certainly, but there was a far greater one. Unfortunately, the Cassion of my childhood had been dreadfully frail.

He looked perfectly healthy when I saw him at the execution grounds—but he must be eleven now...

Back then he was so weak he could have pinned a placard to his chest reading "Currently Dying."

Can he even walk into the wedding hall under his own power? Or should I be the one preparing his funeral? He looked exactly like a baby rabbit on the very edge of death...

Cassion's condition worried me.

"Jenice, I must go to the royal palace!"

With my goal fixed, my heart grew impatient. I wanted to see Cassion this very moment. I needed to confirm with my own eyes that he was in one piece.

"The palace, all of a sudden? My lady, might I suggest you wipe your nose first? And besides, the palace is hardly a place one simply walks into because one feels like it."

I accepted the handkerchief Jenice offered and blew my nose with great vigor. It was the lingering aftermath of the tears I had shed, overwhelmed at having found a way to protect the family without ever appointing a guardian.

"Hff, khh—the spaces for the nobility are always open."

"But those are spaces for adult nobles, my lady, not for a child like you."

Always right, this one.

By the letter of the law, a guardianless thirteen-year-old like me would have to formally declare her intent to enter the palace and then wait for permission to be granted. The only people free to come and go from the royal palace as they pleased were the heads of the kingdom's great houses and their spouses. If I were the head of House Ehrenberg, I would pass through those gates as if they were my own front door—but alas, I was merely an heir presumptive without even a guardian to my name.

"I really do think it best you don't go."

Jenice pleaded with me as though she feared I'd be tossed out on my ear. And in fairness, showing up unprepared, my odds of being turned away were ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a flat one hundred percent.

But that's the thing—I happen to have ways around all of it.