The Young Lady Serious About Apologies
In the northern territories, May was the season when the snow briefly thawed, and every soul—adult and child alike—grew busy. Yet if one had to name the busiest among them, it was surely Logan Winterfell, the Grand Duke who ruled the Winterfell Grand Duchy.
This year, with the marriage tournament layered atop everything else, even snatching a short nap felt like an outrageous luxury.
Caring for the vast northern lands and upholding the long-standing traditions of his house were duties of equal weight, yet he inevitably devoted the greater share of his attention to the former.
The work of tending the duchy could not be done without his own hands.
The latter, by contrast, was something his central aide Gelwood had already guided to success several times before.
Of course—
“Your Grace.”
—Logan still never skipped the interim reports that came to him in moments like this.
“Sit.”
Logan settled into the seat of honor on the sofa; Gelwood took the place diagonally to his left.
Tomorrow the introduction ceremony would be held.
Until now, such ceremonies had focused solely on the final candidates and had been conducted with only the relevant parties present—either in the great hall or the main hall of the keep. This one, however, carried a meaning all its own, and so it would be staged with full grandeur in the outdoor central plaza of the grand ducal castle.
Before every citizen who wished to behold the third Grand Duchess, so long hidden behind a veil.
Lumiang Winterfell.
It was the day his youngest daughter would at last make her name and face known to the world, and for that reason the ceremony had been prepared with special care.
“Well then. Are the preparations for the introduction ceremony proceeding smoothly?”
“Yes, Your Grace. Even the preliminary arrangements have already been completed.”
“I expected as much. You always handle these things perfectly.”
“You flatter me.”
That was the end of the report on the ceremony.
Such brevity was possible only because the central aide enjoyed Logan Winterfell’s absolute trust.
Gelwood then lowered his voice and raised another matter.
Four sheets of paper were laid upon the table.
“These concern the investigation you requested some time ago.”
Logan picked them up.
“Certificates of graduation.”
“Not the ones submitted by the candidates themselves, but the official records issued by the Royal Academy. They cannot be forged.”
“So they truly all graduated at the top of their class. And the rest of their personal records remained sealed, I take it.”
“Yes. As Your Grace knows, Academy regulations forbid outsiders from viewing a student’s personal information. In the case of the Royal Academy, no one short of His Majesty the King is permitted even to approach those records…”
“Hmph. So we gained nothing of real use.”
“I am deeply sorry.”
He had expected as much.
Within the kingdom, the Academy was the sole sanctuary that refused to weigh high birth against low. Precisely because of that, it was also a closed world.
A place where no one could wield the pressure of inherited rank. A place where all could receive education and learning as equals—and a place where no one, save the king himself, could overstep their authority.
Logan set the papers on the table and leaned his head back against the sofa.
In place of his youngest daughter—who answered everything with silence, reticence, and a bright smile—he had tried to dig out the reason those four top graduates of the Royal Academy had risen to the final candidates. In the end, he had come up empty-handed.
It felt too neat to be mere coincidence, yet Lumiang had dismissed the matter with a simple, “I’d rather have people I’ve already met than complete strangers,” and so he had ordered Gelwood to look into them behind the scenes.
It was a reasonable enough choice; he had neither pressed further nor rejected the selection of the final candidates.
Besides, he knew full well that Lumiang was a child of stubborn will and unyielding resolve once she had set her mind on something. That knowledge was why he had let it pass.
He was a father who had not yet forgotten how she had withered when he once tried to break that will.
Whether the candidates’ reputations and characters sat well with him was another matter entirely.
“What about testimony from their classmates?”
“There appears to have been some point of contact between the four candidates and Her Grace the Grand Duchess, but none of them knew the details.”
“Hmm… is that so.”
“Nothing particularly unusual stood out during their school years either. She was simply described as a cheerful, bright student. In lectures she threw herself into her studies with more passion than anyone and seemed to take genuine joy in them.”
At the news of his daughter’s academy days, a faint smile touched Logan’s lips.
The girl who had been so gloomy and sorrowful, unable to step into the world because of the curse, had been a cheerful, lively student at the Academy—one who delighted in learning. As her father, how could he not be glad?
It was for that very reason that he had risked even the danger of falsifying her status, violating the heavy laws of a class-bound society.
Now that she was free of the curse, he had submitted a petition to His Majesty and received merciful clemency for everything he had done for his daughter’s sake.
“Yes. When that wilted child came home after graduation, she was truly bright and radiant. As if that place had been a cradle of life itself.”
The daughter who returned with her thirst for learning and inquiry quenched had put on healthy flesh, and the sallow cast of her face had shone with brilliant light.
Even the letters she sent during her studies had always brimmed with barely contained joy, and upon her return she had declared that she held no regrets about her choice.
He did not believe those words had been false.
Perhaps his suspicion that something dubious still lingered between her and those four was nothing more than groundless fretting.
Perhaps his fear that his daughter might violate the sacred tradition of their house and pour cold water on the greatest festival of the northern territories was nothing more than an old man’s excessive worry.
Yes.
She would not have lied to her father.
She would not go against the wishes of the father who had believed in her and cheered her on.
“If not, Your Grace, perhaps you might meet the candidates yourself?”
At Gelwood’s suggestion, a flash of displeasure crossed Logan’s face.
“Come now. Is that something the man in charge ought to say? Until the marriage tournament ends, private audiences between the candidates and the head of the house are strictly forbidden. Have you forgotten that this is both our sacred tradition and our iron rule?”
“Forgive me. You seemed so frustrated…”
“The Winterfell Grand Duchy’s marriage tournament is a festival for every last citizen. The reason its lineage has continued without a single scandal is precisely because those traditions and rules have been properly upheld.”
“I forgot my place for a moment. Please forgive me.”
Gelwood bowed his head.
Logan let go of his anger and leaned his upper body toward the man, curiosity in his eyes.
As a father, his youngest daughter’s betrothal was every bit as weighty as the affairs of the northern territories.
And so—
As the protagonist’s own father, as the head of the Winterfell Grand Ducal house, interest was inevitable. He meant to exercise one small privilege.
To steal a glimpse of the final decision his daughter would make.
“By the way—has anyone risen to the top of Lumiang’s thoughts?”
Yet the answer that came only added fresh doubt to his interest.
“…Hm? Is Young Master Elden not one of the ones who withdrew?”
A glance.
A soft rustle.
A glance.
A soft rustle.
Every time a page turned, Ariel’s eyes flicked toward the entrance of the reading room.
By now the habit had nearly become part of her reading itself.
Then, whenever the story swallowed her whole, three or four pages would pass before she jerked her head up again.
And finding no Elden, she would turn the next page with a faintly disappointed air.
It was an ordinary morning, no different from any other.
A morning of coming to the library, reading books, and waiting for her reading companion.
Even so, the reason she waited until her neck stretched out of longing was the gift she had prepared.
A gift that carried an apology.
Elden had said it himself.
He had only lost because he had withdrawn.
At first she had brushed those words aside lightly, simply happy that she could sit across from him and read again. The guilt had hit her on the way back to the library.
…Wait a second.
So from the very beginning, Elden hadn’t even wanted to win—and she had stuck her nose in like an idiot?
She had watched him light up talking about his dream of a gastronomy expedition… and still, like a fool, she had shoved him forward with “You could become the Grand Duke’s son-in-law!”?
Even after hearing the true feelings behind his withdrawal, her own joy at being able to help the third Grand Duchess had come first, and she had cheered him on too hastily?
Once the thought reached that point, Ariel felt thoroughly sorry toward Elden.
The sincerity of his withdrawal. The dream of a culinary journey.
She had seen and heard all of it, yet her own delight had outrun his, and she had given him rash encouragement—unintentionally loading him with pressure.
Of course Elden had seemed not to mind, but putting her own happiness ahead of her precious reading companion’s true feelings was something that deserved blame.
If she exaggerated a little, it was as good as letting his words go in one ear and out the other.
No.
It wasn’t an exaggeration. That was exactly what she had done.
In her eagerness to help the protagonist of the novel, she had, without meaning to, disregarded his dream and his sincerity.
Ugh… idiot. What on earth were you thinking?
Thump!
Ariel gave her own head a sharp knock, arrived at the library, and began asking every librarian she could find.
Whatever her original intentions, she wanted to apologize to Elden.
She wanted him to know she supported that dream and those true feelings.
And so—
Ariel found herself in the fourth-basement warehouse, the same place where Rendler, the elderly, directionally challenged butler, had once been arrested as a trespasser caught in the act.
“It should be down here somewhere… though whether we can actually find it…”
Looking troubled, the librarian pleaded official duties and fled.
Ariel was left alone in the dim underground storeroom.
An eerie place that occasionally echoed with the squeaking of rats.
It was so gloomy she wanted to bolt at once, yet Ariel steeled her will with a firm Come on! and began rummaging through the mountains of books.
“Cough! Cough! Cough!”
It was truly a tomb of books.
The stale, musty smell stung her nose, and thick dust tickled her nostrils without end, so the coughing never stopped.
Relying on the wall-mounted torches made her eyes water and grow heavy; now and then the shadows cast by the books startled her into a scream. Still, Ariel did not give up.
And at the end of it all—
“Eeeeek—! I-I found it—!!!”
—she found it.
Ariel leapt about like a frog in every direction, wild with joy.
She left the warehouse, went to the librarian who had guided her, and was granted an indefinite loan of the book.
“…Remarkable, my lady. Without you it would have remained in the dark forever. By my authority, I shall lend it to you indefinitely.”
“Thank you—!”
It had taken a full day. When she returned to her quarters, her personal maid scolded her thoroughly.
“What?”
“…Did you spend today rolling around a construction site instead of the library?”
Filthy.
Dress, face, hair—everything was caked in dust. The maid could only gape in horror at the young lady who had come home looking like that.
At any rate—
After all those twists and turns she had secured the gift. The next morning, Ariel hid it carefully and waited for Elden to arrive.
When is he going to get here~
At last, when she spotted Elden coming in by the side path of the reading room, Ariel greeted him with a radiant smile.
“Oh? Elden! You’re here?”
“Yeah. Were you waiting?”
“No? Why would I?”
Ariel played completely dumb.
The way her hands drifted behind her back to hide the gift was an instinctive reaction she could not suppress.
“You kept looking toward the entrance. I stopped by the cooking section first today—I was looking for something.”
“Why?”
“I wondered if there might be a nationwide map of monster cuisine spots, or a book organized by region.”
“……!!”
At Elden’s casual words, Ariel could not hide her excitement.
“…What’s wrong?”
“H-heh, actually… I have a present for you…!”
“You do? Why?”
“Ah… well, I just… felt like giving you a gift?”
“What is it?”
Without any great expectations, Elden sat down across from her.
What appeared right in front of his face was none other than a book titled Nationwide Monster Cuisine Tour Guide.
“Ta-da—! With this, all your preparations for the gastronomy expedition are done!”
Elden accepted it with a dazed expression, a bright smile already on his lips.
“…What? This is exactly what I was looking for. I tore through the whole section and couldn’t even find anything close. How did you get it?”
At his question, Ariel remembered yesterday’s self—startled into tears by shadows, nose running from swirling dust—but she only grinned and answered.
“A librarian found it for me. And guess what—she even said I can borrow it indefinitely! Do you like it?”
It was an answer born of wanting her precious reading companion’s joy more than any recognition of the trouble she had gone through to find the gift.
“Yeah. Thanks. I’ll make good use of it.”
What a relief!
Reassured at last, Ariel beamed, and the burden she had fashioned for her own heart finally lightened.