The Flower of the Marriage Tournament: The Audience (1)
"…So Young Master Kyle discarded the emblem he obtained in the second evaluation match onto the floor… That's not like the boy at all. Strange."
"I left a word of counsel regarding that matter."
"In any case, handle any potential disturbances to the Marriage Tournament according to your own judgment. Once the audience is over, I must make a brief trip to the capital on urgent business."
"Yes, Your Grace."
With that report concluded, Gelwood exited the Grand Duke's office.
Fearing it might provoke His Grace's ire, he had omitted the Academy's distinctly unpleasant expression of its stance. He understood well enough. Beyond the king's personal clemency, the Academy headmaster could only find the whole affair offensive. Infiltrating a sacred and impartial place of learning under false pretenses had been wrong. Moreover, the second headmaster of the Royal Academy was himself one of the five Grand Dukes of the Elperion Kingdom. There was no forcing an investigation that would openly defy that man's temper. Knowing this, His Grace had ordered only a cautious inquiry.
Separate from that, however, the Academy's attitude throughout the investigation—as though it were trying to hush something up—had been troubling. As with the laws of nature, closed systems breed rot. Sealed places prefer concealment over the uncovering of truth, preservation over change. And so, for reasons he could not quite name, a sense of foreboding lingered. Lumiang Winterfell's current psychological instability seemed tied to that very "hushed matter."
Gelwood had watched her since she was an infant. He had never raised her as his own child, of course, yet he was not so dull as to miss a radical shift in the one he served. His silence until now had simply been total faith in her. He had believed Lumiang Winterfell would guide the Marriage Tournament with wisdom. If that faith were shaken, then—as His Grace had said—he would need to take preventive measures himself before anything could go wrong.
Especially last night. The sight of Lumiang flying into a frenzy and savagely tearing Elden's letter had been enough to set him on edge. At first he had thought the final candidate's withdrawal had actually won her favor—an excellent strategy for a man whose odds of victory were vanishingly slim. Lumiang had shown him intense interest, and supporting the two of them had not violated the tournament's purpose. After all, the ultimate aim of the Marriage Tournament was to find the "love" that moved one's heart. Everything else was merely process, and so long as that process did not grow excessive, so long as it did not diminish the tournament's dignity, there was no problem. The Grand Duke's eldest daughter and eldest son had both walked the same path and concluded their tournaments in splendid fashion.
But Lumiang had been different. In the second evaluation match she had committed an unforgivable discourtesy toward the final candidates—behavior so rude and absurd it threatened to lower the tournament's standing. And that night she had shown a disgrace that should never have been witnessed. The woman who ripped Young Master Elden's polite letter to shreds and raged was no longer a lady yearning for love.
In that moment Gelwood became certain: his faith had been careless indulgence. The Royal Academy's lukewarm posture. Lumiang's determination to bind a man who had already withdrawn. The suspicion that this Marriage Tournament was no simple search for a betrothed could only deepen. Rather than report unconfirmed theories to His Grace and needlessly complicate matters, Gelwood chose quiet fact-finding and quiet resolution. He arrived at his own office. His Grace had said the same: in his absence, handle any potential noise according to your own judgment.
The first thing that needed doing was clear.
I need to pull the watchers off her.
It was something he should have done long ago. He had warned her that even the most skilled observer risked exposure in a crowded, confined space—that a long tail would eventually be stepped on—yet the Grand Duchess's stubborn insistence on knowing the reason for the change had prevented him. If it ever came to light that the evaluation team had been officially removed only for secret watchers to be assigned in their place, public condemnation would be inevitable. Risking unnecessary crisis for the sake of Lumiang's unstable obstinacy had to end here. Besides, the reports had produced nothing of substance—only endless empty updates that never touched the reason for her change.
So Gelwood remained at his desk deep into the night. Midnight was the appointed hour. That was when he received the day's close-surveillance report. Yet the watcher failed to appear even well past the deadline, and Gelwood let out a low hum of unease.
"Hrm…"
Not once had the man ever broken a promised time. He had more than earned the expensive fee paid for his services. Gelwood had intended to take the final report and formally end the assignment. So why the silence? Why now, of all times? And what did that silence mean?
"…Surely not."
Thus he could only pace his office through the night, fretting in the absence of any word, humming with mounting dread.
"The morning of the audience has finally arrived, my lady."
Morning broke for the ceremony known as the flower of the Marriage Tournament. Bright yet gentle sunlight, a cloudless blue sky, the cheerful chatter of birds, mild air, and not the slightest breeze that might ruin a gown or a carefully set coiffure—perfect morning light had begun.
Lumiang sat demurely before the dressing table. Studying her mistress's reflection, Marien breathed an inward sigh of relief. Fortunately the previous day had been spent in rest and calm, and meals had been taken properly; the gauntness that had hollowed the lady's face had regained its luster. It was not the bright, radiant complexion of former days, yet for the face that would be presented to the world for the first time, it more than passed. Her natural beauty had always been exceptional, after all.
"Yes. So the audience really is beginning."
Until now Marien had handled every detail of the Third Grand Duchess's adornment and gown. Today she would pour every ounce of that skill into crafting a goddess. Steeling herself, she began the work with practiced hands. Using evenly heated bronze rods she curled the hair; with a paste of crushed safflower she tinted the lips.
"As expected, my lady's beauty never fails, does it?"
With a craftsman's care she shaped a goddess stitch by stitch, her voice bright with excitement as she heaped praise. Knowing the girl was only trying to lift her own unsettled heart, Lumiang forced a smile.
Today, she had vowed, she would step free of vengeance and rancor. Already those things had driven her to make a spectacle of herself in the second evaluation match, and the night before last she had even shown Gelwood a monstrous disgrace. She refused to repeat the same mistakes. Therefore she would concentrate solely on taking her first official step into the world. Even if it proved difficult.
"Are you nervous?"
Marien asked while combing the pretty white curls with her fingers.
"I am. Terribly."
"Heehee. Don't be too nervous. The moment everyone lays eyes on you, they'll all cry out in wonder."
"……"
The human heart was truly fickle and shallow. Only moments ago she had sworn to leave resentment behind, yet the casual "everyone" Marien used instantly summoned Elden to mind. What face would he wear? Would the hypothesis that he had fled after learning her identity gain weight from his blank expression? Or would open shock open an entirely new phase? She was curious. Simply, thoroughly curious about what reaction he would show.
And another worry slipped in.
He… won't fail to recognize me, will he?
Somehow the thought felt hollow. She had left hints through the first and second evaluations, yet years had already passed. It was only natural that a perpetrator's memory would be far hazier than a victim's. Besides, her hair had been red then; now it was white. She would have liked to dye it red again, but since this audience would take place before the common people, that was impossible—and the regret stung. All she could do was hope he remembered, hoped he recognized her. And that, through recognition, he would finally grasp the meaning of the first and second evaluations. From this point on the real game would begin. Everything until now had been only the opening skirmish.
"Ta-da~!"
Marien announced the finished result with a proud face. Lumiang gazed silently at her own reflection. Now it was time to don the white-fox mask that had become her emblem and step out into the world. Today she would greet them with a smile. Reaffirming the vow once more, she rose with the mask already in place.
The flower of the Marriage Tournament. The hour had come to let it bloom without shame. The hour had come to announce the existence of Lumiang Winterfell before all the people.
But then—
"What? The watcher has suddenly gone missing?"
The abrupt news of the watcher's disappearance doused that bold departure with cold water. A step that staggered before it was even taken. It felt, somehow, like the herald of an uneasy beginning.
Whoa… just how many people is this?
The central plaza of the Grand Ducal castle. Around the tall dais erected in the vast square, a massive crowd had gathered, forming a solid wall of bodies. Even allowing for a little exaggeration, there had to be a good thousand people packed shoulder to shoulder, and I stood between them and the platform—together with the three regret-route candidates. Judging by how carefully they had dressed, they had not yet abandoned hope of victory.
The reason I stood with them in the front row was simple. I was only matching the festive spirit of the northern grand festival. A generous, magnanimous attitude befitting a man who had already withdrawn—so as not to spoil the moment these commoners had been waiting for with bated breath, a moment that had nothing whatsoever to do with Lumiang's revenge play—was what kept me planted here.
Moreover—
First time seeing him in person.
Grand Duke Logan Winterfell sat to the left of the dais, present for the moving instant when his youngest daughter would greet the world for the first time. Only a madman would skip this. And no matter how fine a card one held, failing to play it at the right moment rendered it worthless. That was why I stood in the plaza with the three regret-route candidates. And with a certain young lady of the bread-roll hair who simply wanted to see the protagonist of her beloved novel with her own two eyes.
I turned my head. Amid the throng, Ariel's eyes sparkled with pure anticipation. Unfortunately—
…You met her only a few days ago, Ariel.
This was the same Ariel who had nearly failed to recognize the white-haired Erincia, who had then carried on about how white suited her a hundred times better, who had even shoved me forward saying I simply had to meet her if the chance arose. Well, her wish was about to come true, wasn't it?
Heh. I smiled along with Ariel's pure, sunny grin, then lifted my gaze to the dais.
A short while later—
"Presenting the Third Grand Duchess of the great House Winterfell, Lumiang Winterfell—!"
The ceremony called the flower of the Marriage Tournament began.