The Merchant and the Prince
Warm sunlight poured through the windows, gilding the dust motes floating in the drawing room with a golden hue. The air carried the fragrant aroma of black tea and the sweet, buttery scent of freshly baked scones. Clink. The sound of a teacup being set down rang out with unusual clarity.
Mikhail, sprawled so deeply into the plush armchair that he was practically lying down, opened his mouth as he looked at the woman sitting ramrod-straight across from him.
“How is it? The tea taste alright, Chairwoman Valeriano?”
Flowing golden hair, sharp yet languid golden eyes, and ears that perked up proudly like those of a haughty cat. Her posture was flawless, without a single flaw. Laura Valeriano, head of the Valeriano Merchant Coalition, sat there like a painting come to life.
“Yes, Your Highness. These are excellent tea leaves. The aroma is superb.”
Laura set down her teacup—which she had barely touched with her lips—and replied. Her voice was clear and resonant, yet it carried no detectable warmth.
Mikhail’s gaze drifted to the plate in front of her. The scones were still steaming, and the small glass bowl of vibrant red jam showed no signs of having been touched.
“Hmm. Not much of an appetite, I see.”
Mikhail spoke in a languid drawl.
“That jam’s actually pretty good. I heard it’s made from berries that grow wild in the forest right next door.”
“My apologies, Your Highness.”
Laura’s voice cut through his words. Her golden eyes met his without the slightest tremor.
“A merchant must never allow their stomach to be full. Especially not before an important transaction like this one. One must remain hungry.”
“Wow, that’s downright brutal. I went out of my way to prepare this because I figured drinking strong liquor on an empty stomach would wreck your insides, and now I’m the one feeling hurt.”
Mikhail’s expression didn’t match his casual tone at all. The two glass bottles his hand reached for were even less suited to teatime. One bore a vivid red label, the other a calm blue. At the center of each label was a clear imprint of Mikhail’s personal seal and the symbol of the Far East Maritime Province.
“Go on, take a sip. Let’s relax a bit.”
Glug, glug—
With practiced movements, Mikhail poured the liquor into two crystal glasses and slid them forward. Laura reached out with a neutral expression and picked one up.
“This… is a prototype, I assume?”
“That’s right. Mikhail Red Label and Blue Label. Entry-level and premium lines, respectively.”
Even when Laura brought the glass containing the Red Label right up to her nose, the liquor gave off nothing but the clean scent of pure alcohol. When she took a sip and rolled it across her tongue, even as it slid down her throat and reached her stomach, there was no flavor, no aroma whatsoever. This held true even for Laura, who had inherited a strong cat beastkin bloodline and possessed exceptionally sensitive senses.
“Not bad, Your Highness. This is the cleanest ‘liquor’ I’ve ever tasted.”
But that was as far as it went. She showed no particular reaction. Or perhaps she was deliberately maintaining a poker face to keep the negotiations running smoothly. Mikhail hadn’t expected much anyway. After all, the Red Label was only entry-level.
“The real one’s this.”
Mikhail pointed at the glass with the Blue Label and urged her on.
“Is that so?”
Laura brought the glass to her lips just as before and inhaled. The pure alcohol scent filled her nasal cavity. There was no difference—only that it felt slightly smoother. But the moment the liquor entered her mouth, everything changed. It had the texture of soft silk, a gentle swallow, and none of the burning heat one would expect from strong spirits. All that remained was the rich, sweet, nutty flavor and aroma of grain. It possessed a smoothness comparable to high-end whiskey aged for over a decade in Alba, the renowned whiskey region.
This is freshly distilled?
It was unbelievable. Still, as a merchant, she couldn’t reveal her emotions. She kept her tone as neutral as possible and desperately maintained a polite smile.
“It’s quite remarkable, Your Highness.”
But to Mikhail’s eyes, the moment the liquor touched her lips, her cat ears twitched unmistakably. It was a signal of admiration or awe that even a talented merchant couldn’t hide. Of course. To the residents of this romance fantasy world, drinking liquor like this would be a first.
Mikhail extended a finger and pointed at her ear.
“Cute.”
It was one of Mikhail’s mischievous teases. Laura immediately changed the subject, as if trying to conceal her emotional agitation and embarrassment.
“The nobles in the capital are always craving something new. Especially if it’s something ‘only they can enjoy.’ A pure spirit like this will surely spark a trend of adding personal secret recipes for flavor and aroma. I imagine that’s exactly what you meant by ‘trend’ in your business proposal, Your Highness.”
Mikhail was more surprised by her words than by her expression. To predict the cocktail revolution that would come from vodka—she truly was a genius. But…
She’s still young.
The original Laura Valeriano—the villainess who had remained composed even in the courtroom—would never have handed over such crucial information so easily. She would have saved it for the decisive moment.
Can’t be helped, I suppose.
Thinking that, Mikhail took a bite of his scone.
“Would you mind telling me why you chose our Valeriano Merchant Coalition? There are far larger and more capable organizations than ours.”
Her voice carried a sharp edge of suspicion. Even if she was inexperienced, she was still Laura Valeriano.
No such thing as a free lunch, huh?
“The big players would see me as a partner at best, and eventually try to swallow me whole. Just thinking about it is exhausting.”
He turned his gaze toward Laura. His eyes looked lazy, but a cold calculation gleamed within them.
“But your coalition… is just the right size.”
“……”
“Big enough to handle the businesses I’m going to launch, yet perfectly sized for me to play with on the palm of my hand.”
It was an insulting remark. Laura’s eyebrows twitched ever so slightly. Her cat ears stood upright. There was a faint rustling sound as the folds of her skirt shifted. Her cat tail, hidden behind her, had probably gone stiff inside her dress.
But that’s as far as it goes.
Instead, her eyes grew even colder. They were the eyes of a merchant analyzing the situation and weighing the profits. Mikhail rather liked that look. Though he also felt like teasing her a little.
He took a sip of tea and carefully chose both the words and tone best suited to riling her up.
“I heard your father was a merchant who valued trust as much as his own life. I assume you’re the same.”
At those words, Laura’s eyes and cat ears trembled faintly. It must have been completely unexpected. Mikhail didn’t miss the moment. With a sly grin, he delivered the final blow. The seriousness from before had vanished, replaced by the face of a good-for-nothing prince.
“And… if I’m going to make a deal anyway, isn’t it better when the other party is pretty?”
Laura remained silent for a moment. She simply lifted her teacup with perfect, undisturbed grace. Clink. The clear sound of the cup meeting its saucer. She took a single, delicate sip as if savoring the aroma, then set the cup down. Every motion flowed like water.
“Thank you for the compliment, Your Highness.”
Her voice carried no emotion whatsoever.
“If my appearance has been judged as a positive factor in determining the business’s value, then that value should naturally be reflected in the contract terms.”
Her golden eyes stared straight at Mikhail.
“How much of a share will you assign to my ‘beauty’?”
Pfft.
A laugh burst from Mikhail’s lips.
As expected, the villainess of a romance fantasy doesn’t become one for nothing.
Instead of getting flustered in a situation like this, she was bold enough to put her own beauty on the market and demand a price. She had serious guts. He liked it. Very much.
“Alright.”
Mikhail leaned back in his chair with an amused expression.
“Then I’ll include the value of that ‘beauty’ when I present my terms.”
He paused as if thinking, gazing at the ceiling for a moment before looking back at Laura. A mischievous smile flashed across his face.
“Twenty percent of the profits. That’ll go to the workers participating in this venture.”
“…To the workers, you say?”
“That way they’ll work hard, and it’ll be easier to keep them in line, right?”
Mikhail smiled contentedly, simultaneously recalling the 21st-century performance-based bonus system and Stalin-era Soviet Stakhanovite movement. Holding both the whip and the carrot at the same time—that was the most basic form of exploitation.
“And.”
He continued.
“To the Valeriano Merchant Coalition, I will grant exclusive sales rights for this new liquor we’re creating.”
Exclusive rights to a venture whose success was all but guaranteed. Laura’s eyes narrowed for a moment. That alone was an enormous privilege.
“And Laura Valeriano—you.”
Mikhail pointed directly at her with his finger.
“Not to your coalition, but to you personally. I will give you ten percent of total profits and full authority over this entire business.”
“!”
“That should be enough to crush the pack of dogs trying to bite their former master’s daughter, don’t you think?”
Her father’s retainers. The executives who had constantly undermined her and treated her like a clueless child ever since she inherited the coalition—their faces flashed through her mind. Ten percent of the profits and full authority. It wasn’t just money and power. It was the hilt of a blade meant for a purge.
“……Then the remainder would be yours, Your Highness.”
Laura asked cautiously. Seventy percent was an enormous share. Even for a member of the imperial family, it seemed excessive greed.
“No.”
Mikhail shook his head, waving a finger.
“That wouldn’t do. You know my position perfectly well. The good-for-nothing Seventh Prince with no maternal relatives or faction to speak of.”
He shrugged and continued.
“If someone like me suddenly sits on a mountain of money, do you think the hyenas in the capital will sit still? They’ll come running to tear me apart somehow. It’d be exhausting.”
“……”
“So I’m going to establish a public enterprise. Under the name of the Far East Maritime Province.”
He explained it as casually as if he were talking about something trivial.
“I’ll only put my name down as chairman of that public enterprise. The idiots in the capital will probably think it’s just an honorary position. They’ll assume the salary I receive is nothing more than the bribes you pay me.”
Mikhail chuckled.
“They might even laugh and say, ‘So that worthless prince is being played by a mere merchant girl.’ That’s exactly the picture I want. I have no intention of wielding real power or taking on any responsibility. It’s too much hassle.”
Indeed. All the pieces fell into place. In Laura’s mind, the complex calculations finished in an instant. This grand duke was shifting all the risk onto her while handing her all the practical benefits and justification. She would be the perfect meat shield and bullet catcher. And behind her, the grand duke would be the true master.
“……Impressive, Your Highness.”
Laura finally spoke.
“In the end, you are the master of this territory. If I were to rebel, you could mobilize the army and have my head at any time.”
It was her final confirmation. It was also a fundamental question about the true nature of this deal.
“There’s no point in suspecting people.”
Mikhail answered lazily.
“And you shouldn’t use people you suspect.”
His eyes looked straight into hers.
“I trust you, Laura Valeriano.”
Mikhail repeated the words Laura had left as her last will in the original story.
“To a merchant, trust is life itself.”
For a moment, Laura’s breath stopped. It felt as if her heart had dropped to the floor. Her father. The words he had repeated like a habit his entire life—the man who had devoted his whole existence to rebuilding the family ruined by her mother’s betrayal. It was his life creed, the shackle that bound his soul.
Mikhail rose from his chair. He slowly approached her and extended his hand.
A handshake.
The Seventh Prince, Grand Duke of the Far East Maritime Province Mikhail, offered not a knight’s oath or a noble’s vow, but a merchant’s contract.
“So, what do you say? Will you refuse my proposal?”