Claire's Coming-of-Age Ceremony (10)

First she blamed her own flustered manner for it, and before long she came up with some absurd answer about my looks or her taste in men. Then, when I told her I'd come to make a deal, instead of clearing up the misunderstanding she had to go and bring up the engagement out of nowhere. Her expressions shifted so transparently that for a moment I honestly thought she was an easy woman to read.

But then—

"The engagement itself is my purpose."

The instant I heard that the engagement itself was her goal, I had to retract the words easy woman on the spot. Perhaps my question—what do you hope to gain?—had been a foolish one to begin with.

She had nothing. No mansion, no land—she didn't even directly hold a territory of her own, and wealthy as her fortune might be, not a coin of it was truly hers.

Which meant there was only one thing she stood to gain from an engagement with Karsein.

The name of Bagrand.

Belonging to the House of Bagrand.

Those two things were the only weapons Karsein Bagrand possessed—and they were everything.

Right. This is a world that runs on exactly that kind of logic. I wasn't thinking it through.

Noble status rests on lofty pillars of support, and in that sense a family's name is, in a way, the greatest power of all. It would be entirely reasonable to conclude that Harnie's purpose lay in the engagement itself.

Ordinarily, I should have refused. If the last weapon Karsein held—an engagement with this woman—ever crossed over into marriage, that weapon would vanish altogether.

And yet I found I could not refuse this proposal.

"Very well. Let's do it."

As a Karsein who had nothing the moment you stripped away the name of Bagrand, I could hardly sit around waiting for the day I'd be cast aside and die like that. The game allowed me to branch paths based on affinity, but the variables were already far too many—and the woman standing before me was already acting as one enormous variable in her own right.

Which was precisely why, rather than clutching a weapon that might disappear at any moment, it was far wiser to lay other contingencies in place.

After all, this wasn't a proposal. This was a transaction, through and through.

"But I can't simply nod along to everything you say. I have no intention of refusing—however, I need to know on what terms, and to what end."

"..."

At that, Harnie stared at me blankly for a long moment before murmuring something under her breath.

"You used to be so..."

I couldn't quite make out the rest, but she showed no real sign of offense or displeasure. My position seemed to have come across well enough, too.

"You asked on what terms, and to what purpose? Fine. I'll tell you plainly. I refuse to let anyone take from me what I've built with my own two hands."

"And what you refuse to have taken from you is...?"

"Myself. Because of a political marriage."

A political marriage.

The practice, if I recalled correctly, by which nobles bound their children together in wedlock to secure advantage for their houses and themselves.

"Not long ago, a deal with another count's family put my own political marriage on the table. I would sooner die than accept my life being consumed for the sake of my house."

She wasn't wrong.

To have one's own life spent like some disposable resource—how could anyone be expected to accept being used as a sacrificial pawn?

Even from my position as someone outside the nobility, I could understand that perfectly. Such things happened even in the modern world.

Just watching my eldest sister go on every single day about how we ought to be of use to the family had been enough to make my stomach turn.

"Then I take it no marriage has actually been concluded yet."

"That's right. For now I've merely been placed on the scales. But every eligible man in the empire has his eye on me."

Harnie's face scrunched up in disgust.

It was understandable.

She was a woman brimming with refinement from the crown of her head to the tips of her toes—and on top of that, a considerable beauty. Young, clearly in her late teens, with violet hair and violet eyes. Add a figure that would make any man glance twice, and who wouldn't covet her?

The way she spoke of being placed on the scales hinted at a fierce competition already underway. Poor woman.

"Let me summarize. Threatened by a political marriage, you intend to evade it by entering into an engagement with me. That is your purpose, correct?"

"Ah—yes, that's right, but there's one thing I haven't told you yet."

"And what would that be?"

"The duration is one year. Until I come of age and leave the Theresia Marquisate. Just play along as my fiancé until then. I can compensate you amply, of course."

The moment she offered that concrete term of one year, every gap in her reasoning sealed itself shut.

I did study up on this, you know. I had to understand how noble society actually functioned.

And that groundwork proved surprisingly useful now.

First: the Theresia Marquisate, having entered its resurgence a mere six months ago, had already secured formidable power at present. A count's house rising all the way to a marquisate—a rank climbing that openly—there could be no greater windfall.

Yet the head of House Theresia remained unsatisfied even with that, still gazing upward. A man overflowing with ambition.

The trouble was that even as a marquisate, its standing within the empire was not especially high. To avoid being overtaken by other count families nipping at its heels, the house had to make a move.

And so Harnie had become the intended sacrifice of a political marriage.

It was said the nobility and royalty of old Europe had done the same—sons focused on carrying on the line, while daughters of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the family, or princesses of a realm, were married off to be brought under another's banner.

The justification was more than sufficient.

Second: I found my answer to the question of why one year.

The Theresia Marquisate's meteoric rise had in fact raised many questions. The achievements of the marquis and his children, as far as anyone had known, had been mediocre at best—so where had such a stroke of brilliance come from?

If the answer to that question was Harnie Theresia herself, then it made sense.

If a house that had lagged even among the count families had rebounded in half a year thanks to her abilities alone, then plotting some decisive move within a year was entirely feasible.

Suppose she left the marquisate fully prepared, and struck out on her own.

"I can compensate you amply," she said. That's not the kind of confidence that comes ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠from nothing.

She could survive even after leaving the marquisate and forfeiting her noble status. In one year she would hold her coming-of-age ceremony and be an adult. She could pay generous compensation.

That confidence necessarily meant something was being hidden from me.

Which was all the more reason I needed to hear more.

"Understood. Then explain what exactly I'm expected to do for this one year."

"It's simple. All you have to do is show the world that this engagement isn't a fabrication."

"...That's all?"

"Is there any other way to escape a political marriage?"

"Hmm..."

Well—she was right that this was the direct route.

If the answer was already a fiancé, there would be no entanglements left to exploit. And with none other than the name of Bagrand attached, every schemer would yelp and retreat at once.

But my sigh must have looked like a doubtful response, because Harnie narrowed her eyes and launched into a rapid-fire barrage.

"There were plenty of vulgar men circling me, you know. Unlike you—gross old fogeys, pot-bellied uncles with barely a few strands of hair left. But if word spreads that someone the exact opposite of all of them has become entangled with me, it doesn't just perfectly checkmate both cases I described—it generates an entirely new ripple of benefits besides. In my view, an advantage this magnificent has no room for improvement. Wouldn't you agree?"

And there she was, practically begging me to agree. Something told me this was a loaded question if I'd ever heard one...

But what choice did I have? I answered, half against my will.

"I'll meet with you regularly. That should suffice, yes?"

"Please do. Though to be clear, that doesn't mean you should develop romantic feelings for me, so don't get any ideas. Oh, and just so you know—even if you fell for me, I wouldn't accept."

"You don't say."

So she finds time to brag even now.

Well... it was true that she was beautiful, so I had no intention of contesting that particular point.

"If that's how it is, then you could've said yes a little faster. Hmph."

"Pardon?"

"Nothing. Now then, it's my turn to ask questions, isn't it?"

Having laid out her purpose as she fielded my questions, Harnie slid a glass of water toward me. As if to say this round was mine.

"Young Lord Karsein—what is it that you want, in exchange for maintaining this engagement for one year?"

What do I want.

At a question so disarmingly simple, I couldn't help but let out a small chuckle.

"What's with that unpleasant laugh? Don't sit there looking sinister—just tell me what you want."

"I think that particular discussion will have to wait for a separate meeting."

"I'm sorry?"

────?! ──!

"Ah. So that's it."

The hall beyond had erupted into an uproar.

Continuing an important conversation in the middle of this would be difficult. Which meant it was nearly time to show my face in this banquet hall.

The first and second disturbances had belonged to the nobles. This third one now ringing through the hall belonged to someone else entirely.

The conversation had wound down at just the right moment, and so I rose from my seat.

"Direct any letters to my maid, Camilla, from now on. And do have the contract properly prepared for next time."

I'd tossed out an excuse to match—there should be no problems there.

But perhaps that alone failed to satisfy her, because just as I was about to step off the terrace, Harnie suddenly seized my hand.

"Where do you think you're going? Wait right there."

I was sure she'd grasped the situation well enough by now. Was that not the case?

It turned out it truly was not.

Clutching her own handkerchief tightly in both hands, Harnie spoke in a tone of clear displeasure.

"What are you doing tearing it off when the wound hasn't even closed? Just stay a little longer."

"I'm fine. A scratch like this—"

"Oh, honestly!"

In that instant her violet hair swayed, and by the time a faint sting began to smolder there, her handkerchief was already drinking up fresh blood once more.

Along with a soft, lingering warmth.

"Return it to me next time. That way it'll be easier to keep our promise to meet again, won't it?"

"..."

Hand over a used handkerchief, receive it back, and the meetings continue. Well... it did seem like a rather serviceable pretext, I had to admit.

"Until then, Young Lord Karsein."

"Until we meet again, Lady Harnie."

With that brief exchange of farewells, I stepped beyond the terrace.

The banquet hall had erupted into chaos in an instant.

As midnight drew near, the crack of fireworks and thunderous cheers rolled over the scene in celebration of the birthday.

To Claire, on her birthday. To Claire, now come of age. The guests offering their blessings today wore bright smiles.

She should have smiled brightly back. This should have been the happiest day of her life.

And yet not a trace of a smile touched Claire's face. Instead, suppressing a sour expression with visible effort, she was darting through every corner of the banquet hall as if searching for someone.

Karsein... you...!

When the ceremony first began, she had assumed he was simply being stubborn again.

It was true that Karsein's face had been wounded. True that he had struck a child guilty of nothing. True, too, that there had been a reason for him to feel wronged. Up to that point, even with ten mouths Claire would have had nothing to say.

But she had expected him to at least attend her coming-of-age ceremony. They were family, weren't they?

She had thought he would at least wish her a happy birthday. Because they were family.

Even with the grudge of that slap still lingering, surely he could spare a single round of applause. Because they were family!

Yet far from applause or congratulations, there wasn't even a glimpse of him anywhere. Why on earth?

Setting aside simple courtesy entirely—as long as he carried the name of Bagrand, he was obligated to appear. To not even show his face at his second sister's coming-of-age ceremony, with it right before his eyes, was nothing short of crossing a line.

He had been absent through the entire duration of the rite.

Through its conclusion. Through the toasts. Through the moment their mother ascended the dais and raised her voice. Through the moment Claire's own turn arrived.

Karsein was nowhere to be found in any of it.

The instant the ceremony ended, Claire had asked Isabella where Karsein was, and the answer that came back was—

"Karsein? That servant Heron said he would go on ahead."

Going on ahead—an unmistakable lie.

After that, she had spent the better part of the banquet searching for him, hoping against hope that it wasn't a lie.

But no matter how thoroughly she combed the banquet hall, no trace of Karsein could be found. Searching and searching again, she couldn't find so much as a single person dressed similarly to what he had worn that day.

Her insides beginning to boil, Claire finally let her fury erupt.

"Is he saying he couldn't be bothered to show up to my own coming-of-age ceremony at all?!"

Whatever had happened between them, wasn't one still supposed to attend a celebration of a family member's birthday?

As a member of the same House of Bagrand, the anger was only natural.

"Lady Claire? What on earth is the matter?"

"You there. Find one person in this banquet hall. Right now."

Drawn by the blazing heat in Claire's voice, a maid hurried over. But she was unlikely to relish the request at all.

Karsein Bagrand.

At the mere mention of that name, the servants either shook their heads at once or resigned themselves to going through the motions of searching.

And of course, no one came back having found him.

"I said find him! There's no way he isn't here!!"

As the servants stiffened at her raised voice, Arina stepped in to restrain Claire.

"Everyone, return to your posts. Say nothing about this matter."

"Sister."

"Claire. By now even you must understand. Karsein never intended to attend your coming-of-age ceremony at all."

"..."

Bitter as it was, the eldest daughter's answer carried weight with Claire. She had already suspected as much herself, to some degree.

"But does that warrant this? Fine, say the slap was unfair—but is it really worth refusing to show your face even once on your own family's birthday?!"

However angry you are, you are today's protagonist. Don't let fury on a joyous day ruin it. We will celebrate on your behalf all the more. All these guests came here to celebrate you and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠you alone.

So Arina soothed her younger sister.

But Claire could not simply let it go—could not forgive Karsein for never appearing, as ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠if he couldn't even bear to wish her a happy birthday.

"Claire!"

"Let go, Sister. I have to look that bastard in the face and say it to him directly!"

"Calm down! The other nobles are watching us!"

Had she returned to the estate in this state, she would likely have vented every ounce of this rage and slapped his other cheek the moment she saw him.

That is—if Karsein hadn't appeared right in front of her at that very moment.

"I've been here the whole time. What exactly is it you want to say to me?"

"You—you...!"

"...Karsein."