Adelaide Drakar
Boring.
Adelaide murmured the word under her breath.
Balls were always an exercise in pure tedium — even when the ball in question was her own birthday celebration. Not that she could simply refuse to hold one. Even trifles like this were bound up with the dignity of the imperial house, and she understood well enough that the matter was important, whether she liked it or not.
Lately, the more powerful noble houses had grown increasingly careless of the imperial family's regard. If she cancelled even a public occasion like this out of sheer annoyance, what would they think? That the throne's prestige was already slipping? For the past hundred years, House Drakar had known nothing but peace — which meant it was precisely the season for ambitious minds to start wandering. A full generation had passed without war; fewer and fewer people still remembered the imperial family's ruthlessness firsthand.
Still boring, all the same.
With a listless expression, she surveyed the faces of the nobles presenting their gifts. Every last one of them was a dull specimen. She would rather have spent the time on magic practice. Flattery was flattery, and she had heard enough of it to know empty praise when she heard it.
"Congratulations, Your Highness."
A familiar voice made Adelaide lift her head.
Camilla Lumiere. Daughter of the house that currently led the families treating the imperial court as a joke. Adelaide was under no illusions about the filthy face behind that benevolent mask — but she gave no sign of it. Not now. There was no need to bare her teeth just yet.
She inclined her head, expressionless. That was more than enough. She had no desire to waste words on the likes of Camilla. Her younger brother would soon arrive with a wealth of information on the Lumiere family, and once Adelaide used it to apply pressure, she would get to watch that arrogant face behind the mask go white with terror. That, at least, would be rather enjoyable.
After the gifts had all been received and the guests were deep into their dancing, Adelaide cast a bored glance around the hall — and something interesting caught her eye.
Bellatrix Berce, locked in a confrontation with the young ladies of Camilla Lumiere's faction. It seemed the Lumiere clique had been running down the Berce name; Bellatrix was pressing them with a calm, cutting precision. And then—
Crack!
Watching Bellatrix deliver a clean, ringing slap, Adelaide's eyes went round. It was nothing like the Bellatrix she remembered.
"Good heavens."
In that moment their eyes met. Bellatrix seemed to be gauging her reaction — and the Emperor's — almost as if asking permission. A smile tugged at Adelaide's lips before she quite realized it.
Go on, then. Do as you like.
Bellatrix must have caught the smile; she turned away. Adelaide couldn't see her face clearly, but she was certain a smile had settled there as well.
Interesting.
At last, something worth watching at this interminable ball. And the fact that it was Bellatrix Berce of all people only deepened everyone's shock. That bland, colorless Bellatrix?
What followed was even more astonishing: a duel between Bellatrix and Count Merdin. Everyone expected her to lose. Instead, the sword she displayed was beautiful enough to be intoxicating. The only other blade Adelaide had ever seen of that caliber belonged to Isolde Valeria, who had once paid a visit to the imperial court.
Her rising interest hardened into a decision.
She wanted to be friends.
There was nothing to lose. House Berce had sworn loyalty for a thousand years, from its founding duke onward; befriending a daughter of that house could only be an advantage. If anything, it was strange they had never grown close before — though that was largely because Adelaide herself preferred magic to pointless balls and tea parties.
Making one friend won't hurt.
She smiled at the thought.
Adelaide was considerably different from the Adelaide I knew from the original novel. The story had been told from the heroine Eleanor's point of view, so perhaps we had only ever seen her at her most venomous. Maybe if Ragnar had been on better terms with her, this was the side he would have gotten.
Something about it felt like befriending a cat — a cat that was extremely wary of people.
"When did you start learning the sword?"
"About a month ago."
"…A month? That swordsmanship came from a single month of training?"
"The swordsmanship itself was like this from the first day I picked one up. What you saw was just a little refinement on top of that."
Adelaide's eyes went wide. The look was so exactly like a startled cat that it was oddly endearing — and on a face that pretty, it made me want to fuss over her. If I had transmigrated into Ragnar instead of Bellatrix, I might have tried to win her over. As it was, being a woman seemed to have stripped away any sexual interest in other women entirely.
"The first day? Good heavens. You're a genius, aren't you?"
"I am."
A smile curved Adelaide's mouth.
"What is that? I've never met anyone who just comes out and calls themselves a genius."
"Because it's true."
"I actually like that. The nobles around here put on this humble act about everything and then preen behind your back. It's disgusting."
"Is that so?"
"It is. If you're confident, just say so. What's the harm in announcing that you're good at something? Of course, that whole culture of theirs is exactly why I can't stand them."
She shook her head, thoroughly fed up with aristocratic manners. She really was nothing like the Adelaide I remembered. Judging her solely from the original novel might have been premature.
"Ah — same here. If you've got something to say, say it to my face. What's so terrifying about that, that they have to gossip behind people's backs?"
"Exactly."
We were of one mind. After a stretch of idle talk, the conversation drifted back to my sword.
"Bella. Who taught you? The Duke himself, I assume?"
"If I had to put it a certain way — I watched my father's sword and refined it on my own. I just kept what came to me the first time I held a blade."
"You're not lying?"
"What would I gain by lying to you about this? And if I inflated my skill, it would come out eventually one way or another. Why would I bother?"
"Fair enough. So that means you still don't have a proper swordsmanship instructor?"
"More or less."
She clapped her hands together as if a brilliant idea had just struck her.
"Then how about I introduce you to a good teacher?"
"Father already said he'd introduce me to someone suitable."
That conversation was already settled. In two months I would be heading north to seek out the Sword Saint, Isolde Valeria.
"Who?"
"Lady Isolde Valeria. So I'll be leaving for the North in two months."
"That's exactly who I was going to recommend. Ah — right, she said she owed House Berce a debt. Perfect. But does that mean we won't see each other much?"
"Possibly. Father says she's a strict woman."
"Then I'll just visit the North when I'm bored."
"…Are you allowed to do that?"
"Why wouldn't I be? It's a hundred times better than useless balls. Even today I wanted to ditch the whole thing and go to the Magic Tower instead."
Right — she was a magical genius, wasn't she? As the name Drakar suggested, the imperial bloodline claimed descent from dragons, and their magical talent was said to be exceptional. Among them, Adelaide was supposedly in a class of her own.
"As long as it doesn't interfere with your schedule."
"Good. Then I'll drop by whenever I'm bored."
She said "whenever I'm bored," but the way she looked, she would probably follow me north the moment I left. Honestly, the gap between this girl and the Adelaide I knew was so wide I almost wondered if she was the same person.
…She really was just a cat.
Imperial birthday balls usually stretched across several days, but Adelaide loathed them so thoroughly that hers alone was limited to a single evening. Which was why I was already in a carriage, heading home.
Ragnar turned to me.
"What did you talk about with Her Highness?"
"She said she wanted to be my friend."
"…That terrifying princess? With you, Sister?"
"That's what I said. Apparently she took a liking to me. And what do you mean, terrifying? Have you even spoken to her?"
"No. Not really. But there's an atmosphere, you know?"
"You can't judge a person on atmosphere alone."
"I know, but… she just feels hard to approach."
"Does she?"
"There's this pressure, just from getting near her. I don't know if it's because I've Bloomed, but I get that feeling especially strongly from the imperial family."
So he was being crushed by the sheer presence of Drakar blood.
"Is that so? I haven't Bloomed, so I wouldn't know. Anyway — want me to introduce you next time?"
Adelaide had the kind of looks that would turn most men's heads, didn't she? If Ragnar was going to end up with someone, I'd rather it be her than that nuisance Eleanor.
I floated the idea to gauge his reaction, and—
"…No."
He grimaced and shook his head.
"Why not?"
"Not my type. I don't like aggressive women."
"Listen to you. How picky can you get."
"If the personalities don't match, it's just misery. That's all."
I let his rambling about his taste in women go in one ear and out the other. The woman who fit that taste perfectly was, of course, Eleanor. And at this point Adelaide didn't seem particularly interested in Ragnar anyway, so there was no reason to poke at it and risk annoying her.
Better to leave things as they were — Adelaide showing no special interest in him. The blood-soaked free-for-all among the women surrounding Ragnar would start soon enough. I had no desire to see Adelaide mixed up in that mess.