The Count's Daughter Who Draws Lots #1

The feast and the festival looked as if they would burn straight through the night.

On the day Psyche recovered from the illness that had wasted her for two years, Count Doban lit every lamp and set the musicians singing as though he meant to shout the news to the ends of the earth.

"Monk Hyde! Make us a few more bars of that soap!"

"Did you truly cure the young lady? Incredible!"

The servants and maids treated me with extravagant care. Their gratitude was so raw it ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠almost hurt; I could feel how desperately they had prayed for Lady Psyche's recovery.

And yet the lady herself kept her distance, only glancing my way now and then with a look that could cut glass. I had thought five years of being glared at by Psyche would have hardened me to it. I was wrong.

My chest keeps going all tingly.

"Monk Hyde. There is something I wish to discuss regarding the healing of my daughter. The three of us need to talk. Will you come?"

Count Doban, still receiving congratulations from the crowd, approached me. When I nodded, he led the way, and Psyche and I fell into step behind him until we entered what could only be called the study of the manor—or perhaps the count's private office.

Even in the dark of night the desk glowed under bright lamps, buried under stacks of documents and parchment. Along the walls hung suits of armor and racks of weapons. I had expected something lavish and ornamental; instead it looked like a field command post. A little surprising.

"Sit."

At some point Count Doban had begun speaking down to me as a matter of course. Fair enough. I was an orphan. He was a great noble whose house had once been powerful enough to arrange a royal betrothal. Even if rumor said that glory had faded, a man like me was less than an ant under his boot.

If I had not cured Psyche, would I ever have been allowed to exchange words with him at all?

The count took the seat of honor and spoke without preamble.

"I will be blunt. Hyde, I am truly grateful that you healed my daughter. But the reward you asked for is one I cannot grant."

Nothing surprising there. A beggar who cures a princess and then marries her and lives happily ever after—that sort of romance only happens in fairy tales.

I asked, "Is the House of Agarpe not famous for the title of the Covenant, a house that prizes trust above all? Are you saying you will not keep the promise that you would grant me anything?"

"I will not make excuses. What you demanded is beyond reason. The compensation I offered was always limited to what I myself could deliver."

So marrying his own daughter to me was something even a father could not arrange. I had half expected it, but the vague outline of the truth snapped into sharp focus all at once.

"Is it because of the betrothal to the royal house? Count Doban, you forced a false illness upon Lady Psyche in order to keep your promise to the crown. Am I wrong?"

"Ahem… forced, you say—"

The count's expression changed again, the look of a man wondering how I could possibly know.

I pressed the advantage.

"If Lady Psyche, blooming like a flower, were to marry another man, she would break a vow made long ago. Count Doban, you are sacrificing your daughter to keep an old promise."

"You are as cunning as a serpent. Yes. Psyche has been betrothed since ages past to a prince yet to be born. Our House of Agarpe was meant to become the royal family's guardian and companion."

Candlelight flickered strangely in Doban's brown eyes, as if a burning battlefield were raging inside ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠them.

"But we betrayed them when they needed us most. Some of them I dealt with by my own hand. Their screams still gnaw at me like ghosts."

From what I remembered of this "kingdom," twenty years ago the royal house and the Church had fought a great war over dominion of the land. The Church won. Because of the betrayal of great nobles like Count Agarpe, the royal ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠capital of Royal Road fell, and the Unizer royal line was wiped out.

That was why, back when I still carried the infamous name of Rust, I had been able to invade Royal Road at all—it was a city without a master. Thanks to that I obtained the Holy Grail and a second chance. Had a king still sat in the royal palace, the city would never have fallen.

In that sense, Count Doban's butchering of the king and the royal bloodline had been a tremendous stroke of luck for me. Their betrayal had made the present me possible!

I feel as if I have stepped into some vast providence. Our meeting was clearly ordained by God!

"My lord count, if the royal house no longer exists, then there is no promise left to keep, is there? Why should you who betrayed the crown remain bound by an obsolete vow?"

"……"

Doban clamped his hard jaw shut and said nothing.

Then Psyche, who had been listening in silence for a long while, parted her lips.

"Father is not at fault. Everything was my will. Choosing to feign illness, refusing every betrothal—those were my decisions. If it had not been for you… I would have continued that way forever."

That was unexpected. I had assumed Count Doban was clinging to some last scrap of loyalty toward the royal house he had betrayed. Instead the whole charade of illness had been Psyche's idea, not her father's.

Even better. That means I only have to persuade Psyche herself.

"Lady Psyche, think carefully. Marrying me would not be such a terrible fate. But the hour is late, so let us speak of it tomorrow. It is time for prayer."

Creeeak, thud—

The man closed the door and vanished into the distance. Only after his presence had completely faded did Count Doban speak.

"Psyche, what happened? You were the one who insisted on feigning illness no matter what. You even ignored your own brother's birthday…"

"That man! He tried to die right in front of me!"

Just remembering it sent fresh rage surging to the top of Psyche's head. Watching her, Doban felt a very complicated mix of emotions.

In truth he had never liked his daughter's pretense of illness. As a father he had hoped she would not bury herself under an ancient promise. He had wanted her to marry, find a partner, and live happily.

But my daughter is trying to carry the price of the sins I committed. That boy Hyde was right. Our manor is haunted by a ghost called an obsolete vow.

In that sense, the suspicious monk Hyde breaking Psyche's stubbornness had been something of a blessing. Now she could live an ordinary life.

And a young man bold enough to stand before a great noble and openly demand, "Give me your daughter," was a first for the count. Doban found himself harboring a thoroughly complicated curiosity about the fellow called Hyde.

"Monk Hyde put on quite the performance. Very effective. His acting must have been excellent."

"No, Father. What makes me angrier is… that it was not acting. He truly meant to die in front of me. At least, that is how it looked to me…"

Psyche vividly recalled the afternoon. If she had not caught him, he would have died for certain. The body trembling in her grip. The breath scraping to a halt in his lungs. All of it had been so horrible that she shook her head and changed the subject.

"Father, the Archibold healer will arrive at Agarpe soon. What do we do? We cannot suddenly claim I have fallen ill again. And the healer they are sending this time is Oscar himself."

"Yes, the miracle worker Oscar. The man who proposed to you two years ago. Once he learns you are well, he will invoke the name of Archibold and propose again. And I will not be able to refuse."

Archbishop Archibold was the living symbol of the Church. For Count Doban and his house—who as great nobles had once sided with the royal family—refusing the archbishop's word was a delicate matter. Doban was a traitor; Archibold was the victor.

That Archibold bastard will use reconciliation as a pretext to marry his son to my daughter. This is clearly a loyalty test the Church is forcing upon House Agarpe.

Until now they had rejected every marriage talk on the grounds that Psyche was in no condition to wed anyone. That excuse was gone.

Archbishop's second son Oscar will arrive in two days at the latest. If we do not resolve this situation before then, House Agarpe will…

Doban's worry carved deeper lines into his brow. He had watched what became of nobles who pledged themselves to the Church. The family's authority and power would be whittled away by the Church until the three-hundred-year history of House Agarpe might simply dissolve into thin air.

If House Agarpe perishes because of me, I will have no face to show our ancestors. And to send my precious daughter off to marry the son of that Archibold swine…

Doban felt a bitter sense of powerlessness at his inability even to protect his daughter's fate. Twenty years ago, when he had shouldered infamy and betrayed the royal house to protect his family and clan, he had thought he was prepared for everything.

Then his wise daughter Psyche, after long deliberation, opened her mouth.

"To avoid marriage with House Archibold, I will have to marry someone first. Father, can you draft the official wedding notice?"

"What? You intend to marry?"

The news that his daughter would marry startled Doban greatly. The girl he had expected to play the invalid for the rest of her life was suddenly talking of marriage. The fact made him both glad and puzzled.

"You mean to marry the Wood Badge monk Hyde? Then this father who promised a reward can finally recover his honor."

"No. I will not marry him, but I will give him a chance. I will set a problem, and those who solve it correctly will become candidates for my bridegroom. We must move quickly, before Oscar Archibold arrives!"

Morning.

I woke on an absurdly soft bed to find the entire manor in an uproar. Curious, I stepped out into the corridor and discovered a large sheet of parchment nailed up with the following written upon it:

"Aha, so this is how she plays it?"

Whose idea was this? Count Doban's? No—the Doban I had briefly met was the type of field commander who barked orders on the front line, not a strategist. Then it had to be Psyche herself.

An entertaining event. Naturally the people were boiling over with excitement and curiosity.

"If you really solve the problems, anyone can become a husband candidate? Even me?"

"But the questions are too hard. How is anyone supposed to answer these?"

"I heard Lady Psyche received them as a revelation from God while she was ill."

"Indeed—mysterious problems."

People murmured in awe.

Are these really that difficult?

While I was thinking that, someone tapped my shoulder. I turned and found the knight Loras in silver plate armor, smirking at the corner of his mouth.

"Lucky you, aren't you? You just happened to cure the young lady's illness and got a free pass through the preliminaries. Well, even if luck got you past the prelims, you'll still drop out in the main round."

Passed the preliminaries?

Ah. So as a favor for curing Psyche's illness, House Agarpe had made me a husband candidate without requiring me to solve those problems. That was how they had answered my request to marry Lady Psyche.

Clever, and amusing.

Then Loras said, "Monk Hyde, you got lucky this time, but a lowborn orphan like you does not suit Lady Psyche. You'd better quit now before you end up looking pathetic."

"I don't think so. Fine. I forfeit my free pass through the preliminaries. Instead, if I solve the problems properly and rise on my own merit, I will break your right arm, Loras. Understood?"

"And if you fail?"

"Then you can break mine."

"Good. No take-backs. I will not go easy on you. Everyone heard our wager, right?"

Loras shouted toward the crowd, his blue eyes glittering fiercely.

I immediately took a scroll of paper, wrote down my answers, and dropped them carefully into the collection box.