Even a Grand Count Has His Daily Life - 1
Just as expected, the moment we stepped into the banquet hall every gaze in the room locked onto us. As a rule, titled nobles outranked ordinary ones, and among the titled those of count or higher were called high nobility. Even among counts, prestige split according to whether they held territory and how grand that territory was. So fourteen great lords entering together was more than enough to seize the attention of every aristocrat present.
Among those fourteen were a newly risen marquis and a minister-designate. Everyone present must have realized at once that this faction was no mere social club.
The one bright spot was that our formidable lineup seemed to intimidate the onlookers. They only stared; no one dared approach—
“What brings you to travel in a pack for once?”
There was one man who could ignore marquis, minister-designate, and great lords alike and walk straight up to us.
A man whose frame towered over everyone else’s—the Iron Blood Duke—parted the crowd of nobles and came toward me. I felt the great lords behind me flinch. However much they had earned their titles through cunning and political tightrope-walking, nomads were still nomads. Faced with a warrior far stronger than themselves, their instincts recoiled.
“Father-in-law.”
I bowed politely toward the duke who was heading our way. His expression softened, just a fraction.
Calling him “Father-in-law” instead of the stiff “Your Grace” in front of everyone clearly pleased him. Family affection meant more to him than anything else.
“A young man arriving later than an old fossil like me—what am I supposed to do with you?”
“You’re still in fine health, so how can you say such things? Honestly, Father-in-law, you’re fitter than my own father.”
“You talk a good game.”
I turned the gruff greeting into a compliment, and the corner of his mouth lifted. The movement was tiny, but unmistakable.
Mar had once told me he was quietly sensitive about aging. That single piece of information made even the simplest flattery devastatingly effective.
“Well. If you’re going to keep company with others, a silver tongue is useful.”
“Having friends with whom I can share true camaraderie has polished it on its own.”
I gestured naturally toward the northern great lords. Since Father-in-law had already mentioned the faction members who had entered with me, it was only proper that I, his son-in-law, introduce them.
A subordinate never addressed a superior of higher rank without an intermediary and without official business. Even a marquis or a count was thoroughly a lesser man before a duke.
“Especially Marquis Barandiga. Thanks to him I learned the joy of true friendship.”
Father-in-law’s gaze shifted to the marquis.
“If he is my son-in-law’s friend, he is no stranger. I hope you continue on good terms.”
“Of course, Your Grace. I shall maintain an unchanging friendship with the Count of Wiridia.”
Father-in-law extended his hand. Marquis Barandiga clasped it in both of his and bowed at a perfect angle—an angle possible only for someone who fully understood what a duke meant in this empire.
A faint sense of wonder rose in me. It felt almost unfair to the marquis, but I doubted he had ever bowed that deeply even before Kagan.
Father-in-law must feel heavier than Kagan ever did.
Thinking it over, I could understand the marquis’s position. On one side stood Kagan, currently at war with the empire and not yet laying a finger on him personally; on the other stood a duke who was the faction leader’s father-in-law and could crush him with a single word. Between those two miraculous choices, the latter was naturally more terrifying.
I myself found my boss the Emperor more of a bastard than any other being in the world right now. A living Emperor beats a dead Kagan and Dorgun any day of the week.
“That goes for the rest of you as well. My son-in-law is lacking in many ways, but I leave him in your care.”
Having finished the handshake with Marquis Barandiga, Father-in-law turned his gaze upon the other great lords and greeted them in turn.
It was unprecedented. Even though a count ranked among high nobility, a duke could take such counts as vassals if he wished. Protocol usually demanded that a duke exchange a few words with a marquis and then withdraw for the sake of his dignity. Yet Father-in-law deliberately spoke to every count in the faction.
“Y-yes, it is an honor, Your Grace.”
Even the great lords who had studied imperial etiquette seemed flustered; only Count Kaitana, the professional toady, managed a proper reply.
That was not a failing of the other lords—Count Kaitana was simply exceptional. Father-in-law merely nodded without any censure at receiving only one answer.
“Son-in-law.”
“Yes, Father-in-law.”
He looked back at me. I bowed again, and he rested a hand on my shoulder.
“The valor of the nomads was something only the empire could match. Now those same valiant warriors have become my son-in-law’s friends. For the sake of the empire, you must continue that friendship.”
A faint relief settled over me. I had wondered why he was showing such unusual friendliness by speaking directly to the counts; the blunt demand at the end made everything clear.
On the surface it sounded like a beautiful maxim—“You have become friends with the nomads after long years of conflict; strive for peace.” The reality was different.
He needs horses.
Father-in-law simply needed horses. His talk of nomadic valor and duty to the empire made that plain.
With the North now folded into the empire’s embrace, only the East still shared a border with foreign kingdoms. And Father-in-law was the duke responsible for the East. Of course he would be eager to secure a reliable supply of strategically vital warhorses.
This is an open auction.
That was why he had staged the display in front of every noble present. “The faction leader who commands the northern great lords is my son-in-law, and I intend to treat every single faction member with care. Keep that in mind. Anyone who tries to outbid me at the merchant houses will be crushed.”
It was an outrageously fiery proclamation, but it wasn’t for personal greed—it was for border defense. And he wasn’t even demanding cheap prices; he merely wanted priority on the volume.
Actually, this works out well.
Moreover, Father-in-law’s territory was the heart of the military industry. With only a slight shift in the forges’ output, they could mass-produce ordinary civilian goods as easily as munitions.
If necessary, we could even trade northern horses for manufactured goods instead of coin. From the nomads’ perspective, that would hardly be a bad deal.
“I shall keep it firmly in mind.”
Satisfied with what was essentially a promise to sell to him first, Father-in-law nodded. I myself felt my chest swell at the thought of the horses that once raced across the northern plains now thrashing the eastern kingdoms.
You bastards had it easy while we tanked the nomads with our own bodies.
Now it’s your turn to get ground into the dirt.
After exchanging greetings with Father-in-law, we were once more left with only stares. Anyone who might have wanted to approach us now knew the duke had essentially declared, “I’ll kill anyone who tries to outbid me on those horses.” Approaching us and earning a warm look from a duke was a risk no one wanted to take.
Of course, one half-elf duchess was a being even Father-in-law could not stop. She strode over without the slightest hesitation. As Archmage of the Magic Tower, she had zero interest in horses anyway.
“Once the banquet ends you’ll return to the Academy, won’t you? You have no idea how much I’ve missed you.”
Unlike earlier with Father-in-law, I briefly left the faction members and moved with her to a quiet corner. Beatrix whispered a short chant under her breath. She had probably cast a spell so that neither our conversation nor our appearance would be visible to others.
“I’ve missed you too. If I could use teleportation I’d have visited the Academy every single day.”
I pulled her into an embrace as I answered. Pleased, she gave a little flutter of her ears.
That flutter—yes, this was the Beatrix I knew. So reassuringly familiar.
“Hnnngh—!”
“Ah, sorry.”
It was so familiar that I absently started fondling them. I knew they were sensitive, yet my hands moved on their own.
Embarrassed, I started to pull away, but Beatrix’s hands caught my wrists. Her grip was weak enough that I could have shaken it off easily, yet the urgency of the motion made me freeze.
“Y-you can keep going.”
Her voice crawled out so softly that I wordlessly resumed stroking her ears. The whole scene looked a little strange, but since I had started it, I decided to let it slide.
Yes, this too was a form of intimacy. What better way to share affection than giving the other person exactly the kind of touch they wanted?
“Um… darling?”
Just as I was beginning a rather peculiar bout of self-justification, Beatrix’s voice cut through my thoughts.
“There’s something I’m curious about. May I ask?”
“Of course. Anything.”
The request was unexpected, but I nodded readily. I wondered what she could possibly want to ask me—then remembered the northern faction that had swarmed in with me. There were plenty of questions there—
“When do you plan to treat Mar more casually?”
“Huh?”
The words that came out were far more unexpected than anything I had imagined.
Casually?
My brain failed to parse the question. When would I treat her casually? Wasn’t I already doing that?
I called her by pet names, sat her on my lap and hugged her whenever the mood struck, sometimes lay my head in her lap myself, and kissed her forehead or cheek. How much more casually could a man treat his wife?
I blinked at Beatrix with that thought written all over my face. She let out a tiny sigh.
“I’m asking when you intend to drop the formal speech with Mar.”
“……”
…
Ah.
It felt as though I had been struck hard on the back of the head. How had I never noticed something so obvious?
I’ve been using formal speech only with Mar.
It was definitely strange. I didn’t use formal speech with every lover, nor did I reserve it for older lovers.
Even if I did use formal speech with elders, Mar was younger than I was. If anything, formality would make more sense with Beatrix.
Did it simply become too habitual?
I first met Mar roughly two years ago through an introduction by Father-in-law the duke. We had spoken with strict mutual formality from the start, and that habit had simply continued until now.
I had grown so used to the formality that I never even considered changing it.
Ha.
A wave of self-reproach nearly made me sigh aloud. There were couples who maintained formal speech out of mutual respect, but in that case I should have done the same with all six of them. Singling Mar out was no different from discrimination.
Once the banquet ended, I would have to apologize to her first thing.
“Ah… darling…!”
“Ah.”
Though it seemed I needed to apologize to the Beatrix right in front of me first.
Her body was already trembling, her face flushed crimson, tears welling at the corners of her eyes.
While my mind had been elsewhere thinking about Mar, my hands had shifted from casual petting into earnest, thorough ear-stroking.