A Nearby Wife's Domain - 4
It was hardly a new realization, but not all nobles are created equal. Where one sits among the ranks of duke, marquis, count, viscount, and baron; whether the title is inherited or newly conferred; whether an inherited title comes with a fief or without; and how wealthy that fief happens to be — the factors that determine a noble's true standing are many and varied.
By that measure, the vassals of the Katoban Ducal House numbered among the most powerful nobles of all. The prestige of a count's rank, already considered high nobility; the honor of serving a duke at close quarters; the practical authority of governing the duchy in their absent lord's stead. Combine all of that, and even a marquis would find it awkward to treat them as subordinates. Cross the wrong one, and a single throat-clearing from the duke would have you knocking your forehead to the floor.
That was why, before arriving in the Cervez Grand Duchy, I had resolved to present myself with the utmost courtesy — not only to the steward, but to every other vassal as well.
"It is a true honor to meet you at last, Lord Consort. I glimpsed you from afar at the New Year's Audience, but this is the first time I have been able to offer my respects. I am quite overcome."
That resolve lasted until the steward insisted on casting himself as my inferior.
"Overcome? Not at all. I am well aware of how tirelessly Count Sicilla labors day and night for Servette. Naturally I should have been the one to call on you first. If anything, I am the one who owes an apology for arriving so late."
I seized the fraying edges of my composure and forced the words out. I had expected the steward to be polite — I was, after all, his lord's husband — but I had never imagined he would bow this low.
I had been a fool. I had taken the vassals' accumulated longing and hunger far too lightly. Think about it: they had watched their lord live a hundred years without a family. As human beings they must have felt sorrow for her; as vassals, dread. If Trixie remained unmarried forever, the Katoban line simply ended.
"Lord Consort. Please, speak freely. How can you elevate a mere vassal with such honorifics?"
Watching him bend even lower at my reply, I nearly laughed in disbelief. Even the northern counts under my own faction never prostrated themselves like this.
"It still feels a little strange. Once I grow used to it, I will speak more casually."
"Is that so? Then I shall await that day with pleasure."
I answered with the bland, ceremonial formula the situation demanded — a polite way of saying that until I was officially her consort, we would remain on mutual formal terms.
The steward looked faintly disappointed, but he did not argue. In a few months the official bond would be sealed anyway. He clearly had no intention of pestering his future lord consort just to shave a few months off the wait.
"Ah — arriving empty-handed felt improper, so I prepared a small gift."
Now that he had taken a step back, I steered the conversation toward the present I had brought. A gift would help fix the idea that I had come as a guest, not yet as her husband. With any luck, it might calm these berserk vassals a little.
"A gift, you say?"
It was the wrong move.
In their minds I was already the Lord Consort. Whatever I handed over, it could never be mere guest courtesy.
"We shall treasure it as a family heirloom, Your Grace!"
It was simply a bestowal from the supreme Lord Consort who had finally appeared after a hundred years.
Damn it. Why did so many people insist on treating a few furs like ancestral treasures?
"...I'm glad they please you."
Still, watching the vassals shed tears of pure emotion over the furs Trixie had produced, I could not bring myself to say anything sour.
I had brought a hundred of them. They could divide them among themselves however they liked...
Escorted by the vassals' fervent cheers and applause, I was led to Trixie's chambers. The moment I said I wanted to go to her rooms before unpacking, their delight was almost indecent. There simply was nothing to unpack.
They did look a little flustered when I added that Rory and Lin would be coming as well, but they seemed to accept the two of them as Trixie's family and made no attempt to stop us. The duke who had lived without kin now spending quiet time with her newly found family? No one was about to stand in the way of that.
"So you were a lord beloved by your vassals. I should take notes."
The moment we reached Trixie's room, I tossed out a light joke.
"Indeed. I only met them today, but I can tell they truly revere you, Master."
Rory, eyes darting about the room, picked up the thread with perfect timing. The more she did, the deeper Trixie's face burned — redder than I would have thought possible.
Of course I pretended not to notice. Trixie had been growing steadily more accustomed to physical affection, which meant her flustered looks had become harder to come by. If an opportunity like this had fallen into my lap, the only proper course was to savor it for as long as possible.
"It really is remarkable. I once had the chance to observe the Golden Duke and his vassals, and while they were bound by trust, you could still see a rigid hierarchy at work."
Lin's innocent admiration made Trixie's ears fold flat against her head.
Lin had meant it as praise — a true lord whom her vassals regard as family — but to Trixie's shame-flooded ears it must have sounded like a pushover completely owned by her vassals. A truly tragic misunderstanding.
"At this rate I have no idea where we should raise our child. If we bring them up in the Imperial Capital or Tailglehen, I suspect we'll never hear the end of it."
"Th-th-that..."
Mention of a future child finally cracked Trixie's silence.
Her mind had clearly not caught up yet, though; she could not finish a proper sentence.
Truly tragic.
One hundred northern furs, personally bestowed by His Grace the Lord Consort.
After solemn consultation among every vassal, it was decided that each house would receive one pelt, and the remainder would be stored in the castle treasury. The Lord Consort's gift would shine forever alongside the name of Katoban.
"So what do we do now?"
Having reverently secured the furs in the vault, the captain of the guard spoke up in the assembled council chamber.
"How often will Her Grace the Duke and His Grace the Lord Consort visit Servette? This is a chance that may not come again. Surely we must do something."
Vague as the words were, they struck a chord. Her Grace the Duke was Tower Master; His Grace the Lord Consort was Minister of the Inspectorate Ministry. Opportunities for both of them to be in the Cervez Grand Duchy at once, rather than the Imperial Capital, would be vanishingly rare.
As vassals, the desire to do something for the two of them was only natural. Anyone who failed to agree with the captain had forgotten the grace of House Katoban.
The problem, as the captain himself had implied by asking what now, was that the impulse remained far too vague.
"True enough."
"We'd need some experience of this sort of thing before we could even offer an opinion..."
Unfortunately, we possessed neither knowledge nor experience in such matters.
Aiding one's lord and lady in the smooth conduct of married life — ensuring the bloodline of the house one served spread far and wide — was a vassal's duty. The trouble was that none of us had the faintest idea how to perform it.
And of course we didn't. Not only we ourselves, but our fathers and our fathers' fathers had never served a lord and lady. For roughly a century, ever since the previous duke ascended to the heavens, marriage had simply not existed in House Katoban.
We know nothing.
It was a genuine predicament. Methods for assisting a lord and lady's private life are the sort of knowledge that must be passed down orally. Recording a master's intimate affairs in the official ledgers of the duchy would be mortifying.
That legacy had produced our present ignorance. A hundred years without a married couple meant the oral tradition had long since withered. Even my own father had known nothing of the subject.
"……."
"……."
"……."
An awkward silence settled over the room. Zeal outran knowledge, and knowledge refused to catch up.
It was humiliating. We were vassals of Katoban, the foremost magical lineage of the Empire — no, of the entire continent. And here we sat, immobilized not by some grand obstacle but by a simple lack of knowledge. We could not lift our heads before our ancestors.
As that shameful silence stretched on, the secretary finally spoke.
"...If we cannot act, then we must hope Their Graces will act on their own."
"Their Graces?"
The words drew an automatic retort.
Hope that they would move? Never mind that such a hope seemed even less realistic — it amounted to admitting that we ourselves would accomplish nothing at all.
"The Forest Park was created by the previous duke's own hand, and Her Grace the Duke was born in the villa within it."
The remark seemed to come from nowhere, but I kept listening. The secretary was not the sort to speak nonsense—
"We lock the two of them inside and bar the door."
...
Apparently the secretary had lost his mind of late.
"Oh."
"Alone together in a place of such significance..."
Worse still, the other vassals were nodding along to that insane proposal.
What was happening? Had the entire household taken some drug without my noticing? Or had I eaten something that destroyed my hearing?
"Secretary. That seems rather too extreme, does it not?"
I forced my throbbing temples to settle and spoke up.
Bar the door? With Her Grace's abilities she could break out in moments, and even setting that aside, the method was far too aggressive. What vassal in the world locked his own lord away? That was the behavior of a traitor from the history books.
Faced with that perfectly reasonable objection, the secretary hesitated a moment before continuing.
"I have heard that His Grace the Lord Consort's first wife is already with child."
"That may be so, but what does it have to do with anything?"
"If Her Grace begins her efforts only now, she may already be late. She could conceive after the final wife."
At those words, the feverish atmosphere in the chamber froze solid. The secretary had just invoked both the present lord and the future lord of the house in a single breath. Such a statement could not be brushed aside lightly.
"Secretary. Mind your tongue. Her Grace's health is flawless, and the relationship between the two of them is excellent. How can you speak in such a manner?"
"It is not a failing of Her Grace's. Or rather — it does concern her, but... it cannot be helped."
He let out a small sigh, as though resenting himself for having to say it.
"Her Grace the Duke and His Grace the Lord Consort... are not of the same race, are they? Recalling the previous duke's case, conception is possible, but it may take a considerable amount of time."
Silence fell once more. No one could deny it, however much they wished to.
That was true.
They had been of different races.
Even for the previous duke and his wife, years had passed between the marriage and the conception.
...But she is half-human.
The thought rose unbidden. Half of Her Grace was human. Surely that made her different from her predecessor?
I wanted to believe it—
"Then we bar the door today. Immediately."
"Yes. Not a single day can be wasted."
No. Please.
How on earth had the conclusion taken that turn?