The Winterhome Romance Appreciation Society
Let us turn the clock back a little.
Winterhome was ordinarily overflowing with servants and guests, a bustle that matched the renown of its master. Even so, there were places where people rarely set foot. The treasure vault, with its strictly limited access. The guest chambers reserved for great nobles, which received only a brief cleaning each morning. The prison cells at the top of the tower where criminals were confined. Beyond those, countless rooms of clear or utterly obscure purpose filled the castle. So few people knew them all that this gathering could at last be kept secret.
The history of the gathering itself was extremely short—less than half a year old.
"Lord Olivier. Must we wait any longer?"
"My lady, I beg you to have patience. Evading the notice of an archmage whose own magic is absolute requires considerable effort."
"Please calm your excitement. Allow me to pour you a glass of mulled wine to soothe your nerves."
Elizabeth could not calm herself no matter what the experts said. She had counted the days until this uncertain occasion arrived. She loved her husband Alfred, of course. Yet that did not make the seat of duchess an easy one. The position of Duke of Iceland, looked up to by all; and by custom the duchess who stood equal to it—simply existing in that role built walls called "limits" around every relationship.
Elizabeth was long accustomed to such things. It was the fate of those born noble. Facing people she disliked or found distasteful while wearing a mask utterly different from her true feelings was a skill she had mastered ages ago. In Iceland, truthfully, there was no one she disliked. Unlike the "ordinary" nobles who made a habit of hiding vipers in their bellies, the people of Iceland were blunt to the point of rudeness. Even so, this seat sometimes—only very rarely—grew tiring.
"Can you not hurry it along?"
"Iona. Don't tell me you're rushing me as well? You of all people should know how complex and delicate this work is."
"I know, I know."
Anyone looking would have known. Layer upon layer of impossibly intricate magic circles spread across a crystal ball the size of a watermelon resting on the table. At Olivier's gestures the formations spun, the shapes and letters within them shifting without pause.
"That damn disciple of mine stuffed skill where manners ought to go. One wrong twitch and she'll track us instantly."
"Yet the duchess still seems restless."
Iona said this while still trying somehow to settle Elizabeth. It was not working in the slightest. Excited Elizabeth looked exactly like Alicia on an empty stomach first thing in the morning who had just spotted custard pudding. It was only natural. The interests of ordinary women could be summarized in three things: fashion, cooking, and love. But Elizabeth Felwinter was a duchess. Beautiful clothes rolled in of their own accord if she simply sat still. The same was true of splendid and precious ornaments. And cooking? Iceland's finest chef was here, and its most famous chef also resided in Winterhome. Since everything was offered without her needing to lift a finger, Elizabeth's interest naturally focused on love. Specifically, on the subjects of the rumors—the servant and his mistress.
Difference in rank? A relationship blocked by death and curses? Love that forced its way through and was achieved regardless? No woman, regardless of age, could resist that. Her mouth watered; her heart trembled.
A soft whoosh—
"Ha, finally. All that talent wasted on nothing useful!"
Light bloomed inside the crystal ball. At last the moment they had been waiting for arrived. Olivier finished the last adjustments to the crystal and turned his head. Elizabeth, who had been so restless only moments before, was now utterly still.
"How is it? You seem calmer than I expected."
"We mustn't make noise and risk being interrupted by anyone else."
"Well, that is a fair point."
Olivier could only agree. Few things were as irritating as having important research interrupted. And one could hardly allow interruptions while watching someone else's romance. Especially when it was the first date of his utterly mannerless disciple. He needed to chew it over thoroughly, savor it to the fullest, and analyze every detail—if only for the sake of future teasing. Catherine would have erupted in fury and started flinging magic if she knew, but that was an everyday occurrence, so Olivier paid it no mind whatsoever.
A soft click—
While Olivier and Elizabeth were absorbed in the two figures of master and servant leaving the tower as shown in the crystal, Iona took out snacks from the basket he had set down and spread them out.
"My lady, chew on something and calm your excitement. They've only just gone out."
"Hm? Iona, when did you prepare all this?"
"Do you not know who prepared this room and who entered first?"
In the meantime Elizabeth reached toward the snacks. Sweet-and-salty roasted walnuts and almonds, large and small sausages perfect for chewing and tearing, bite-sized pieces of every kind of cheese, crisp bread more like a cracker, and assorted fruits prepared as a palate cleanser. She worked her dull morning mouth, feeding her empty stomach the sweet-salty, savory snacks to settle her excitement while watching the crystal.
"Atanitas's steps show no hesitation at all. Where does she mean to go at this early hour…"
"Ah, I told him a few places inside the castle good for enjoying by time of day."
"You did?"
"Yes. Every time he came for counseling these past days, I educated him little by little."
For decades now he had counseled and matchmade the fresh young men and women who visited Winterhome. He knew Coldon's romantic spots like the back of his hand.
"That aside…"
Olivier chewed a piece of sausage while watching the crystal with keen interest, then paused and scratched his beard.
"Is he being dragged right now?"
At those words Iona's and Elizabeth's heads turned as naturally as owls that had spotted prey. Olivier was right. The crystal showed Catherine striding forward without the slightest pause and Karem following behind her in flustered haste.
"Good heavens. After all that counseling…"
All the countless pieces of advice he had given while combing through the codex of love in his head like searching for lice had come to nothing. Iona felt his breath catch in his throat. He needed a drink.
A soft scrape— a heavy thud—
"You prepared beer as well?"
"I simply cannot endure this without drinking."
Iona pulled a large barrel from inside the wardrobe, hoisted it onto his shoulder, filled a glass to the brim with beer, and downed it in one go.
Gulp— gulp— gulp—
The sound of liquid forcing its way vigorously through a narrow passage, a sound that cooled one from head to toe just to hear it, a pure feeling rising from the deepest part of the chest.
Gulp—
"Mm. Pour me one as well."
His mouth had already been salty, so this was perfect timing. Olivier swallowed the sausage he had been chewing and held out his glass.
Glug-glug-glug-glug—
He downed it in one go, and it was exactly as expected. The cold, light beer's refreshing bitterness instantly washed away the greasy, salty, dry remnants of sausage and nut crumbs that had coated his mouth.
"Ahhhh… this isn't Eisenwald, is it?"
"Given the snacks, I prepared ordinary beer well chilled."
"Fair enough."
If it had been a meal it might have been different, but drinking that while snacking would have left them full at a critical moment with nothing left to occupy their mouths.
While they chatted quietly, chewing snacks and occasionally wetting their throats with beer, the three pairs of eyes never left the crystal. Catherine and Karem as shown within were still on the move. Just where were those two heading? More precisely, where was Catherine's destination…
"Wait a moment—surely not—"
"Olivier? What is it?"
"No, it's nothing, my lady."
No way… she wouldn't actually…?
As time passed, Olivier's unease only grew. And when the crystal showed Catherine heading for the dressmaker's shop, an awkward silence filled the room to an uncomfortable degree.
"…She's not planning to get a whole new wardrobe before the date, is she—no."
Elizabeth tried to lighten the mood, but the sight of Catherine entering the dressmaker's with Karem following, and then the exact same scene continuing for hours on end, sealed her lips. The dressmaker and tailors using Karem as a living mannequin. Catherine cheerfully urging him to try this one too for comparison. Karem standing silently with an expression half past enlightenment.
For a noble, caution when purchasing clothes was only natural. Fashion, material, personal taste, convenience, popular designs and styles of dress, the occasions one would wear the clothes to, the people one would meet—there was much to consider.
Even so, you don't do that on a date!
If the positions of the two being subjected to it had been reversed it might have been different. Worse, the very person who had led them into the dressmaker's was half-teasing and thoroughly enjoying Karem's suffering.
A disciple's faults were the master's responsibility. Iona, unable to bear the wretched sight any longer, scolded Olivier.
"Can't you manage that disciple of yours properly?! If it weren't for those two the relationship might already have fallen apart!"
"You're blaming me for this? I'm the one who feels wronged!"
"Wronged, my foot! You should have educated her properly!"
"As if that girl would listen to a single word I say, even with half an ear! And this isn't even related to magic!"
Olivier leapt up and shouted in genuine indignation. In truth there was a part that pricked his conscience.
Surely she isn't doing this because of what I said about having clothes made for the coming-of-age ceremony?
He felt wronged. That had only been the pretext. The original purpose had been to shove those two dense young people outside so they would stick together and go on a date. That was how it was supposed to go. It had to…
"…Just where did things go wrong?"
"Olivier? Do you know something?"
"Hahaha. How could I? Even the gods themselves wouldn't understand what goes on inside that stubborn Kitty's head."
For someone saying that, his words had been rather long, but Elizabeth decided for now to focus on the crystal. People grew accustomed to stimuli, large or small. Whether it was the sense of taste or the situation before one's eyes, a stimulus was a stimulus all the same. To endure the boredom born of the same situation differing only in color and shape, they chewed snacks and carefully drank water and beer so their palates would not grow dull.
"Huh, it's already lunchtime."
"Ugh, at this rate won't we have to break for lunch and gather again? That clothes-changing session shows no sign of ending even after hours."
"You're going to eat again after all that eating and drinking?"
"Don't tell me you're complaining?"
"No, I'll eat too. Let's see—"
An undead that died after eating was the most fine-looking sort.
.
Iona had been nibbling snacks with beer since morning on an empty stomach, so while his appetite was stimulated, his stomach was still empty.
"Oh, they've left the dressmaker's."
At those words Olivier sat back down at once. Iona refilled the empty plates and glasses.
"—Lady Atanitas. A moment."
"—What is it."
"—You've got sauce on you."
The first truly date-like scene they tasted after all that waiting. It felt as precious as rain after a long drought.
"This is driving me mad."
Olivier felt a liberation as if a blocked throat had finally cleared, then laughed hollowly and shook his head.
"Is something strange?"
"No. I'm simply flabbergasted. Ha!"
Olivier said nothing more after that, but Elizabeth and Iona could guess the rest of his thought. All he had done was wipe a bit of sauce from the corner of her mouth. And yet it made them fuss like this. Truly, what an outrageous and deliciously tense pair of master and servant they were. Simple, yet the freshness that came from it was truly—
"Ah, it's the café I recommended."
And the scene that followed after the two entered the café, as shown in the crystal, felt like a reward for all the waiting. They talked and laughed, frowned, fed each other dessert, then bickered over an indirect kiss. The sight of her trying to get angry yet unable to, flustered and embarrassed…
"…The wait was long."
"What a dense fool. Getting embarrassed over something that small?"
"And yet you're smiling contentedly yourself, Olivier."
"Ahem-hem."
He cleared his throat with an embarrassed look and stroked his beard, clearly feeling caught out. Elizabeth smiled faintly in agreement and turned her gaze back to the crystal.
"—Yes. Thankfully this time your mind is—"
"—Right now I am as clear-headed as the moment I discovered the Red Witch's Finger and vanilla."
The sight of Karem with twin flames of intensity lit in his eyes left them speechless. What followed completely overturned the sweet-and-sour, fresh atmosphere that had just been shown in the crystal.
A sharp slam—!
"—Who made this monstrosity?!"
Karem's enraged voice ringing through the room filled the three people who had begun to place their trust in him—unlike Catherine's earlier behavior—with a sense of betrayal. Following the Catherine shown in the crystal, Olivier, Elizabeth, and Iona all pressed their foreheads at the exact same moment, as if sharing a single soul.