The Grand Duchess Eats Ice Cream
When Rebecca finally granted permission—allowing me to feed her the ice cream I had brought, with my own two hands—I was able to breathe a sigh of relief at last, reassured that I had actually succeeded.
We did it, Dorothy.
Frankly, if this hadn't worked either, I hadn't the faintest idea what I would have done. If even this method failed to soothe the Grand Duchess's temper, I would have had no other way left to calm her.
Making anything 'strawberry'-related was my last resort for defusing Rebecca's anger—and a card I'd rather not play unless I absolutely had to.
As I mentioned before, in the novel I transmigrated into, The Crown Prince Wields a Sword, the very idea of using fruit to make food simply did not exist.
I had no desire to invent things that weren't in the original story myself. If I carelessly created something that didn't belong in this world, there was no telling what kind of consequences might unfold in the future.
The butterfly effect, was it called? The theory that a butterfly's tiny flutter of wings could one day grow into a massive typhoon.
What this theory made clear was simple: even something that seemed trivial in the moment could come back around one day as a catastrophe.
One might think a fruit recipe was nothing significant. But there was no way of knowing what effect even a small change to the novel's contents might bring later on.
And any alteration to the original story I knew so well would be a fatal blow to me, whose entire mission was to change Rebecca's future.
That was why, apart from the 'strawberry cake' I had once made for her, I had never done anything connected to my original world.
It was the same reason I had refused the Grand Duchess's requests to make the strawberry cake again. Each time, watching the sulky expression spread across her face did sting my heart.
But in the end, all of this was to protect House Valencia, which was destined to be framed for treason and ruined in disgrace. Surely, when the day came that I could tell her the truth, the Grand Duchess would understand.
Though, of course, that was only my small, hopeful wish.
"What are you doing? You said you'd feed me."
Watching Rebecca, who couldn't even wait for my brief moment of thought and was already urging me on, I honestly wondered whether the future I hoped for would ever arrive at all.
It's... going to take a while, isn't it.
I let out a small inward sigh at a future that seemed destined never to come.
"...Here you go. Say ahh, my lady."
"Ahh—"
Nom, nom.
I scooped up a spoonful of strawberry ice cream and brought it to her lips, and Rebecca accepted it eagerly, savoring every bite.
Her expression—had she completely forgotten that she'd been sulking mere moments ago?—was the very picture of the happiest girl in the world.
...Wait. Was I played?
Doubt began to creep in, little by little. The situation when I'd made the strawberry cake last time had been remarkably similar, now that I thought about it.
Could all of this have been Rebecca's scheme to get me to make her strawberry treats? Pretending to be upset because no matter how many times she asked, I would never make them for her—so that, just like before, she could force my hand?
It was a fairly plausible(?) theory.
And so I briefly shot Rebecca a look of suspicion, but...
"Is it to your liking?"
"...Yes. Truly."
Seeing the genuine delight on her face, all the doubts that had filled my head seemed to melt away without a trace. If the end result was the Grand Duchess's happiness, then surely there was no need to quibble over the process, was there?
The strawberry ice cream I'd made, the worries I'd tangled myself in—no matter how much I felt like I'd been swindled, in the end it had all been for the sake of seeing my beloved fiancée, the Grand Duchess Rebecca, happy. For seeing her un-sulking face.
So really, none of it mattered at all.
"My lady."
"Yes?"
But still.
"Might I ask why you were so angry?"
"..."
This was this, and that was that. I needed to know exactly why I'd been dragged into making ice cream—a task I never should have been saddled with in the first place.
This was absolutely not revenge for suspecting that the Grand Duchess had played me.
Absolutely not.
"...Might I ask why you were so angry?"
"..."
When I asked why she'd been sulking, Rebecca could only lower her eyes bit by bit, unable to answer. She turned her gaze away from me as if she truly had no intention of telling me—
"If you don't answer, I shall have to confiscate the ice cream."
"...Fine, I'll tell you."
Against my threat to take the strawberry ice cream and march straight out with it, she had no choice but to surrender.
She'd looked like she would rather die than say it—yet the mere threat of the ice cream being carried back out the door was enough to make her agree to explain her anger. Once again, I was reminded of just how deep Rebecca's love of strawberries ran.
"So? What was the reason?"
"..."
"What on earth did I do to make you so angry that you couldn't even bear the sight of me?"
"It's because you... that's all."
At my question, Rebecca's face flushed crimson for some reason, and she produced a voice smaller than an ant's footsteps.
"Pardon?"
There was no way I—a man blessed with neither large ears nor sharp hearing—could have caught that whisper.
"I didn't quite catch it. Do say it again."
"...I just told you..."
Rebecca pulled a face of profound injustice, as if to say she'd already answered. Anyone meeting the Grand Duchess for the first time would surely have granted her anything, whatever she'd said, wearing an expression like that.
"You'll have to speak up, because I didn't hear it. Or is it that you no longer want the ice cream?"
"..."
Unfortunately for her, that pitiful face had no effect on me—a man who had spent three years at Rebecca's side and weathered every storm she could brew.
"It's because you... didn't, that's all."
"Pardon?"
"It's because you didn't come to see me!"
Gasp—
Realizing she'd shouted far too loudly, Rebecca clapped a hand over her mouth in shock, and I stood there dumbly, turning her words over in my head.
I... didn't come to see her?
So the reason Rebecca had been sulking was... that her fiancé—me—hadn't visited for a little over a week?
"...Pfft."
I really hadn't meant to laugh, but the laughter burst out of me all the same.
"What's so funny?"
Naturally assuming I was mocking her, Rebecca fixed me with an icy glare. But contrary to what she must have been thinking, my laughter was not mockery at all.
...She's adorable.
Adorable, that the Grand Duchess had sulked over something so small. Adorable, that her grievance amounted to nothing more than her fiancé not visiting for eight days. The reason she'd been angry with me was far simpler than I'd imagined, and I simply couldn't hold back my smile.
"So that's why you were sulking?"
"..."
"Because you were hurt that I didn't come by for a week without so much as a word?"
"...I wasn't sulking."
Rebecca insisted she hadn't been sulking—while wearing the most sulky, wounded expression imaginable.
How could anyone resist teasing her after that? Surely no person on this earth, gazing upon Rebecca in this state, could have held back the urge.
Unless they weren't a person of this world at all, I suppose.
"To think you were hurt because I—the man you love—didn't come to see you. Allow me to offer my sincerest apologies."
"I told you, I wasn't hurt."
"Of course, of course. Now hurry and finish your ice cream."
"..."
Since my face clearly conveyed nothing resembling belief, Rebecca went on glowering at me. But the moment I scooped some ice cream onto the spoon and brought it over, she accepted it readily enough.
And so I stood there, feeding strawberry ice cream to a Grand Duchess who insisted, at great length, that she had most certainly not been sulking—
"...So. Why didn't you come for a whole week?"
This time it was the Grand Duchess, mid-bite of ice cream, who turned the question on me.
"..."
"...Hello? I'm talking to you?"
And this time, it was my turn to find myself struck utterly speechless.
'Because the moment you kissed me kept replaying in my head and I couldn't face you'—how exactly was I supposed to say that?
I could hardly tell her the real reason I'd failed to visit the Valencia Ducal estate. If I spoke the truth, Rebecca would see straight through to my heart in an instant.
"?"
Worse, when I saw the bewildered look on her face, she seemed not to remember what had happened that day at all. How on earth could I admit that the events of that day were what had kept me away?
"...I was rather busy with sword training."
So instead of the truth, I offered sword practice as my excuse. It was true that I had trained hard during the week I'd stayed away from the ducal residence, so it wasn't exactly a lie—and that thought let me hold my head up high.
"Sword training?"
"Yes. I felt I'd been somewhat neglecting it lately."
"..."
Of course, judging by the way Rebecca stared holes through me, she didn't believe a word of it. But as I'd just noted, it wasn't a lie—I really had devoted that whole week to the blade.
I was unashamed.
Yet my relief at not having been caught lasted only a moment.
"Is that so?"
The instant I saw Rebecca's smile spread slowly, wickedly across her face, instinct told me something had gone very wrong.
"If you've been training so diligently... then it's high time you sparred with me, wouldn't you say?"
"..."
"Come. To the training grounds."
"...I'm hardly at a level where I could stand against you yet, my la—"
I belatedly realized the mistake I'd made and scrambled to smooth things over, but—
"No excuses. Come out. Now."
Rebecca was smiling darkly, looking for all the world like a hunter who had snared her prey, and nothing I said reached her at all.
In a situation like this, there was only one thing left for me to do.
...Mother, Father. I fear your son may not return home in one piece today.
All I could do was quietly consider how best to apologize to my parents.
"Don't worry too much. I'll hit you... gently."
"..."
And Rebecca's thoroughly untrustworthy promise, ringing loud and clear in my ears, was simply the cherry on top.