The Express Bound for Marriage (2)

Anyone who still had both eyes pointed in roughly the same direction would have to admit Violet was a beauty, so it would have been a lie to say my heart didn't skip a beat.

Behind that face of hers that looked so expressionless as she watched me, a clear fondness was plain as day. On top of that, our interests lined up perfectly. Perfect enough that a man could almost believe the gods themselves had arranged the match.

A marriage to the eldest daughter of House Lylia, one of the Empire's five great ducal houses, would be a political windfall for a marquisate like Farcion. The family head—no, Father—would be pleased rather than put out by it, I was sure of that.

And above all else, it would mean that even if Her Highness the Princess kept incinerating my resignation letters, it no longer mattered. I had never submitted a resignation in the first place. All I had asked for was about a month of leave. A month, I had thought, would be more than enough time to find a suitable bride—and I had been confident I could do it.

But Her Highness had rejected the leave request on one pretext after another, and in the end my nerves had frayed enough that I slapped a resignation on her desk as a last resort.

I already had more than enough money to live on, and more honor than any one man needed. My plan had been to leave the headship to my younger sister and settle into a comfortable life as a pillar-husband in some respectable house.

Anyone overhearing that might call me unambitious, unmanly even. But my ambitions and my dreams had already been lost on the battlefield, every last one of them.

Yes… if only that one thing had never happened…

"Lord Evan?"

"…"

"Lord Evan!"

"Ah—yes. My mind must have wandered for a moment. If I offended you, I apologize."

"…Not at all. Your expression simply went dark for a second, so I spoke up. That aside… I look favorably on a marriage with you, Lord Evan. But what do you think?"

"I am very much taken with Lady Violet's proposal as well. As it happens, I had been looking for a good bride."

"Good. But this is a marriage between the eldest daughter and the eldest son of our houses. It won't go anywhere on our private agreement alone. So before long, I would like to visit House Farcion myself and speak with the Marquis. Would that be all right?"

"Of course. The moment I return home today, I will make every preparation to receive you properly."

"I shall look forward to it."

Once the talk of marriage was settled, a faint, awkward silence settled between us. Not a cold or heavy silence—more the sweet, stomach-fluttering kind, where two people keep glancing for something to say.

I cast about for a way to break it, looking here and there, but somehow my eyes kept being pulled back to the space around Violet, as if drawn on a string.

The long cascade of deep violet hair, the foxlike features—more than enough to bewitch any man. Even in the full dress uniform of House Lylia, which left not a scrap of bare skin, the lines that showed through the cloth traced a definite, deliberate curve.

And while I was busy looking everywhere but at her, Violet, for her part, had been watching my eyes the entire time since the conversation ended. She regarded my frantic search for a topic as if she found it endearing, and the corners of her otherwise blank mouth curved into a clear little arc.

Perhaps it was only a hunch, but I had the feeling that saying nothing at all—simply looking at each other like this—was already a deeper conversation than any words we might force.

So I stopped flitting my gaze about and met the eyes that were watching me.

"…."

"…"

At first she seemed startled that I was looking back—her eyes widened a fraction—then, as if she rather liked it, she gave a faint smile with her eyes.

"Ahem…"

Seeing that smile, I had to fight like hell just to hide the way my heart was hammering.

"Lord Evan… you really are as adorable as the rumors say."

"…What do you mean by that?"

"Your heart. It seems to be racing rather hard."

But the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠heart is an involuntary muscle. It is not something a man can simply order about. The pounding was loud enough in my own ears that I could barely hear her, so of course she—sitting only a knee-high table away—couldn't have missed it no matter how hard I tried to hide it.

"…How embarrassing. To make such a spectacle of myself at our first meeting…"

"A spectacle? I'm rather pleased, actually—that you're this flustered over me. Here. You probably can't hear much right now, so I'll prove that I'm trembling just as hard."

"Prove…?"

We were both sitting on small sofas, so either of us only had to rise a little to close the distance.

Softly—

Violet's hand closed around my wrist and drew it toward her chest. The hand she guided there settled, with a soft give, against a breast that was neither too full nor too slight.

Just as the plush, yielding warmth under my palm threatened to scatter every coherent thought I had—

Thump—! Thump—! Thump—!

In stark contrast to her expressionless face, the heartbeat against my palm was tremendous. A fierce, insistent pulse that was hard to believe could come from a heart so much smaller than mine, staking its claim through the heavenly softness under my hand.

"…Lady Violet's heart is racing just as hard."

"Violet."

"Pardon?"

"Call me Violet. Drop the 'Lady.' And I'll call you Evan."

A flush of red had settled on that same expressionless face as she said it.

"Violet. Like that, then?"

"Mm. That sounds nice, Evan."

They say a flower only truly becomes a flower when you call it by name. Dropping the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠titles certainly made the distance between us feel much closer.

Of course, since we were not even formally engaged yet, we would still have to use proper address in public. Even so, the two of us savored each other's names.

Staying at the ducal house too late into the night would only invite ugly rumors, so after passing a pleasant stretch of time with Violet I took my leave.

Perhaps I was still young after all. Even the pointless chatter between just the two of us had been absurdly fun.

Only two workdays left. Two days from now, give or take three more, Violet would almost certainly come to my house, meet Father, and bring up the matter of marriage.

Father was as feverish about my marriage as I was, so he would accept it without a second thought. House Lylia stood higher than ours, which meant I would be going to them as a live-in son-in-law—and my younger sister would become the head of House Farcion.

The Empire rewards ability and loyalty, regardless of sex—even regardless of species. Of course, when a man and a woman stand side by side, the man is preferred even if his ability is lesser. A man can continue the bloodline, and in a male-centered aristocratic society the duties of a house head involve any number of functions where a woman is at a disadvantage.

That was why Father was so desperate to leave the headship to me. Not a chance. Sylvia would take it.

She had been exceptionally sharp since childhood; she would do well as head. From what I could see, she already found the way the house was currently run rather frustrating, so so much the better.

Thinking about all of this, I found myself at my own front gate before I knew it. We were a marquisate, so of course the house was a sizable estate.

Once I had passed the gatekeeper, who confirmed my face and my mana, the white lilies in the beautiful garden fluttered as if to show off their neat little forms. The garden still bore Mother's heavy influence. A tree that had begun as the tiniest sapling now stood solid as an old giant at the center of it. Mother had planted it, she said, hoping House Farcion would grow just as sturdy and upright.

Well, superstition or not, it's true that nothing truly disastrous has struck the house since that tree went into the ground.

By that measure, one might almost call it a sacred tree.

Creak—!

I opened the door and stepped inside. The corridor was empty. Naturally enough—I had walked all the way from House Lylia, which was some distance ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠from ours, and by now, past the dinner hour, the maids and butlers would have retired to their own rooms.

If I rang the bell by the front door, the head butler would appear at once, but there was no need.

I was heading down the polished corridor toward my room when I noticed a light still on in my sister's room far down the hall. At this hour she would be writing a letter to her fiancé. Seeing that would only sour my mood, so I stuck to my original destination.

Knock-knock—! Creeeak—

"I'm home, Father."

"Mm. Rejection again today, I take it?"

"As always. But I do have good news for once."

"What, did you actually exchange words with a maidservant today?"

"…I don't report that sort of thing to you, Father."

"Oh-ho? This from the boy who once spilled water on his clothes, had a maid wipe it off, and then made a whole scene about how he could get married now."

True, that had happened—but I had been young and foolish then.

"…Not that. This concerns House Lylia."

"Lylia? If it's about the duke taking to his sickbed and the daughter stepping in as acting head, I've already heard."

"It's about that acting head, specifically."

I laid out for him everything about Violet's situation and everything I had been thinking. The stern set ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of Father's face softened into the barest curve of a smile—then immediately collapsed again.

"Hold on. By what you're saying, you'd be going to House Lylia as a live-in son-in-law?"

"Well… essentially, yes."

"You idiot—then what about the headship?"

"Sylvia will take it, of course."

"Aigoo… aigoo… my head…"

Father really did look as though a vein had snapped at the back of his neck. One hand clapped over his nape, the other covering his eyes, he then used the Conductor to send the fountain pen in his grip sailing out through the doorway. Off to summon Sylvia, no doubt. Father was more scholar than warrior, and he often called us this way. The standing threat that a non-response earned you a pen jabbed into the thigh was simply a bonus.

Creak—!

"Yes, Father. You called?"

The same ash-gray hair as mine, the same blue eyes. A sharp, catlike face framed by a short cut—my younger sister stepped into the study where Father and I waited.

"Sylvia. Do you truly want the headship?"

"Yes. If you entrust it to me, I will give it everything I have."