The Man of the Youngest Princess and the Third Imperial Princess
The Man of the Youngest Princess and the Third Imperial Princess
Karen was not particularly thrilled with Ian.
Some stray stone that had rolled in from nowhere had bewitched Lady Asteria's heart.
— A talented child. Enough that I'd want to make him mine by whatever means, but I'd be grateful even if he simply stood beside me.
It was incomprehensible.
Why would someone of Lady Asteria's stature so fervently desire a person of his caliber?
'She was never one to obsess over anyone...'
Not even over Karen herself.
And now that man was her commanding officer for the duration of this mission.
A tight, frustrating knot.
Pressed against one corner of her heart.
She knew it was presumptuous, but a small discontent had taken root.
It was only a small discontent.
Karen was a professional among professionals.
She would follow Lady Asteria's orders, but she couldn't help noticing his flaws.
'His performance on the train was splendid, but he lacked composure.'
Take, for example, that somewhat arrhythmic gait of his...
It was certainly not the walk of someone who had danced before.
Considering he had to perform admirably as the 'Third Princess's Man' at tonight's banquet, it was almost horrifying.
'I'll have to teach him.'
A petty revenge, perhaps. She would give him a little fright as payment for the lesson.
And so she took his hand.
One step, then another.
"...?"
Karen was taken aback.
...She could feel it.
His footsteps changed with each step he took.
He absorbed her instruction as though retrieving some long-buried memory.
A genius sculptor once said:
'I do not sculpt. I merely find the form that lies buried within the marble.'
Without a doubt, Ian was discovering a dance he should not have known, as if recalling something he had momentarily forgotten.
Karen realized it then.
So this is talent.
And in that moment of realization, she let her guard down.
Ian drew her in.
Close enough that they could hear each other breathe.
His dark eyes were fixed on her.
"How is it now?"
Even in this dimness, his eyes shone with a brilliant light.
Just like his talent.
"...That will suffice."
What Lady Asteria had seen in him—Karen could now faintly grasp it.
◆
Guards were not permitted inside the banquet hall.
However, it seemed they still dressed in simple ceremonial attire to match the atmosphere.
"Not having to wade into the nobles' feeding frenzy makes me happy to be a guard."
At grand banquets like this, there were always separate gatherings for the guards, and Karen headed off down a side path.
"The proxy attendee of the Third Princess, Sir Ian Blackangus, enters!"
The banquet hall was opulent and dazzling.
'...As naturally as possible.'
Ian was, needless to say, hardly familiar with aristocratic banquets of this nature. However.
- Originally, the 'Princess's Man' is granted latitude in whatever he does. A sort of jester, if you will.
According to Karen's advice, he simply had to avoid looking intimidated.
It meant acting with confidence and ease, which wasn't too difficult.
As he ate finger food and observed the crowd, a few named figures caught his eye.
Prominent young heirs from the North, leading figures of various guilds, and a handful of journalist types including Schwab.
Even among such people, Ian keenly felt that the attention on him was considerable.
"Oh my. You're even more striking when dressed properly. What is your relationship with the Third Princess?"
The first woman to approach him was the lavishly adorned young lady of some count's house. She seemed deeply interested in gossip.
And she was.
"Since you've attended the Northern Grand Duke's banquet, you'll naturally be participating in the tournament starting tomorrow as well. I look forward to it."
A noted knight-prospect active mainly in the northern regions burned with competitive spirit.
"Blackangus, isn't that the house that held jurisdiction over Easttan, near the capital? Hoho."
Among the middle-aged nobles, a few approached him with expressions that seemed almost pitying.
He spent a while engaging with people like that.
The dazzling jewels adorning the nobles hurt his eyes, and the strong perfume steadily numbed his sense of smell.
'...Socializing is exhausting.'
He needed some air.
A brief rest wouldn't tarnish the standing of the 'Princess's Man.'
Just then, the outdoor section of the banquet hall, connected by a small door, caught his eye. Most of the nobles had gone inside, so it looked sparse—perfect for catching his breath.
He was about to slip out into the passageway.
"Oh? Tired already?"
A greasy, slippery voice reached him.
"Haha. That's a bit disappointing, considering the title of 'Third Princess's Man'?"
The mid-boss, Hermann Pierce.
He'd initially thought of him as a male version of Sharon, but that wasn't right.
If Sharon Pierce was like sculpted ice,
this man was like ice that had melted—oily and slick.
The longer he looked, the more he noticed the smarminess beneath those sharp features.
Even those casually tossed-out jokes had barbs in them.
"It's a splendid banquet with much to enjoy. My thanks for the hospitality."
"Haha. Seeing you head outside, I simply worried you might be growing tired. Would a 'Princess's Man' not have experienced far more glamorous banquets than this? Even if you are still a student."
Typical of his suspicious nature. On the surface, it was half-flattery, but the underlying meaning was unmistakably mockery and suspicion.
"The finer the dish, the more one wishes to savor it slowly, don't you think? I was merely seeking a little leisure."
"Hm."
He let out a small breath.
It wasn't paranoia to interpret that sigh as suspicion—as if asking whether he had some other purpose.
Hermann murmured in a voice as slick as melting ice.
"The Third Princess's Men have always been devoted to socializing. The performance will begin soon, so I shall look forward to it."
With those words, Hermann's figure receded into the distance.
'...What's with that bastard.'
The intent behind those irritating words was hard to pin down.
Did he want the jester known as the Princess's Man to liven up the banquet a little more?
Or did he suspect that the title of 'Princess's Man' itself was a lie and that something else was being concealed?
The former, because this banquet was a meaningful event in his succession competition. The latter, to accumulate useful evidence. Hermann's mind was hard to guess.
But one thing was certain: the man was unequivocally looking down on Ian.
Stepping outside, Ian let out a quiet sigh.
"Hoo."
It was outdoors, but the air was merely cool and pleasant.
Looking closer, there was a distinct boundary where the snow had piled up and where it hadn't.
Some kind of membrane-shaped barrier spell was probably in place.
When he turned his head, he could see through a window: Rina Rosewell, laughing brightly as she flitted from person to person like a fish in water.
Her dress, matching her hair color, made her look as if a single flower had bloomed.
"And Danya..."
He'd worried she might face beastkin discrimination, but she seemed to be the center of attention among the younger nobles. Well, that fluffy tail and those perked-up ears were hard to resist.
"No need to ruin the banquet."
Ian muttered.
The melted-ice bastard had stirred a momentary flash of anger in him, but right now he needed to look at the bigger picture.
Hermann Pierce was a mid-boss he'd have to properly deal with eventually, so unsettling him now wouldn't be the worst thing—but drawing the Northern Grand Duke's attention for no reason was a bad move.
"No need for me to ruin it, I suppose."
This banquet was doomed to go awry anyway.
— Bba-bba-bam!
Right on cue, the sound of instruments came from inside.
The flower of high society: the ball.
The music signaling its start began to flow.
◆
— Ba-bam!
The loud instrument that had seized the hall's attention fell abruptly silent at its climax.
In the sudden hush, people glanced around for a moment.
— Click.
The brilliant lights that illuminated the hall winked out.
Then, from the floor, softly glowing magical candles began to drift slowly toward the ceiling.
- "Ooh."
The gentle, moody ascent of the candles and the light murmurs of admiration from the attendees deepened the ball's atmosphere.
The music resumed and drew to a close, splendidly ushering in the start of the dance.
— Wow, that was quite the show.
— It seems the rumors are true that Lord Hermann Pierce is multi-talented beyond just the sword.
Hermann Pierce gazed at the banquet hall with satisfaction.
'Indeed, the effort poured into the production was worth it.'
Though the expected Princess's Man had proved to be a shabby nobody and he would need to investigate the man's true nature, if the banquet concluded with this kind of atmosphere, it would be flawless.
'Once the rumors start spreading through society, my succession will be solidified.'
Hermann Pierce nodded with satisfaction.
Meanwhile.
"Hm."
Ian was in the middle of realizing his mistake.
'I didn't find a partner.'
At a ball, it was basic etiquette for a man to seek a female partner. While everyone else had been diligently finding theirs, he'd been outside cooling his face in the breeze... It was no different from the so-called 'Princess's Man' botching the fundamentals.
Ian let out a small sigh.
He had a faint inkling of where Hermann's suspicion had started.
'My dance instructor didn't teach me the basics.'
Muttering something that would have earned him a smack from Karen had she heard it, he glanced around.
There was no law that said he had to dance from the very first song. It was merely that the Princess's Man skipping the first number would draw puzzled looks.
— It appears Sir Ian Blackangus couldn't find a partner.
— Good heavens, are you saying there wasn't a single young lady here to his liking?
— It seems none satisfy him but a princess.
As he moved to slip away to the periphery, he heard the whispers around him.
At the far end, the orchestra conductor was about to swing the baton in his hand.
The strings of the cellos and violins were poised to quiver, ready to strike the first waltz of the ball...
At that moment.
— Bang!
The doors of the banquet hall burst open.
A sudden flood of bright light poured into the hall, which had been lit only by gentle candlelight. Those standing on the dance floor furrowed their brows.
Amidst it all, someone murmured.
"L-Lady Sharon?"
Every gaze snapped to the doorway.
A coldly striking girl, her blue hair swept up. Sharon Pierce.
With an expression of unprecedented bashfulness and elegance, she bowed her head.
"My apologies. I was slightly late, and this is my own brother's banquet."
- Crunch.
Hermann Pierce gritted his teeth.
'Why is that wench here?'
The romantic, hushed atmosphere had been painstakingly crafted with meticulous attention to both lighting and sound. That girl had ruined it completely just by wrenching the doors open. Had she done it on purpose? No. She had undoubtedly done it on purpose.
A faint murderous intent flickered in Hermann's furrowed eyes, but with all attention on him, he hurriedly plastered a smile back onto his face.
"How could I fault... my sister for coming? Especially when it is her first step into society. Come in, quickly. You've arrived just as the ball was about to begin."
Swoosh.
Sharon, who had bowed with her hand at the bodice of her dress, swept her gaze across the ballroom.
The youngest daughter of House Pierce was taking her first social step with a shocking entrance.
Naturally, all eyes were fixed on where she would go.
No.
In truth, her destination had already been decided.
There was only one person on the dance floor without a partner.
— Click.
In the silence, the sound of Sharon's heels echoed.
And at the end of that sound stood the Third Princess's Man.