The Magic Festival Invitation
Abigail appeared in a gorgeous dress, just as she always did, but everything about her was different. The girl who used to chatter endlessly and give everyone headaches now sat quietly, sipping her tea. Even with him right in front of her.
Not only that, but her sweet tone, her polite demeanor, her seemingly sincere apology—none of it matched the Abigail he knew.
"I've accepted your apology."
"Really?"
"But I'll keep visiting the ducal territory. Who knows what schemes you might have up your sleeve."
"Well done, Your Highness. That lady of the duchy couldn't possibly have come to her senses overnight. She's just throwing a tantrum for today."
"...I think so too."
Michael's blue eyes darkened deeply.
The duke's one and only daughter was no suitable match for a spouse. She was a fool, simple-minded—perfect for manipulation. To Michael, she was nothing more and nothing less.
To one day claim everything from that arrogant ducal house, Michael had been laying the groundwork for years. This inspection tour was part of that plan; he couldn't let the opportunity slip away.
"Next time we meet, she'll be the same old Abigail Carpoem."
"Yeah, she will."
Michael suppressed the nagging unease as best he could.
Abigail Carpoem was not the type to change.
Never.
* * *
I'm screwed. Totally screwed.
Back in my room, I vented my frustration by pounding an innocent cushion.
The dense crown prince kept droning on about a fiancé's duties and left without giving me a chance to stop him. I'd meant to avoid meeting him altogether, but now I worried I'd only stoked his suspicions.
"Ugh, so annoying."
After beating the cushion for a while, I let out a long sigh.
What I needed was a change of perspective. This might actually be a good thing.
After all the villainy Abigail had pulled, a single apology followed by "Yes, understood" would have been way more suspicious. Since this was a long game anyway, it was better to meet the crown prince regularly and make it blatantly clear I had zero interest in him.
That aside...
There was a more pressing issue. I turned to the maid cowering in the distance.
"You there."
"Y-yes?"
She paled the moment I called her, no doubt bracing for another outburst.
I beckoned her calmly with my hand.
"Come closer."
"Yes, miss."
Trembling with fear but maintaining her composure, the maid approached. Up close, I recognized her from Abigail's memories—she popped up pretty often.
"What's your name?"
"Pardon?"
Her eyes widened in surprise, as if she'd never expected the question. When our gazes met, she quickly bowed her head apologetically.
"A-Annie, miss."
"Hm."
Abigail probably never bothered learning her maids' names. But I didn't want to call someone "hey" or "you" without knowing who they were.
"Annie, huh. Nice name."
"......"
Annie flinched and bowed even deeper. She must be utterly confused right now. Abigail had treated her maids like punching bags, after all.
I had no intention of doing that. To protect the ducal house from the crown prince going forward, I needed loyal people I could count on like limbs.
"I'm going to see Father. Let him know."
"Understood."
I thought she'd leave right away, but Annie hesitated in front of me.
"What is it?"
"Well, um..."
After a brief pause, she asked in a steadier tone.
"Is there anything else you need?"
Ah, that explains it. Abigail never gave her maids just one task. Even if there was nothing to do, she'd hurl freshly laundered clothes at them and demand a redo—nitpicking over stains too faint to notice.
"No, that's it."
"Understood."
With a firm answer, Annie bowed deeply once more. I glimpsed sweat beading on the nape of her neck.
I watched impassively, then spoke up abruptly.
"Wait."
"Yes."
Annie, who had been backing toward the door, froze. Her hands clutched her apron, trembling faintly.
Was Abigail really that terrifying? I chuckled softly.
"How long have you worked here?"
"...This year makes ten."
Longer than I expected. A good idea struck me, and I smiled warmly.
"Ten years, huh. That's long enough for a promotion, don't you think?"
"Pardon?"
I was sorely lacking allies in this mansion. Not just the maids, but even the stablehands who never crossed paths with me despised Abigail. From now on, building "my people" steadily was key.
"Never mind. Go tell Father I'm coming to see him."
"Y-yes, understood."
Annie nodded, flustered, and quietly left the room.
* * *
"You wanted to see me?"
"Yes, Father."
The duke's face looked as gaunt as ever, even after just a day. The moment he saw me smiling, his expression soured.
"What, did His Highness offend you again?"
Starting in like that the second he saw me—though it was hardly surprising. Abigail had always stormed to the duke whenever something irked her, nagging him relentlessly. Too busy to reason with her patiently, he'd just cave to her demands.
They were terrible parents, really. I clicked my tongue inwardly and replied.
"No, nothing happened with His Highness."
I smiled brightly and warmly.
"Actually, Father, I have a favor to ask."
"A favor...?"
His furrowed brow creased even deeper, as if to say, Of course.
"Don't worry. It won't cost you any money."
"Hmph..."
His expression didn't soften. Abigail's "favors" never stopped at material things. Telling the imperial crown prince to come and go as she pleased required the duke's influence, after all. He was loyal to the imperial family in his own way, but having Abigail as a daughter was his Achilles' heel. Even he had thrown up his hands against her anything-goes attitude to get what she wanted.
But in that, she and I were alike. I, too, would stop at nothing to get what I wanted.
Just... in a very different direction.
"The Magic Festival is coming up soon, Father."
The Magic Festival—a so-called magic extravaganza. Magic had long been the domain of the south. With the Magic Tower there and most skilled mages hailing from the region, people saw the south as the land of magic and the north as the realm of swords.
Then the previous northern duke allied with the Magic Tower to start the festival right around this time each year. It was held in this mana-starved land to nurture talent. Over time, exchanges with the tower grew, and the event ballooned in scale.
"What does that have to do with you?"
Abigail had never properly attended the northern Magic Festival. The capital's, maybe—but not this one.
I was different. With eager anticipation on my face, I said,
"I want to participate this time."
"What? You?"
The duke stared at me in bewilderment. You ignored me when I begged you to go before, and now? His face seemed to say.
Unlike Abigail, I was hugely interested in magic. And the reason stood right before me: Duke Carpoem.
He didn't have long to live. For me to survive, he had to as well.
I recalled the original story's details on the duke. The truth came out near the end, when the sage sub-male lead with his "keen insight" found traces and muttered to himself,
'Adrian Carpoem... perhaps he was killed by magic...'
No one heard it but him, but it had stuck vividly in my memory.
Adrian Carpoem's illness was caused by magic. Someone was trying to kill him with it.
I had to stop it.
"Yes. And Father, there's a mage from the Magic Tower I really want to invite."
I knew who would become the Magic Tower Master and a great sage in this story: Ren Magicus, a character and the sub-male lead. The once-in-a-generation genius who pieced together the secret from the duke's faintest traces in the final chapter.
With him on board, the duke's illness would be no issue.
"Please invite Mage Ren Magicus."
"What? Magicus?!"
Bam! The duke slammed his desk in fury.
If there was one mage clan the duke would never invite, it was the Magicus family. The "cursed" clan, reviled by upstanding nobles like him for serving darkness over light.
Ren Magicus, especially talented in magic, had been taken in by the Magic Tower young. Recalling how upright he'd been in the novel, I pleaded,
"I'm just curious. Can't I?"
The duke looked at me like a spoiled child.
Then he scolded sharply.
"You mustn't go near the likes of them! Who knows what could happen!"
What could happen? Saving your life.
Hiding my true thoughts, I played the petulant "Abigail Carpoem."
"What could trash like them do? I just want to see. I'm curious!"
I chattered like a kid eyeing a rare animal.
The duke kept raging.
"Stop talking nonsense! No means no—out!"
"No!"
"Abigail!"
I faced off against the fuming duke, feigning a sulk. Abigail's memories made it easy to mimic.
"No! I'm not leaving!"
I dug in my heels stubbornly. He could have had servants drag me out, but he couldn't bring himself to with his only daughter.
Click.
The study door opened, and an urgent voice called.
"Your Grace, urgent report!"
The man who burst in panting was familiar: Dominic Fuchs, the duke's adjutant. His striking red hair was drenched in sweat from rushing.
He caught his breath, wiped his brow without pause, glanced at the duke—then startled at me.
"Ah, Lady Abigail is here too. I didn't realize."
He bowed politely, but his mind was elsewhere, clutching a crumpled letter. He fidgeted anxiously.
The duke shot him a glance and growled lowly,
"Abigail, last warning. Get out."
"I'm not leaving till you say yes!"
"Abigail!"
Dominic, caught in the middle, didn't know what to do. He couldn't leave with such important business, but staying meant tiptoeing around the father-daughter spat.
I sent him silent sympathy in my heart—he'd been stuck like this plenty of times before.
Still, with the duke's life on the line, I couldn't back down.
"Haa."