Wh-What......
“Wh-what......”
Shocked, Michael Lux Rampas widened his eyes. As the noble crown prince, he had never heard such crude language before. Even the imperial knights who occasionally spat harsh words were all nobles, and outside of sparring matches, they always strove to speak with refined elegance. So the depth of Michael's current embarrassment was beyond words.
“......”
Toward such a Michael, Abigail Carpoem abruptly shot to her feet and strode over with purpose. The banquet hall fell into dead silence, the chatter cutting off abruptly. Someone could be heard swallowing hard.
“You. You're really doing this, aren't you? Huh?”
Her cocky stance was the textbook image of someone picking a fight. Strangely, the swagger suited her surprisingly well. Flustered, Michael blinked.
“Little Duchess, there must be some misunderstanding.”
“Misunderstanding? Mis-under-stan-ding?”
Abigail's voice rose as she dragged out the word. She was definitely drunk. Cold sweat trickled down Michael's back as he grew more embarrassed. The Abigail Carpoem Little Duchess, whom everyone admired, was clearly intoxicated from just one drink. Unfortunately, he seemed to be the only one who knew it.
“Pl-please calm down.”
“Do I look calm right now? Huh?”
The excited Abigail pressed him. She was drunk for sure, but her voice was loud and clear. That only made Michael more awkward. The others would think she was in her right mind, so sending her back to her room as a drunken mess would be impossible. But if he left her like this, she might cause a massive incident. He had a bad feeling about it.
“You shitty male lead bastard. I've never liked you from the start.”
“...Male lead?”
While Michael was puzzled by the unfamiliar term, the other knights focused on Abigail's words themselves. Shitty. Never liked you from the start. If this were the imperial palace, it would warrant a charge of lese-majeste. The northern heir had crossed the line with the crown prince, symbol of the empire. But this wasn't the south where the palace stood—this was the north. The very edge of the north. Those who might side with the crown prince were limited to the imperial knights. The knights of the Carpoem Ducal House's 3rd Knight Order—known as the rowdy troublemakers, the Belio Knights—watched Abigail with gleaming eyes.
“Me, huh? Why do I have to go through all this crap because of you! You damn bastard!”
“Ooooh!”
The fired-up Abigail grabbed Michael's collar. Far from intervening, the immature northern knights watched with shining eyes, as if spectating a wager-fueled spar. They even cheered loudly, egging on her outburst.
“It's all because of you! You won't even break off the engagement! You rotten male lead bastard!”
“W-wait a......”
Michael was shaken back and forth, collar gripped tight. Only then did the imperial knights snap to attention and leap from their seats.
“Wh-what do you think you're doing!”
“Your Highness!”
Jeers immediately flew at them.
“Don't butt in, you bastards!”
“That's right! Little Duchess!”
Corin Diale trembled with fury, his mustache quivering as he shouted.
“H-how dare you to His Highness...! Aren't you afraid of the imperial family!”
“Oh no, so scary. I'm terrified!”
“Yeah, he'll drop dead from fear!”
Corin frowned at their un-knightly vulgarity. He didn't seem to realize it, but even he no longer cared about the safety of the collared Michael.
“Vulgar! Don't you know refinement?”
“Haha, refinement? Look for that in your own house!”
“Kuhahaha!”
The atmosphere grew ever hotter. Michael floundered, unable to lay a hand on Abigail's body, while the knights bickered among themselves. Then, some excited fool hurled a wine glass, and it struck an imperial knight squarely on the head.
Thunk! Roll...
Silence fell for a moment. The struck knight collapsed unconscious on the spot. His comrades' eyes blazed.
“You bastards!”
“We showed mercy, and you run wild like the sky's the limit!”
The northern knights scoffed in response. In an instant, the hall descended into chaos. Shouts and curses flew, followed by fists.
“You scrawny southern wimps!”
“Filthy barbaric savages!”
In the pandemonium, the only calm ones were the temple group with Saintess Yurina Florence and Illein Saiche. Yurina watched wide-eyed in shock, while Illein sipped his drink with his usual blank expression. The temple folk mostly kept to their area in silence, treating it as someone else's problem.
“L-Little Duchess, enough...!”
“Take responsibility, you male lead bastard...!”
He tried to stop her, but Abigail's grip was surprisingly strong. Michael couldn't shake her off. As his mind went blank, Abigail tripped amid the brawling knights and tumbled down.
“Eek!”
“Kuh!”
It looked for all the world like she'd slammed Michael down. She'd just been shaking him by the collar, after all. No one imagined she'd tripped from drunkenness.
“Ugh.”
“L-Little Duchess.”
Michael's head spun. Abigail lay sprawled atop him. Her sweet scent dizzied him. Strands of her long, slender black hair draped over his face. Michael's cheeks flushed deeper.
“...Ugh.”
Abigail, face dazed, lowered her head. The fall and peak drunkenness made it hard to steady herself. She clearly didn't even register who was beneath her.
“Little Duchess?”
“Ah, shit......”
“Little Duchess.”
“Ugh.”
Watching her mumble incoherently, Michael raised a hand. He parted the hair veiling her face and caressed her soft cheek.
“...Abigail.”
“......”
She gave no reply to his soft whisper. Her blank face blinked once, then stared down at him with unfocused eyes.
“Will you promise me one thing?”
“......”
“If... this war ends......”
In this moment, nothing else mattered. Michael whispered what he wanted, whether she heard or not. Even if she refused, he thought it was fine.
“I want to propose to you properly again......”
“Urk.”
“......?”
Before he could finish, Abigail clapped a hand over her mouth. She started dry-heaving. Michael looked up at her in alarm.
“A-are you alright?”
“Urk, urgh.”
As flustered Michael tried to rise, Abigail's body lifted with him. Eyes wide, he sat up and looked at the two men before him.
“You two......”
“......”
“......”
The commoner knight called the Carpoem Little Duchess's guardian. And the Magic Tower's senior mage, exclusive mage to the Carpoem Ducal House. Both held one of Abigail's arms each, faces expressionless.
“Ugh, stomach feels bad......”
Abigail wriggled as she muttered. Ian Servbo, gripping her right arm, bowed his head.
“My liege.”
“...I-Ian?”
Abigail lifted her head and peered at him through hazy eyes. Then she grinned.
“Ian! When'd you get here?”
“...I have been by your side the whole time.”
“Uuum.”
Ian replied gravely, but Abigail seemed not to register it, groaning as she tilted her head sideways. Ren Magicus on her left asked with a worried face.
“Lady Abigail. Are you alright?”
“Ugh, Reeen?”
She glanced at Ren and beamed.
“My little cutie!”
“Cutie......”
“Why'd you grow up so much? Boo hoo.”
“Ah......”
Ren's pupils shook, as if hit by multiple shocks. Oblivious, Abigail kept lamenting.
“You used to be so cute back then......”
“......”
Ren wasn't sure if he should be jealous of his younger self or mourn his current lack of appeal.
“Ugh.”
Having thrown both men into panic in seconds, Abigail drooped her head. Sleepiness had overwhelmed her.
“Kill 'em! Kill 'em all!”
“Don't run away!”
No knight in the chaotic hall paid the drunk Abigail any mind. They still thought she was beating the crown prince Michael. Or rather, they'd lost themselves in their own brawl. For the Little Duchess's dignity, it was probably for the best.
“My liege, we shall escort you to your room.”
Ian spoke lowly, gently tugging her arm. Michael snapped to and stood.
“No, I'll carry the Little Duchess.”
“......”
Ian's gaze met Michael's. Their eyes clashed in midair. Though he said nothing, Ian's eyes clearly signaled refusal. For a look at the crown prince, it was brazenly insolent.
“There's no need for Your Highness to trouble yourself.”
Ren voiced a polite refusal as well. Both men clung to Abigail, refusing to let go.
Michael found it unbearable.
“No, she is my fiancée.”
So let go of her.
Michael's eyes grew fiercer. As the three men's tension mounted...
Slender arms suddenly wrapped around Abigail's waist.
“My, gentlemen. You can't handle a lady's body so roughly.”
Yurina, who had been watching, rushed over at the ominous vibe and pulled the limp Abigail to her. As a saintess blessed by the gods, Yurina had good stamina too. Ian and Ren, caught off guard, released their grips, and she easily supported Abigail alone.
“I'll take care of Lady Abigail, so don't worry.”
“......”
“......”
“......”
Yurina smiled sweetly, driving the point home, then turned away. Abigail groaned and leaned into her.
“Lady Abigail, are you okay?”
“Mm.”
Blushing, Yurina carefully supported her step by step. Abigail was taller, so her cheek rested against Yurina's head. Feeling a tickle, Abigail opened her eyes again.
“...Ugh, Yurina?”
“Yes, Lady Abigail.”
As they left the banquet hall, Yurina shyly answered Abigail's question.
“Yurina......”
Abigail mumbled her name with half-lidded eyes.
“...Yeah, the heroine's pitiful too......”
“Pardon?”
Yurina blinked, uncomprehending the soft mutter. Sending her a gaze full of sympathy, Abigail suddenly shouted.
“Just live with me instead! Yurina!”
“Oh my!”
Yurina's heart pounded wildly.