The First Invitation
Thinking she must have misread, Lefonya rubbed her eyes and checked the invitation once more.
Yet the name inscribed on the card inviting her to the succession gala was unmistakably Ruedeum Villemon.
"The young lord of Villemon who inherited the dukedom... is Ruedeum?"
At her reaction, the Duke's brow arched askew. Pelens, who had just been teasing her about being a scruffy little fluffball, instantly swallowed his playful tone. With his easy grin gone, Pelens rested his chin in his hand, his expression turning taut and grim.
"Fluffball. What's with that face? Do you actually know him?"
The atmosphere turned murderous in a single breath. If she admitted she knew him here, they would inevitably demand to know how.
"Is he by any chance the one who sent you—"
"Pelens."
Huh?
Pelens had been on the verge of pressing further, but Duke Craitan cut in to silence him.
"Hold your tongue, Pelens."
At the Duke's chilling reprimand, Pelens clamped his mouth shut. Both men looked thoroughly on edge.
Ah! Since House Villemon is powerful enough to rival House Craitan... they must be bitter rivals!
If that were the case, their prickliness made complete sense.
Besides, there's no way he could be the same Rudeum who snuck into my bedroom twice. That's just absurd.
Lefonya scrambled to deny the thought.
"No. I don't know him at all. It's just my first time ever receiving an invitation, so... I was curious if the name written here belonged to the young lord, that's all."
Fortunately, the icy tension in the air softened back to warmth.
Still resting his chin in his hand, Pelens smiled again.
"Fluffball. There's no such thing as a good person in this world. Father and me... no, scratch that. Suspect everyone except me. Got it?"
"Oppa."
"Yeah?"
"You don't have a single friend in daily life, do you?"
Pelens didn't bother denying it; he just let out a hearty laugh.
No wonder he never gets letters from the Academy, and no one ever visits claiming to be his friend.
With his reputation as an untamed scoundrel, everyone probably steered clear out of sheer terror. That had to be why he went around telling her to distrust the entire human race.
Poor guy. When he asked to hang out last time, was he actually just lonely because he had no friends?
With an expression of pure, charitable understanding, Lefonya patted Pelens consolingly.
"So you truly do not know him, then, Ponya."
"Mm-mm. Not at all."
"Hmm. Regardless of how he learned of you, it seems he sent an invitation to you and you alone before anyone else in the Empire, so everyone is currently waiting on your reply."
"Huh?"
"The subsequent round of invitations will only be dispatched once the primary guest's response has been confirmed."
"..."
"For the record, I haven't received mine yet either."
"Hahaha. Neither have I, Fluffball. Haha. The sheer audacity of that little greenhorn, haha."
"Then... does everyone know I was the first one invited?"
"It hasn't been publicly announced, but high society talks. By now, the word is out."
Lefonya stared at the invitation, her eyes swirling with bewilderment.
What on earth was this Ruedeum Villemon thinking?
That means every noble in the entire Empire knows about me now!
The sheer, suffocating weight of unwanted attention made her squirm all over.
"Ah... do I really have to go?"
"No. You have no obligation whatsoever."
Duke Craitan answered so promptly it seemed he had been waiting on pins and needles for that exact question.
"If you do not wish to attend, you naturally need not go."
"Father's completely right. Fluffball, it's entirely your choice. What's the point of dragging yourself to some stranger's succession bash anyway? It won't be any fun."
Lefonya rubbed her thumb across the name 'Ruedeum' inked on the card, turning it over in her mind.
A formal gathering like that would surely be stifling and stiff.
Just as she lifted her head to decline, a memory of Rudeum's parting words flashed through her mind.
Next time, you come to me... that was what he had said.
...No way. Surely...
Her eyes trembled as she looked down at the invitation once more.
No... could it... could it really be?
After a brief, agonizing debate, Lefonya reached her verdict and nodded.
"I... I want to go to this succession party."
At her decision, Pelens collapsed face-first onto the table, his expression completely crumpled.
"Fluffbaaaall! And here I tucked away a few tea party invitations from people who'd actually make good friends for you..."
Pelens pulled several charming, colorful envelopes from his breast pocket and waved them around in sheer disappointment.
"I'll make my own friends, Oppa. You just worry about making some of your own."
"For a fluffball, you sure don't hit like cotton! Stop beating me with your words!"
Lefonya gave Pelens a half-hearted pat on the shoulder before turning her gaze to the Duke.
Duke Craitan, clearly far from pleased, was pressing his furrowed brow with two fingers.
"Ponya. It isn't that I object to your decision, but..."
"Your Grace, your face already says you object completely."
"May I ask why you resolved to attend?"
Why?
"Well, you said you were thinking of introducing me to people soon."
"You could simply accompany me or Pelens to an event we have been invited to."
"I could, but if I'm going, I'd rather go on an invitation addressed to me."
A total lie.
She was going purely to find out if this Ruedeum was the very same Rudeum, or merely shared a name.
"...You have a point, Ponya. Attending on your own invitation carries quite a different weight than merely tagging along on ours."
Duke Craitan stroked his chin, falling into deep contemplation.
"Then what would you think if House Craitan hosted a gathering under a suitable pretext to introduce you?"
"Huh? Out of nowhere?"
"It is something I have been considering for some time. I thought you would feel far less nervous if we were the hosts extending the invitations, rather than guests entering someone else's territory."
Lefonya nodded slowly.
"But you didn't bring that up at first. Was there a reason?"
"If House Craitan holds a formal banquet, our vassals would be obligated to attend."
What does that have to do with anything? Lefonya tilted her head.
"I worried that facing them again might distress you, Ponya."
Ah.
She hadn't expected him to be considerate down to such a detail.
"I'm fine. ...It's not like I can avoid them forever anyway."
"Why can't you? If you don't want to see them, you can avoid them forever! Those bastards should count their lucky stars that happened while I was away. I'm not like Father. The moment I lay eyes on them, I'm gonna tear them limb from—"
"Pelens."
As Pelens's temper flared toward violence, the Duke cut in with a low, stern warning.
Hosting a banquet to introduce her wasn't a bad idea in itself, but...
"Under what pretext would we even host it?"
Pelens answered her question with absolute confidence.
"Pretext? Why the hell do we need a pretext to throw a party? We'll just announce that we're showing off our household fluffball!"
The Duke let out an exhausted sigh. Behind him, the Duchy Butler parted his lips to offer a rational explanation, but Lefonya beat him to it.
"Oppa. If we throw a party just to show me off, more people would invent excuses to skip it than actually show up."
"What? Who'd dare pull that stunt? That's asking to make an enemy of House Craitan."
"What if they had an undeniable excuse? Like their stomach suddenly tearing in agony on the day of the banquet, or a family member suffering a horrific injury gushing blood, so they had to stay by their bedside?"
Pelens scowled, displeased by the logic. The butler's eyes shone with admiration toward Lefonya before he smoothly took over.
"The young lady is precisely correct. That is why His Grace intends to hold a banquet under a pretext no one could possibly decline, and introduce the young lady on that very occasion."
"And what pretext could possibly make it impossible to decline?" Pelens asked.
Taking a leisurely sip of his tea, the Duke answered as if it were the most mundane matter in the world.
"We shall unveil the family heirloom."
"...!"
Lefonya's heart plummeted. Her fingers slipped, nearly sending her teacup crashing to the table.
"Ponya, are you all right? Was the tea too hot?"
Fortunately, Pelens caught the tremor in an instant and gently shielded the back of her hand.
Lefonya managed a strained smile, murmuring that she was fine while steadying her shaky breath.
The heirloom.
She had never dreamed that word would come directly from the Duke's own mouth. Let alone here, in such casual conversation.
Back when she had combed every corner for it, not a trace could be found—yet the moment she decided to protect it, it appeared right before her eyes.
"There's... an heirloom?"
Lefonya asked, unaware of the look on her own face.
"House Craitan possesses an heirloom that has been guarded across generations. It is an artifact that must be personally safeguarded by the head of the Empire's Guardian House."
Lefonya swallowed hard against a dry throat.
"Though its existence is known through whispers among the nobility, it has never once been revealed to the public. The nobles will come running in droves."
Of course. If it had ever been put on display before, I wouldn't have had to skulk through the estate trying to find it in the first place...
"...You're going to unveil... that?"
Lefonya's eyes trembled as if shaken by an earthquake.
The Duke tilted his head slightly. "Is something amiss, Ponya?"
An heirloom guarded through generations and never once revealed to the public, brought out solely as an excuse to introduce an adopted daughter... and he saw absolutely nothing wrong with it. That thought process was truly baffling.
Am I the only one who thinks this is insane right now?
Lefonya glanced around at the retainers in the room. The butler, the maids, the knights—every last one of them wore a completely placid, approving expression.
Pelens was even admiring his father with sheer awe.
"Father. That's genuinely brilliant."
Lefonya gave up on thinking altogether.