Chapter 25

“Thank you.”

 

“You must know we cannot directly remain at Your Highness’s side.”

 

Their positions were those of nobles from a small border kingdom. Now nominally imperial nobles, but without influence—that was natural.

 

“I don’t expect much. I simply needed people who sought the truth behind my mother’s death… and people who would stand on my side. Do not feel burdened.”

 

“As expected, only Your Highness ever thinks of us. It’s gratifying to know you still consider our reason for existing.”

 

Ricardo, the guild leader, smiled meaningfully.

 

“But, Your Highness… it is not that we had no other method.”

 

“Another method?”

 

“Have you heard the name Martin Babero?”

 

Freyer nodded.

 

“The bursar baron, isn’t he?”

 

He was originally a commoner who had worked as a royal treasury official. He was granted the surname Babero for generating immense profit for the imperial treasury.

 

“Yes. A man of considerable influence in the neutral faction.”

 

By chance he had purchased a gold-vein mine and became a nouveau rich noble. He positioned himself between the emperor’s faction and the aristocrats—a neutral.

 

“That Martin Babero is our acting representative.”

 

“?”

 

“Bring him in.”

 

With a slightly foolish smile, Martin Babero walked into the room.

 

“I’m not sure if I belong in a place like this. Hahaha.”

 

At imperial events, Martin was known for being quiet and expressionless.

 

“Should I step back outside…? Lord Ricardo?”

 

He was quite different from the rumors. Freyer’s expression shifted subtly.

 

“No, sit.”

 

“Ah… Your Highness seems startled. Are you sure it’s alright?”

 

Seeing Freyer subtly tilt his chin, Martin scratched his patchy hair.

 

“A-ah, yes…”

 

He sat down awkwardly.

 

“Your Highness, it’s understandable you’re surprised. We could not disclose this beforehand.”

 

“So all of Martin’s past movements were part of a calculated plan.”

 

“Yes. It was all to reach the imperial court.”

 

That he bought a gold-vein mine. That he generated vast wealth for the treasury. Perhaps it was all deliberate. But those things were material.

 

‘People are different.’

 

Freyer studied Martin Babero. He looked simple, almost foolish.

 

“How can I be certain he’s not hiding some sinister scheme?”

 

“S-scheme? Me?”

 

Martin jumped to his feet.

 

“I—I neither have the courage nor the wits to plot anything like that!”

 

“If vast wealth were involved, your attitude could change.”

 

“No, never.”

 

Martin’s hands shook nervously. Ricardo reassured him.

 

“Your Highness, he is trustworthy. Martin once served as an administrator of our kingdom.”

 

“…”

 

Martin closed his eyes tightly and spoke.

 

“The Empire’s invasion took my family and my homeland. What amount of money could buy the heart of someone whose country was stolen?”

 

The air grew heavy. Silent nobles began to speak.

 

“Money cannot buy pride.”

 

“We long for our homeland, but all of that is past. Now we look only to Your Highness.”

 

“Protecting Your Highness—that is our purpose.”

 

“Indeed!”

 

Their passion was evident. Ricardo took something from his inner pocket and slid it forward.

 

“In truth, we have prepared something for Your Highness.”

 

It was an ordinary parchment. But the content written on it was anything but ordinary.

 

“A deed to a gold-vein mine?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Take it back.”

 

He sought help, but not this kind of immense wealth. Freyer pushed the parchment toward Ricardo.

 

“It belongs to you, Your Highness.”

 

The guild leader pushed it back again.

 

“We have merely safeguarded it until now. In truth, the gold vein Martin found originally belonged to the royal family.”

 

“The royal mines would’ve been absorbed by the Empire.”

 

“When the royal palace was burned, the mine’s documents burned with it. The Empire simply had no way of knowing. But we knew the location.”

 

“……”

 

“This will be of great use to Your Highness.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

Freyer’s heart grew heavier. Ricardo spoke again, after a pause.

 

“And as for the investigation into Princess Felicia’s death—though we are searching for the truth, there is not a single trace of evidence. Progress is slow.”

 

“Naturally. The village where Mother lived was burned to ash.”

 

“Yes…”

 

“I came to you late, despite all you prepared. I’m grateful… and sorry.”

 

“Not at all. We prepared only for this day.”

 

With this meeting, Freyer had gained wealth and influence. Only one thing was missing: a royal position. And an opportunity to gain one was approaching.

 

The Hunting Festival.

 

For the first time in several years—thanks to a bountiful harvest—the Hunting Festival would be held.

 

“The victor of this year’s Hunting Festival shall be granted a special wish.”

 

Whatever it was—money or rank—the emperor had promised to grant it, within reason.

 

‘The day I gain a title is close.’

 

 

***

 

 

‘I forgot about the tea party…’

 

After the Crown Prince’s homecoming celebration, Nazlee had sent her an invitation to a tea party. But the busy days at the trading company had pushed it completely out of Lilithia’s mind.

 

“I finally delivered everything successfully… When was the last time I had a break? I’m not leaving this bed today.”

 

“Miss! You were invited by Duke Idarand’s daughter today!”

 

Winnie’s nagging did nothing. Exhaustion pinned her to the bed—and falling back asleep was the problem.

 

“I’m late, I’m late!”

 

She grabbed the hem of her dress and rushed outside.

 

“As expected, I’m the last one…?”

 

Arriving at the outdoor garden tea party, she could only laugh weakly at the sight of the already gathered ladies.

 

“The protagonist always arrives last? No, I’m just late…”

 

Nazlee spotted her and waved.

 

“Lady Lilithia! Over here!”

 

The young ladies—some familiar, others not—turned to look at her.

 

‘So much pressure…’

 

She approached slowly.

 

“I’m a little late, right…?”

 

“No, not at all. I just arrived myself.”

 

Nazlee’s warm smile eased her embarrassment. Once Lilithia sat, Nazlee stood to address everyone.

 

“Since everyone’s here, I’ll introduce myself. I’m Nazlee Idarand, the one who arranged this tea party.”

 

Her hands clasped happily.

 

“At the last banquet, I regretted not getting to speak with you all, so I wanted to prepare this. Thank you for accepting my sudden invitation.”

 

She gestured toward the cake on the table.

 

“I baked this cake myself! It pairs beautifully with the tea I prepared, so I hope you enjoy it.”

 

A two-tier cake with deep red cream and floral decorations.

 

‘You could convince me a famous pâtissier made this.’

 

The ladies gasped with praise.

 

“Oh my, you made this yourself?”

 

“How impressive.”

 

Blushing from the compliments, Nazlee sat down quickly.

 

“Oh dear, I’m talking too much because I’m so happy.”

 

Conversation blossomed.

 

‘This cake is really good.’

 

Just as Lilithia was savoring the flavor, a green-haired lady—Claire—asked cautiously: “Nazlee… was there perhaps a gentleman who caught your eye at the banquet?”

 

It was impossible for a group of noble ladies to gather without mentioning eligible bachelors.

 

In the original plot, this was where she should have fallen in love with the Crown Prince at first sight.

 

‘But I interfered with that event. So, what’s the situation now?’

 

Lilithia listened intently.

 

“Well… there is someone I’ve taken an interest in.”

 

“Oh my, really?”

 

The ladies all turned their attention to her. Birds chirped across the garden, filling the silence.

 

“I… have feelings for the Second Prince.”

 

‘W–what? The Second Prince?’

 

Lilithia froze. The fork slipped from her hand and clattered onto her plate.

 

CLANG—

 

Everyone looked at her. Nazlee looked startled, then concerned.

 

“Lady Lilithia, are you alright?”

 

“…Haha, my hand lost strength. I’m so sorry for startling you all.”

 

Her plan at the banquet had failed. She had predicted Freyer would save Nazlee—and it didn’t happen.

 

‘But how did she fall for Freyer anyway?’

 

Claire stared wide-eyed and asked: “Nazlee… you mean His Highness the Second Prince Freyer?”

 

“Yes…”

 

Nazlee’s cheeks turned rosy. The ladies gasped.

 

“I can’t believe it—Prince Freyer?”

 

“H-how did you come to like him…?”

 

“He’s… well…”

 

“The Second Prince…?”

 

‘Why is everyone reacting like this?’

 

Their behavior was as though she had mentioned some forbidden name.

 

Then a lady with long black-and-white hair—silent until now—sipped her tea and spoke.

 

“He is the tragic prince… and the cursed one.”