Chapter 1 — Societal Debut

The palace was holding a banquet that night in the form of a buffet. These regular events simultaneously provided a place for aristocrats to mingle and served as demonstrations of the power of the kingdom and the royal family.

To put it bluntly, a night like this cost a horrifying amount of money.

The lighting of such a wide space, the various chandeliers hanging from the high ceiling, not to mention the candles burning within them, were not cheap, even from a noble’s perspective. Beeswax was produced within the country, but the cultivation of bees was not on the same level as on Earth, so they had to commission the collection of the materials, and importing Sumac Tallow from the east added to the cost, so it was unavoidably expensive.

In addition, the chandeliers were extremely valuable. After all, glass manufacturing didn’t exist there, so they were entirely constructed of silver and natural crystals. Buying even a single small one cost a fortune.

The huge red carpet adorning the floor had taken specialist craftsmen three generations to weave, and the high table with a mountain of food atop it had been carved by a skilled carpenter from a single tree. The space was resplendent to such a degree that it would cause not only commoners to go wide-eyed, but mid-level nobles to react in a similar fashion. The topic on the lips of many lower-middle-class nobles for much of the next day would be their attendance of this party.

When Zenjirou first entered the hall, a barrage of introductions to those very nobles in the light of the chandeliers awaited him, and he did his utmost to maintain a smile.

“Zenjirou, allow me to introduce you. This man here is Baron Pantoja. He demonstrated his skill as a commander in the war and now uses his abilities for the benefit of his lands,” Aura said from where she stood with her left arm wrapped around Zenjirou’s right.

“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Sir Zenjirou. I am Tomas Pantoja, granted the rank of baron by Her Majesty’s grace.”

“It is good to meet you directly despite the inconvenience it must have caused you.”

The man raised his lowered head with a laugh in the face of Zenjirou’s generous nod.

Aura was wearing a sleeveless orange dress, and while she adjusted the corsage on her right breast, the baron left the couple. As he watched the man leave, Zenjirou let out a careful sigh that wouldn’t be noticed by anyone around him.

I’m shattered...

He was struggling to maintain his posture, smile, and manner of speaking. Then again, it was just as likely to be the unfamiliar clothing and attention from everyone around him that made it so exhausting.

Fortunately, the nobles weren’t ignorant of protocol and would not unceasingly appear to introduce themselves without allowing him to catch his breath. He was managing things as best he could, but if he didn’t pace himself, he’d probably end up making a severe mistake.

Zenjirou was currently wearing the uniform of the royal Capuan family, wide white pants, and a top that was held together by a decorative cord similar to that of Japanese clothing. On top of all that, he wore a red vest-like affair as well.

Fittingly for the hot southern country, even such a formal uniform was nothing stifling, although the ceremonial blade at his waist was heavy, and the perfumed oil slicking his hair into place was itchy and had a strong scent. The blade and oil were familiar to him from the wedding ceremony, but they weren’t easy to get used to. At the moment, they were irritants that simply multiplied his discomfort as time went on.

While the crowd around him temporarily thinned out to let him breathe, Zenjirou memorized the appearance of the fellow who had just been introduced to him.

A man in his forties, medium build, black hair. Name of Baron Pantoja. Way too flattering. Not the best impression... all right, got it. Dammit, I wish they had business cards or something, he quipped mentally while outwardly maintaining his smile.

In the past, while at work, he had certainly needed to memorize names and faces at times, but normally no more than five at once. Tonight, he had already been introduced to dozens of people, and they didn’t have the custom of exchanging business cards to fall back on like in Japan, either.

The single saving grace was that, unlike the people back home, the nobles often wore rather distinctive clothing and were therefore fairly easily discernible from one another.

There were two main spheres in Capuan fashion. One was the traditional native dress passed down since time immemorial, and the other was the relatively recent trend from the Northern Continent, which was closer to modern western clothing on Earth. Over a long period, those two spheres had influenced each other and eventually merged. While they were all currently in formal attire, a buffet like tonight’s event was comparatively informal, so there was significant variety in how people were dressed. These differences led to Zenjirou assigning rude nicknames in his head to the attendees, like “Sir Tubby Flower-Print,” “Lady Purple Sea Lion,” and the like.

As far as he could intuit from Aura’s reactions, he hadn’t caused any real problems yet, though. A banquet like this was unlike a ball in that it didn’t require any special skills, nor were there countless behavioral nuances that he had to observe like there would be for a public event. By that metric, the buffet was a good choice for someone like Zenjirou, who boasted only a meager veneer of royalty. The intimate socialization required was an acceptable tradeoff to avoid a more ceremonious event where more complex skills would be expected of him.

While Zenjirou was considering these things, Aura moved a step away from him and picked up a silver goblet from the table before returning.

“Here,” she offered.

“Ah, thanks, Aura,” he answered, suddenly noticing his thirst with some surprise as he accepted the cup. It was filled with local fruit wine, which was relatively weak and had a harsh flavor. More than that, though, it was tepid, so not at all what he would have preferred, but it was enough to take the edge off his thirst on a warm night.

“I shall take that,” said a nearby attendant, having been signaled by Aura with a glance when she saw him finish the drink.

“Ah, please do,” he said as the woman took the goblet and withdrew.

Now that he had quenched his thirst and relaxed a little, Aura called out to some nobles who were waiting a respectful distance away, a man and a woman. Zenjirou remembered the woman; she was the only one other than Aura and the maids whom he had met since shutting himself up in the inner palace. Countess Octavia Márquez.

Most of the women in attendance were wearing northern-style dresses like Aura, but Octavia was clad in a traditional outfit and was rather eye-catching because of it. That would mean the plump man standing next to her was Count Manuel Márquez, the father of Rafaello Márquez, one of the former candidates for Aura’s hand and one of the foremost nobles in the country.

Doing his best to keep his review of the pair discreet, Zenjirou observed the man. Whoa, I’d heard, but he really could be her father. I guess having a beautiful second wife’s a dream for most men, regardless of age.

Aura abruptly tightened her grip on his arm as his thoughts began to stray towards the impolite. He was shocked for a brief moment, thinking she had read his mind, but soon remembered that this was the signal they had arranged. It meant the person before them was important who he should do his utmost to remember.

“It has been a while, my queen. And it is a pleasure to meet you, Sir Zenjirou,” the man said in greeting.

“My deepest thanks for your invitation today, Your Majesties,” added Octavia.

They bowed courteously. Aura kept her usual smile on her face as she introduced them.

“I am glad you came, Count Márquez, Lady Octavia. Allow me to introduce you, Zenjirou. This is Lord Manuel of the Márquez County, one of the most preeminent regions of our fair country, and I am sure that Lady Octavia needs no introduction?”

“So, you are Count Márquez? I have heard of you, and your wife has been of great help,” Zenjirou said, straightening himself as the couple bowed once more.

“Indeed, I am most pleased that my wife has been able to assist you.”

“You honor me, Sir Zenjirou.”

He could feel the subtle interest the surrounding nobles had taken in their conversation. The closest nobles were over ten meters away, so they likely couldn’t hear exactly what was being said, but he needed to remain aware of their regard.

Aura had no intention of forcing her husband to bear the brunt of the formalities, given his inexperience. Not wanting to leave him open to potential embarrassment, she expertly steered the conversation, her arm still around his.

“There is no need for humility here, Count. Your wife’s blessings of beauty and cleverness are as splendid as the rumors suggest. I hope that she will henceforth lend her abilities to our kingdom along with your own.”

“You praise us more than we deserve. Thank you, Your Majesty.”

“I shall do my utmost to aid the country in any way I am able, my queen,” Octavia replied.

Zenjirou left most of the interaction to Aura, simply adding words of agreement or consideration when appropriate. It was more important that he avoid leaving a bad impression than specifically make a good one. Even better would be to leave no impression at all, considering his position as the queen’s consort.

And so the curtain rose peacefully on Zenjirou’s debut.

But just because it had started out peacefully, there was no guarantee that things would continue that way until curtain call. In the first place, the main goal of the banquet was to show everyone that his relationship with Aura was a healthy one, and with that in mind, they couldn’t spend the entire night arm-in-arm. If they were to do so, it would only fuel the rumors that Aura was restricting her husband’s freedoms. To avoid that, they had decided that after finishing the general introductions, they would go their own ways for a while.

Having finally separated from Aura, he let out a breath as he took a stroll around the huge room. The looks he was getting were favorable, but no one would speak to him uninvited. In Capua, people of lower rank addressing someone of higher rank was considered disrespectful. While the formalities were relaxed to a certain degree at an event like this, and a level of “rudeness” would be ignored, there would be very few who would directly address royalty.

Those who could perhaps address him without coming across as impertinent would be the lords of larger territories, cabinet ministers, or possibly generals. However, such people generally excelled in etiquette and knew exactly when and how to do things, so there were few who would personally address him in that way. If there was a lord or general so daring, they would have to either hold societal norms and customs in contempt, or be so ambitious despite their already high position that they were comfortable ignoring social rules entirely.

Guess I’ll have to talk to someone, then.

Zenjirou hadn’t handled only internal matters in his company, he’d also performed external negotiations, so didn’t shy away from talking to new people. He panned his gaze over the room to find someone he could speak to without his position causing issues. But as he did so...

“My apologies, Sir Zenjirou, may I ask for a moment of your time?” asked a sturdy-looking man from his side, genuflecting as he spoke.

Uh, wait, what? No way... he spoke to me? Who the hell could this guy be? Zenjirou immediately panicked at the “impossible” event (according to what he had been taught about Capuan customs), but his expression reflexively corrected itself as he turned slowly to face the speaker.

“What...?”

He surveyed the guy for a moment. Even on one knee, it was obvious that the man was huge and well-built. He was dressed in somewhat unrefined clothing for the situation, black with decorations woven in olden thread, something Zenjirou vaguely remembered as being the uniform for high-ranking military types. From the number of tassels on his left breast, this giant must have been top military brass.

Before Zenjirou, illuminated by the light of the chandelier, was a true knight. Not a fairy tale Prince Charming sort of knight, but one with the bare minimum of societal graces who saw their worth on the battlefield as a fierce protector of the kingdom.

Looking down at the man, Zenjirou frantically collected his thoughts. The people who could get away with addressing him in this manner were major lords, cabinet ministers, and generals. For such a person to approach him, they would have to be, for better or worse, a veteran, with little regard for politeness. And for them to do so while fully aware of the risk of inviting the prince consort’s displeasure, they would have to be exceedingly ambitious.

Military, veteran, ambitious. Those three words clicked in his head and formed the name of a man that Aura had warned him about.

“Oh, Lord Pujol, I believe. Do you have some business with me?” he asked after clearing his throat.

This was General Pujol Guillén. It was a name he had heard several times before. Much like Lord Rafaello from the Márquez family, this was someone Zenjirou knew to have been one of the candidates for Aura’s hand. He’d also been told by Aura that he was someone to pay special attention to.

“Indeed, Sir Zenjirou. I wish to offer you a token of my esteem. Thus, I have sought you out despite my rudeness in doing so. It is a modest token, but I would still be extremely honored if you were to accept it.”

The leader of the Drake Marksmen Knights, General Pujol Guillén, still knelt as he looked directly up at the prince consort to give his statement. This young general speaking so plainly was the pride of the kingdom. Such a combination unavoidably drew attention and Zenjirou noticed the chatter between the surrounding nobles had halted as they all looked on with interest.

Even while privately lamenting this development, he affected a clearing of his throat. Argh, damn it all. I didn’t learn any of this stuff. Am I going to have to ad-lib it? Gimme a break...

Zenjirou had always been the type to prepare answers to the most likely questions when giving presentations at work or negotiating between his company and others. Being put on the spot like this, where he’d need to play things by ear, was definitely a weakness of his. Even so, he clawed his hasty preparations together to compare them to the situation he now found himself in, in an effort to find the best response.

Umm, it’s a buffet, so a little rudeness should be allowed, yeah? Right, I’m royalty, and he’s a general, so...

His inner voice was feeling relatively venomous towards the general. He knew that animosity for people you had just met wasn’t exactly praiseworthy, but he wasn’t enough of a paragon of virtue to hold a neutral opinion of his beloved wife’s former marriage candidate.

Keeping his thoughts and feelings from showing on his face, Zenjirou went with a fairly safe opener. “General, there is no need to kneel here tonight. Please stand.”

“At once, Sire!” Pujol agreed, rising.

Zenjirou suppressed the urge to step back at the imposing appearance of the fellow before him. He was massive, a whole head taller than Zenjirou himself, so he must have been at least 190 cm... more likely midway through the 190s, or maybe even two meters tall. He also looked to be heavier than 100 kg, and that wasn’t in fat but in muscle tempered for battle.

“Let us speak of business, then. I believe you said something about a gift,” Zenjirou went on, looking the general in the eyes as he went through the information in his head. He had been warned of the chance of someone accosting him with a gift. Apparently, currying favor with valuables was a constant between both worlds.

I seem to remember that I can’t refuse it without a reason, but the problem is how to accept.

If he seemed overly happy, the giver could expect to receive appropriate remuneration for such pleasure, and if he appeared disappointed, it would publicly embarrass the knight. Standing there, with the possibility of his reaction changing the fate of those around him, made him feel the weight of an enormous pressure.

Ignorant of the thoughts running through Zenjirou’s mind, the general gave a short affirmative and glanced at a younger knight waiting behind him... a subordinate, most likely. Carrying something thin wrapped in a white cloth, the young man jogged over to their side and reverently offered the object to the general.

When Zenjirou saw that, his expression faltered slightly and he couldn’t help but widen his eyes. What? Did he bring the actual thing rather than just the certificate?

Zenjirou had heard that when giving a gift at such an event, the giver would normally offer a certificate, and the actual gift would arrive at the recipient’s estate at a later date. After all, it wasn’t uncommon for gifts between nobles to consist of things like thoroughbred dash drakes, or second estates that could serve as summer homes. Of course, it wasn’t impossible to hand over something like jewelry or a sword in person, but it didn’t happen as a rule. On the off chance such a gift was refused, it would bring even more shame to the one offering it.

“Please take a look, Sir Zenjirou,” the general said with a sideways glance as he removed the wrapping with practiced movements and laid the contents bare.

What’s this? A bow, I guess? Zenjirou wondered. It seemed to be a simple piece of wood, in a complex curved shape. To his eyes, it had no special decorations and was a bow that appeared to focus on practicality more than anything else.

Seemingly approving of his reaction, the general straightened and spoke proudly. “This is a wyvern bow, made by one of the leading craftsmen in the capital.”

At that, the audience broke out into impressed murmurs. Apparently, this “wyvern bow” was something of great value, worthy of a noble’s notice. Zenjirou examined it again, but it still didn’t seem to match their reaction.

In accordance with the procedures to bring it into the palace, the spaces for the string were filled with yellow ocher clay and stamped with the royal seal. It was only about half the length of a Japanese bow used in kyudo and looked rather unreliable based on his incomplete knowledge.

The general seemed to understand that his lack of a reaction was due to not knowing anything about the wyvern bow, and he explained in a low voice, “A wyvern bow is formed by the combination of a thin wooden board and loosened drake tendons and ribs. As you can see, it is only around half the size of an archer’s longbow, but its strength and range exceed those of the other. Its size also makes it easy to maneuver, and a skilled man can maintain a high rate of fire and accuracy. It can perhaps be called the strongest weapon within the cavalry.”

A bow made of several materials was commonly called a composite bow. Such things existed in history on Earth and had proven their worth on the battlefield.

“However,” the general continued, “there are very few knights who can lay claim to a wyvern bow. They require flexible tendons and bones, after all, which must be harvested from a growing dash drake, so they are exceedingly expensive. The manufacturing process also requires a commensurate investment of time and effort.”

Dash drakes would have to be five to seven years old to harvest these components, as once they stopped growing, their bones would harden and lose their flexibility. While it wasn’t to the same extent, that was also true for the tendons.

Zenjirou now understood what kind of item this wyvern bow was, based on the general’s explanation, and he felt a muscle jumping in his cheek. He had been unaware of the existence of these bows, but he had already been informed of how important dash drakes were to the country. Their numbers had seen a sharp decline during the war, and even now the breeders were working daily to restore the population to what the military required.

Slaughtering a young dash drake to make it into a weapon meant that if a single drake could be used to create five bows, those five bows needed to provide the same value as a fully grown drake or the cost simply wouldn’t be worth it. He didn’t know how many bows could actually be made from each drake, but from Pujol’s demeanor, it couldn’t have been that many.

“Sir Zenjirou?” Pujol asked searchingly, unsure of the prince consort’s somewhat bizarre reaction.

“Allow me to ask you, General,” Zenjirou said as calmly as he could, “can this wyvern bow be easily wielded by anyone?”

“It cannot,” the knight answered honestly, not understanding the thrust of his question. “After all, its small size coupled with its enormous strength and range means that even many soldiers cannot fully draw it.”

Zenjirou resisted a sigh upon hearing the very answer he had expected. A weapon that was powerful but difficult to use, and made of components so valuable that only a few existed... It was something that would be utterly wasted if it were to be stored away. However, the reactions of those around him clearly demonstrated that it was an appropriate gift for royalty. If he were to decline it, could he keep the uproar to a minimum?

Gathering his wits, Zenjirou answered as he slowly thought things over. “I am honored that you consider me worthy of such a gift. However, a veteran warrior like yourself can surely tell,” he said, stretching his arms out to either side of his body to display himself, “I would have no place on the battlefield, given my lack of strength.” The loose clothing covered him, but a skilled veteran could tell that Zenjirou was no warrior simply from the size of the wrists poking out of his sleeves.

“Perhaps, but—” the general began before Zenjirou continued.

“Therefore, I shall accept this bow, but not for myself. General, there must be some of your subordinates who have not yet received a wyvern bow. Would you select such a knight who has a deep-seated loyalty to the royal family and convey it to him? No other use of this bow could make me happier.”

Silence fell over the hall for a brief moment.

“Very well... I shall ensure it is delivered to a soldier who will never betray your ideals,” Pujol replied after a long silence, bowing deeply as he held the bow.

Having watched the incident unfold from a little ways away, Aura breathed a sigh of relief when she saw the threat had been dealt with.

Good, he managed to avoid taking the bow.

If he had accepted it then and there, things would have become awfully complicated. If it had been a jeweled sword or ceremonial spear then taking it wouldn’t have been a real concern, but accepting an actual weapon would have been construed as him intending to learn how to use it. That, in turn, would have made it particularly difficult to refuse an offer of training from the general.

By stating that he had no intention of taking up arms, he had indeed lowered himself in the audience’s eyes. However, rather than it being a blunt refusal, it had been one of accepting ownership and entrusting it temporarily to a worthy knight, so it had brought no shame on the one giving the gift, either. While the decision had certainly resulted in a perceived loss of masculinity, it had been done without inviting hostility.

Considering Aura’s position, it was the best result she could have hoped for. She had been prepared to intervene and bring the matter to a close herself if it came to it, although that would have only strengthened the rumors that she was controlling her husband.

“A rather splendid response, Your Majesty,” Count Márquez commented from her side, a smile on his face.

“Ah, my apologies. We were in the middle of a discussion,” Aura answered, adjusting her corsage and turning back to him, the count having remained at her side for some time now.

The plump noble smiled cheerfully. “Not at all. It is only natural for your eyes to seek out Sir Zenjirou. You’ve only been married for a short time. It is most reassuring to see such a pleasant relationship between the two of you,” he said, shaking his head with some amusement.

“I am glad you would say so,” she returned with a strained smile and a slight snort at the potentially sarcastic statement. She then turned to look at the general and Zenjirou again. General Pujol, having given the wyvern bow to his subordinate, was now conversing enthusiastically with the prince consort. The rest of their discussion seemed to be relatively benign, though, and the expression on Zenjirou’s face was relaxed as he answered in kind.

Of course, if the general’s ambitions could be stamped out by a simple failure or two, he wouldn’t be known as “the hungry wolf.” Aura strained to hear his voice.

“...indeed, your duty is to pass on your blood to the next generation. There is no need for you to expose yourself to danger on the battlefield. Please leave that duty to my men and me. Once the line of succession is assured, it is my humble opinion that you will perhaps need a concubine to create your own branch family.”

Aura’s expression tightened for a moment as she listened from afar, noting that the general had moved smoothly from his gift offensive to a marriage offense.

She continued to listen from just outside of the general’s line of sight as he continued grandly, “On another note, I believe you are aware that the Guillén family has close blood ties to Capuan royalty. I have brought my younger sister along with me today, and I would like to take this opportunity to introduce her to you.”

That wasn’t “on another note” in the slightest. It was so utterly obvious that Aura wanted to declare that even a brothel promoting its wares would dress the conversation up a little more.

A sense of impending crisis came over her as she watched. She would have to interject now. The situation was becoming dangerous. Her husband had grown more accustomed to the niceties of society than she had expected, but she found it unlikely that he could stand up to a direct, almost outright taboo, assault from General Pujol on the very night of his debut.

I’ll have to stop this myself! she decided, but before she could take a step, Count Márquez spoke up mildly from her side, where he had been watching it all play out with a smile.

“Ah, that reminds me, I have yet to convey my regards to the good general. Your Majesty, my deepest apologies for interrupting our discussion, but would you object to a brief pause?”

Aura stopped short at the count’s affected tone and turned to look at him. She didn’t know what he was planning, but the words themselves were perfectly timed. If she were to reply with, “In that case, I shall accompany you,” she could claim that she wasn’t purposefully butting into Zenjirou’s conversation just to put a stop to the hungry wolf’s schemes.

And what is your scheme, Count? Are you trying to curry favor?

Although reluctant to accept his help without knowing what his motives were, she couldn’t stand to sit back and watch Zenjirou struggle, and there was no time to consider the situation too deeply.

“Not at all; in fact, I shall accompany you,” she answered, immediately coming to a decision as she took the offered aid.

Parties within the palace were often called “a swordless battlefield,” but that was rather an exaggeration. To the vast majority of nobles, the events were nothing more than a chance to meet their peers and engage in idle conversation. A feast of delicious food and drink for the mouth, and various lords and ladies in their finery for the eyes. It was an elegant playground for them, so there was a vanishing minority who still used the parties as their “swordless battlefield.”

This was no consolation for Zenjirou, however. General Pujol Guillén was currently standing across from him, having boldly engaged him in conversation along with his sister, Fatima. Now also part of the conversation were Count Manuel Márquez and his wife, Octavia, who had joined them to greet the general.

Aura was back at his side as well, her hand on his arm, having followed the count under the pretext of greeting the general herself. Every one of these people would consider the party to be a swordless battlefield.

“Please, allow me to introduce you. This is my sister, Fatima.”

“I am Fatima Guillén, Sir Zenjirou. I am truly honored to be given an audience with you,” said the young, dark-haired girl with a bow. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, her skin the same darker tone as the majority of the country’s citizenry, and her eyes were jet black, like her hair, and slightly almond-shaped.

Well, she’s a beauty, all right, Zenjirou thought as he looked up at her face when she straightened. And yes, he did indeed have to look up.

Fatima’s head was higher than his own. She wasn’t on a platform or in heels; she was simply taller than he was. Well, her brother was close to two meters in height, so it shouldn’t have been surprising that Fatima, too, was tall, having been born to the same parents. She seemed almost certainly over 180 cm, and half of that height could be attributed to her long legs. She may have been lacking in the bust and hips, but her waist was particularly slender and she looked like a model from Zenjirou’s world when you combined her features and figure.

“So, you’re the general’s sister. I can certainly see the resemblance,” he commented.

“I am. I hear that quite a lot,” the girl replied, her nervous expression breaking into a smile at the comparison. Assuming she wasn’t faking the reaction, being similar to her brother must have been something that she was proud of.

Does that mean they have a good relationship? Guess I’ll check with Aura later.

“Sir Zenjirou, speaking of the lovely young lady of the Guilléns, Lady Fatima is known throughout the country for her beauty and intelligence. Come to think of it, although I frequent these events, it feels like a rather long time since I have met you directly, milady. Your beauty has only grown,” offered the count politely.

“My thanks, Count Márquez. Until recently, I have been apprenticing at the Pernía Estate,” she answered, smiling at the praise.

Fatima was supposed to be selling herself to Zenjirou at the moment, so no matter how good the count’s words sounded, his presence was nothing but a hindrance and her eyes narrowed unconsciously.

The general, however, had far more years of experience under his belt than she did, and was well aware of the folly of inviting the other man’s ire.

“Ahaha, Fatima, you need not look at him like that; the Count is not one to make eyes at you. After all, he has the ultimate lady at his side, who surpasses even you.”

The general purposely made light of his sister’s hostility rather than ignoring it, bringing his massive hand up to pat her dainty shoulders.

“B-Brother!” Fatima protested, but fell silent with a stiff expression at his point-blank glare before taking her actions back with a forced smile. “I-Indeed, it seems I cannot help but lose my confidence in front of Lady Octavia.”

“Not at all,” Octavia said, her cheeks reddening slightly. “I am getting on in years, and you are far prettier than I.” At the age of twenty-four, and being married, her behavior could draw criticism from others demanding that she act her age. But her youthful mannerisms still seemed quite appropriate for her, which was likely part of the reason she was so popular with the opposite sex, and also detested like a snake by some of her own.

Fatima, one of those who fell into the latter group, kept her true feelings towards Octavia (“a hag playing at innocent girlhood”) quiet and put on a smile instead. “You are too modest, Lady Octavia.”

Sarcasm was ineffective on this eternal display of innocence, yet taking her comments further would make Fatima look bad, so Octavia was all but socially invincible. While she was as far from meek as one could be, Fatima had enough discretion to avoid picking a fight with the Peerless Lady.

“Well, it may be some time before she can compare with Lady Octavia, but Fatima’s prospects are promising. She is well-acquainted with dance and song, and has experience through her apprenticeship, so she can at the very least act as a lady in waiting.”

The words were clearly directed towards Zenjirou, although the general had ostensibly been speaking to the queen instead.

“Hmm, it is a rarity to see a family such as yours enter into an apprenticeship. I am impressed, though; I may even invite her to act as my own maid in the future,” Aura answered.

“Nothing could please me more, Your Majesty,” he replied after a pause at her smooth interception. Of course, the idea of his sister being the queen’s maid held no real appeal for him. His goal was the possibility of a relationship between Fatima and Zenjirou. However, by social standards, serving the queen was more of an honor than serving the prince consort, so he had lost the thrust of his attack.

Observing their conversation from the sidelines, Zenjirou let out yet another mental sigh. For real, give me a break...

Aura’s support had allowed him to marshal himself, but a cold sweat that had absolutely nothing to do with the hot night was breaking out beneath his formal wear. The general certainly hadn’t outright said, “Take my sister as your concubine,” but it was abundantly clear that that was what he was angling for. If Aura hadn’t arrived in the middle of the conversation, Zenjirou, in a hurry to get it over with, probably would have said something that could be construed as a commitment without meaning to.

“By the by, what kind of woman do you prefer, Sir Zenjirou? Well, of course, Her Majesty comes first, but is there a second or third type you have your eye on?”

And the general plowed onward again. The angle of attack had changed, but not the direction of the conversation.

Asking Zenjirou’s preferences while his legal wife stood right next to him took some nerve. The country’s royalty wasn’t monogamous as a rule, so Zenjirou could hardly apply his own values to others, but surely in any world the inevitable jealousy resulting from multiple relationships would exist?

He resisted the urge to check Aura’s expression, lest it gave rise to rumors of him looking to her for cues. But how should he answer? If he could let emotion guide him, he would say something like, “I have my own beautiful wife; I don’t need another; don’t try to interfere with people’s families,” but he was well aware that this wasn’t the place for it.

“Hmm, I haven’t considered it,” he murmured rather than letting the silence drag on for too long.

Before General Pujol could pounce on his words, Count Márquez cut in. “Hahaha, I had heard the relationship between Your Majesties was a happy one, but it would appear the rumors were an understatement, if anything. I suppose you are so engrossed with Her Majesty that you have no eyes for other women.”

Sinking into a sense of relief, Zenjirou almost instinctively followed his lead. “Come now, Count, refrain from mocking me. You are hardly incorrect, though, of course.”

“Oh my my, our royal family is assured, how glad this makes me,” the count laughed, affectedly widening his eyes.

Such a blatant maneuver made it clear to the general that Count Márquez was wholeheartedly supporting Zenjirou’s marriage to Aura. For her part, the queen was keeping her peace at his side, but if the general pursued the matter too forcefully, she would counterattack. In other words, he was on his own.

General Guillén didn’t know where he had gone wrong, but he knew that if he continued to push, the risks would outweigh the gains and the whole event carried the possibility of angering Count Márquez. A rumor like “General Pujol has earned the displeasure of Queen Aura and Count Márquez,” could incite their neighboring countries to unrest.

The general wanted real power within “The Great Kingdom of Capua.” He didn’t want to rule over “The Ruins of the Kingdom of Capua.” So he decided it was time to withdraw. He understood that sometimes discretion was the better part of valor, in court just as on the battlefield.

“That is indeed the most important thing,” he said in agreement. “You have a wonderful husband, Your Majesty.” He tapped his sister twice on the back to signify that they were done trying to appeal to him.

“Indeed, he is the best I could ask for. I must be the most fortunate woman in the western countries of Randlion,” Aura replied with a sharp laugh, having inferred that the general was ceasing his efforts for the time being. “I am blessed with capable retainers in all of you, and a splendid husband like Zenjirou here. No, perhaps I am even the most fortunate person on the entire continent.”

“Hahaha, on the whole continent? Such praise makes me a bit uncomfortable.”

“Count, we should avoid growing too conceited. After all, more than half of Her Majesty’s happiness is due to Sir Zenjirou here. Surely we are insignificant in comparison.”

“I see; indeed, compared to Sir Zenjirou, the greatest husband she could ask for, our loyalty may be a trifling matter.”

The two men continued to probe each for a while longer, but the queen, count, and general refrained from outright attacks, so the event remained relatively peaceful.

◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆

“We’re done!” Zenjirou cried, letting a torrent of emotions loose as he collapsed onto the black leather sofa. The hour was late and they had finally returned from the buffet.

The living room was lit by LED lamps, and the ice cooler that the maids had set up to coincide with their return now soothed his body. Coupled with the familiar sensation of the sofa beneath him, he really felt like he was “home.” In other words, the inner palace had come to feel like it really was his own space over the last month or so. He was turning out to be surprisingly adaptable.

“I have put you through a great deal, Zenjirou. And yet, it has shown its worth. Having revealed yourself to the public, the theories that you are in conflict with me, and the rumors of your restricted freedoms, should abate somewhat. Of course, we will never be able to fully eradicate such gossip.”

Aura too sat tiredly on the sofa, still in her orange dress. While she was royalty by birth, and therefore far more used to such affairs than her husband, it by no means meant that her energy was limitless. Zenjirou had enough to deal with just keeping himself in check, but Aura had spent the entire time on guard to support him in addition to her other responsibilities. The task was an arduous one that Zenjirou’s duties could hardly compare to.

Aura rolled her neck, shaking out her hair, still glossy from the perfumed oil, and loosening up her joints.

“Yeah? That’s good, then. I can shut myself away for a bit longer now. Anyway... my eyes still feel weird,” he muttered with a sigh of relief, spreading his arms across the back of the sofa as he blinked hard several times.

He’d been feeling like the backs of his eyes were prickling for some time now. It was probably due to having exhausted them with the unfamiliar light from the chandeliers. However many there were, it was, in the end, nothing more than candlelight. The illumination produced by a small flame had its limits, and a slight breeze would cause it to flicker as well. So there was not only insufficient lighting, but what light was available wasn’t entirely stable. It was then further diffused by the silver reflectors on the chandeliers, which was unsurprisingly bad for his eyes.

But Zenjirou seemed to be the only one who felt that way. As Aura lounged around, she showed no sign of discomfort. It must have been something that Zenjirou felt only because of his familiarity with modern technology.

“Argh, I still can’t see right,” he grumbled as he pulled off his shoes, having planted himself firmly on the sofa.

The Kingdom of Capua was even hotter than Japan, so going barefoot was culturally acceptable, but not at an event like a dance or buffet. Removing the cloth shoes that he wore indoors, along with the accompanying long socks, he finally allowed his feet to feel the fresh air and let out another sigh.

“So niceee...”

Now that he thought about it, with the exception of the wedding festivities, he hadn’t worn anything but slippers since making his preparations to move to his new world. It was a rather belated revelation, but it made him realize just how much he had shut himself away. However different the climate was, he’d spent more than fifteen hours a day in hard shoes and socks for most of his life, yet after a mere month here, wearing cloth shoes for a few hours and wandering the palace had exhausted his legs.

Yeah, I’m going to have to rethink my lifestyle. I’m no princess, and I don’t want my feet to end up so soft that I can’t walk properly. Not at my age.

As those thoughts swirled around in his head, he stripped off the vest-like garment and opened up the shirt underneath. Sighing in pleasure, he closed his eyes comfortably as the cool air blew against his bare chest.

Zenjirou had a small amount of experience in verbal sparring from his business negotiations, but the fatigue that he felt now didn’t even compare. The difference between “royalty” and “employee” hardly needed to be stated, and the sheer disparity between the two had led to him feeling immense pressure.

“Well, whatever, I’ll have a bath soon,” he said, excusing himself as he unfastened the cord-like belt and stripped off his shirt and pants. He knew that he was being slovenly but couldn’t resist the urge to relax his exhausted body.

“I shall avail myself as well,” Aura stated, standing and following his example. She put her hands behind her neck and unknotted the dress, allowing it to fall to the floor with a rustle and bare her skin.

As was the norm for royalty, the maids had always helped her change before, but since she started sharing a bed with Zenjirou, in deference to his dislike of others entering, she had used their help less frequently when it came to undressing.

The two of them were now half-naked, and while their relationship was not new enough for it to embarrass them, it was also not so mature that it didn’t affect them.

“Oh...” Zenjirou whispered, sitting up to direct a look of passion at his wife, despite his earlier exhaustion.

His expression seemed to tickle her fancy, and a smile of satisfaction made its way to her lips. She walked across the room, still partially nude, and reached into the fridge.

“Here,” she offered, removing a pair of chilled towels with practiced movements and tossing one to Zenjirou.

“Mhm, thanks.”

Sweat and dirt aside, a hot towel would have been better for getting rid of the perfumed oil on their hair and necks, but given the temperature, they preferred to avoid the extra heat.

Aura returned to the sofa and remained standing there, wiping the sweat and oil from herself as she spoke to her husband, who was doing the same.

“My apologies for doing this when you are tired, but I wish to ask while your memories remain fresh. How was the evening? Were there any particular individuals among the nobles you met tonight who left an impression?”

Zenjirou removed the towel from his face at her sudden question and fell into thought. “People who left an impression... Well, I’m sure there were, but the Guillén siblings at the end took the spotlight. Honestly, I don’t really remember anyone else.”

Aura seemed to have expected that response as she smiled and sat down next to him. “I thought so. Well, they are indeed impressive. The brother first, then; what kind of impression did General Pujol Guillén leave?”

“Ah... Well, the general’s impression, hmmm...” he mumbled, glancing uncomfortably at his wife’s penetrating eyes.

He had known that he would have to answer the question, but at the same time, he was scared to. But he could tell from her steady gaze that she wouldn’t let him get away with evasive replies.

He took a deep breath to center himself as he answered honestly, not quite looking at her. “Ah... Well... How should I put it? I’m a guy, right? So, honestly, I don’t think I can give an unbiased opinion about either Pujol Guillén or Rafaello Márquez. I haven’t even met the latter, but I already dislike him...”

Her eyes widened at his almost repentant tone. “I see; those two are a special case for you... ahaha.”

She bit down on the happy laughter that his confession had inspired. Pujol Guillén and Rafaello Márquez were the two men who had been her original candidates for marriage. His bias towards them let her feel her husband’s jealousy and she was aware of her less-than-tasteful delight at that. Behind a man’s jealousy towards other men where his wife was concerned, you could feel a husband’s love. Honestly, it was rather pleasing.

Aura longed to take him in her arms but remembered his dislike of the oil’s scent and so restrained herself. She’d have to resist their usual freedom with contact until they finished their bath. She didn’t want to make him uncomfortable for such trifles.

“Do not concern yourself. I am not careless enough to take your opinions as gospel, so say what you wish,” she pressed, keeping a reasonable distance between them as she sat down on the couch and smiled.

Apparently, they couldn’t do this the normal way, and inferring that, he faced her and started talking around the point. “Ugh, fine. Well, honestly. Hm, that’s it... My first impression is that General Pujol’s the type to have only enemies and allies.”

“Hmm, only enemies and allies?” She thought she understood his meaning, but his words lacked something, so she looked interestedly at him and asked, “What do you mean by that?”

“Well, you know. He’s sorta super upfront and intimidating, but he doesn’t hide it, right? Plus, he’s blunt as anything about his desires. He doesn’t seem like he’d be afraid of making enemies if it furthered his goals. But he also seems pretty charismatic, so I’d guess he has a lot of allies too. So, yeah, I sorta assumed that most people who get involved with him either like him or hate him. I don’t think most would be able to remain neutral if they interacted with him. That’s the kind of person he struck me as.”

“I see now. I understand what you mean to say,” she said with a nod.

It was unkind to her husband, but he had a greater grasp of the man’s character than she had given him credit for. General Pujol Guillén, with his naked ambition, certainly had his fair share of allies, especially within the military. In turn, he also had a fair share of people who disliked him.

Zenjirou’s estimation of the general being “unafraid to make enemies” was a little unfair, though. In addition to his military background, General Guillén was a distinguished noble and not one to recklessly make enemies in the royal court. He could at least force a smile when faced with someone that he couldn’t make an enemy of.

That could well be the result of Zenjirou’s “bias.” He had unconsciously seen this man, who had held the honor of candidate for her hand, as a rival, and would search for and exaggerate his faults. As Zenjirou himself said, it certainly wasn’t praiseworthy behavior. He was aware of it, though, and as long as he could temper it with good sense, it shouldn’t cause any problems. If it ran the risk of going too far, she would simply have to warn him as his wife.

Besides, having some level of dislike for someone with a deep relationship with the one you loved was natural for humans.

“And what did you think of his sister, Fatima Guillén? I would hear your frank opinion. You seemed to find her rather charming, or was that a trick of the light, hm?” There was a flash of similar displeasure in her own eyes as she asked the question.

“Huh? Ah, h-hey, Aura?”

Zenjirou sensed his wife’s jealousy, hidden by her mischievous grin, as he scooted back on the sofa to look at her.