#103. The Envoy from the Homeland
The Grand Duke’s aide, Redillan Z. Torte, carefully closed the door and let out a silent sigh.
Beyond the thick, tightly shut door, it was as if he could hear laughter—an auditory illusion that could not possibly reach him.
“Could he really be so…?”
It was an emotional reaction completely incomprehensible to an ordinary person.
Redillan had assumed that the Grand Duke had liked Princess Blanche from the very beginning. But before the attempted poisoning incident, the Duke’s feelings toward the princess were… ambiguous. It was hard to tell whether it was the innocent affection of first love, the fondness one has for a beautiful doll, or the adoration for a well-behaved dog.
Redillan didn’t think it was strange.
It was common for precious children, who could have anything they wanted, to express their affection in unusual ways when they were young. Fortunately, the Grand Duke was unusually sensible for his age, and the princess knew her boundaries. Despite his odd methods of affection, no serious problems arose.
The Duke’s peculiar devotion only enriched the princess’s life.
Ironically, things began to twist after the attempted poisoning of Princess Blanche. At that time, the Duke stayed by her bedside. If that finicky child could manage to sleep on a secondary bed, it said everything about his dedication.
Afterward, however, the situation became chaotic.
Rather than staying close like when the princess had collapsed—something endearing—he would lock himself away in his palace, sighing, tearing at his hair, and pacing the room.
Though this could be explained as typical adolescent behavior for his age, it was quite dramatic.
He abandoned his original plan to enroll quietly in the academy with the princess and suddenly went to the harsh northern frontier, a place he would never have visited otherwise. For reasons unknown, he acted as if he would never see her face again, only to rush back immediately upon hearing of some disturbance at the academy.
Even when he returned to the domain, the chaos didn’t end.
“Ah, emotions run high at this age,” Redillan muttered.
The Grand Duke did not reveal all of his feelings even to those close to him. Therefore, Redillan could not understand what had transpired between the Duke and the princess that caused them to act like lovers torn apart by family opposition.
Still…
“It’s good to see him finally acting his age.”
Redillan could not comprehend why the Duke was suddenly behaving like a boy experiencing first love. He had spent ten years by the princess’s side—they had always gotten along well—so why now? Why hide away in the cold, remote northern lands, exchanging only letters with the princess instead of staying close to her whom he adored?
It was incomprehensible, but once he gave up trying to understand, it was not an unpleasant sight.
Redillan was ten years older than the Duke. From the very first meeting, the young Duke had been remarkably rational and mature. Even his occasional whims seemed like little performances for the adults, so meticulous that it could be awkward.
But the Duke’s behavior since returning to the northern lands was different.
In the past, if he wanted to give a gift to a woman, he would summon jewelers and tailors immediately. Now, he crouched under a maple tree, sifting through fallen leaves to find the most beautiful one.
When the princess received a letter, he would lock the scented paper in the envelope, worried about how it might smell, and only open it a week later to check. He discarded dozens of envelopes because the wax seal didn’t form perfectly round.
In short, the Duke was investing his time and effort for the princess. A man who possessed all the wealth and power in the world was dedicating himself personally rather than simply using his resources.
Redillan knew the Duke could have commanded servants to gather leaves or ordered perfumers to create the perfect scent for the letters. He could have instructed perfect wax seals and read replies without touching them personally.
Yet the Duke did none of that. He personally selected the leaves, worried about how to prevent them from crumbling, and hoped the letters would arrive in perfect condition. He didn’t hide his emotions, even though he didn’t know the contents of the replies.
He truly behaved like a boy experiencing first love.
Perhaps Redillan had done similar things ten years ago: staying up all night writing love letters, discarding them when they weren’t right, secretly buying and copying collections of love poems from the bookstore.
“Well, as a servant, I have no choice but to dedicate myself to my master’s desires,” Redillan thought.
Having experienced that age himself, he understood how love could decrease efficiency. A boy in love spent nights choosing words for letters and days waiting for replies, unable to focus on anything else. When the person in question already bore the responsibilities of the Grand Duke, his subordinate’s workload inevitably increased.
Still, Redillan could not bring himself to interfere with his master’s happiness. The boy should be a boy, the child should be a child. After years of showing little childish behavior, it was gratifying to see his master finally embracing his age.
Originally, I had intended to visit the townhouse as little as possible.
But since His Majesty and Panya sent letters there, I found myself coming out on weekends just to receive them.
Still, thinking about it, I had never aimed to hold a high rank at school, so revisiting the initial plan was pointless. I didn’t want to risk letters getting mixed up by sending them through the school.
So I simply visited the townhouse every other weekend, checked the letters, and wrote replies on the spot. I also discovered that the general store in town had a wider variety of stationery than the school shop.
Using a dignified envelope made even slightly embarrassing stationery less awkward.
This week happened to be my townhouse visit. After a week of diligent study, I rode the carriage into town and opened the townhouse door. My schedule was so regular that there was no need to announce my arrival in advance.
“Have you arrived, Your Highness?”
But I was not greeted by Tula.
I blinked in surprise, wondering why she wasn’t there at the time she must have expected me. The girl who came to receive me lowered her voice and whispered with a troubled expression:
“The butler is currently receiving an envoy from the homeland, Your Highness.”
For a moment, I misunderstood “homeland.”
It made sense, though. The Lamore Kingdom had not contacted me much, possibly due to the Empress Dowager or His Majesty’s intervention. Even during my decade-long friendship with the Grand Duke, there had been no attempts to exploit that relationship.
Having left the kingdom at age three, I knew intellectually that I was still a citizen of Lamore, but it didn’t feel real. In fact, when the empire’s subjects interacted with me, they treated me more as an imperial princess than as a Lamore princess.
“…I see. If it’s an envoy from the homeland, have they come to see me?”
Fortunately, my confusion lasted only a few seconds. I composed myself and asked calmly. The maid seemed not to notice anything unusual, continuing to whisper:
“Yes, that seems to be the case.”
“Very well. Where is this envoy? Show me.”
Indeed, her voice was quieter than usual—probably out of consideration for the homeland envoy inside. This must be a person with an intimidating presence. If even Tula couldn’t announce my arrival, the envoy must be imposing, either physically or mentally.
I followed the maid quickly, analyzing the envoy I had yet to see, organizing possible types and strategies. Soon, she stopped in front of the reception room.
“Your Highness, the princess has arrived.”
I gestured toward the room, and she, trembling slightly, reported my arrival. Tula must have trained her well.
Before the voice inside could permit my entry, I preemptively turned the doorknob. Allowing the other party to speak first would make me appear as though I needed “permission” to enter my own house—a critical point.
Pushing the door open, I stepped inside to see an elderly woman sitting upright on the sofa, with Tula standing in a proper posture in front of her. The woman’s mouth was halfway open, likely preparing to speak.
I quickly greeted her before she could change her words:
“Yes, you’re from the Lamore Kingdom. How should I address you?”
