#037. But it’s not like they can’t each afford a room, right?
He splashed some water on his face, then continued speaking in a voice tightly held back.
“Fine, sure. I guess that’s possible. We’re the ones who gave you full authority to use the palace however you want. But still, was it necessary to use the training grounds right from the beginning? Remember the reception room where you held the tea party before? That place is spacious enough. It should be sufficient for early training.”
I bowed my head deeply.
“What now? Don’t tell me… you’re raising animals inside the palace?”
“Um… that place is… being used as a space for scholars to gather.”
“What?”
The Grand Duke looked utterly dumbfounded, clearly unaware of what was happening at Jasper Palace. Hesitantly, I began revealing its secrets.
“I hesitate to say this, but among those who’ve relocated to the Empire, some wish to continue the research they began in their home countries. So, if they needed a lab, I lent them some space. And as they began to rest outside the labs during breaks, natural exchanges occurred, and now, the reception room has become a hub for daily discussions and information sharing.”
This was how it all began. Initially, I planned to keep the reception room empty in case I needed to entertain guests in the future, like the tea party before.
But when I saw the weary scholars crouched in the corridors and gardens, my heart just ached.
In spring, I could overlook it, thinking the fresh air and flowers might be good for their health. But once winter came, I couldn’t sleep for fear those fragile scholars might catch colds and collapse.
So I thought, Why let the space go unused? I brought in chairs, sofas, and cushions, and even arranged for snacks and tea. The reception room gradually became a lounge.
Originally, I planned to shut it down again in the warmer seasons. But once people started gathering and having productive discussions, I couldn’t bring myself to close it. And so, without meaning to, the lounge became a permanent fixture.
But the Grand Duke, unaware of my long internal struggle, just looked at me like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
“What on earth is this palace being used for?”
I carefully called for Tula and asked her to bring the current status chart showing where all the labs were located. After thoroughly reviewing the documents, the Grand Duke massaged his temples.
“No wonder… Every time I came here, the palace felt too lively for someone supposedly living alone. You always received me in the top-floor reception room, so I thought maybe the place just had good facilities. But this was the reason? At least you managed to keep the top floor to yourself.”
“Ah, that… Originally, I planned to move the bedroom from the first floor to the top and rent out everything except the bedroom and the guest reception space. But when I submitted the plan, the palace steward rejected it, saying it violated regulations.”
“Isn’t that only natural? Who’s the current steward again? I should commend them.”
The Grand Duke habitually turned his head, only to remember he hadn’t brought an aide for this tea visit, then looked back. He really seemed ready to bestow some minor reward upon the steward.
“But it’s not like all of them can’t afford a single room somewhere, right? How did things end up like this?”
“Well… At first, I only lent space to those who needed special facilities. But as they started collaborating with others, they began dropping by more frequently, and eventually—like I said—interactions between scholars flourished. Everyone wanted to work here, so I ended up lending out rooms bit by bit… and then…”
Trying to accommodate such collaboration, I provided spaces for those who, had they stayed in their own palaces, could’ve worked in much larger and more comfortable settings.
I even wanted to merge some rooms to give those people more space—but that damned regulation made it impossible. I knew the steward was just following the rules, but I couldn’t help feeling resentful.
The Grand Duke, now looking rather exasperated, reviewed the palace layout showing the main building’s top floor reserved for the palace owner and a separate annex for the servants, while everything else had been converted into research wings. Then he pointed out a new concern.
“Wait. Then who’s funding all this research? Don’t tell me your personal allowance is being funneled into it.”
I quickly shook my head. No matter how generous the Empire was with its stipends—both the dignity allowance for the Grand Duke’s “companion” and the separate diplomatic envoy fund—there was no way I could cover all their research expenses.
It’s not like in my previous life, where I controlled an entire country’s annual budget.
“No, of course the researchers are responsible for their own costs. It’s just…”
Just under special circumstances, I provided a bit of support here and there.
“Just…? That already sounds ominous.”
“You know how scholars tend to be weak with finances. It was heartbreaking to see them lose out on good opportunities because of budget issues… So I only helped out in those moments.”
The Grand Duke closed his eyes tightly and pressed his temples again. Was this really such an outrageous thing? I briefly reflected on my actions, but honestly, I didn’t think it was a big problem.
Isn’t supporting scholars and promoting academic growth ultimately a contribution to national development? I was simply continuing what I’d done during my time as prime minister.
Granted, I’m no longer a prime minister now, but still.
“Was your dream to become a research director or something? Are we gathering scholars instead of serving as peace envoys? Why are there so many researchers?”
Well, when you’re sending high-ranking nobles or royalty to a foreign empire as hostages, they’re usually powerless, lacking political skill, or so absorbed in their studies they don’t even know what’s happening around them. So of course that’s how it turned out.
But the Grand Duke didn’t sound like he genuinely wanted an answer. It felt more like a sigh than a question, so I didn’t point it out and tried to justify myself again.
“B-but Your Highness was always so generous and provided so much that I had very few reasons to spend my allowance. I barely even leave the palace.”
Even my clothes—I never had to commission them myself. Every season, the Grand Duke sent a tailor. I didn’t even know people had to visit a boutique to get a dress until I had one made for a party recently.
Besides, Liana and the Empress Dowager often sent luxurious royal-grade items, and even though the Emperor never showed his face, whenever the palace needed maintenance, he somehow sent the right people like a ghost.
The only person I really interacted with was Lady Martina, and she, too, insisted on paying whenever we were out, saying, “What money would a girl who traveled all the way to this foreign land even have?” I truly had no use for money.
So when I saw my savings piling up, I thought, Wouldn’t it be better to invest in those hardworking scholars instead? Is that really such a crime?
“So you’re saying this is my fault?”
The sudden use of such a formal, archaic tone startled me.
This child really isn’t even trying to hide his identity anymore, huh?
Well, if he’s never seen another reincarnator, I suppose he wouldn’t worry about being found out. Without knowing reincarnation is possible, no one would guess that a child who talks like this has an adult soul inside.
“No, I wasn’t trying to blame Your Highness. I just meant that your kindness allowed me to invest in things I care about.”
I quickly backtracked, and the Grand Duke let out a long sigh before finishing his tea. I immediately refilled his cup, and he downed another one in a single gulp. Didn’t it burn? Even if the earlier tea had cooled, the new cup had been kept warm with a tea warmer.
When I poured another, he finally stopped chugging and just sat there, toying with the cup in silence.
“So you’re not particularly interested in swordsmanship itself—you just like supporting talented people, huh? Given that you’ve basically turned your palace into a research institute?”
I hesitated before answering. Supporting scholars just felt like the right thing to do—it didn’t excite me the way spotting a talented warrior did.
But even that excitement toward warriors stems from a desire to nurture talent, not from wanting to become one myself.
In that sense, the Grand Duke was both right and wrong. I did have a bit more interest in swordsmanship, but not because I wanted to become a master swordsman or scholar—just because I loved seeing potential.
“If there’s something you truly want, I’ll support it,” he said. “If you want to learn swordsmanship, I’ll hire you a master. If you want to build a research institute, I’ll construct an entire center in my name. But first, you need to figure out what you actually want.”
Flustered by the sudden generosity, I clenched my hands. The pace of this conversation was too fast—I couldn’t keep up. Tell him what I want? As if it would be granted just by speaking it? As if I could reach it simply by saying the words?
“May I ask… why?” I said.
“Why what?”
“Why are you doing all this for me?”
