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That being said, after silencing the one person who wouldn’t conform with me, I turned to the rest of the people in the parlor.

“Women have secrets. Say something tasteless and you’ll be in a world of pain. Capiche?”
“…”

I reminded them with a smile. All of them—especially the men—straightened their backs and nodded vigorously after glancing at the door through which Ashimi had been carried out. Perfect. The loudest does win the argument, after all. Such is the way of the world.

Content with my theory being proved right, I saw Luke fearfully raise his hand. “Umm, so, in the end, could you tell us about your relationship with Lady Clara, no, Princess Syltianna?”

Luke rehashed the topic, willfully ignoring the others who whispered “Hush! Do you want to die?!” and tugged at his sleeves. Well, they’re lively.

Heavens know how easy it would’ve been if I could just reveal to them that I’m the real Syltianna. That’d surely cut through all this troublesome stuff.

“I am the real Syltianna.”

So I just did that.

Right at that instant—

““““““EEH?!!””””””

—their eyes opened wide, not from astonishment, but from vindication, it would seem.

“…what would you think if I said that?” Immediately, I tried to brush it off, trying to play it like some kind of punchline.

Everyone looked at each other, their indescribable emotions leaking from their expressions. Luke, alone, took a deep breath and spoke up to me with a determined look on his face.

“Hypothetically speaking…Jill, if you were the real Syltianna, that would mean that the Syltianna I met was fake, right? If so, then I couldn’t be any happier.”
“…umm, so you’re saying, because the Syltianna you met looked very much like the rumored Ragweed Princess, you…?”

(In the end, you just hate being engaged with this ragweed, you b̲a̲s̲t̲a̲r̲d̲?!)

Perhaps sensing my quiet anger on his skin, Luke hurriedly waved both hands.

“Ah, I’m not saying I hate her or anything. It’s just…” Luke’s eyes swam for a moment before he looked me straight in the eye. Choosing his words carefully, Luke continued, “I have someone else I like.”

The moment that abrupt confession was dropped, Bruno’s face blatantly contorted while the girls’ eyes lit up.

“Huh? You do…?”

…hmm, well, he’s a late bloomer, but I guess Luke is a boy after all. But still, talking about romance when you’re 12 years old makes me think that he just wants to experience what love is without knowing what it actually is. —Come to think of it, have I ever had my first love before…?

For some reason, the image of holding hands with a boy as we walked down a hill at sunset came to mind. What was that?

“Speaking of which, what kind of girl is she?”

I couldn’t care any less about other people’s romantic affairs, but seeing that even Monika, the usually composed Monika, was getting worked up and ushering me, I made my question mostly out of obligation. The moment the question left my mouth, I felt cold sweat run down my back since I hadn’t considered that the person in question might not be a girl…

“The person I like…” Suspiciously, Luke glanced at me for a second, “is beautiful, and has a good physique…can be quite dull, though…and no matter how forward I’ve been, I don’t think the other person shows any signs of noticing my feelings.”

“Whoever that is, they sound like a massive pain in the side. I think you should forget them and move on already.”
“…Well, it would’ve been easier if I could do that.”

I gave him advice straight from my heart, and yet all Luke did was let out a dry laugh reeking of desperation.

♢♦♢♦♢

The Livitium Imperial Kingdom was a federation comprising more than 20 states. Serving as the principal nation and holding the trust of the Super Empire was the Cilento Central Kingdom.

While shouldering the backbone of the Livitium Imperial Kingdom, representing the nation, it was, in terms of national power, at best a medium-sized country. Mockingly referred to as the ‘Great Third-rate Nation’ by those who lacked courtesy (especially from the western and eastern regions separated by borders) due to its lack of distinctive industries or characteristics.

It was unclear whether that was the cause or not, but the Super Empire decided to establish a Magic Academy in its capital city, Cilento (sharing its name with the nation), earning it the reputation as the City of Scholars that housed the Imperial Academy.

For that reason, aristocrats and selected excellent students come every year not only from within the border but also from the southern territories at the edge of the continent and the island chain across the ocean to acquire knowledge or gain a reputation.

In the aristocratic district in the center of Cilento Imperial Capital, there stood an exceptionally vast and magnificent mansion. It was the vacation house of the Count of Aulanthia, one of the largest and most prominent aristocrats in the Livitium Imperial Kingdom. With that being said, the vacation house had mostly transformed into a main residence given the Frontier Count, Corrad Simon Aulanthia himself, spent most of the year within this mansion being involved in state affairs.

When Corrado returned home after finishing his duties for the day, he was beaming with a benevolent smile as he watched his beloved daughters —Syltianna, his fifth daughter, and Euphemia, his sixth— eating their after-dinner desserts across the table.

“How is it? Do you like the new popular pastry? I heard a certain noble family from the Empire is directly managing its production. Both of you loved the confectionary we received as a souvenir, so I ordered some more.”

Seeing the two of them silently enjoying their apple compote tart and cheesecake together, Corrad smiled, knowing the answer without them saying it.

“Oh dear…I’m happy you’re back in shape, Syltianna. I was so worried that you were losing your usual appetite in the last six months, but now I see you take a fancy to this sweet.”

Syltianna lifted her face from the piece of tart she was devouring, her expression looking relieved and nostalgic as she gazed at the amber-colored sauce on it.

“Uh…not that I, have no appetite…I was, holding…back. …but, this sweetness is nostalgic, it’s tasty…so.”

“—Hmph. I guess it is tasty enough that you can lose control over it.” Euphemia smacked her lips, looking at the plate that was already empty before she knew it. “The Empire has it good…as expected of them, I guess. Their pastries are actually good, not just a bunch of sugar slapped together like ours. No wonder others call our country a backwater country.”

“It’s, maybe, sap…sweet liquid. Nostalgic…”
“You know of this, Elder Sister?”
“…”

Her elder sister hemmed and hawed, earning a confused look from Euphemia. Corrad watched them in amusement, then winked like a mischievous child.

“Ah, you really do take a fancy to them, Syltianna. —In fact, I want to make these pastries more readily available here in the Imperial Capital. His Imperial Highness Prince Eilmer has a connection with this noble in question, so I asked him a favor to sell them here as well. If all goes well, we should be able to eat these pastries every day starting next year.”

In exchange, however, the marriage proposal between Syltianna and His Highness Lucas was postponed for three years and was left to the discretion of the two of them. That meant the proposal was, in effect, nullified.

(Well, His Highness Lucas will be transferred to the Academy here after all. We can always make the opportunity.)

Squinting at his two daughters beaming with hope, Corrad muttered to himself in his heart.

“I heard the noble who made these also has a daughter the same age as you, Syltianna. She may accompany His Highness Lucas in his study abroad, so it wouldn’t hurt to get to know her.”
“I…see.”

Syltianna nodded feebly, and Euphemia, sitting across from her, leaned forward with a look of childlike curiosity.

“Isn’t His Highness your prospective fiancé, Elder Sister? If the girl goes as far as accompanying him to other countries, is she by chance his lover or something?”

Corrad could only shrug his shoulders and smile bitterly when he saw his nine-year-old daughter say something like that. “Well, if that’s the case, I guess that means you got yourself a strong rival.”

“I…don’t really…”

Looking at her sister lowering her sight in self-abandonment—or more like, a blank look, Euphemia slumped in her chair with a sour look.

“You’re always like this, Elder Sister. …It’s fine, I guess. Just don’t come to me if you don’t know what to do when the time comes.”

The spiteful words that Euphemia uttered sounded less resentful and hateful, and more like advice or a warning, earning a soft smile from Syltianna as she ruminated on the nostalgic taste of the sap.

I want to see someone who knows this taste, she thought to herself.