Chapter 10
Like a flower slowly blooming, violet-colored eyes that open gradually.
For some reason, I couldn’t look away. I just stared at him, and only belatedly registered his words, lifting my eyes sharply.
“Who said I was running away?”
I spoke with feigned bravado, then quickly hid my trembling left hand.
Since the accident, I wasn’t sure what exactly had been damaged, but whenever it rained, my left wrist would ache.
He let out another low chuckle.
“It just looked like the lady was leaving.”
His laughter felt as if it made the air itself vibrate.
I bit my lip, then finally closed the door and stepped into the room.
“You’re mistaken.”
Click, click. I walked straight toward the window.
Behind me, I could feel his heavy gaze following.
I shut the open window.
The room fell silent in an instant.
I knew this was just stubborn pride, but I couldn’t allow myself to back down. On days like this, I didn’t want anyone seeing how weak I could become.
“Why was the window open anyway? Are you trying to catch a cold?”
“Ah.”
He dragged out his words again, still masking them with that same lazy tone.
“I thought someone might be crying again.”
“…What? What did you say?”
“Nothing.”
He smiled faintly.
I clicked my tongue as if it were nonsense, hesitated for a moment, then moved toward the bed.
“Don’t cross over.”
And I drew an invisible line in the center of the bed, warning him sternly.
Unlike the ducal estate I had completely renovated, Schubel’s bed was still old-fashioned.
It was the result of my stubborn insistence that the ducal residence should not use mass-produced furniture, combined with a craftsman’s pride in making the finest bed stitch by stitch.
Even though the bed wasn’t small, the presence of an unfamiliar “husband” beside me made it feel strangely cramped, even when I simply turned over.
‘I should’ve ordered a bigger one. Big enough that no matter what happens, we won’t touch.’
With a slight tension and discomfort lingering,
I firmly resolved this as I lay down on the opposite side of Schubel.
Rumble. Thunder echoed dully outside.
Over it, someone’s faint breathing layered softly.
A flash of lightning lit the room, and I flinched slightly—
Then a hand reached over and pulled the blanket up to my shoulders.
Strangely, that small gesture was comforting, and my tense nerves slowly began to settle.
“…If.”
Then came his whisper.
“If I wanted to cross this line, what would you do?”
His voice felt distant, like a dream.
It carried a strange mix of amusement and curiosity.
“Madam.”
My consciousness sank into darkness.
4. Memory of Wheat Ears
Morning after the rain had stopped.
“Kai, Kai, Kai.”
[What now?!]
The sky was clear and bright.
I tapped on the oath ring lightly.
Because the little dragon would pretend not to hear when called “kid,” we had settled on calling him “Kai.”
“Come on, remember this. Today’s homework.”
[Hngh… what do you take me for?]
“A great dragon who can copy anything he wants?”
[Hmph, well… I am quite great.]
From the moment he turned into a ring, I knew it—Kaiseus was a ridiculously versatile copy machine… no, a dragon.
“Hey, can you turn into other things besides a ring?”
[Of course. I am Kaiseus II.]
“Then this?”
[Hah, easy. Child’s play.]
“What about this?”
[Obviously…]
“And this? And this too? Can you do this as well?”
After I kept excitedly shoving things at him, he eventually threw a tantrum, so we settled on one transformation per day.
[Why are you making me do this anyway?]
“Well. Let’s just say it’s useful.”
As Kai grumbled about humans possibly going hunting, I smiled faintly.
“I’d prefer not to use them either, but I’m just an ordinary person. I have to protect myself.”
While saying that, I was polishing a hand-length magic pistol from my collection.
Knock knock.
A knock sounded.
“Young mistress, the head of the Elbanon Trading Company has arrived.”
“I’ll be right out.”
I had already instructed the servants to speak informally with me.
“What about my mother?”
“She said to leave it to you, young mistress.”
I left the room and headed to the reception room with Biccal.
The person I had an appointment with today was the head of the Elbanon Trading Company.
Because the North was not suitable for growing grain, it inevitably had to rely on imports from other regions.
The Elbanon Trading Company had, since the previous generation, been responsible for supplying food to the ducal territory.
As I reviewed the estate report recently, I recalled the “Northern Revival Project” I had drafted.
‘First priority is food.’
Food was essential for any territory. The more, the better.
But relying entirely on imports meant losing food sovereignty.
To prevent that, we needed to develop and improve grain varieties suitable for this region…
‘But crop development doesn’t happen in a year or two.’
Until then, we had no choice but to continue relying on Elbanon.
“Haha! A lovely young lady, how delightful! I am the head of Elbanon Trading Company!”
‘…Young lady?’
From the very first meeting, the greasy, pig-like middle-aged man was clearly looking down on me.
I lifted the corners of my lips.
“Show me the ledger.”
“P-pardon?”
“The ledger. Biccal.”
“Yes, young mistress.”
“W-wait a moment…!”
Biccal forcibly opened the merchant’s belongings and retrieved the ledger.
The merchant tried to stop him, but my slender-looking butler was a former knight from the Empire’s strongest northern order. A pig like that could be restrained with one hand.
Biccal respectfully handed me the ledger. I sat with my legs crossed and flipped through it.
And then—
‘…Ha. Look at this. You’ve been skimming off the top.’
I found evidence of fraud.
Even though Bella also handled finance, she was originally a noble.
She was someone who spent money, not someone who made it. When an expert deliberately manipulated accounts, it wasn’t easy to notice.
‘And the duchess is busy enough as it is. Managing the entire territory, handling the whining vassals, and keeping everything running…’
With the duke—my father-in-law—at the frontier fortress, the duchess was effectively acting lord.
It was a workload for two people.
That’s why a lord’s side needed experts in each field to handle affairs in their place.
The ducal house simply didn’t have that right now.
In other words, my mother-in-law had been taken advantage of by this pig all this time.
‘How should I deal with this?’
I tapped the ledger lightly.
To me, who reviewed far more complex Saturn-level financial reports daily, the trickery here was obvious.
One of the common southern export grains was Grade B “Hessen Wheat.” Most southern wheat on the market was this type.
But any crop inevitably produced lower-grade goods—this was Grade C “Hekail Wheat.”
The problem with Hekail wheat was that it spoiled faster than Hessen wheat.
Because of that, it traded at only one-third the price.
‘But this is the North. Average temperatures are much lower. That means even Hekail wheat lasts as long as Hessen wheat here. In other words, they can pass off Hekail wheat as Hessen wheat.’
How did I know? During my investigation into northern food issues, I had studied southern grain production as a priority.
And I already had multiple expert reports from Saturn on grain trade.
[70% of wheat imported into the North is confirmed to be “Hekail wheat.”]
‘But this ledger claims it’s 100% Hessen wheat.’
No matter how cleverly it’s disguised, numbers don’t lie. Price inconsistencies appeared clearly throughout.
To someone who could untangle this mess of golden threads, it was laughably obvious.
I slowly opened my mouth, ready to deal with the fraudster in front of me.
