Chapter 8
“I– I don’t know!”
“Liar.”
“E–even if you put a knife to my throat, I can’t say!”
“Really? But didn’t you say you’d even give your life for me? Was that a lie too?”
“N-no, that’s not it… Geez, why are you asking about the young duke of Caledonia again? You’ve been quiet about him for a while now!”
Anna looked like she was about to cry, whining like a child. Even so, her hands dutifully took out a new nightgown and helped me change into it.
“Don’t tell me… you’re not happy with His Third Highness?”
“Huh?”
“You can’t! Absolutely not! If you send another marriage proposal to Caledonia on your own again, Master will be furious!”
“I sent a marriage proposal to that… Cal-whatever young duke?”
“Gasp! I said that out loud?! Oh no! I’m not supposed to say such blasphemous things!”
Anna clapped both hands over her mouth and nervously looked around the room.
Of course, it was just the two of us here.
Even so, she darted her eyes about like a terrified meerkat.
“There’s no one here, Anna.”
“You never know, milady. People say even walls have ears.”
“Is this really such a dangerous topic?”
To me, who had no clue about the situation, Anna’s reaction seemed absurdly overblown.
It wasn’t like this Cal-something duke was a monster who ate naughty children—so why the big fuss?
My easygoing question only made Anna frown in confusion.
“Of course! You know what happened, don’t you?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Pardon? You don’t?”
“Mm. I don’t really remember. I was little.”
The truth was, it all happened before I took over Harriella’s body, so I truly didn’t remember. But I couldn’t exactly say that, so I tossed out a harmless lie.
“You really don’t remember?”
“Uh-huh.”
Anna stared at my calm, poker face, clearly puzzled.
“That’s strange… how could you forget such a huge incident…?”
“Well, I was only eight. At that age, a single day feels as long as a year.”
“…I suppose that’s true.”
If she hadn’t believed me, I was prepared to put on an Oscar-worthy performance to fool her. Fortunately, my loyal maid didn’t doubt her lady for long.
Instead of interrogating me further, Anna just kept confirming that I really, truly had no interest in that Cal-something young duke.
“I don’t.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course. Don’t you trust me, Anna?”
“…I do. Fine, I’ll tell you—but promise you won’t tell anyone I said this! Especially not Master!”
“Okay, I swear. On my life.”
I nodded obediently like a well-behaved child.
To make my oath sound even more sincere, I threw in my life for free—Anna loved that sort of dramatic loyalty.
“…No, don’t swear on your life.”
Huh, guess even Anna didn’t want that kind of collateral.
“When you were little, milady, something happened…”
And so, Anna began her story.
It was when Harriella de Lurupel was just four years old.
The count who governed a neighboring territory invited her to his estate—he had a daughter the same age.
Harriella, thrilled to be leaving home for the first time, could barely contain her excitement.
Brimming with curiosity and a love of adventure, little Harriella ditched her attendants and went exploring on her own.
Of course, a beautiful, noble-looking child wandering alone made a perfect target for criminals.
She wandered into a dark alley—and was almost kidnapped by a strange man.
“That’s when the young duke of Caledonia appeared and saved you!”
“Cal-what now? How? He must’ve been a kid too. Did he have a knight with him or something?”
“No! Ah, you don’t remember that either! The young duke of Caledonia is a genius swordsman!”
“…A genius swordsman? At what age? How amazing could a kid’s sword skills really be?”
“Well, he’s three years older than you, so he would’ve been about seven then. But he had already reached the level of a Sword Expert!”
Sword… Expert?
I frowned at the unfamiliar term, and Anna cheerfully explained that “Sword Experts” were swordsmen capable of unleashing aura blades.
“That’s supposed to be impressive?”
“Of course! Many swordsmen live their whole lives without ever manifesting aura! I heard that when he was four, the young duke once swung his sword once and caught ten flies in midair!”
I was speechless.
What was he, some kind of mythological hero?
The more Anna talked, the more I disliked this Cal-something duke—without even meeting him.
The whole story sounded ridiculously overpowered.
Kids were supposed to be like that Third Prince—chubby cheeks, big eyes, and crying when you poke them.
“Did he also make grenades out of pinecones?”
“Huh? Grenades? What’s that?”
“Never mind.”
Still, I did learn one useful thing: this Cal-whatever young duke was clearly the male lead of the novel.
“Thanks, Anna. That helps a lot.”
I could already guess the rest of the story.
Harriella must’ve fallen for her savior at first sight and rashly sent a marriage proposal to his family—causing a scandal.
I was about to wrap things up so I could pick up the torn contract on the floor when Anna interrupted.
“You’re not going to hear the rest? This is where the real story starts!”
“Huh?”
And what came next was shocking enough to stop me cold.
“After returning home, you secretly sent marriage proposals to every ducal house in the empire.”
“What? Not just to the northern duke?”
Apparently, little Harriella’s actions were faster than her brain.
Instead of struggling to remember the young duke’s long and complicated name, she decided to steal her father’s seal and his enchanted carrier pigeons.
Then she wrote a letter saying she wished to be engaged to the boy who saved her—and sent identical copies to every duke in the empire.
To make things worse, she tied red ribbons to the pigeons’ legs.
Red ribbons were reserved for urgent matters like war or rebellion—something even the imperial family rarely used.
Five pigeons flew out, each carrying the same scandalous message to a different noble house.
Ten days later, the Lurupel estate was in utter chaos.
I couldn’t help but feel both admiration for Harriella’s initiative and pity for her poor family.
“Sending a proposal from a count’s house to a duke’s family is already a huge breach of etiquette—but to the wrong recipients? That must’ve been a disaster.”
“Oh, it was! The biggest disaster imaginable.”
Even in this absurd novel world where logic barely existed, etiquette and hierarchy were sacred.
There were strict rules about marriage proposals between noble families.
Normally, you could only send a proposal without prior consent if the other family held equal or lower rank.
If you wanted to propose to someone of higher status, you had to first meet them at a social event—like a ball or tea party—to build some rapport.
If the other side was interested, they would send a formal letter.
If not, you’d hear nothing—and that was that.
“Your parents must’ve been furious.”
“Yes! It was terrifying!”
As frustratingly inefficient as those customs were, everyone followed them.
A family that ignored etiquette would be branded as vulgar and uncultured.
It was easy to imagine Count Lurupel foaming at the mouth in outrage.
“In the end, Master dismissed everyone who worked near you—the guards, your personal maids, even your nanny.”
Anna smiled brightly at that part, saying that’s how she ended up as my personal maid.
At times like this, I couldn’t help but see the “minor villainess” spark in her too.
“Even now, Master shudders at the mere mention of ‘Caledonia.’ So please, milady, promise to keep this story a secret!”
“Of course, don’t worry, Anna.”
“Among the servants, this whole affair is practically taboo. Once, a footman mentioned it in the hallway and Master caught him—he was kicked out of the estate the very next day.”
“Really? Who was it?”
“A man named James. You probably don’t remember him. I heard he works as a miner in the village now—oh my! Look at the time!”
Anna, who had been ready to open another box of stories, suddenly hurried to tuck me into bed.
Only then did she seem to notice that night had already fallen outside the window.
“Oh no! It’s long past your bedtime! I’m so sorry, this is all my fault!”
