CHAPTER 21
“So I’m going to earn money now. I’m not a priestess anymore, so I can, right?”
Fortunately for Rahan, it seemed Erishi’s thoughts had suddenly shifted toward earning money.
She clenched her fists with determination and renewed enthusiasm.
“That’s right. We need to stock up on peat too. The summer typhoons are coming soon.”
“Typhoons?”
Rahan, desperate for a change of subject, seized on the new topic.
“Well, we’re at the far west of the Empire, right? After the wheat is harvested, there’s always a small typhoon.”
Erishi explained.
Priests are always sensitive to the weather—bad weather brings suffering to the people and more work for the clergy.
In Arnsberg, the Empire’s western edge, typhoons were a regular summer event. And this year, a recent visitor—a sunrise-watcher—had warned that a particularly big one was on its way.
“Firewood’s no good during typhoons. Without peat, you can’t do anything.”
Naturally. Firewood gets wet, or the strong winds blow out the flames.
That’s why peat was a household essential in Arnsberg. As a result, it was quite expensive during this season.
“How are you planning to make money?”
Rahan asked as he lit the lamp.
A girl who had planned her life as a priestess now talking about earning money—it was almost laughable. Not mockingly, though.
Rahan had never once considered the possibility of letting her earn money. He was just curious about how this tiny girl planned to do it.
“Well, the wheat and potato harvests at the monastery are coming up. If I help with the labor, I could get paid, right?”
Erishi looked rather excited.
“And we have a baking oven in our hut, so I thought we could bake small loaves of bread and sell them too. Isn’t that fun?”
As expected, Erishi had never earned money before.
Clergy had only a few acceptable ways to make money, and as a trainee, she likely wasn’t eligible anyway.
Maybe that’s why she was treating this like some grand adventure, her green eyes sparkling as she counted ideas on her fingers.
“What if I picked flowers and sold them? Or—oh! I saw a lot of mushrooms growing in the forest this spring—”
At this rate, her ambitions might never stop, so Rahan chuckled and lightly tapped her shoulder.
“Unfortunately, none of that’s going to happen.”
“Why not?!”
“If the Duke of Aachen’s daughter gets attacked while selling flowers in a village market, it’ll be a disaster?”
It was a light remark from Rahan, but Erishi froze, her hand flying to her mouth.
Had he said too much?
Still, it was something that needed to be said eventually. Narrowing his eyes, Rahan continued.
“To be honest, one of the reasons Duke Lachaise chose me as your husband was exactly that.”
Even if the forced marriage went through, the Aachen family would never give up on Erishi.
The easiest way for them to reclaim her? Eliminate the new husband. Just like Filrod Aachen had tried to do to Rahan.
But there was an even simpler method than killing the husband.
Eliminate the legitimate successor of the Elector title—Erishi herself. The Duke of Lachaise believed the risk of assassination against her was far greater.
“If you die, a lot of people will be in trouble.”
“…Oh.”
Erishi nodded slowly, then suddenly looked as if something had clicked.
“Um, I… I have something to ask.”
“Go ahead.”
“In that case… wouldn’t it be safest for the two of us to keep sharing a bed?”
Rahan’s face stiffened. Why were they going back to that topic again?
At that moment, elsewhere—
“Hm.”
In Brechen, the capital of the Duchy of Lachaise—
Duke Yvette Lachaise was looking over a letter delivered by carrier hawk.
The distance from Brechen to Arnsberg, where Windrock Monastery was located, was just under a hundred thousand cubits—almost the entire length of the Empire.
Even on a warhorse, it would take at least three full days of nonstop riding. Naturally, Liet and Heris had used a hawk.
The letter was brief: Rahan Norwich had successfully married Erishi Aachen, and the imperial handmaidens had confirmed the consummation.
“That’s unexpected.”
As she held the letter to a candle’s flame, her adjutant, Pepin, held out a silver plate and asked:
“What’s unexpected, Your Grace?”
“They say Rahan actually consummated the marriage.”
“Wasn’t that what you were hoping for when you sent him?”
Pepin asked with a grin. The reason for his amusement was clear—he, too, knew Rahan Norwich wasn’t quite the man his reputation suggested.
Duke Lachaise also smiled faintly.
“I didn’t think that brat had it in him to go through with it right after abducting her.”
Rahan Norwich was widely known as the Duchy’s most notorious playboy, but the truth was a bit more complicated.
That handsome face had attracted more than just attention—it had accumulated scandal, rumors, and false accusations.
“I figured he’d go through with it with the same expression as someone chewing dung.”
Pepin shrugged. The Duke rubbed the corner of her mouth thoughtfully.
“Maybe he does get things done when it matters.”
“Things have been tricky with the marriage issue lately. Even today, Viscount Roan came to the palace.”
“Ahh.”
The Duke chuckled.
Just a week ago, Viscount Roan’s daughter, not wanting an arranged marriage, had claimed she’d spent the night with Rahan Norwich.
Roan, enraged, had stormed the palace with his beard nearly ripped out. But Rahan was already gone—sent off on the Duke’s orders.
Of course, she hadn’t told Roan that. Instead, she ended her three-month seclusion and appeared in person.
“I was attacked. I’m not in a condition to receive audiences,”
she’d said, showing him her newly blinded eye.
Terrified, Roan had withdrawn. But clearly still bitter over failing to marry off his daughter, he returned just a week later.
Pepin had once again turned him away with, “His Grace is still recovering.”
“If Rahan had to marry every girl who said she spent the night with him, he’d need about thirty wives by now.”
For the past two years, noble daughters in the Duchy had been using Rahan as a shield to dodge unwanted proposals. And leading the charge had been none other than Duke Lachaise herself. Details omitted for length.
With that handsome face and his refusal to deny any of the rumors, it was only natural that Rahan had developed a reputation as a womanizer.
“I’m sure Roan knows that.”
“Hmm?”
While pouring out cold tea, Pepin responded in a singsong tone:
“He’s probably using it as an excuse to curry favor with Your Grace.”
“Aha.”
Duke Lachaise chuckled.
It had already been fifteen years since she took the Ducal throne.
At the time, she’d been only twenty-five, the Empire’s second princess. Most thought she’d fade into obscurity.
There had been three imperial heirs. The eldest prince was once the most likely to succeed the throne, supported by three major players: the Elector of Aachen, the Marquess of Karakal, and the Warden of Norwich.
But things changed over time.
Two years ago, the eldest prince drowned in the royal lake. The leading suspect? The youngest prince, Elio. But there was no proof. The Emperor turned his back on him.
Then the Electors reevaluated. They sided with Elio when word quietly spread that the eldest prince had been having an affair with Elio’s wife—who died carrying his child.
Elio, only twenty-four, was young and capable. With his wife dead, his position was open. The Marquess of Karakal was eager to place his eight-year-old daughter there—not that it was a secret.
Meanwhile, Duke Lachaise succeeded in building a monastery dedicated to Eridrahan in Til Neve Cedric two years ago.
It was a masterstroke—spreading the faith of Eridrahan in a land of unbelievers!
Naturally, Victor the Archbishop, one of the seven Electors, publicly declared his support for the Duke. He was the second Elector to do so, after the Count Palatine of Bavaria.
At first, most lords just thought Duke Lachaise was surprisingly competent.
But things had shifted dramatically of late.
The Emperor, nearing seventy, was frail and plagued by illness. The throne could become vacant at any moment.
Elio, with three Electors behind him, seemed the obvious heir.
But Victor’s support didn’t mean much to most people—after all, the Eridrahan faith had long lost its influence, and his Electorate was mostly symbolic.
The title of Duke of Lachaise also came with Elector status, but the Duke herself couldn’t vote if she were a candidate for the throne.
The final Elector, Queen Belinda, would support whichever side gave her the better deal—so all eyes were on the Duke’s next move.
And then… Erishi Aachen appeared.
