Chapter 9
“It’s fine. I’m not that sleepy.”
“Still, Your Highness should sleep soon. You have to go to bed early if you want to grow taller! Sleep well!”
“Mm. You too, Anna.”
Anna tucked the blanket carefully over me.
Then, carrying my discarded dress, her own torn nightgown, and a basin of wash water in both hands, she tiptoed out of the room.
My day was over, but it seemed Anna’s wasn’t yet.
Well, since it was my first time attending a banquet, she probably had plenty of leftover chores to do.
It would likely be quite a while before she finished and came to bed.
The moment her footsteps faded, I jumped up from bed.
Then I crouched low and crawled under it.
“Contract, contract… Ah! Found it!”
The contract, already wrinkled to begin with, was now on the verge of tearing apart.
I sat at the table in the corner and carefully spread it flat.
Then I took a fresh sheet of paper and began copying down its contents.
Truth be told, this had been my plan from the start.
The Third Prince was too young to know, but a proper contract should always exist in duplicate—one for each party.
“Contract… Hariela something Lurupel… Oh right, I need to write the full name properly.”
I’d gotten so used to calling her “Hariela something Lurupel” that I almost forgot her real name.
Grabbing a new sheet, I wrote it properly this time—exactly as written in the prince’s version—without a single mistake.
“Between Hariela Liberati Lurupel (hereafter referred to as Party A) and Sapirus Aydon Detemir (hereafter referred to as Party B), the following engagement contract is hereby made…”
Well, it’s not like the Third Prince even knows what ‘Party A’ or ‘Party B’ means, so it should be fine if I’m Party A.
I decided that much on my own and continued.
Now, I wanted to neatly rewrite the clauses from the prince’s draft into a proper format—but trouble struck right away.
“Article 1. Purpose of the Contract… Purpose… What is that kid’s purpose, anyway?”
I had no idea what the prince’s real goal was.
Money? Status? Love? None of the usual reasons for an engagement fit here.
After all, there wasn’t a single thing that chick of a boy could gain from marrying me.
“Well, it’s not like the purpose really matters…”
After pondering for quite some time, I gave up and filled in the blank however I pleased.
“The purpose of this contract is to define the necessary terms for a mutually happy engagement life…”
Normally, it’s best not to write vague words like happiness into a legal document, but who cares.
This was just a contract between two eight-year-olds.
And honestly, keeping it vague might help me later—if things ever went south, I could use “unhappiness” as grounds to annul it.
Sure, he’s a gentle and gullible kid now, but who knows what a dark-haired beast might grow into someday.
“…Oh right, his hair’s blond.”
Well, either way—blond or black, better to be cautious.
After setting up my little safety net, I moved on to the next section.
“Article 2. Contract Duration… This contract shall remain valid from the date of signing until Party B reaches legal adulthood… Next, Article 3. Terms of Agreement…”
Fortunately, the Third Prince’s draft was surprisingly thorough, so completing the rest wasn’t too difficult.
I copied everything down smoothly while reviewing the conditions he’d written.
“They must maintain the appearance of a faithful engagement in the eyes of other nobles.”
That shouldn’t be too hard.
“The fact that the owner of Delique Port is Sapirus Aydon Detemir must remain strictly confidential.”
Not sure why, but that’s easy enough to keep, so fine.
“You must not publicly take another lover.”
“…Wait. Publicly? Does that mean privately is fine?”
Good grief, kids these days!
Raised as a proper Confucian girl in the Land of Eastern Etiquette, I was so shocked I had to set my pen down for a moment.
After that, I spent some more time carefully reviewing the entire document.
Thankfully, none of the prince’s conditions were harmful to me.
Still, I added a few more clauses—just in case.
By the time I was done, the contract had become… well, not a little, but quite blatantly one-sided.
And of course, the side in my favor.
“Well, I can’t help it. My life’s on the line here…”
I had no intention of taking interest in the prince’s life forever, but who’s to say he wouldn’t someday take an interest in ending mine?
Even if it made me feel like a scoundrel plotting behind a sweet child’s back, survival came first.
Humans, after all, will always become selfish when it comes to staying alive.
I reviewed the two completed copies several times before folding them neatly into thirds and slipping them into envelopes.
Important documents shouldn’t be folded, but I had no choice if I wanted to keep them hidden.
After sealing them tightly, I slid one between the rows of books on my shelf.
It looked perfectly inconspicuous to me.
Mission complete, I climbed back into bed just as Anna returned.
She quietly checked that I was tucked in properly, then went to her adjoining room to sleep.
Listening to her steady breathing, I mentally reviewed tomorrow’s plans.
First, have breakfast and a bath.
Then, visit the Third Prince to get his signature on the contract.
After that, call on the Count and Countess Lurupel to express my wish to accept the engagement.
‘Hmm, tomorrow’s going to be pretty busy… But what if the Count and Countess oppose the engagement? They must’ve seen him tripping over himself earlier. Well, if I put on a convincing act, they’ll melt right away…’
I rolled under the blanket, fretting over pointless worries.
Yes, pointless indeed.
And not just because I was a once-in-a-century acting genius—
but because there were two very good reasons to stop worrying.
One of them being… the Count and Countess Lurupel were far more stubborn than I had imagined!
Now, about the Lurupel couple—
honestly, even if I talked all night, I couldn’t do them justice.
They always managed to surpass my expectations in the most spectacular ways.
For example, on the very day the engagement offer arrived from the Third Prince.
It was the day after I’d returned to being eight years old.
At dawn, the Lurupel manor was thrown into complete chaos—
all because of the prince’s proposal.
When I came down to breakfast, the first thing I saw was Count Lurupel’s gloomy face.
He was glaring at a messenger pigeon tied with a blue ribbon as if he might roast it alive.
“An engagement offer for Hariela already…”
“Don’t be so disheartened, dear. Children are meant to leave their parents someday.”
“But Hariela is only eight! She’s still just a little child!”
The count and countess were so absorbed in their conversation they didn’t even notice I’d entered.
Thankfully, the servants did and served me my breakfast as usual—
a baby-leaf salad with fruit dressing, pancakes spread with orange marmalade, scrambled eggs, and boiled beans.
‘Ah, exactly the same as before.’
I sliced into the pancakes with a faint sense of nostalgia.
I didn’t count, but even the number of beans was probably identical.
“I understand how you feel,” the countess said. “But honestly, I doubt Hariela will ever receive a better proposal than this.”
“Hm, well… that’s true, but still…”
Unlike me, calmly nibbling pancakes, Count Lurupel wore an extremely grave expression.
He looked deeply troubled.
‘Well, no wonder,’ I thought.
Count Lurupel managed one of the Twelve Imperial Palaces—the Ludbeckia Court—as a court-appointed noble.
That technically placed him slightly above an ordinary count,
but a frontier lord was still a frontier lord.
Like most of his kind, he held no additional hereditary titles beyond “count.”
Which meant there was nothing he could pass down to his second child, Hariela.
Though I’d never met him, Hariela did have an older brother.
His name was Taki… Taq… Taker… Taco something?
I’d always tuned out their endless bragging about him, so I could hardly remember.
Anyway, that Taco-whatever boy was studying Imperial Law and Estate Management at the Academy.
He was already being groomed to inherit the family title.
The kindhearted Count and Countess Lurupel were conservative nobles who believed only the eldest son should inherit.
Even so, that didn’t mean they didn’t worry about their beloved youngest daughter.
Every so often, they’d shut themselves in the library late into the night,
discussing Hariela’s future with furrowed brows.
