“Surprising, really, that you’d be heading to the ball all proud and confident.”
As Annamaria gazed slowly out the carriage window at the passing townscape of Pulsa, Galileo, sitting opposite her, spoke up.
The retired Duke of Karana was said to have entered Parsa Castle just a few days ago.
Now, with little time in between, a ball was set to be held tonight at Parsa Castle, gathering the minor lords from throughout Karana Province.
It was the first ball in Karana Province in a hundred years.
The last—and supposedly the first and last—ball, held a century ago, was also hosted at Parsa Castle, timed to coincide with the king’s inspection tour of the frontier.
The minor lords were buzzing with excitement over this once-in-a-century event, and in the town of Pulsa—tasked with the catering and flower arrangements—the buzz was nonstop.
The Furlanetto family’s carriage, passing through the streets on the way to the ball, drew an unusually intense gaze.
Turning her eyes from the scenery back to Galileo, Annamaria tilted her head slightly.
“Why? Someday, I will be the Countess ruling over the Parsa Region, so it’s only natural that I pay my respects to the great lords.”
Her father, Count Akile Furlanetto, seated diagonally across from her, nodded vigorously.
“That’s right, Galileo. Annamaria’s reasoning is perfectly sound, yes indeed.”
Galileo looked coolly up at the count beside him and asked, “Do you really think your own daughter is that straightforward and honorable, Count?”
“…Eh…?”
Faced with the remark, the count seemed to consider it seriously.
He glanced nervously at his daughter and asked, “Annamaria, my daughter. Do you have some scheme in mind?”
“I told you already. I only said I see the necessity of paying respects.”
“Y-yeah, that’s right.”
Beside the count, who was forcibly trying to reassure himself, Galileo spoke again, “No, usually, you’d think it’s enough to pay respects when you inherit the title.”
Having been together for six years, Galileo understood her well.
He grinned slyly, violet eyes flashing with suspicion.
“See? You’re scheming about something.”
The count’s complexion turned pale.
“Scheming…”
“You two are being rude to say she’s scheming. I just think it would be wonderful if there were a romance with the Duke of Karana.”
Galileo shook his head in disbelief.
“Annamaria, a wonderful romance is something a normal young woman hopes will bloom between two people who have met and could develop feelings for each other. When you’re meeting a man for the first time, what you feel is nothing but anxiety—unless your head’s completely empty. What if he turns out to have an unpleasant face?”
“I don’t care about a thin layer of skin on the face at all.”
“Then what if he has a terrible personality?”
“If I marry him, then there’ll be one less unhappy woman married to a terrible man. Even if he’s scum, I’ll make it work somehow.”
“What you’re saying doesn’t sound even a little like romance. It sounds like you want to marry purely for perfect calculation.”
“Well, that’s correct.”
“See? You are scheming.”
The carriage left the town of Pulsa and entered a straight road lined with oak groves on both sides.
This was the path leading to Parsa Castle, the Duke of Karana’s stronghold.
From the window, a breeze carrying the rich scent of greenery drifted in.
It was near summer, but the night air held no oppressive heat—only a pleasant coolness.
A fine season indeed.
“Mind your words. It’s not scheming—I’m simply dreaming of a marriage that would be rational and profitable as a minor lord.”
“Don’t you think you’re misunderstanding that anything called a ‘dream’ sounds lovely? Don’t you want to fall in love and be with someone you love?”
Galileo shook his head as if unable to believe it.
“Not at all.”
“You’ve never been in love?”
“Have you any memory of me ever showing signs of it?”
“…No, not at all. Not even when we were at the Magic Academy.”
Students entering the Magic Academy brought their pet with them.
Since the academy was a boarding school, pet took care of daily tasks.
At the academy, the other students were constantly talking about love.
Naturally so—it was the peak of adolescence.
Girls squealed over who was cute, boys whispered who was handsome, and the whole dormitory buzzed with excitement.
Yet Annamaria never felt her heart flutter over something as trivial as skin and bone.
She had many classmates with admirable personalities, but she never felt the urge to hold their hand, to kiss, or to embrace.
She sensed that her emotional side as a person was somewhat lacking, but since it caused no particular inconvenience, she did not worry about it.
Just to avoid disturbing the harmony among her classmates, when asked who was handsome or who she liked, she’d pick someone harmless and answer, “That person is lovely.”
She did not even have the ego to loudly declare that she had no interest in romance.
Standing out like that would only be annoying.
There were more important things to think about and study in the Magic Academy.
“Aren’t you lonely? Never having known even a single love?”
“Not lonely at all.”
She had no idea what it felt like to yearn for someone so deeply it twisted your body.
But precisely because she didn’t know it, she didn’t feel the need for it.
This was not a false bravado—she genuinely was not lonely.
Just thinking about the land she would inherit and the people living there took all the time she had, and to keep pace with Rosaria, she kept honing her magical power, burning with fighting spirit.
She felt full of energy every day.
The count let out a weak laugh and said, “Well, well… whatever it is, it’s good to see Annamaria showing interest in the opposite sex. Yes, surely that’s good. Better than gathering firewood or staying up all night brewing magic potions—much more fitting for a young lady… yes, surely… probably… maybe…”
Muttering as if trying to convince himself, the count trailed off, but Annamaria pretended not to hear.
The forest visible outside the window came to an end, replaced by gently trimmed grassy hills stretching left and right.
Scattered bonfires burned across the grass.
She looked out the window ahead.
A dry moat came into view, beyond which a castle with three striking white towers rose against the glow of the moon.
Parsa Castle, said to be five hundred years old, was no elegant manor but a fortress built for war.
Yet with years of peace and multiple renovations, beautiful white marble now covered its towers and walls.
The defensive drawbridge had never been raised, and the iron gate bore delicate, decorative bars.
One by one, carriages passed under the gate.
At the drawbridge, the carriage was briefly stopped by a guard but was soon allowed into the outer courtyard’s carriage parking area.
While waiting, a guard approached and informed them they would have to disembark here.
An attendant would come to escort them on foot into the inner castle.
Today, Annamaria wore her hair loose down her back, without tying it up.
Small pearls sparkled in her hair like shooting stars in the dark.
Her deep blue dress was youthful with a flared skirt, but the subdued color kept it from being flashy.
Taking her father’s hand, Annamaria stepped down from the carriage.
Galileo, stepping down beside her, looked up and sighed, “You look great, don’t get me wrong. Just great looks, though.”
Having a good appearance was never a bad thing.
In some cases, it could be an advantage.
But after all, it was just skin, bone structure, and muscle.
It ranked low among compliments one was happy to hear.
Galileo often remarked that Annamaria was pretty, but he never sounded like he was truly praising her.
“Count, Annamaria. That carriage,” Suddenly, Galileo’s eyes sharpened.
Many carriages were parked in the courtyard, with elegantly dressed people stepping out.
Galileo pointed with his tail at one of them.
Its door bore the emblem of the Romano Family Knight Order.
“Oh! Piccolo!”
Count Akile Furlanetto broke into a broad smile, arms outstretched, and approached the carriage that must belong to the Romano Family.
The carriage door opened, and out stepped the sturdy Piccolo Romano, Count and Knight.
His stern expression and taut muscles, visible even beneath his outer garment, marked him as a true warrior.
“Akile!”
“To arrive at the same time is a pleasure.”
“Yeah, tonight we will drink.”
The two counts clasped hands firmly and then, rather annoyingly, threw arms over each other’s shoulders.
From a nearby carriage came a figure shaking her curls confidently.
The silver-haired countess emerged with grace.
“Count Furlanetto. Good evening,”
Rosaria Romano offered a knight’s salute, placing her hand over her chest.
As always, she was dazzlingly beautiful, almost annoyingly so.
“Ah, Rosaria. As gallant and excellent a knight as ever.”
Count Akile Furlanetto knew Rosaria well, and he was a man made up entirely of tact and consideration, always speaking words to please others.
This time, however, his praise was sincere.
Her formal knight’s attire was a long, slim, deep purple coat embroidered with silver ivy patterns, paired with slim white pants and boots.
At her waist hung a silk sash and an elaborately decorated ceremonial sword.
Tall but with a figure that immediately betrayed her gender, she possessed a noble dignity that was neither overtly feminine nor male.
She was like a genderless doll crafted by someone’s hand.