Chapter 22: The “Master of Ceremonies” Appears
The weight in the air turned into a physical pressure, pricking against my skin.
Standing at the entrance of the library was an elderly gentleman—Duke Valerius.
Behind him, expressionless maids stood in a perfectly ordered formation.
“…It is a pleasure to meet you, Your Grace.”
I performed a proper lady’s curtsy.
The angle of my knees, the straightness of my back, the position of my gaze.
As a former marquess’s daughter, the etiquette engraved into my body should have been flawless.
However.
The duke’s monocle flashed sharply.
“The angle is insufficient.”
“…Pardon?”
“Your knee bend is two millimeters too shallow.
There is a 0.5-degree distortion in your spinal line.
And above all—”
He pointed at my feet with the tip of his cane.
“Indoor footwear.”
Damn it.
I was still wearing them from when I had been relaxing on the sofa.
My fluffy wool slippers were a symbol of comfort, but certainly not appropriate attire for receiving royalty.
“For the fiancée of a royal prince to lounge about in what amounts to sleepwear, monopolizing a public institution such as the library in broad daylight…
How disgraceful.”
The duke’s voice lashed the air like a whip.
He wasn’t shouting.
It was quiet, cold, and carried the sound of absolute rejection.
Claude stepped in front of me.
“Uncle, that is going too far.
She is carrying out legitimate duties here.
As for her attire, it is with my permission.”
“Silence, Claude.”
The duke shut down his own nephew with a single glance.
“It is because you coddle her that she grows insolent.
Your handling of the treaty with the Empire was admirable, but if you cannot even manage your own household, you are unfit to be chancellor.”
“…!”
Claude bit his lip.
He couldn’t argue.
In this country, “elders” and “tradition” were absolute.
Especially Duke Valerius, the Master of Ceremonies, was the final bulwark guarding royal dignity.
Making him an enemy would jeopardize not only the wedding, but the administration itself.
The duke turned his gaze back to me.
His eyes narrowed, appraising me like merchandise.
“Eliana Bernstein.
A lazy good-for-nothing, as rumored… or a hawk with hidden talent.
Either way, in your current state, you are unfit to stand beside a royal prince.”
He produced a folding fan from his coat and snapped it open.
“Therefore, as of this moment, your ‘Royal Consort Training’ shall commence.”
“…Royal consort training?”
What an ominous phrase.
In my past-life otome games, that was always the excuse used to torment the heroine.
In other words, I could see nothing but a future of relentless bullying.
“And if I refuse?”
I asked experimentally.
“Simple.
I shall declare this engagement ‘unqualified’ and have it annulled.
Rather than expose our family to disgrace, it would be better for you to remain unmarried for life.”
The duke’s eyes were serious.
This was no bluff.
He was the kind of man who would discard even family for the sake of formality.
(…This is bad.)
An annulled engagement meant parting with Claude.
It also meant losing my comfortable second-nap lifestyle and my palace privileges.
More than anything, I didn’t want to hurt that large-dog-like man.
I glanced at Claude.
His fists were clenched, his expression strained.
I could practically hear him saying, “I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you.”
(…I have no choice.)
A tactical retreat for now.
Lose a little to gain more later.
I lifted my head and met the duke’s gaze.
“Understood.
I will accept that training.”
“Hoh.
A surprisingly obedient decision.”
“However, I have conditions.”
I raised one finger.
I wasn’t about to surrender quietly.
“During the training period, I request exemption from all public duties and library management work.”
“…What?”
“Training is sacred and demands full devotion.
If I am burdened with miscellaneous tasks, it will not properly sink in.
…Wouldn’t you agree?”
It was sophistry.
The real reason was simple.
If I had to endure training, I absolutely refused to work on top of it.
Even if I couldn’t keep fixed hours, I would not allow my total workload to increase.
The duke raised one eyebrow.
He seemed to be probing my intentions.
After a moment, he snorted.
“Very well.
Half-hearted resolve would only be a nuisance.
In exchange, your training will be thorough.”
“Gladly.”
Contract established.
The duke snapped his fingers.
One woman stepped forward from among the maids.
She looked to be in her mid-thirties.
Her hair was tightly pulled back, silver-rimmed glasses perched on her nose, and her expression was so blank it seemed her facial muscles had died.
“This is Sylvia, the head maid.
From today onward, she will be your instructor.”
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Eliana.”
Sylvia bowed.
The angle, the speed, the posture—
Perfect.
This was etiquette worthy of the duke’s approval.
“She is strict.
Three young ladies before you were unable to endure her instruction and fled to a convent.”
“…That sounds delightful.”
The fact that they fled to a convent made it uncomfortably realistic.
“Duration: one month.
Within that time, I will beat into you the conduct, education, and ‘spirit’ befitting royalty.
If I judge you unqualified—
you understand, yes?”
“Yes.
I will pack my bags and leave.”
“Hmph.
…We are done here.”
The duke turned his cloak and departed like a storm.
The maid squad followed.
Only Sylvia remained behind.
Silence returned to the library.
But it was no longer a comforting silence.
It was the cold stillness of being under surveillance.
“…Eliana.”
Claude hurried over.
“I’m sorry!
If only I had pushed harder—!”
“It’s fine, Claude.
This is a necessary ritual.”
I took his hand.
It was cold.
“And think about it.
A full exemption from public duties, you know?
For an entire month, I’m freed from those tedious petitions and document sorting.”
“But it’s my uncle we’re talking about.
And Sylvia is known as the ‘Ice Executioner,’ a demon instructor.
I’m worried you’ll break…”
“I’ll be fine.”
I smiled brightly.
“I may lack stamina, but I’m confident in my endurance.”
Unreasonable bosses.
Endless quotas.
Absolute rules.
I had endured all of that in my previous life.
Now I had hope called “leaving on time,” and support called “the person I love.”
That alone made this environment far better than before.
I turned to Sylvia.
“I look forward to working with you, Sylvia.
…Please be gentle.”
“Rest assured, Lady Eliana.”
She adjusted her glasses and replied in a flat voice.
“I do not practice restraint.
First, please extend your posture by three centimeters.
Your breathing rhythm is also unstable.
Inhale, exhale, hold.
Royal breathing follows a four-beat pattern.”
“…We’re starting with breathing?”
It seemed this would be even more detailed than I’d imagined.
My energy-saving lifestyle versus her perfectionism.
This month would be a merciless battle.
I looked out the window.
The sunset was red.
It felt like an omen—
that the days ahead would be stained the same color.
…But I won’t lose.
I will endure this training, shatter that absurd wedding schedule,
and then enjoy the greatest second nap imaginable with Claude.
That obsession alone was keeping me upright.