Chapter 59
The banquet was splendid. On the long table in the banquet hall, dishes of swan and peacock prepared for the Grand Duchess and her party were lined up in order.
The birds, adorned with jewel-like eyes and wings spread wide as if still alive, resembled carefully crafted works of art more than mere cuisine served on plates.
In Rosenburg Castle, where extravagance was never the norm, this was the most devoted form of hospitality.
The Grand Duchess was seated at the most honored seat alongside Ragnar.
Beneath the crispy skin, the meat was rich with savory juices, and the flavor was enhanced with rare spices that could only be obtained from the Derden mountain range. The dish was exquisite.
Daphne, who had internalized the manners of high refinement, calmly admired the red sapphire embedded in the eye socket of the peacock and elegantly picked off a single piece of its flesh before placing down her utensils.
To reveal gluttony was not befitting of a noble lady’s dignity.
It was just as Arzeletta had expected.
After gracefully finishing the banquet, she began to admire the castle terrace with Ragnar’s escort.
In the banquet hall, where candles still flickered, the noble knights and retainers who had accompanied her from Lukwell were continuing their prayers, meals, and songs.
Ragnar looked down at the Grand Duchess, who smiled beautifully at him. The man’s violet eyes were emotionless.
Her impeccable etiquette, and the way her words seemed filtered and combed with care, made her seem like a doll turned into a mechanical device.
Ragnar looked down at the castle he ruled, and the village sprawling out around it.
It was sincere and orderly. Prosperous and thriving.
But nowhere could it be called a beautiful village. Especially not to a young lady born and raised in the ancient Grand Duchy of Lukwell.
Though the Rosenburg domain was a land consecrated to the divine, it was a city governed under strict theocratic laws, and thus many elements that might make a territory lovely or vibrant were prohibited.
Still, there was no need to voice such thoughts to a noble lady who had traveled so far in goodwill to reaffirm their alliance.
Ragnar responded as he always did, without emotion.
“Is that so. It is an honor.”
“You seem to think those are empty words.”
“……”
“But I mean it. The Rosenburg territory is cold and desolate. It feels like something ominous is lurking, and yet the symbol of the divine is more grand than anything.”
“……”
“There’s a kind of barren charm to it. Just like you, Lord Ragnar.”
Ragnar’s violet eyes turned back to the woman.
The smile that had been sculpted to perfection on the young lady’s face had shifted slightly, subtly.
It was mischievous and unsettling, but lively. She no longer looked like a doll.
Ragnar silently overturned the judgment he had made just moments earlier.
She was a young lady who, if he so wished, could act just like a doll of Impellias.
“Does your vow to dedicate your body to the divine still remain unchanged?”
The Grand Duchess raised her delicate body and stepped closer to Ragnar.
Her slender waist, cinched tightly by the corset, cast a graceful silhouette under the moonlight.
“If you wanted me, I would use everything I have to make your dreams come true.”
The Grand Duchess reached out toward Ragnar.
With a body like a porcelain doll performing ballet, the Grand Duchess looked up at him as if in reverence to a great holy knight and placed her elegant fingertips upon his chest.
Her fingertips, tinted with a rosy hue, were soft and straight—hands that seemed capable of refining anything they touched into something more exquisite.
“……”
Ragnar silently stared at the Grand Duchess’s fingers touching his chest.
At her fingertips was an embroidered radial pattern in golden thread. It was the symbol of the great god to whom he had pledged himself.
It was difficult to tell whether her hand was coveting Ragnar’s broad chest or the glorious emblem upon it.
With a dazzling smile bright enough to pierce the darkness, she slowly let her fingers glide.
Before any talk of engagement with Theogrim arose, the one Grand Duchess Daphne had first desired was none other than Ragnar.
As a child, when she had encountered the holy knight Ragnar who had returned from the Holy War and arrived in Lukwell, she devoted everything in her life to Impellias.
At that time, Daphne was still a girl who couldn’t yet write, and Ragnar was at the age just before his coming-of-age ceremony.
Back then, the young holy knight Ragnar had indulgently allowed the little girl who followed him like a duckling. But now, it was different.
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