The Contract Comes First

"You will agree, if you know what's good for you."

"How very courteous of you."

Infuriating man.

So Kasika thought — and having thought it twice, some hazy fragment of the past drifted up unbidden. Yes, something about him had been infuriating back then too. She couldn't recall why, or exactly how, but infuriating it had been. She answered. "Very well. I had no intention of refusing anyway."

"A relief to hear."

"That said, one doesn't simply announce a mistress to the world and be done with it. This is a transaction like any other, with goods changing hands — so surely we ought to have a contract drawn up."

"Naturally. Right this moment."

"No."

Kasika refused. Who on earth signs a contract on the spot, just because someone tells them to? The late Count Elperts, young and green as he'd been, may well have been taken in by such maneuvers — but the years had taught Kasika not to be easily swindled. Life had grown gentler since she came of age, and her instincts had dulled somewhat, but she had no intention of simply rolling over.

"Baron Lambroise—"

"Noah."

"—Noah, then?"

"Drop the honorifics."

"You're well versed in the law, aren't you?"

"……I could do without that tone of yours."

"When I say drop them, do you take that to mean I want plain speech entirely?"

"Madam."

Noah said it in a tone that clearly meant he would permit no such thing. He was extending her the courtesy of formal address, after all, and so Kasika resolved to do the same. In society, even between lovers and mistresses, plain speech was simply not done.

"Then I'll do without 'madam' as well. 'Mistress' or whatever I am, you may as well just call me by my name."

"Kasika."

"Yes, Noah."

"Kasika."

"Yes."

"Kasi—"

Just how long does he intend to keep this up? Cutting him off, Kasika said, "In any case, this is hardly an ordinary arrangement, and money is changing hands — which is precisely why I want the contract done properly. You majored in law…… you did major in law, didn't you?"

"Yes."

"Then you know the law far better than I do, which means any contract drafted here and now would be heavily weighted against me."

"You're the one who taught me the law, Madam."

"……"

Kasika fell silent. That word — teacher — slipping out so naturally, pricked at something. When she only stared at him without a word, Noah looked baffled for a moment before the memory of what he'd called her caught up with him, and he visibly flustered.

"Ah — forgive me, it just came out."

And then, having said so, Noah called her "Kasika" once more.

"You know a fair bit about the law yourself, don't you?"

"I did, once. These days I know nothing."

"How modest of you."

"Modest? Whatever scraps of knowledge I've gathered from this book and that, without proper study in years — you can hardly imagine how useless those faded letters are. Surely you don't expect someone with knowledge as shabby as mine to grow drunk on her own erudition and recite her virtues until the whole room squirms? I'd look positively ridiculous. And unbearably rude, besides."

"……"

Noah's mouth closed. Ah yes — she was always like this, wasn't she, his face seemed to say.

It seemed the two of them had forgotten how they had once judged each other. Nearly ten years could do that. But seeing each other again, they appeared to have recovered some small sense of what they had once thought.

Kasika spoke. "I want the contract drawn up with a proper lawyer present."

"I'm terribly sorry, Madam, but—"

"If you find my name so difficult, you may as well call me teacher."

"……Kasika."

I told you to just call me teacher. Frankly, that would have suited Kasika better. She preferred that title to having him speak her name. Noah went on.

"This contract must be accompanied by an oath of secrecy. I cannot permit an ordinary lawyer to witness it."

"Then there's nothing to be done, is there."

"Refusing the contract entirely—"

"Let's have him write the contract first, then cut off his head."

"……"

Faced with a proposal he had not remotely anticipated, Noah had no choice but to fall silent. And when he did, a thought flickered through Kasika's mind: Did I perhaps go a bit too far?

"……"

Well — he could be forgiven for the misunderstanding, she supposed. Lawyers generally came from the upper classes. It was a profession favored especially by the lesser children of noble houses who could not hold their titles, and by the gentry; even the biggest fool alive would know that cutting off such a man's head was a dangerous business.

Just what does he take me for?

Thinking that perhaps Noah truly believed her that stupid, Kasika added, "A commoner lawyer will do fine. I'm not proposing we cut off a noble's head."

"Hire a commoner lawyer, have him draft the contract, and then cut off his…… head?"

"Dead men leave no loose ends. Ideal for keeping a secret."

"……It seems your long seclusion has left you out of touch with how society has changed, Madam. These days you cannot simply kill a man because he's a commoner."

"Pardon?"

"You cannot kill commoners at your whim. They, too, are accorded respect now."

"Impossible."

What on earth happened in the last ten years to bring that about? To be clear, Kasika was not proposing they murder people for pleasure. But surely, in moderation — well. There were times for such things, weren't there?

At least when she had been very young — when his father was still alive, and House Elperts still commanded its feared influence — commoners had died over the most trivial of matters.

And now that's not allowed?

Then how am I supposed to give up my maidenhead?

Society is bound to make all manner of demands of me.

"If he's my lawyer, nothing will leak. We've had him sign confidentiality agreements when we've done business before — and above all, he's a Lambroise by the collateral line."

That's not the point right now. So tell me — how am I to give up my maidenhead? Does this, too, require a lawyer to witness the paperwork? But a secret, once spilled, had a way of seeping out one way or another.

The fact that Marchioness Kasika Lamplis is a virgin must never leave this room.

A reasonably handsome commoner…… would have to be killed……

Ah, what a bind. And the contract…… no, that's not it either.

"Kasika?"

"Yes. Ah — yes? I mean, the lawyer. The one from the collateral line?"

"Yes, that's right."

"Then how am I meant to trust him?"

"You can't, and there's nothing to be done about that. But you know enough of the law to at least identify where a contract might be giving you trouble, surely?"

"……"

"Is something the matter?"

"The word teacher came out of your mouth a little too comfortably."

It's as though you've been calling me that all along, Noah thought. If it came naturally to him, then apparently being called teacher came just as naturally to Kasika. She who claimed she hadn't taught a soul since becoming a marchioness. Perhaps he lingered somewhere in her memory after all — and at the thought, Noah's expression softened by a degree.

"I suppose you kept a private tutor even after entering the Academy?"

"……I would never have done such a thing."

Noah said it flatly. His lips parted as though he had more to say, then pressed firmly shut again. A moment later, he opened his mouth once more.

"You were the only teacher I ever had."

At that, Kasika smiled.

What utter nonsense. Give me something I can actually believe.

Noah, for his part, seemed to feel a flicker of embarrassment at his own overwrought words, for color rose in his face. Good — if he had any conscience at all, that's exactly how he should look.

So he went off to the Academy and met all those professors, did he? Is a professor not the same as a teacher, then? Insufferable creature.

"Come to the capital to draft the contract. In the meantime, we'll put this house in order."

As he spoke, Noah's gaze swept the room once more. The building itself had been raised with fine materials and tastefully appointed, but it was terribly old, and with so few living in it, mold had taken hold in places. If it grew in the parlor, the rest of the house scarcely bore thinking about.

"You could hand it over to a caretaker, but that would cost a fair sum. Selling would serve you better — a house of this size would fetch a decent price, and it would go a long way toward the debts."

"No."

Kasika answered. "It was left to me by the Marquis. I can't very well dispose of it."

A place to come back to, once the contract is finished. And if possible, one with high ceilings. However wretched her life might become, she refused to live beneath a low ceiling. If she was to fall in the end, Kasika wanted to fall somewhere graceful and beautiful.

Even if that lofty ceiling festered with mold and the cold never quite left the rooms. So what? She could simply throw on an old sable coat! Among the dated garments left in the marchioness's estate were no fewer than three sable coats. Doubtless hopelessly out of fashion by now.

What does fashion matter? So long as I keep the cold out.