The Tea Party
Ferda was a nobleman.
He had been born into the knightly house of Rosnova. By title he was a viscount, a vassal house under the Duke of Houston. As befitting an honorable knightly lineage, Ferda had received a rigorous education in the fundamentals of etiquette. Though he had been cast out of his family under the name of the Grand Duke’s fiancé, he had clawed his way up to become an Archmage and attained a station no less than that of the great nobility.
Even so, Ferda had always kept his distance from high society. In House Rosnova he had been a bastard and thus given no opportunities; as an Archmage he had simply refused to mingle.
I never even put anything prepared by others into my mouth.
After nearly being poisoned several times, he had stopped touching any food prepared by another’s hand. Even after his body became one that no poison could kill, that habit remained. Strengthening human bonds had never been his strategy; he preferred to grind people down with hatred and then discard them.
Thus this was the very first tea party of Ferda’s life.
One hour before the gathering—
“This is the recreation room where, after the marriage, Lord Ferda and Master may enjoy various leisure pursuits. The tea party will be held here.”
Ruri first guided Ferda to the appointed place and explained everything one by one. Escorting was Ferda’s duty, so she made certain he was thoroughly familiar with the surroundings.
Ferda turned his gaze toward the terrace.
“A place that looks out over the western lands.”
“This is a room prepared so that you may focus entirely on leisure, after all.”
The atmosphere was indeed different. The Demonic Land, even under sunlight, carried a gloomy cast that naturally deepened one’s thoughts; this place felt only peaceful. It was the perfect spot to watch the setting sun and savor a moment of ease.
“And the tea party will take place right here.”
Two chairs and a single table had been arranged so that one might enjoy the terrace view. Upon it sat two teacups matched to the number of guests, a tiered tray treated with cooling magic, and an array of decorated desserts—lavish things Ferda had never seen before.
“What are these sweets?”
“Macarons, mont blancs, pastries… they go by all sorts of names. I selected twenty varieties from among the hundred and fifty desserts that can be made by imperial-palace-trained pâtissiers.”
“I see.”
He was about to let the matter pass with a simple acknowledgment of her hard work when he suddenly turned her words over again in his mind. Selecting them herself meant…
“Does that mean you tasted them yourself?”
“Isn’t that only natural?”
“All one hundred and fifty?”
When he pressed the point, Ruri’s expression turned distinctly displeased.
“I can see what you’re thinking. You believe I stuffed myself purely out of greed, don’t you?”
“Isn’t that exactly what happened?”
Ferda answered with complete honesty. Having once watched Ruri devour honey preserves with such relish back in Escoleia, he could hardly deny it.
Ruri’s face crumpled.
“What a rude thought. I made a great many preparations for this tea party. I fretted over whether anything had been overlooked, savoring each one again so I could carefully select what to present. There is no greater labor than this, and you fail to understand it?”
All he heard was that she had eaten three hundred desserts. Her face remained so deadpan that ordinary people would have been completely taken in. Even the suspicious Ferda might have fallen for that ironclad expression—had she not made one fatal mistake.
“You have sugar powder on your lips.”
At Ferda’s words Ruri wiped her mouth with a finger. White powder came away from her lips. She glanced at it, then casually popped it into her mouth.
“I merely needed to determine whether there was poison. Master would never fall to some crude toxin, but Lord Ferda is human.”
“I see.”
“You don’t believe me. You aren’t treating me like a pig, are you?”
“You couldn’t possibly be a pig. Your loyalty is more like a dog’s… if I had to put a name to it—”
Ferda gave a small nod.
“A dog-pig, I suppose.”
“Please just hit me once. I am begging you.”
Ruri’s face was flushed with pure irritation. Ferda, who disliked pain, had no intention of granting such a request. Then Ruri glanced at the sun and took a step back. The appointed hour was drawing near.
“I shall go fetch Master. In the meantime…”
She shot him a fierce look.
“Kindly keep your hands off the tray.”
“Don’t worry.”
I’m not you, after all.
Ruri left the recreation room to bring Baldrova. Ferda waited quietly for her.
This will be our second meeting.
In Ferda’s memories their encounters had consisted of little more than glimpses of her face. At the engagement ceremony he had seen only her chin; when her bloodlust had run wild he had been too distracted to notice anything. A proper conversation would be a first.
A first…
The emotion that rose unbidden was a sense of helplessness.
What am I supposed to say first…?
Ferda brushed his lips with his fingers. Had this been an ordinary meeting, he could simply have matched the atmosphere. But the reason for this gathering was Baldrova’s anxiety—and Ferda had no ready answer for it.
That was why he had summoned the man who was something of an expert in this field: Jed Swallow.
—That? Just pretend you don’t know. That’s best.
Jed Swallow. A man who had seduced any number of women while operating as a member of the Swallow tribe.
—There’s no need to explain yourself; just show her through your actions. No point in making the mood needlessly gloomy with depressing talk, is there? Just play dumb and lighten the atmosphere.
Ferda had thought the advice sound. Apologizing for having grown weary of her might have been proper, but she would hardly want a gloomy atmosphere at a tea party like this.
Pretending not to know may indeed be the best approach.
Not bringing a problem to the surface was one method of dealing with it. What mattered in the end was ensuring that Grand Duke Baldrova felt no anxiety. Ferda steeled himself and waited for her.
—Master is entering.
Ruri’s voice came from beyond the door. At the same moment the door opened. Ferda prepared his greeting and welcomed her.
“Welcome—”
His words caught in his throat. Even Ferda could not help being startled by what he saw.
Red hair. Golden eyes. A face so beautiful that to capture it in a single painting would have been an insult.
There was none of that.
A dragon knight?
What stepped through the doorway was a single dragon knight. The helm and armor had been designed to trigger humanity’s primal fear. Of course, in Ferda’s case that fear had been replaced by pure bewilderment. At the same time he felt a sense of déjà vu from the armor.
I thought I’d seen it somewhere… the engagement ceremony.
It was the same armor he had glimpsed when he overturned the engagement wine, endured a scolding, and left. Which meant the person inside could only be Baldrova.
Why had she come out wearing that armor?
Ferda glanced at Ruri standing behind her. Their eyes met. Ruri held his gaze for a moment, then firmly shook her head—a gesture that clearly said, Please don’t ask.
Having finished his thoughts, Ferda once more offered a polite greeting.
“I am delighted to meet you, my king.”
Both hands came together demurely, and the dragon-head helm gave a small nod. Her bearing was that of a clumsy young lady making her social debut.
Clank, clank.
With stiff movements she stepped onto the carpet, entered the room, and sat opposite Ferda.
Creeeak—
The chair let out a scream. Despite the considerable weight of the armor, it held firm without breaking.
As though nothing were amiss…
Ferda recalled Jed’s advice and opened his mouth.
“I am truly glad that you proposed this meeting first.”
A nod.
The only reply was a single tilt of the head. Awkward silence settled over them. Around that silence everything seemed to stop. Cold sweat prickled; even breathing grew difficult. Ferda forced himself to speak again, trying to keep the conversation alive.
“It is armor befitting the majesty of a dragon.”
A nod.
She answered once more with a tilt of her head.
“How have you been of late?”
“……”
He had tossed out a topic that absolutely required an answer. Baldrova formed a circle with her thumb and forefinger.
“You have been well. That is a relief.”
A nod.
Ferda felt as though he might die. He wanted to release the tension with a sigh, yet he dared not. His heart pounded with nervousness, sealed tight like a boiling pot that could find no outlet. Meanwhile Ruri poured the steeped tea into the cups, thoroughly fulfilling her role as a living screen.
His throat was parched; he needed at least a little moisture. Ferda picked up his cup.
Come to think of it… does that helm even have a drinking hole?
He glanced over to see how she would manage. She remained seated, gaze fixed on the floor.
“Are you able to eat and drink while wearing that armor?”
“……”
She fumbled at her helm, then tapped the area around her mouth. Suddenly she lifted her head as though realizing something she had never considered.
“Perhaps it would be better to remove it?”
A vigorous shake of the head!
She refused vehemently. Her determination not to show her face was unmistakable. Even Ferda, who had been trying to carry on as though nothing were wrong, was beginning to find the awkward atmosphere unbearable.
She proposed a tea party, yet she neither eats nor drinks…
If they had at least been talking it would have been less awkward; she was refusing even conversation.
She must be angry after all.
Until now Baldrova had been made to believe that Ferda had grown sick of her. After making her anxious he was sitting here making small talk. Truly a pathetic creature. And so Ferda decided to apologize.
“I am sorry.”
Clank!
Baldrova’s armor gave a great shudder.
“I dared to cause the Grand Duke worry, and yet I have been sitting here making light conversation. It was a shameful thought. I ought to have apologized first of all…”
—……
“You may rebuke me if you wish. I was the one in the wrong, so whatever you may say—”
“Th-that’s not it!”
Ferda started in surprise. The voice boomed and echoed inside the helm. There was a jarring gap between the tone and the speech style, but what truly startled him was something else entirely.
The voice itself.
What emerged from within the helm was the deep, heavy voice of a warrior.
“That’s…”
Baldrova seemed startled by her own voice as well; she covered the mouth of the helm.
“That’s… me not speaking… isn’t because I’m angry, and it isn’t because you did anything wrong, Lord Ferda.”
The terrifying dragon-knight’s head fidgeted its fingers in embarrassment.
“I-I just… c-can’t talk properly to you, Lord Ferda… so I couldn’t answer… that’s all…”
“Ah.”
Only then did Ferda recall something. It was what Ruri had told him at the engagement ceremony.
Anthropophobia.
She found humans difficult.
Yes. He had known that, so why had he assumed she was angry? He had been so focused on his own concerns that he had completely forgotten what she carried.
“I am sorry. My thoughts were shortsighted. Please forgive me.”
“No… I’m the one who should apologize… calling you here only to sit with my mouth shut…”
“Not at all, I was the one…”
They kept apologizing back and forth until the conversation abruptly died. In the heavy atmosphere Ferda could not bring himself to speak. He secretly searched for some magic that might break the silence.
“Um…”
Baldrova, her tongue finally loosened, forced out a topic with difficulty.
“The reason I’m wearing this armor… like this…”
Ferda waited so that she could finish.
“Ruri said… that my expressions show everything.”
Ferda tilted his head at the answer.
“Your expressions show everything… meaning?”
“When I’m in human form… she says it all shows on my face. So… when I look at you, Lord Ferda, I have no confidence about what kind of expression I might be making…”
She mumbled and finally finished the sentence.
“So I put it onnn.”
The last syllable trailed off with a whoosh; Baldrova covered her mouth with both hands.
“Truly… foolish… isn’t it?”
The deep warrior’s voice trembled faintly. Watching her every movement, he could feel it clearly—how hard it was for her to hide her emotions.
Truly…
Being unable to hide meant she was pure. Because she was so pure, even if she donned a shell or forced out a heavy voice, she could not conceal the essence he felt with his heart.
Beautiful.
And that was why she was beautiful. Ferda answered her question.
“It is not. Even now, at this very moment, I am trembling as well.”
Baldrova lifted her head and looked at Ferda. He could feel her gaze sweeping over him.
“Liar.”
Baldrova said it flatly.
“Pardon?”
“You say that, but you don’t look like you’re trembling at all… I keep stuttering, yet you look perfectly fine, Lord Ferda.”
“I want to make a good impression. I’m forcing myself to act as though I’m not shaking.”
“Is that so?”
She reacted as though she could not quite understand. Since Baldrova had laid bare her embarrassment, it was now Ferda’s turn.
“The reason I have not been able to see you lately is because I, too, was afraid.”
“Afraid of what?”
“The mana within me is steeped in darkness.”
“Darkness…?”
“Yes. My mana carries darkness. I was worried that darkness might harm Your Highness. And so…”
Ferda’s eyes turned to her once more. His blue irises shone like sapphires.
“I lacked the confidence to face you.”
“……”
There was no answer. Having heard his words, Baldrova fidgeted her fingers, clenching and unclenching her fists—movements that seemed to suppress some rising emotion.
“Lord Ferda…”
And a carefully restrained voice.
“You were worried about me?”
“Yes. It was presumptuous of me, was it not?”
“No. That… makes me a little happy…”
Only then did he see it. Every one of those gestures belonged to a delicate young woman.
“It makes you happy?”
The menacing helm gave a light nod.
“Until now, aside from Ruri, I’ve never thought that anyone was worried about me… People think I’m strong. And I am, really. But… you worry that I might get hurt, Lord Ferda. So… somehow that makes me happy.”
She placed a hand over her chest and composed herself.
“That thing you gave me back then…”
On the day she had been tormented by uncontrollable bloodlust—
“What I felt… was a sensation I had never once experienced before.”
Baldrova’s voice grew soft with memory as she traced that day.
“Something warm and gentle circulating through my body… I thought that if someone ever held me, it might feel like that. Something like that could never do me harm, could it?”
“Is… that so?”
“Yes.”
Fidgeting fingers again. Legs twisting together. Despite the solemn tone of her speech, her girlish mannerisms were impossible to miss.
“Just being here like this makes me so happy. This moment of facing you, Lord Ferda, makes me so incredibly happy… so happy that…”
Baldrova’s voice cut off abruptly.
“Ah.”
As though she had just become aware of something she had not been conscious of.
“Are you all right?”
“Um… I-I’m sorry, but… m-may I… s-stand up…?”
“Pardon?”
“Th-that is… I… any more than this and I… I-I’ll… s-start screaming… and that would be a nuisance, so… s-sor… sor…”
Trembling all over, Baldrova no longer knew what to do.
“I’m sorryyy!”
With the apology she flung herself bodily off the terrace.
Ferda and Ruri simply looked down at the spot. Even at a glance the height was dizzying, yet neither of them imagined for a moment that Baldrova would be hurt.
Ruri, who had been standing like a screen the entire time, finally spoke.
“Well, I’d say the tea party was a success with this much.”
She popped a dessert from the tiered tray straight into her mouth. Ferda gazed down at the place where she had fallen and turned Ruri’s words over in his mind.
Yes.
And all at once he understood.
Baldrova was a woman this modest.
A pure lady who could not even properly look at her fiancé’s face. Such a woman had forced herself to play the king beneath the weight she carried.
Yet the world is never kind.
He knew that as well. Even that modesty it sought to crush, as though it were far too much for her. The surging monsters, the empire’s corruption, her own past—all of it ceaselessly tested and pressed down upon her.
I swore.
That he would protect what she loved and grant her what she had only ever wished for. That in the end the name Baldrova would be reborn not as a byword for fear, but as a name of joy.
For that, what Ferda needed was decisiveness.
Sometimes boldly.
And if necessary, ruthlessly. The fear that he might harm Baldrova could no longer shake him. A sense of mission became fuel and kindled the heart that had once burned out.
The next day Ferda summoned Jed and told him of his plan. After listening, Jed asked:
“Have you lost your mind?”
It was an exceedingly rude remark, yet remarkably it was the phrase Jed had chosen only after careful deliberation. That was how absurd Ferda’s plan was.
“You’re going to rob the imperial warehouses?”