The cityscape spread below was breathtakingly beautiful.
Every building in Ronheim wore the same distinctive pointed red roof, creating a spectacular view from above—a sea of crimson peaks rolling out toward the horizon like waves frozen in clay.
"All the rooftops are pointed!"
Granada stepped beside me at the window and explained patiently.
"Flat roofs would collapse quickly when the snow piles up. The steep pitch lets it slide off."
"And who ordered them all painted red?"
"No one. The clay we use for tiles here in Ronheim turns that color naturally when fired. It's simply how it is."
"Oh... I see."
I nodded, unable to tear my eyes from the view.
The charming buildings looked as though they'd stepped straight from a storybook, packed closely together to form a single magnificent tapestry of winter warmth against white snow.
I remembered the fairy tales my kind nanny used to read to me in a soft voice when I was very small—back when my mother was still alive, before Kavala could drive away my nanny and maids.
The pretty fairy village in those picture books looked exactly like this.
Ronheim was a place from the stories of my childhood.
The morning scene was nothing like I'd imagined.
I'd expected the northern city to be frozen and deserted, locked away from winter's grip. Instead, the streets teemed with people from early morning onward.
It was as if the entire territory had poured into the streets at once.
People spent long moments greeting everyone they encountered. It seemed as though everyone knew everyone else here.
They looked remarkably lively as they shook hands, exchanged warm words, and passed small items back and forth—bread, tools, bundles wrapped in cloth.
I spoke cheerfully, though the lingering chill from the night still clung to my bones.
"I want to go outside and see it all up close."
But Granada shook her head firmly.
"Please eat breakfast first. You'll feel properly energized after a good meal."
I remembered hearing something similar from the Uttar tribe.
The people of Ronheim seem to take food very seriously.
The maids arrived to help me prepare for the day.
Meanwhile, I watched with growing amusement as Vanessa fearlessly picked petty quarrels with Granada—and Granada either ignored her completely or delivered such terrifying verbal cuts that Vanessa fell silent.
Despite being utterly outmatched, Vanessa would raise her chin moments later and talk back whenever she found an opening.
At this point, Vanessa's stubbornness is almost... cute?
Since I didn't have proper northern clothes yet, I had no choice but to go down to breakfast wearing the thin dress Kavala had provided, with only a shawl wrapped around my shoulders for warmth.
I'd expected Callius to arrive first, but when I entered the dining hall, he was nowhere to be seen. I turned to the elderly butler.
"Where is the Marquis?"
"He went out to inspect the territory, my lady."
"This early? Without even eating breakfast?"
"It's been quite some time since his last visit. He wanted to see the state of things as quickly as possible."
Before I could respond, the chef emerged from the kitchens with an impressive array of dishes and began setting the table with focused intensity.
I fell silent and watched the food appear.
The chef—a stout woman with capable hands and keen eyes—glanced over the spread with satisfaction before speaking with barely contained pride.
"The master instructed me to pay particular attention to the menu, since he doesn't yet know what might suit my lady's tastes."
She kept glancing at me with an oddly restless energy, as though waiting for something.
It seemed she was less concerned with my title as Idelian Princess and more focused on the fact that I was a foreigner trying her cooking for the first time.
Is she curious to know how I'll rate her dishes?
If that was the case, she was about to be very pleased. Because she was clearly a chef sent from heaven itself.
The moment I unfolded my napkin across my lap, she practically rushed forward to ladle soup into my bowl.
"Try the soup first, my lady. It's made with the finest quality ham—absolutely delicious."
"Thank you."
I smiled slightly at her eager suggestion and picked up my spoon.
I'd barely taken two spoonfuls when she fidgeted again and pushed another dish toward me.
"These are potato cakes. You could say they're a staple of Ronheim cuisine."
I picked at the round, translucent food with my fork, examining it from all angles. It was completely unfamiliar.
The potato cakes turned out to be wonderfully chewy and flavorful.
The only downside was how filling they were. I'd eaten just a few bites, yet there was still so much food remaining that I hadn't even tasted.
Before I could finish chewing and swallowing, the chef brought yet another plate.
At that point, Mainz—who apparently couldn't stand to watch any longer—intervened gently but firmly.
"Latina, please. Stand still and let my lady eat in peace."
"Oh! Forgive me."
Latina realized she'd become overeager again and stepped back hastily.
But she never took her eyes off me. She watched every bite like a hawk observing prey.
I found her behavior more endearing than annoying. Rather than feeling pressured, I felt... welcomed. Cared for.
So I made sure to praise every single dish as I tasted it.
"Everything is absolutely delicious. Ronheim Castle is blessed with a truly exceptional chef."
Latina, completely won over by the compliment, lifted her chin with visible pride.
But somehow, her proud expression didn't last.
Her face grew increasingly troubled as she watched me continue eating.
Why is she looking like that?
Eventually, Latina went so far as to ask outright if the food was truly to my liking.
"If it doesn't suit your palate, my lady, should I prepare something different?"
"Hmm? No, this is more than enough."
I'd clearly said it was delicious. Why was she acting this way?
I was already uncomfortably full, but I forced myself to taste at least a little of everything so as not to disappoint her efforts.
But Latina stared at all the food I'd left behind with an expression of deep dissatisfaction.
"There's quite a lot remaining, my lady. Should I... share it with the staff below stairs?"
I was genuinely shocked to hear her suggest giving my leftovers to others.
"Why would you give what I've been eating to someone else? Absolutely not. Throw it all away and prepare fresh dishes next time."
After delivering those clear instructions, I worried briefly about how Latina might react. So I thanked her once more for the meal.
"It was a very satisfying breakfast. Thank you."
Immediately after I spoke, Mainz smiled kindly and ushered the chef away before I could see her final expression.
I tilted my head in confusion and returned to my room.
I'm so full I can barely move.
Latina asked Mainz with a stricken expression as he led her away.
"Are we really going to throw away all those precious ingredients?"
Mainz also wore a reluctant expression, though he suppressed it carefully so as not to show his feelings in front of others.
"Since my lady ordered it, we must comply."
"But—"
Latina looked back at the dining table in dismay.
Those dishes had been prepared with the utmost care on Callius's orders, after consulting with Mainz. They'd used generous amounts of high-quality ham and other ingredients normally reserved only for the most special occasions.
Yet the Princess had merely picked at a few bites, then coldly ordered everything thrown away.
Even if she doesn't appreciate the effort... this is too wasteful.
She quickly directed the servants to bring the dishes back to the kitchen, then hurried to find Granada.
After explaining the situation in detail, Latina asked the same question she'd posed to Mainz.
"...Given what happened, must I really obey the Princess's orders?"
Granada's response was stern and uncompromising.
"Please use the proper title, Latina. She is 'my lady' or 'the mistress' now. And until now, there was no one to take the mistress's role, so Mainz and I handled such matters. But from this moment forward, it's my lady's place to decide. You don't need to ask my permission for anything she requests. Simply report it and comply."
Latina's face fell.
She thought this whole situation was absurd, but when both Mainz and Granada said the same thing, she found herself speechless.
Still, it was impossible to prevent the seed of resentment from taking root in her heart.
A very extravagant, wasteful lady has arrived. What are we going to do?
I overate.
I returned to my room practically panting with how uncomfortably full I felt.
When I lived in the palace, my maids constantly forced me to eat less—saying how unseemly it would be for the Princess to gain weight.
For someone accustomed to eating tiny portions while servants watched disapprovingly, the people here who kept urging me to eat more felt... strange. Foreign.
It's hard to even breathe properly.
I couldn't sit down comfortably, so I had to pace slowly around the room, waiting for the discomfort to pass.
That's when I suddenly remembered Latina asking if she should give the leftover food "to the people below stairs."
Did she think I'd do something so outrageous just because I'm an Idelian Princess?
I was genuinely curious about her reasoning.
Why would anyone give their personal leftovers to servants? That's incredibly rude.
Besides, I hadn't forgotten Granada's request to be considerate of the staff.
Leftover food should be fed to livestock, not people.
There was a famous moral tale that every child in Arrental knew by heart.
It told of a wealthy man who threw his table scraps to a beggar—and how he incurred divine wrath and suffered terrible misfortune as punishment for his disrespect.
I caught my reflection in the mirror and studied my face.
Do I really seem like such a cruel person?
The conviction grew stronger and stronger within me.
I need to shed the "Idelian Princess" label as quickly as possible.
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