"Just how poor is the Marquis of Rodrian? His own servants tremble when he buys his wife a single outfit."
Vanessa's indignant voice rang through my chambers after she'd returned from eavesdropping on the castle staff.
Ironically, in her rush to defend me, she had accidentally sided with my perspective rather than her own Arentalian prejudices.
The gossip had clarified something important: Ronheim's finances were far more precarious than I'd initially understood.
I should pay for the clothes myself.
I glanced at the stuffed bear sitting innocently on my dresser—the one whose seams concealed a fortune in stolen jewels.
All those dangerous late-night expeditions through Kavala's treasure vault... This is exactly why I took the risk.
My first instinct was to send Lamia on a discreet errand to pay the merchant with one of the gems.
But then I reconsidered.
Once Lamia was alone in my room, I asked casually:
"When are you planning to leave, by the way?"
Lamia looked up from where she'd been sprawled on the carpet and pouted dramatically.
"Why do you keep trying to get rid of me?!"
"I'm not trying to get rid of you. It just seems... unusually peaceful for someone who's supposed to be a fugitive."
"No~! I have a plan too, you know~! Why are you trying to kick me out~! After everything I've done for you~!"
She rolled dramatically across the floor like a child throwing a tantrum.
I narrowed my eyes.
"If you had money, would you leave?"
"Oh, of course! Don't worry about me! I told you—I'll figure out my own path. I'm not going to cling to you like some beggar. Don't worry, don't worry~"
"I see..."
I appreciated her honesty, but it left a slightly bitter taste in my mouth.
She's just waiting for the right moment to bolt.
If I gave Lamia a gold coin right now, she'd probably vanish before dawn.
So instead, I dismissed her and summoned Granada.
When Granada arrived, I retrieved one of the rings from my hidden cache and pressed it into her palm.
"What is this, my lady?"
Granada stared down at the ring, her usually impassive expression cracking slightly.
"Use it to pay the merchant."
"What...?"
I offered no further explanation—only a simple instruction:
"Please handle it discreetly. I'd prefer the other maids not know about this."
Granada stood frozen, staring at the jewel in her hand.
The ring I'd given her was called the Dragon's Eye—a legendary piece crafted by a master jeweler who had died shortly after its completion.
The centerpiece was an enormous ruby of the highest quality, surrounded by a constellation of perfectly cut diamonds. The gold band itself was worked with intricate dragon-scale patterns that caught the light like living flame.
I didn't know its exact value—Kavala had kept it locked in her most secure vault—but it was certainly worth far more than a set of winter clothes.
If sold properly, it should more than cover the cost. Even if the merchant undervalues it, the ruby alone is priceless.
But more importantly...
I hope it doesn't sell for its full price. The more hands it passes through, the harder it will be for Kavala to trace it back to me.
"That should be sufficient. Is there a jeweler in Ronheim who can appraise it?"
"No, my lady. There isn't."
Perfect.
That meant the merchant would have to take the gem abroad for appraisal—putting even more distance between me and Kavala's inevitable investigation.
The more I convert these jewels into untraceable currency, the closer Kavala gets to discovering I'm the thief. But if the trail goes cold in foreign markets...
I needed to build my safety net before Kavala's suspicion landed on me.
I gave Granada a gentle push toward the door.
"Go quickly, before the merchant leaves. Have the gem appraised abroad. If the value doesn't match the clothing cost, bring back the difference. Though I doubt that will be an issue."
Granada—who despite her age and limp was normally remarkably swift and efficient—moved with uncharacteristic slowness toward the exit.
Then she stopped.
Turned back.
"My lady..."
"Yes?"
"Why are you suddenly paying with your own funds?"
"Ah..."
I scratched my cheek, feeling slightly embarrassed.
"I didn't realize how expensive clothing was until just now. That's all."
"Did you overhear the servants talking?"
I hadn't heard it directly—only through Vanessa, whose credibility was... questionable. So I simply gave a vague smile and urged Granada toward the door again.
"Please hurry, before the merchant departs."
But Granada's expression had shifted to something resembling guilt.
"I'll enforce stricter discipline among the staff. They had no right to gossip where you might overhear. This is my fault for not managing them properly. I apologize."
I couldn't let her shoulder all the blame.
"It's not entirely the maids' fault, Granada. I'm still unfamiliar with how things work here. I have much to learn."
"How could any of this be your fault, my lady?"
Granada stood silent for a moment, as if wrestling with a decision.
Then she spoke.
"There's something I should have explained to you earlier."
"What is it?"
"After you finish your meals... please allow the servants to eat whatever remains."
I blinked, completely confused.
"Leftover food...?"
"Yes. In Ronheim, it's considered a privilege for castle staff to enjoy the fine dishes left over from the lord and lady's table. There aren't many opportunities for people here to taste such food."
"...!"
The revelation hit me like a physical blow.
Suddenly, the chef's careful question that morning—"What should I do with the uneaten portions, my lady?"—made perfect sense.
"I thought... I thought he was testing my character..."
Granada's expression softened into something almost resembling relief.
"I suspected as much—that you truly didn't know."
"In Arental, sharing food that has touched someone else's plate is considered... unseemly. Almost sinful. So naturally, I was taught to have everything discarded."
"I see."
Granada nodded, her face visibly brighter now.
"It's my fault for not explaining the cultural differences sooner. I should have anticipated this. I'll make sure to teach you everything from now on—without omission."
"It seems I have much to learn about Ronheim."
"And I will teach you everything, my lady. I promise."
Only then did Granada finally leave to find the merchant.
As she walked away, I couldn't help but notice that her usual limping gait seemed somehow... lighter.
She's incredibly honest.
Granada had just openly told me—the daughter of her lord's enemy—about a custom that could easily have been used to paint Ronheim as desperate or backward.
She hadn't tried to hide Ronheim's poverty. Hadn't tried to save face.
She simply told the truth because the misunderstanding troubled her sense of fairness.
I desperately need someone this honest on my side.
Callius had been right to recommend her.
And if he could recognize Granada's integrity...
Then Callius himself must be a good man too.
At first glance, they seemed completely different—Granada stern and pragmatic, Callius cold and distant.
But beneath the surface, they shared the same uncompromising honesty.
For the first time in either of my lives... I think I'm learning how to judge character properly.
After Granada left, the reality of Ronheim's situation continued to weigh on my mind.
If the castle staff consider leftover food a privilege... then the common people must be suffering even more.
I summoned Mainz.
When he arrived, I asked:
"I heard from the Uttar chieftain that most northern territories can't cultivate crops due to the climate. Is Ronheim the same?"
Mainz looked puzzled by the sudden question, but answered readily.
"That's correct, my lady. The cold season lasts most of the year, making traditional farming nearly impossible. We do grow some cold-hardy crops—potatoes, barley, a few root vegetables—but the yields are pitifully small."
"Then how do people here get enough food?"
"Most families rely on hunting. The meat sustains them, and they sell leather and furs to other territories for a small income."
It matched what I'd learned from the Uttars—Lhasa had plenty of meat but desperately needed grain.
"Why not import food from other regions?"
Mainz's expression darkened.
"Honestly... Ronheim doesn't have the funds. We can barely collect enough taxes to maintain the castle and pay the knights."
He didn't quite meet my eyes—probably uncomfortable admitting to the new bride that her husband's territory was destitute.
"Is money the only obstacle?"
"Yes. That's the core of it."
"If you had sufficient funds, the people wouldn't starve?"
I smiled.
"Then I can solve your problem quite easily."
"What...?"
Mainz blinked in shock.
Let's start with something that requires minimal initial investment.
I was far more confident in building a fortune than I was in mundane tasks like dressing myself or taking a bath.
In my past life, Count Pelsus and Andrea had treated me like furniture—speaking freely in my presence as if I were invisible.
They'd discussed trade routes, market fluctuations, profitable ventures, political alliances...
All I had to do was pass that information to the right person.
And I already have the perfect agent.
Montril Piraeus—the vice-master of the Szeged Trading Company, gifted to me as part of my wedding dowry.
In my previous life, after my mother (the company's founder) died, Szeged had been on the verge of collapse.
Montril had not only saved it—he'd transformed it into a commercial empire rivaling even Count Pelsus's holdings.
He's brilliant. Ruthless when necessary. And absolutely incorruptible.
Count Pelsus had spent years trying to destroy Montril, but every scheme had backfired spectacularly.
I remember Pelsus drinking himself into a stupor, screaming Montril's name like a curse.
According to Pelsus's drunken rants, Montril despised both Andrea and the Count. He'd openly defied royal orders he deemed unjust.
Perfect ally material for someone planning revenge.
And there was something else—something more personal.
He never once visited me. But every year, without fail, he sent a birthday gift.
Small gestures. Thoughtful. Anonymous.
I wanted to meet him. To thank him properly this time.
I turned to Mainz with renewed confidence.
"Bring me paper and ink. I'm going to show you exactly how we'll solve Ronheim's food crisis."
Mainz hesitated, clearly uncertain whether to believe me.
But something in my expression must have convinced him, because he bowed and hurried to fetch the writing supplies.
Montril will understand immediately when he reads what I'm proposing. The Szeged Company is struggling right now—he'll be desperate for the opportunities I can offer.
I pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment and began drafting the letter that would lay the foundation for everything to come.
The first move in a game Andrea never saw coming.
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