Mainz seemed uncertain whether to take me seriously or assume I was joking.
But he dutifully fetched paper and ink without further comment.
I began sketching from memory.
It looked something like this... or was it more like this?
My artistic skills left much to be desired. What emerged on the parchment was a stubby, round caterpillar with a thin-stemmed mushroom sprouting from its back like a grotesque parasol.
"Could you hire an herbalist to find mushrooms that look like this?"
Mainz squinted at my drawing.
"Is this... a mushroom? It looks more like a caterpillar."
"It's a vermis mushroom. It grows by parasitizing insect larvae as its host."
I could still remember the day Count Pelsus had shown Andrea his collection of vermis specimens, practically vibrating with excitement over his newest business venture.
"Ugh! Why are you showing me something so disgusting?"
Andrea had recoiled in horror at the sight of the mushroom-infested larvae.
"Your Highness, please—look at the mushrooms, not the insects. This fungus, called vermis, is said to be extraordinarily beneficial for... ah... male vitality."
"What? Vitality?"
"Yes. Boiled into a tonic and consumed regularly, it's said to restore the vigor of youth. Men report... remarkable improvements in their nightly performances, shall we say."
Andrea's disgust had evaporated instantly.
"Is that so?"
He'd snatched up one of the specimens for closer inspection.
"Among connoisseurs, these trade for one gold coin each."
"You're telling me people pay a gold coin for what amounts to bug-eaten fungus?"
"They're exceedingly rare, Your Highness. And I've recently learned from a reliable source that they grow abundantly in the northern territories."
"Truly?"
"Yes. This is privileged information—no one else knows yet. So if Your Highness would grant me exclusive harvesting rights in Arental's northern lands... I would, of course, offer you fifty percent of all profits."
"Sixty percent."
"Sixty...?"
"Seventy."
"...Yes, Your Highness. Seventy percent it is."
Shortly after that conversation, Andrea had strong-armed the northern lords into granting Count Pelsus monopoly harvesting rights.
The business had been wildly successful.
I remembered them celebrating with excessive drinking, embracing each other with drunken glee over their profits.
While I sat in the corner, trembling, terrified of what Count Pelsus would do to me once the alcohol loosened his temper.
But now? Now I'll use everything they taught me against them.
I explained the opportunity to Mainz as clearly as I could.
"Do you understand? These mushrooms grow in soil that's been warmed by sunlight during the day. You'll find them by digging carefully around infested larvae. The harvesting season runs from spring through summer—it's late summer now, so there won't be many left this year. We need to move quickly."
"Yes, my lady. I'll... gather the herbalists and..."
Mainz trailed off, looking bewildered as he clutched my crude drawing.
He clearly didn't believe this venture would actually generate significant income.
But I wasn't concerned.
Once the gold starts piling up, you'll have no choice but to believe me.
After Mainz departed, still looking uncertain, I turned my attention to drafting a letter to Montril.
To Montril Piraeus,
I am Marchioness Chloe Rodrian. Though I had hoped to meet you in person to discuss this matter, circumstances have prevented such a meeting for the time being.
I write to you with a business proposal that I believe will be of mutual benefit.
There exists a rare fungus called the vermis mushroom, which grows parasitically on insect larvae. This commodity commands extraordinary prices in certain markets—as much as one gold coin per specimen among those who know its value.
The northern territories—particularly Ronheim—possess abundant natural reserves of this resource, yet lack the commercial networks to capitalize on them.
I propose that the Szeged Trading Company serve as exclusive distributor for vermis mushrooms harvested from Ronheim lands. The profits would be divided equitably between our interests.
I trust you will recognize the opportunity this represents.
I await your response with great interest.
— Marchioness Chloe Rodrian
I sealed the letter carefully and set it aside for dispatch.
Montril is struggling right now. The Szeged Company needs profitable ventures desperately. He'll see the potential immediately.
A small smile tugged at my lips.
Thank you, Andrea. Thank you, Count Pelsus. For being so careless with your secrets in front of the "mad princess" you thought was too stupid to understand.
Meanwhile, Granada made her way through the castle corridors with the jewel Chloe had entrusted to her.
From the very first day, she had found the maids Chloe brought from Arental to be shockingly rude—not just to the people of Ronheim, but to Chloe herself.
It had troubled her.
But Chloe's earlier instructions had clarified everything.
"Please handle this quietly—without my maids knowing."
She doesn't trust them.
And if Chloe had brought servants she didn't trust all the way to Ronheim...
Then their presence here wasn't her choice. She was forced to bring them.
Everything else Chloe had said and done fell into place after that realization.
"From now on, please don't hesitate to advise me if I do something inappropriate."
She has no intention of harming Ronheim.
"It seems I have much to learn."
She's not arrogant. Just... sheltered. Ignorant of practical matters, but not unwilling to learn.
Granada's assessment crystallized into certainty.
Prince Callius chose this woman personally. There's no doubt about it.
The knights had been buzzing with speculation that Arental had forced the marriage as a political maneuver.
But Granada refused to believe Callius would have accepted a bride he didn't want—no matter what pressure Arental applied.
My lady... you will be the true mistress of Ronheim. I'm certain of it now.
Granada found the merchant before he could depart the castle and presented him with the ring.
Even as a wandering trader who'd spent decades dealing in goods from across the continent, the man's eyes widened when he saw the Dragon's Eye.
"You're... paying for clothes with this?"
His voice was almost reverent.
"This seems far too valuable for the garments I sold. I don't know much about fine jewelry, but... honestly, this looks like a truly exceptional piece. Please, just give me something of more reasonable value instead."
Chloe had been right about the ring's worth.
"If you feel we've overpaid, then bring us something better quality next time you pass through."
The merchant's face lit up with delight.
"I've dealt with many generous patrons, but this is extraordinary! Understood! Next time Madame Belloze produces quality work, I'll come straight to the castle first."
"Excellent."
As the merchant turned to leave, Granada quickly added:
"The Marquis wanted to give his wife the finest gift possible, so Steward Mainz offered this ring as payment. I hope we can continue doing good business together."
"Yes! Yes, of course!"
The merchant practically ran from the castle in his excitement.
Granada watched him go with a quiet sigh of relief.
Since I said it came from Mainz, the merchant won't spread gossip about where the treasure actually came from.
Chloe had asked for discretion regarding the jewel's source—which suggested she didn't want anyone tracing it back to her.
So Granada had claimed Mainz provided it instead.
She turned and began the slow climb back up the castle stairs, her bad knee protesting with each step.
Halfway up, Granada encountered Brentian descending.
"Why does someone with mobility problems insist on climbing stairs constantly?"
Though he still seemed uncomfortable after their argument the previous night, Brentian couldn't help nagging her with familiar affection.
"Your other knee isn't even fully healed. Do you think your body is still young?"
Granada was like a grandmother to Brentian—strict and unyielding when necessary, but beloved precisely because her sternness came from genuine care.
She held that place in the hearts of everyone in Ronheim Castle.
"I'm heading upstairs anyway. Let me help you."
Granada didn't ask why Brentian was going back up when he'd clearly been descending. She simply accepted his offered arm.
"Good timing. I wanted to speak with you."
"About what? Are you going to scold me again?"
"You already know you deserve scolding."
Brentian's expression fell.
"Are you really going to lecture me more?"
Granada asked quietly as they climbed:
"Why do you hate the Marchioness?"
"Well, obviously—"
"Because of where she comes from?"
"It's not just about where she's from—"
"Judging someone as good or bad based solely on their origins—that's exactly what 'judging by bloodline' means."
"She's a princess of the Idelian royal family!"
Granada stopped walking.
Turned to look at Brentian directly.
"I was the daughter of an assassin."
Her eyes were steady and unwavering.
"My father's profession was contract killing. He used the money he earned from murder to feed our family. I grew up thinking it was normal—never questioning whether it was wrong."
"I learned how to kill from him when I was seven years old."
Brentian looked stricken.
"Why are you bringing up the past? What does that have to do with—"
"When I first met the Saint, I already had blood on my hands. These hands—"
She held them up.
"—had taken innocent lives. People who had families. People who deserved to live."
"..."
"The Saint chose me anyway. She placed me in her most trusted position—made me her personal guard. And she gave me the chance to atone for stealing others' families by preventing my own from starving."
"..."
"She didn't brand me with my past. She believed in me."
Granada's faded eyes still shone with fierce clarity.
"The people around the Saint weren't cruel to me. I was surprised by that—grateful. Later, I understood. They simply trusted the Saint's judgment. Her choices were never wrong."
"..."
"If you can't trust the Marchioness yet, then trust Prince Callius. Trust his choices. That's what I wanted to say."
Brentian protested weakly:
"But Granada, you and the Princess are completely different—"
"You're absolutely right. How dare anyone compare me to Her Ladyship? I'm the one who committed sins with my own hands. The Marchioness is innocent."
"That's not what I meant!"
"Then what did you mean? Did she lead the war between Ronheim and Arental? Did she mastermind the Saint's murder? Did she personally kill a single Ronheimer with those delicate hands?"
Granada's voice was relentless.
"What reason do you actually have for hating her?"
"..."
"She simply had the misfortune of being born to the Idelian Emperor. She was born into that royal family. It wasn't her choice."
Granada patted Brentian's shoulder gently.
"You're intelligent. I know you understand what I'm saying."
Then she smiled—a rare expression that softened her stern features.
"The Marchioness isn't the type to give up easily. So be careful—you might spend the rest of your life being teased about this foolish prejudice."
Granada sent Brentian on his way, telling him to continue whatever errand had brought him downstairs in the first place.
Brentian stood frozen for a long moment, staring at Granada's retreating back.
His expression had shifted from defensive to deeply thoughtful.
"Granada... fell? In just two days?"
He muttered it to himself, bewildered.
What on earth happened between them?
Back in my chambers, I had no idea that Granada was already becoming my fiercest defender.
I sat by the window, watching the late afternoon sun paint the snow-covered mountains in shades of rose and gold.
The vermis harvest will start soon. Montril will receive my letter. The pieces are moving into place.
For the first time since arriving in Ronheim, I felt something close to confidence.
Not the false certainty Andrea had instilled in me—the kind that crumbled at the first sign of opposition.
Real confidence. Built on knowledge. On preparation. On the weapons my enemies had foolishly handed me.
Let the game begin.
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