Chapter 11
While Davit was lost in confusion, the delegation asked a few more trivial questions.
“Does Prince Davit speak Levantean?”
“Not well yet. But we can ensure he studies thoroughly before reaching there.”
Once again, the queen answered clearly. Davit knew Levantean but didn’t correct her. He had learned it from a tutor while confined in the harem, but he had kept it strictly secret.
At that moment, one of the envoys took a tape measure from his bag and approached Davit.
It seemed he wanted to measure Davit’s body.
“What are you doing?”
Davit asked in embarrassment. The envoy had been persistently observing his whole body and sketching something for a while.
“We need to return immediately to prepare his ceremonial attire. I just got an idea. Could you raise your arms a bit?”
The queen quickly moved behind Davit and lifted his arms so the envoy could comfortably measure his chest.
Suppressing the urge to bolt, Davit gently shook off the queen’s hands and lifted his arms himself.
The envoy measured the circumference of Davit’s left ring finger, then had him stand on tiptoe to measure his head. Once the measurements were complete, the delegation bowed to Davit and the queen and left the reception room.
With the crowd gone, only Davit and the queen remained.
Davit immediately stepped back to put some distance between them.
“Your Highness, what are you scheming now? First the Countess, and now even you are trying to sell me off to them?”
His teeth clenched as he spoke.
The queen laughed, seemingly delighted by his sharp reaction.
“Ahahaha. You really are lucky. At least you’ve escaped the chamber of the Countess, who could have been your mother’s age.”
“Please explain clearly. Why did you present me to the Levantean envoys? Have you ever considered me your son? Isn’t your youngest son Prince Bruno, not me?”
Unable to contain himself, Davit shouted.
Smack!
The queen brought out a fan and tapped it against Davit’s chest.
Silence fell immediately. Only the decorative medals on Davit’s uniform made a faint metallic clink.
“Lower your voice, Davit. Even with the delegation here, you must maintain the dignity of a prince.”
“Your Highness, no matter how much you hate me, this really crosses the line.”
Davit glared coldly at the queen. Regardless, she unfurled her fan again with a graceful, swan-like motion.
“If I could regain my position as mistress of the palace, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do. To think I’d one day sell you to improve my circumstances… truly, I must live a long life to see it.”
“…Could you speak in a way I can understand?”
Do not think of defying Her Highness.
The words of his deceased mother echoed in Davit’s mind. He swallowed his boiling anger and held back.
“It seems the invaders need a puppet hostage for the crown. And they’re in quite a desperate state.”
“Do you mean to send me as that puppet? Do those invaders even plan to rebuild a palace on this island?”
“Yes. At least it would save you from living as a tenant in the lord’s castle.”
“….”
“I’ve found a way to sell you at an even higher price. How could I not seize the opportunity? I never removed you when you were a thorn in my side because you posed no threat, and I judged that your beauty would someday be useful. Once again, I was not wrong.”
“…Hah.”
Davit lowered his head. It felt as if blood poured from his entire body to the ground beneath him.
“Davit, from today onward, you are my adopted son. May I call you my son?”
The queen smiled.
A greedy smile of a madam selling a worthless item for an absurdly high price.
“Alisa, what are your conditions for a husband?”
Mikel asked, glancing at my face.
We were standing side by side, holding the railing of the reception room terrace, enjoying the late spring breeze.
Mikel would stay in the Rasantia Duke’s guest room until my birthday banquet the next day. We were idly exchanging trivial words as usual, but when the topic suddenly turned to marriage, my expression stiffened automatically.
“…Why are you asking that all of a sudden?”
“Well, there were rumors when you entered the military academy. People said you enrolled among noble students to find a husband.”
“Yes, that’s right. My parents expected it too. They allowed me to enroll so I could freely practice swordplay, shooting, and fighting, while also seeking a suitable match for a duke’s heir.”
“But you didn’t meet anyone by graduation.”
“Yeah, nobody.”
“Weren’t there many handsome guys? And quite a few tried courting you. How good must someone be to meet your standards?”
Even Mikel is saying the same things as His Majesty the King.
I’m tired of being scolded for having high standards.
Still, I could be honest with Mikel.
I could tell him what kind of person I truly needed, what kind of person I wanted.
“Being handsome is nice, but not essential. He doesn’t need to be rich or from a noble family. I already have all that. What I need now isn’t so much a husband…”
“Not a husband?”
Mikel tilted his body toward me, ears perked in curiosity.
“Someone who shares my purpose. Someday, I will become the Duke of Rasante, and I need someone who can take care of Blansk in my stead.”
“Huh? You want your husband to act as Lord of Blansk? You can easily appoint a steward. Your household has plenty of them.”
“I’ve held several interviews disguised as dates. None of them were suitable.”
Even the sons of counts or barons serving as retainers were introduced as potential husbands.
I didn’t outright reject them. I made an effort. During breaks, I invited one to Blansk each week.
Those who traveled several days by carriage to the colony were not treated with hospitality.
The date course was predetermined. We walked through refugee camps on the outskirts of Blansk, distributing bread and blankets. We visited orphanages where dozens of abandoned babies arrived daily, and charitable homes that became slums within moments no matter how clean.
When staying at the lord’s castle, the Dvorcain maids served them, so I could observe their behavior toward the locals.
Every single one frowned, wrinkled their noses, gestured dismissively, quibbled, and cursed. Some even attempted to assault or sneak into the rooms of Blansk people.
All were expelled.
They didn’t see the people of Blansk as human—colonial residents were mere slaves. They showed no hesitation in expressing disgust or committing violence.
Even my military academy peers who showed interest in me were invited to Blansk.
They followed the same path. They were no different—speaking rudely, despising the locals for their smell, and raising hands at servants for minor mistakes.
Even in front of me, the lord of the land.
They had to leave Blansk as if expelled.
They claimed to love me, to want my favor, yet could not respect my people. They couldn’t even pretend politely. That wasn’t love. No one passed this test.
“Alisa, is Blansk really that important to you? Why pour so much money, time, and effort into it? Even as a private estate, it’s just a colonial town.”
I hear this question often. Each time, it feels like swallowing honey—I cannot answer easily. Some might laugh if I explained.
Blansk.
A small town in Dvorca, ruined overnight by a bomb our family created.
While I sat in comfort without effort, war ravaged the land.
Tents with rotten, torn boards. Children eating dirt under flour sacks. Frail elderly with ribs showing from hunger. Women working fields and construction, some even forced into servitude under occupying forces, to support the livelihood of others.
The scene was unbearable to witness.
Before becoming lord and confronting them myself, I knew nothing.
The conquest brought me only profit.
I knew that while I gained, others lost everything—but facing them with my own eyes was… life-shattering.
As their lord, I wanted to fulfill at least the minimal human duty.
Yes, it was practically hypocrisy.
I did it to ease my conscience.
Even knowing my family’s deeds wouldn’t be erased by it.
“…Ah, tomorrow is finally my birthday banquet. I wonder what gift His Majesty the King will bring.”
I tried to change the subject.
Perhaps sensing the tension in my words, Mikel shifted the topic as well.
