Letter?

Gus flipped the envelope over to check the banquet date and location.

The location was the central kingdom, and the date—

“Oh dear, there’s hardly any time left.”

Because letters from outside took a considerable time to reach them, this was a problem that plagued Fang Castle often.

The castle lord mulled the letter over for a long while, then thought:

“‘How handsome he is — I’d love to see for myself,’ she says.”

He flinched and looked down at himself.

The clothes were fine.

Made from freshwater seal hide, tough and durable and waterproof, they were less than ten years old, practically new, and the smell wasn’t even that bad.

Southern nobles would surely find nothing to criticize.

“Still… the south is warm, so I’d need to wear cloth. And I haven’t got much in the way of fine cloth.”

The castle lord’s social graces and communication skills were somewhat lacking, but he was no fool; he was not so dense as to miss the thin veil of deceit woven through that letter.

If he failed to present himself by their standards, his wife would suffer great humiliation.

Gus deliberated for a moment, then leapt to his feet with resolve.

This banquet — I will attend, no matter what.

And I will make my wife happy.

The soul of a warrior who thrived on competition and victory blazed to life within him.

Aspara’s ex-husband had a lover.

The man she called her husband had been nothing more than a live-in son-in-law taken in for political reasons during her idle days, and she had never grown particularly close to him right up until the end.

Because of that, Aspara bore neither of them much resentment or hatred. Not him, and not that woman.

I thought we had something close to a match made in heaven — existing as though the other didn’t, leaving each other in peace.

But that peaceful life of mutual neglect came to an end when the second brother began targeting Aspara. Driven out by absurd accusations she could barely even remember, she was promptly sold off and remarried to Gus’s castle.

“That said, though…”

There was one thing that did rub her the wrong way.

Now then, let us think about it.

You are walking along, carrying a cuttlefish.

Cuttlefish do tend to smell, so you are holding it a little ways away from your body.

Then suddenly, some pretty woman comes running up, snatches the cuttlefish from you in a breathless rush, and makes off with it.

The woman coos over her stolen cuttlefish, and then, wouldn’t you know it, she starts tearing off pieces and eating it raw.

You have no idea why she would eat that. You are staring in a mix of bewilderment and concern that she might fall ill, when—

The woman puts on a smug little face and says:

“My, this is mine, so please don’t covet it.”

And she beams with pride.

Would you hate the woman? Not particularly.

Would you resent the cuttlefish? Hardly.

And yet, somehow—

Why would I ever covet that…

— wouldn’t you feel just a tiny bit irritated?

That was precisely what Aspara felt toward Seven.

“Haah…”

Struggling to scrub the unpleasant residue from her mind, Aspara flopped down in her chair and gulped her tea.

“Have you finished writing the letter?”

“Yes. Would you care to have a look?”

“No need. I’m sure you got it right.”

Several days after the red letter arrived at Fang Castle,

Gus was being fussed over by a handful of attendants, lengths of cloth held up against him this way and that.

“As expected, dark colors suit you best, my lord.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

He was preparing new clothes for the banquet, the first time in his life he had done such a thing.

Among the dowry his wife had brought with her when she came for the marriage, there had been several bolts of fine fabric, and these had been brought out for the occasion.

The castle lord’s massive frame had two or three attendants clinging to him, panting as they basted the seams.

“What on earth did you eat to grow this tall, my lord?”

“The blood and sweat of the people.”

The one directing the fitting was none other than attendant Ugli.

This was not his usual line of work, but he had been recruited for the job as a former sailor who knew a thing or two about foreign cultures, and as the castle’s foremost authority on style.

“It looks fine to my eye, but I’m not sure how it’ll go over. I’m no professional tailor, mind you… and it’s been quite a while since I last crossed the border.”

“When it comes to style, you’d know best. Surely all those lovers you kept at every port weren’t won over by your sterling character.”

“What ancient history are you dredging up now?”

Ugli pretended to recoil in horror, then laughed off the lord’s teasing.

“Well, you do look good.”

He stepped back to survey the castle lord’s full figure.

The dark indigo fabric, cut in the central kingdom style to flow and drape, with black patterning that highlighted the contours of his frame; even with only the basting stitches in, the long limbs lent it a certain flair.

“This is my first time cutting this kind of garment, so I’m not sure — are the sleeves supposed to look like this? Seems like the wind would blow right through them.”

“That’s a fair point. If we tightened them up, it would save fabric, too…”

“That is not style.”

Ugli cleanly disregarded both the tailor and the lord, and instead let the fabric hang even more loosely.

Gus stood before the large mirror the attendants had brought. The single braid swept to one side of his forehead looked a touch silly.

What he was most proud of on his own body were his thick muscles, a warrior’s badge, and he was none too pleased at the cut that hid them completely.

“Is this right?”

“You look dashing.”

“Hmm…”

“Southern women prize this sort of thing above all else. They’ll all swoon and call you the most handsome man they’ve ever seen.”

Ugli, mid-compliment, stopped short and startled.

Right as he finished the sentence, there had been a sound from above his head — khrng — a noise he had never heard his lord make before.

But when he looked up, the castle lord’s face wore its usual stoic expression.

“Ahem.”

I must have misheard.

Ugli watched the lord clear his throat and thought just that.

“Well, if there are no issues, I’ll hand it off to the seamstresses. Shall I?”

Gus gave a quiet nod.

“Oh my.”

Aspara had been stepping out for her morning walk when she noticed something glittering at the far end of the corridor.

It was unmistakably castle lord Gus. He was clad in deep navy silk, and every time the light caught it, the fabric shimmered with a scale-like sheen that made it look almost like armor.

“What is the occasion?”

His hair was the same as always, the characteristically northern style, pulled back tight. The garment used only black and dark blue cloth, with no accessories whatsoever, so the overall impression was quite plain. And yet, compared to the beast-stinking hide he usually wore, the difference was nothing short of divine.

The castle lord carefully lowered his hand and began fumbling, apparently searching for something, his fingers sliding over the unfamiliar fabric in confusion.

“Are you looking for the pocket? On this kind of garment, it’s usually right here.”

Aspara reached into the draped folds and found the hidden breast pocket for him.

Inside it sat a single envelope, scarlet as a cornelian cherry.

“This envelope…”

“— — —.”

Gus pulled it out and held it toward her. The paper, no, the hand holding the paper, trembled so violently it seemed to make a faint rattling sound.

Its contents were in the northern tongue, but Aspara could read enough to recognize the central kingdom-style address, the decorative motif symbolizing new life, and the seal stamped on the front. She knew exactly what it meant.

“A banquet?”

“——. We go.”

“I’d rather not.”

Gus, having caught the negative in his wife’s sentence, pushed the letter toward her once more.

“— —, ——…”

“To begin with — why are you only telling me about this now?”

Aspara said this in a tone that carried a thin edge of irritation and refusal, unmistakable even to someone who did not speak her language.

“— —?”

“You’re being rude. [Why, tell. Me. Now.]”

“—… You don’t want to?”

Well, of course she didn’t. She was swamped in the middle of her business gaining real momentum; where was she supposed to find the time to go all the way out there for a party? Things had eased up a little recently, true, but even so, a man who would abandon his primary duties as a ruler for something like a banquet was exactly the kind of man she despised.

And on top of that, the venue was the estate of that insufferable Seven and her ex-husband. It was only natural she would have no desire to go.

Come to think of it, the castle lord probably doesn’t even know whose estate that is.

Yet what displeased her most was his attitude. With the date of the banquet fast approaching, to spring this on her as a unilateral announcement was quite enough to ruin her mood. Aspara had come to regard the distance between them as a couple as a positive thing worth appreciating.

“I will not be going. But the clothes are very handsome on you. There should be interpreters at such a venue, so why not attend on your own?”

Aspara gave a polite bow and turned to leave.

At that moment, someone seized her wrist.

“—, —— — we go.”

“Let go, please.”

Her composure was no different from usual, but in truth, Aspara’s heart was shaken for the first time since she had left her homeland.

Because the hand gripping her wrist was, she was reminded with a jolt, the hand of a warrior.

Five large fingers encompassed everything from the bone of her wrist to the middle of her forearm with ease. She could feel the roughness of his palm.

“——, — ——…”

She did not actually attempt to wrench free, but even without trying, she already knew: no matter how hard she flung herself away, she could never overpower that grip.

The physical sense of being overpowered quickly turned to irritation.

“That is discourteous.”

Rather than try to pull her arm away, Aspara met his eyes squarely and spoke with force.

Gus held her gaze, and slowly released his grip.