Chapter 9✨

Oliver's brows went up. He let out a little breath of resignation. "His Highness was right. You do possess the keen perception of a knight. Of course, I'm purely an amateur myself."

I'd say this was a merchant's sixth sense, rather than battle intuition.

This wasn't the first time Rishe had caught Oliver looking at her. It reminded her of the way her noble customers would examine a product, assessing worth and authenticity. Or a merchant weeding out potential merchandise from a wide array of choices.

In other words, he was appraising her.

Oliver moved into a deep, sweeping bow. "My sincerest apologies, my lady. I have been unaccountably rude to my lord's consort. My behavior was unacceptable."

Rishe shook her head. "Please don't, it's fine." It wasn't unreasonable

for the prince's closest attendant to be wary of strangers. But it did make her curious. "How long have you worked for Arnold? Have you always been a valet?"

"I trained as a squire, actually," Oliver replied. "But I was injured and

dismissed from the order. His Highness took me into his household soon after. I have served him for nearly a decade."

"Then maybe you can answer this," Rishe said. "Why is Prince

Arnold so very intent on making me his wife?"

Oliver hesitated, as if weighing the pros and cons of speaking, "To be quite honest, I was as surprised as you were. He's always insisted he had no interest in marriage. But the sight of you in Hermity has changed his mind.

Apparently."

So not even his attendant understood his motives. Rishe remained at a

complete loss.

"If I may, however?" Oliver mistook Rishe's confusion for anxiety and added, "I have served Prince Arnold for a long time, and never before have I seen him so happy. When he is with you, he laughs. His smiles are sincere."

Rishe was taken aback. She'd figured all of Arnold's laughter and

teasing was at her expense. His own private jokes.

"Are you...unhappy with him?" Oliver ventured. "With his looks, His Highness is exceedingly popular with the ladies of the court, you know."

"I'm sure he has many admirers." She paused. "Would you really call the way he acts around me 'happy'? To me, it seems more like a cat with a mouse."

Oliver laughed. He didn't deny it. "I am pleased you understand His

Highness so well. Oh, I nearly forgot. Here."

He held out a sheaf of three documents. "This is the guest list for

your wedding. His Highness bids you look over it."

"Thank you," Rishe said, pleasantly surprised. She hadn't even needed to ask. She gave it a quick glance, quickly identifying the most prominent and powerful names.

King Zahad, Prince Kyle, Princess Harriet. And from the Kingdom of Domana, we have Lord Jonal attending as the representative of the king. No surprise there.

More than a wedding guest register, this was a list of key people from the countries Arnold would go on to antagonize. Even before the murder of the king and the start of the war, there must have been a trigger—a sea change in the affairs of state. Everyone on this list was most likely involved.

King Zahad. I hope we can be friends again like in my first life.

Hmm... Prince Kyle is rather frail. I hope he isn't working himself too hard.

He has a strong sense of responsibility he'll attend the wedding even though it'll be a long trip.

The sight of these names filled Rishe with a longing for those lives, for the people she'd once known. And sometime in the very near future, they would all be Galkhein's enemies.

If I take matters into my own hands, perhaps I can salvage some of these relationships before they sour. Even if we aren't allies, we don't have to be enemies. Anything to stave off the outbreak of war.

Oliver had no idea what was going through Rishe's head. Brightly, he continued their conversation. "The ceremony will be held in three months' time. All preparations must be complete by then. And now... we need to discuss tonight's party."

"Tonight's what?"

Oliver stiffened. "Did His Highness not tell you?"

"No, he most certainly did not! There's to be a party?"

"Ugh, not again!" Oliver dug his knuckles into his forehead

Rishe put two and two together. She hesitated, then said, "So there is

one, then. As you must know, His Highness is trying to stamp it down without telling me."

"I'm sorry," Oliver replied. "He should have mentioned it to you. You don't need to attend, but he will. At least, I hope he will. I think I managed to convince him."

She sympathized with Oliver. Under normal circumstances, it would

be unheard of for the crown prince and his fiancée to fail to appear at a banquet. "Don't worry, Oliver. I'll go."

Oliver let out a sigh of relief. "Really? Thank you so much, my lady.

I'll put finding you a maid at the top of my to-do list."

"No need." Rishe smiled. "I can prepare for the party on my own."

This maid-selection process made Rishe uneasy. After witnessing that

exchange between the servants in the garden, she imagined quarrels breaking out all through the palace. And she doubted the disputes would go away even after they decided

Oliver frowned. "But won't dressing be difficult without a lady's

maid?"

She shook her head. "I can do my hair and put on a gown by myself. I

brought dresses and cosmetics from home. Don't worry."

Rishe ignored Oliver's stunned look, already reevaluating her

cleaning plans.

***

The first thing Rishe said to Arnold that night was, "Your Highness, I

have a request." Her gown rustled as she leaned in close. "I would like some herb seed and a corner of the gardens. I made a list. I hope we can discuss this in more detail later."

Arnold was silent a moment. "Rishe."

"What? Didn't you tell me to let you know if there was anything I

wanted?" She looked at him quizzically, and Arnold sighed.

She'd heard that he'd finished his mountain of work and even managed to sleep for a while. He was dressed in his usual military black, trimmed with a red mantle and black gloves.

Arnold shook his head. "That's not what I mean. I'm guessing that Oliver didn't tell you the reason for this party? It's merely for appearance's sake. I need to look like I'm searching for a bride within our borders as well. There's no reason for you to attend."

It made sense. The crown prince the greatest catch in the kingdom

-marrying a foreigner without even the slightest nod to propriety would invite unwanted discontent from the nobility.

"However, we're betrothed," Arnold said. "This whole evening is merely a formality. And with news that you're my 'hostage' going around, you'll be an object of curiosity. I don't want to put you through that."

"Well, I already went to the trouble of getting ready." Rishe plucked at her soft blue dress, draped in fluttering layers around her like a flower bud. She'd braided her hair, decorating it with accessories. Her makeup was light, her shoes polished to a mirror shine. Her only jewelry was a pair of pearl earrings.

"Rishe..."

"Your Highness, the court may consider my status as a captive princess shameful in the extreme, but I don't." She'd chosen this course, after all.

Arnold was again watching her with a mixture of wonder and

confusion.

"So don't worry," she said, extending her hand. "Feel free to show off

your fiancée."

Arnold relented, his dashing smile creeping out once again. "Very well. I should take advantage of this opportunity to touch my betrothed."

"We're wearing gloves."

Arnold took Rishe's hand.

A throng of guests was gathered in the ballroom as a group of musicians performed on a platform. Women in gowns stood clustered, while gentlemen in military attire grouped together. A mere glance was enough to tell their clothes were of the highest quality. They mingled happily, making small talk with glasses in hand.

Rishe let her hand rest on Arnold's arm as she paused at the threshold

to take it all in. "This is a bigger event than I was expecting."

"Is it? I'd say it's a rather small gathering, actually."

"Maybe for a military powerhouse," Rishe muttered.

Yet another reminder of Galkhein's wealth took her off guard. Arnold

just looked bored.

"The size doesn't matter," he said. "In the end, they're only here for

gossip. Look, here they come."

In the blink of an eye, they were surrounded by guests.

"Prince Arnold, thank you for gracing us with an invitation," said one

man. "Such a pleasure."

"The pleasure is mine, Lord Abel," Arnold drawled.

"Your Highness! We were so glad to hear of your safe return," another guest chirped. "Please, our daughter is simply dying to be regaled with tales of your trip."

"I can't imagine I'd have anything particularly exciting to share with

her," Arnold said curtly.

After the last few days, Rishe found this look of glazed apathy disturbing. His good looks only compounded it— he was so handsome that every expression was stark.

He looks more like Emperor Arnold Hein now, but still not the same.

Arnold appeared to notice her watching him. When he looked at her,

his sourness disappeared, replaced by a genuine smile. All around him, women found themselves flushing. Arnold paid no heed to their fervent gazes, instead leaning in to give Rishe a brief moment of consideration.

Then he leaned in close enough to kiss her.

"A dull trip," he said again, pulling away. "But fortuitous. Without it,

I would have never met the woman destined to be my wife."

A shocked murmur rolled through the crowd. Rishe, who hadn't recovered from seeing Arnold's beautiful face at close range, barely noticed the looks of utter loathing the assembled women were throwing her.

"H-His Highness is smiling? At his hostage bride?"

"He called her his wife?! He's never even looked at us!"

They were whispers, but they carried.

A portly man stepped forward with his daughter in tow. "Your Highness, do you mean to say that this lovely young woman is your fiancée?"

Every eye in the ballroom was on Rishe, alight with curiosity, envy,

or schemes. None of them could hide their contempt. But Rishe didn't falter.

This is nothing compared to being publicly dumped in a banquet hall.

And I've done that seven times!

She offered a polite smile and an astoundingly correct curtsy. Left leg at a diagonal behind the right, back straight, head bowed. "How do you do?

My name is Rishe Irmgard Weitzner."

Even the most hostile guests could find nothing impolite in her greeting, no sign of rough manners from the rustic daughter of a backwater nation. Rishe had years of training in expectation of ascending to the throne. Occasionally, habits from her other lives slipped through, but Arnold appeared to be the only one who noticed.

Now he was looking at her with satisfaction. "Lady Rishe has only just arrived, and her acquaintances are few and far between. I hope I can count on you all to hold me accountable should I prove an incompetent husband."

"B-but of course, Your Highness."

"Come, Rishe." Arnold guided her out of the ring of spectators. The

stares continued to follow them as they walked away.

Rishe dropped her voice to a whisper. "You sure know how to invite

the ire of women."

"Whatever do you mean?"

"The way you harped on about me. Everything you said was tailor-made to stoke their jealousy. You've gained me enemies, so thanks for that."

To be continued....

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