After receiving repeated apologies from Count Archiam and Dorothea for “making them expend unnecessary effort,” we finalized the arrangements for the Imperial Council meeting.
The basic plan would proceed as Patrick had outlined. If Marquis Prynan, wary of the plan, remained silent, the Count would proactively declare his resignation as Defense Lord.
Having confirmed all this beforehand, we parted ways, and I headed for the palace.
The monthly regular meeting is held in the audience chamber.
The subjects present their cases, and His Majesty the King makes the decisions. Most agenda items are pre-arranged and pass without issue; only a few contentious matters arise. Even when debate clashes, it’s carried over to the next meeting, with resolutions reached behind the scenes within a month.
It’s like a trial where all the backroom deals are fair game. The king playing judge looks like he’s got his hands full. His Majesty’s decisions are absolute, but his subjects might drift away if they get too unreasonable. I’m starting to worry about Number 2, who’s playing emperor.
As a first-time participant, I’m forced into a dress again and taken to the palace.
Stepping down from the detestable carriage, I found an even more detestable gathering of nobles waiting. The extremist nobles seemed more numerous than last night. Those who had been quietly waiting, pinning their hopes on me, had also appeared.
“Yumiela-sama looks beautiful as ever today.”
“We have all gathered here for Count Dolknes. Though this is our first event and there may be some unfamiliar aspects, please leave it to us.”
Everyone scrambles to offer their own compliments.
“Oh my, you’re so beautiful,” they say. I can’t even be bothered to laugh it off. I could only think, “Ah, there are so many trying to curry favor.”
My IQ, which they say has been declining lately, returns to life in situations like this. I wish Patrick could see this.
As I advance, the crowd parts to make way.
Without a word spoken, we proceed toward the audience chamber. The extremist faction’s large-scale movement draws unwanted attention; officials stationed at the palace frown and retreat to the edges of the corridor. Though they initially regard us with suspicion—“What the hell are those people?”—their reaction changes once they recognize me leading the way.
Their eyes widened in shock, and their shoulders trembled with fear. It seems my presence, surrounded by so many followers, still stirs unease. Looking from the outside, Yumiela Dolknes strides through the palace with nobles in tow, acting as if it were her own domain—no wonder people expect trouble.
Midway along the palace corridor, Patrick stood by the side. Our eyes met, acknowledging each other’s presence.
He had approached as well, but our rendezvous was thwarted. Several nobles behind him leaped forward before me, blocking my contact with Patrick.
“The Imperial Council is, in principle, open only to the heads of noble houses.”
“You have no place here.”
“Count Dolknes, you need not heed the words of your fiancé.”
Ah, Patrick interrupted things right at the good part yesterday. They’re bound to be pissed. I don’t want to leave like I did at the party when he told me to.
But this situation feels like being the princess in an online game. I’ve been there too.
I was in a pretty hardcore strategy-focused guild. During a boss fight, I tried to be super considerate and suggested to a teammate who was acting weird, “Maybe you should try this instead.” Then other members got mad at me, saying, “How dare you pick on Princess ○○?” Yeah, I wasn’t the princess.
But this time, I’m the princess. I’m saying things like “Uhuhu… Fighting is bad, you know (annoyed emoji)”. I wanna say it, I wanna say ‘Uhuhu’.
It’s a serious situation, so I grit my teeth to suppress my urge to say “Uhuhu” and communicate with Patrick over people’s heads.
“Uhuhu… Do you know the situation?”
“I heard it changed.”
Then it should be fine. Although the word “Count” wasn’t even mentioned, it’s definitely about Count Archiam. The only thing that changed in Patrick’s absence was his policy shift.
Probably not Patrick himself, but the messenger informed him, too.
The task remains unchanged, so it matters little if he doesn’t know about the Count’s change of heart, but all his behind-the-scenes efforts will have been wasted. Patrick was the one who spent the most unnecessary effort on this matter.
His weary expression—whether from wasted effort, the extremist dignitaries currently picking a fight, or my own strange cry—was impossible to discern.
Patrick vanished as we passed the group, returning me to the front of the formation.
And finally, we arrived at the audience chamber.
How exactly does this seating arrangement work? I mean, the order of standing. Regular attendees probably have fixed positions, but I’m not a regular participant… Well, since all nobles are supposed to be able to attend, seats should be prepared for provincial nobles too.
Upon entering the hall, he immediately asked the waiting official.
“Where am I to go?”
“E-excuse me, Count Dolknes… um…”
“Please just tell me where the Count’s seat is.”
“A local noble without a title… I’ll take the back row. Ah, it’s just that this is where those attending this meeting sit. It’s not that the royal officials look down on Count Dolknes… Uh, I’ll go speak with the higher-ups!”
I grabbed his shoulder to stop him from bolting.
“I just asked where I should sit, okay? Nobles are super particular about seating arrangements. Remember how Damon agonized over the wedding seating?”
“Your regular place is fine. I say it’s good.”
“Yes! Understood!”
This was supposed to be the end of it… But it wasn’t.
Those who called themselves the Yumiela faction weren’t satisfied and started arguing with the officials.
“Count Dolknes is in the back row!?”
“You’re putting her in the same row as some provincial noble!?”
Seriously, please stop it. This kind of thing ruins my reputation.
The last row is the best—I can finally escape you guys and stay out of sight. To them I said once more.
“Please stop. I’m only participating from the last row today.”
I will participate from the last row only today. Next time, I won’t participate regardless of which row it is.
They took my honest words to mean I’d be in the front row next time, and with sparkling eyes, they released the officials. You guys really have such convenient personalities. This means I can finally be free of you.
Then I was guided to my assigned seat.
From the front row, the nation’s important figures—including the Marquis, who hasn’t arrived yet—are seated. Beyond that, the central nobility is sitting in a jumbled mix, sometimes by rank and sometimes by important position. Finally, the provincial nobility are seated by rank. That seems to be the order. Since provincial nobles rarely come, I’m at the very back.
I want to catch my breath in the back row, but the noisy crowd still surrounds me.
“How dare they treat Yumiela-sama as a mere provincial noble!”
“At the next meeting, the front and back rows might be completely swapped.”
“Oh! That would be splendid. The sight of us swapping places with the marquises would be truly spectacular!”
Come to think of it, you lot are only extremists because you couldn’t land important posts, right? Well, that puts you in the back row.
There were no chairs, so we just stood around, killing time while regretting that maybe the front rows would have been quieter. After His Majesty arrived, we had to kneel.
Judging by the empty front, the important people must wait in some holding room and arrive at the last minute. Or rather, there were hardly any nobles besides us. You guys are getting the short end of the stick.
“Until recently, I used to wait elegantly while enjoying tea with a certain individual, but lately that hasn’t been possible.”
Poor Duke Hillrose, having to entertain these people.
Not wanting to play catch in conversation, I kept the ball I’d caught and remained silent without returning it.
Time passed while I held a mental ranking contest for my favorite stew ingredients. Just as I reached eighth place—onions—there was movement.
Nobles gathered one after another in the audience chamber. Among them was the figure of Count Archiam. Our eyes met, but no words were exchanged as he approached a spot diagonally in front of me. Ah, the Count was also part of the back-row team.
Just as the tension in the room rose, Marquis Prynan made his grand entrance. He glanced at me and then looked away.
The central nobles assembled, and the Imperial Council commenced.
“His Majesty the King has arrived!”
Everyone around me simultaneously dropped to their knees and performed the bow.
Not knowing the proper etiquette, I watched others before moving, but I wasn’t late. I thought to myself, “This is why they say a long, voluminous skirt is good,” as I knelt and bowed my head.
In the silent audience chamber, footsteps echoed, and a deep, resonant voice spoke.
“You have all gathered today. Raise your heads.”
When I lifted my head, I locked eyes with His Majesty the King for the first time in ages.
He stared at me as if to say, “You’re here?” I thought treating me as if I weren’t present was fine, but did that message get through?
It probably didn’t, but the meeting must proceed smoothly. His Majesty looked around the room as if to compose himself. Surely I was the only one who felt that sense of unease when our eyes met.
And so the Imperial Council proceeds. While everyone must sense the unusual nature of Yumiela, the kingdom’s core officials remain unmoved. Business as usual… though what “usual” entails is unclear, they present reports on political matters without showing any signs of agitation. Only the usual suspects seem flustered.
Reports were approved, questions were asked and answered, responses to petitions would be given after reviewing the documents to be submitted later, opinions on the previous agenda item were heard, and objections were carried over to the next meeting. A normal, mature, bureaucratic corporate-style meeting proceeded solemnly. This is the infamous Japanese bad habit, the empty meeting.
With time on my hands, I considered continuing to rank my favorite stew ingredients. When I reached number seven hundred and three, pinecones, His Majesty cleared his throat and said.
“And next… Minister of Finance Pryanan?”
This was the decisive moment. Glancing ahead, I saw the figure of Count Archiam, his hands trembling with tension.
If Marquis Prynan said nothing, the Earl would have to step forward and relinquish his title.