Yes, apparently. She’s very fine with it.
But, Bertia, could we maybe think this through a little more carefully? For one, Princess Bistona almost certainly doesn’t know that her sister was ever considered a “villainess.” And from the looks of it, she’s not acting out of sisterly devotion so much as out of sheer frustration that she hasn’t managed to secure a suitor yet. She’s simply taking it out on June.
Then again, with Prince Izlarich stepping in to protect June from her, maybe in a strange way, Bistona was fulfilling the “villainess role” Bertia so loved to see in action.
“I see,” I murmured. “Looks like she was swiftly defeated by Prince Izlarich, gallantly deepening his bond with Miss June. And switching targets straight to Prince Ramtak right afterward? Impressive versatility, I suppose.”
Indeed, Princess Bistona was drifting from man to man, much like at the previous tea party. To think she was openly flirting with potential candidates during a wedding ceremony, no less, and during the sacred rites, of all times. Her audacity was something to behold.
Still, she wasn’t the only one. Prince Ramtak himself seemed quite pleased with the cluster of noble ladies surrounding him—Bistona included—as well as Margone, the same duke’s daughter who’d caused trouble for June before.
According to what Princess Lysonna had once told Bertia, the Umyuve Kingdom had an unusually high number of princesses. Most favorable marriage arrangements went to the older sisters, leaving the younger ones to seek their own prospects. As a result, the younger princesses tended to be… assertive.
Assertive, yes.
That was one word for it.
In truth, “predatory” might have been a more accurate description. The way some of them advanced on the available bachelors looked less like courtship and more like hunting.
“Conversely,” Bertia continued, “I’ve heard there are very few princes in Umyuve, and they’re said to be rather gentle in temperament. Look—see that man speaking to Princess Bistona now? That’s Crown Prince Nishikaru, Princess Lysonna’s brother.”
“Ah, yes. I spoke with him briefly the other day,” I replied.
Even as we talked, Princess Bistona had indeed moved on to Ramtak’s side, where she and Margone immediately began exchanging sharp-tongued barbs. Crown Prince Nishikaru stepped in, clearly trying to mediate the argument.
My gaze lingered on him for a moment, and I couldn’t help thinking that this poor man probably spent half his life breaking up squabbles like this.
The royal family of the Umyuve Kingdom had, for some reason, an overwhelmingly high rate of princesses. There were, in total, ten royal daughters and only two princes.
One of those two was the man himself, Crown Prince Nishikaru Rishire Umyuve, who was attending Princess Lysonna’s wedding on behalf of his parents, the king and queen, who were unable to leave their kingdom for an extended period. He was accompanied, of course, by his younger sister, Princess Bistona.
When I spoke with him the other day, I got the distinct impression that life in a palace full of strong-willed sisters had not been easy for him. He’d mentioned, almost apologetically, that even during this wedding trip, he had already received several discreet complaints regarding his sister’s behavior—and had been spending most of his time smoothing things over.
To make matters worse, he’d somehow ended up being dragged into the company of Prince Ramtak, who had insisted on a “fellow crown prince’s dinner” during the tea party the other day. The poor man had been half-forcibly seated among them and, by the end of the evening, had been cheerfully declared “one of the boys.”
When he sighed, rubbing his stomach, and said, “At least Lysonna’s finally stopped causing problems,” with a weak, weary smile, even I couldn’t help but feel sorry for him.
“Actually,” Bertia said suddenly, “Lady Lysonna asked me the other day if I might know anyone suitable as a husband for her younger sisters. She said she wanted to help her parents and brother by easing their worries a little.”
“Mm… that might be a little difficult,” I admitted.
I did sympathize with Nishikaru, but that didn’t mean I was eager to invite one of those princesses into our own kingdom. No matter how far down the line of succession she was, a royal was still a royal. That meant the marriage would come with diplomatic weight, complicated negotiations, and—if anything went wrong—international headaches.
If she were a sensible, well-mannered woman, it might be worth considering. But a princess like Bistona? The risks far outweighed the rewards.
“You’re right, of course,” Bertia agreed with a nod. “And among the gentlemen I’m close to, the only one still without a fiancée is Sir Kulgan…”
“Let’s not,” I said. “He’s already been having trouble shaking her off lately.”
Since that troublesome tea party the other day, poor Kulgan had found himself repeatedly shadowed by Princess Bistona.
Apparently, the ever-kindhearted Milma had decided that someone needed to protect him. Since then, she’d been much more proactive about speaking with Kulgan, mostly to warn him whenever he was about to run into the princess, or to invent an excuse to pull him away when Bistona started cornering him.
Still, whatever her reasons, the increased contact between them could only be a good thing.
“I’ve heard about that from Milma myself!” Bertia said brightly, hiding a giggle behind her hand. “Just the other day, she was panicking because Sir Kulgan was in trouble, so I told her to go and rescue him!”
Her tone brimmed with delight; she clearly adored watching the little sparks of romance bloom between others.
Girls do love their love stories, I thought with a wry smile.
“Well, Kulgan’s feelings aside,” I said, glancing toward the ongoing commotion, “if it’s Milma, I don’t see a problem. At least she’s far less likely to cause chaos than… that one.”
I tilted my head in the direction of Princess Bistona, who was now arguing rather fiercely with Lady Margone, while Crown Prince Nishikaru was trying in vain to pull her away.
Bertia followed my gaze and gave a helpless, embarrassed laugh. Even she couldn’t defend that kind of behavior.
When will she realize that’s why her prospects keep slipping away?
“Well then,” I said, “until Princess Lysonna and Prince Aleis finish their ceremony and return, let’s just relax here and stay out of whatever that is.”
“Yes, it’s going to be a long day ahead.” Bertia agreed, nodding enthusiastically.
Then, as if to prove her point, she happily popped one of the elegantly arranged sweets into her mouth, her expression instantly brightening. I could feel curious gazes from several directions. People clearly wanted to come over and talk, but until someone actually approached, I was content to stay like this.
The wedding ceremonies of the Seahealby Kingdom were a grand affair divided into three separate stages.
The first part was the sacred ritual, now being held in the seaside shrine.
Then, the official wedding ceremony would take place before the gathered guests.
Finally, the grand reception party, which was expected to last well into the night.
Even at ordinary banquets, the Seahealby Kingdom was known for its generosity with alcohol. It was, after all, a country founded by former pirates.
In the early days, it seemed, they had celebrated such occasions with all-night drinking feasts. But as the nation began inviting foreign dignitaries to its events, that wild tradition had been gradually tempered.
These days, the Seahealby people no longer drank until dawn, and the receptions had evolved into elegant, well-mannered affairs designed not to overwhelm their guests. For those unaccustomed to the idea of drinking through the night, that change must have come as a welcome relief.
“After this,” Bertia said, her eyes gleaming, “we’ll have the candle-lighting ceremony, the champagne tower, and even the bouquet toss we did at our own wedding! Princess Lysonna and I planned many events together. I can’t wait to see how they turn out.”
Her enthusiasm was infectious, and I couldn’t help but smile back.
“You worked so hard on all of it. I’m sure it’ll go perfectly.”
“Yes! But even if there are a few little mistakes,” she said with a soft laugh, “those will make for lovely memories too, don’t you think?”
“I suppose so,” I replied.
Normally, in a royal wedding, failure was not an option, especially one attended by foreign nobles and dignitaries. A single blunder could call into question the nation’s dignity or the competence of its hosts.
Somehow, I found myself agreeing with her. The idea that a little mistake could still become a fond memory was a beautiful way to see the world.
After all, the things Bertia had fumbled or tripped over in the past had turned into some of my favorite memories—moments I still cherished and, in secret, thoroughly enjoyed.
It wasn’t always easy to laugh at your own mistakes, but if you could, life would be far richer for it.
Watching Bertia’s radiant smile, I felt certain. This wedding would be a wonderful memory for Princess Lysonna and Prince Aleis both.