WHEN we arrived at Marquess Leviathan’s manor, I again spotted mandrakes running around happily and poisonous-looking vines of black roses wriggling about. It only took one glare from Mr. Vil for the roses to visibly contract and the mandrakes to freeze in place. We weaved our way through the front garden, and Mr. Vil rapped the knocker on the door. A few moments later, a familiar skeleton butler showed his face.
“Welcome,” he said.
“Hi there,” Mr. Vil said.
“Ah, why if it isn’t Vilfri— Mmmgh!”
Mr. Vil immediately clapped his hand over the butler’s mouth to cut the skeleton off.
“Just take us to Marquess Leviathan,” Mr. Vil ordered.
Oh yeah, I never heard his full name… I thought. My guess was that something had caused him to be expelled from school, and he redirected his energy into becoming a private instructor. I couldn’t blame him for being reluctant to share his true identity with a stranger like me.
“E-Er, my lord actually has a guest…” the butler said.
“That’s unusual,” Mr. Vil remarked.
“It’s election season at Vizer. The one that happens once every four years.”
“Ah, I see.”
I must’ve looked obviously perplexed because Mr. Vil patiently explained it all to me.
“There’s an election for a new director once every four years,” he said. “And only heads of noble households who graduated from the school have any right to vote.”
“Huh…” I muttered. “I had no idea.”
The guest that Marquess Leviathan was entertaining was running for director and must’ve wanted his vote. We were guided to a guest room and waited for a short while until the butler announced that the guest had finally left.
“I’ll head in first and give him an explanation,” Mr. Vil said. “You can just wait here, Ritual.”
“Okay,” I replied.
I poked Gem and played around until the marchioness arrived to greet me.
“Ah! Good day, Misha!” she said benevolently. “I trust all is well?”
“G-Good day, Marchioness Leviathan!” I stammered. “Yes, I’ve been well!”
She smiled and drew me in for a gentle embrace and a warm welcome. She seemed shocked to see Gem at first, but when I told her it was my spirit familiar, her eyes twinkled curiously.
“A spirit?” she asked. “I would’ve never dreamed of laying my eyes on one! Oh, how very beautiful it is!”
Gem seemed to like the compliment, as it glowed in a different manner than usual. The marchioness was enamored for a moment, her glittering eyes fixed on Gem, but when she locked eyes with me, she cleared her throat and acted more reserved.
“I’ve heard from Vil,” she said. “I had no idea that you didn’t plan on making your debut.”
“Y-Yes,” I admitted.
“I’m so glad that you reconsidered your decision!”
These debuts were also an opportunity for a parent to brag about just how splendidly they raised their beloved daughters.
“Frankly, I’m a bit embarrassed,” I said. “I’ve learned that I totally misunderstood what a debut was supposed to be.”
“Oh, you’ve no reason to be ashamed!” the marchioness said warmly. “The Lawlife region is far from the royal capital, so it seems a bit silly to go through all the trouble just for one day! I don’t blame you for initially choosing to skip this event entirely!” She grabbed my hands gently. “Won’t you please let me help you prepare for your debut?”
“Are you sure? Is it no trouble?”
“None at all! I would love to help!”
I almost burst into tears, moved by how kind she was to a girl like me, who wasn’t even her daughter.
“Vil said that he told you that I used to be a seamstress for Her Royal Highness, and so, you came to ask me for my aid,” the marchioness said.
“That’s right,” I replied.
“Hee hee, that was two decades ago…”
The queen, formerly a princess of a neighboring nation, came to our country around twenty years ago to marry the king. Because she was the eldest princess of her home nation, she was given the respectful title of “Her Royal Highness.” Queens were addressed differently based on the nation, but in our country, they had no political power. And so, she wasn’t referred to as “Her Majesty.”
Other nations might give a queen a different title, including “the wife and consort of our sovereign,” “the king’s wife,” and other forms of address. Perhaps only the Empire, located in the middle of the continent, was where a king and a queen held equal power and ruled their nation as equals, earning the queen the title of “Her Majesty.” This world had a different set of cultures and history from Earth. Any knowledge I gained in Japan was utterly useless here.
“It seems the king is very unwell this year,” the marchioness mentioned. “Her Royal Highness has agreed to attend the debutante ball in his stead.”
“That’s good to know,” I replied. “What kind of person is the queen?”
“She was kind and reserved. One might even get an evanescent impression of her.”
The marchioness spoke as though she was recalling a time long ago—halcyon days she could never revisit. It’s as though she’s implying that Her Royal Highness has…changed somehow over the years. Or maybe since it’s been twenty years, the marchioness just doesn’t know much about the current queen.
“Oh, and for your dress, Vil’s younger sister will be more than happy to provide you with one of her spares,” the marchioness added.
“R-Really? Are you sure it would be all right for me to accept?” I asked.
“She had around twenty dresses made for the occasion, so really, she’s more than happy to get some off her hands.”
I guess richer families make countless test dresses for their daughters’ debutante balls. Mr. Vil really must come from a very wealthy and powerful family.
“I’ll just take your measurements for today,” the marchioness said.
“Please do.”
She skillfully measured me and jotted down the numbers. Since it’d been decades, I wondered if her skills were rusty, but when she placed the measuring tape by my body, I saw how she expertly went through the motions—years of practicing her craft made the skillset second nature to her.
“All right, I think I’ve got enough,” she said.
“Thank you.”
Gem, perhaps thinking it was up next, proudly presented itself in front of the marchioness. She realized what Gem wanted and swiftly placed her measuring tape around my familiar.
“Gem, your bust is around thirty inches, I’d say,” the marchioness said.
Around 76 centimeters… Gem, happy to be measured at all, bounced up and down with delight.
“Marchioness Leviathan, thank you for humoring Gem as well,” I said. “I really do appreciate it.”
“Oh, it was nothing,” she giggled. “I had fun, too.”
Glad to hear it. Whew…
“Vil said that he’d send a dress over right away, so I’ll do my best to get it done before your big day,” she added.
She invited me to dinner as well, but I couldn’t impose any more. I visited without notice and even asked her to make my dress at the last minute; I had already caused more than enough trouble for the Leviathans. Mr. Vil had already declined the invitation as well, and the marchioness visibly deflated like a lonely cat.
“I do hope you’ll stay the night the next time you visit,” she said.
“I would love to,” I replied. “Thank you. Your words really mean a lot.”
Mr. Vil sent me a card telling me to head home first—he had some business with the marquess to attend to. House Leviathan provided a splendid carriage to take me home. I wanted to at least greet the marquess before I left, but he seemed busy talking to Mr. Vil, so I headed home for the day. The butler politely sent me off, and as I walked out the front door, a man rushed toward me, desperation riddled all over his face.
“Marchioness Leviathan!” he cried. “Please! Let me meet with your husband!”
“W-Whoa!” I gasped.
He almost pushed me to the ground, much to my shock, but Gem turned into a transparent board to protect me. The man rushed into my familiar and fell back down with a groan, croaking like a frog.
“Um, excuse me, good sir,” I said. “I’m not the marchioness.”
“Huh?!” the man cried. “O-Oh… You aren’t.”
The man, appearing to be in his mid-forties, looked up at me from the ground.
“Er, may I ask why you’re here?” I inquired.
“The marquess told me that I can’t meet him anymore, so I decided to negotiate directly with the marchioness.”
“Huh…”
The man introduced himself as Count Raid and explained he was running in the election for Vizer’s director. He asked for Marquess Leviathan’s support but was rejected. The count, not one to give up so easily, visited this manor, where he was ultimately no longer allowed to meet the marquess.
“Y-Young lady, you’re from Vizer, I see,” Count Raid said. “Does your father perhaps have a vote he can spare?”
“Oh, I’m not quite sure,” I replied. “He’s a lord in the countryside, ruling over land on the frontier. He rarely visits the royal capital.”
“I-I see…”
When I told him that the marquess had a visitor today and likely didn’t have time for another, the count plodded away, resigned, his footsteps heavy. I could only sigh and board the carriage.