Chapter 14

It happened one day. The First Prince ordered me to attend a soirée I didn’t want to go to. “It is a duty of the Royal Family. Attend it.” Honestly, I thought it was a pain, but I headed to the venue intending to just show my face for the minimum amount of time. (I’ll just show my face, say hello, and go home immediately.) Even though I had decided that, I was caught before reaching the corner of the venue. “Your Highness.” The one who called out was a noble governing a rural area. He was middle-aged. His demeanor was soft, but his eyes shifted frequently. “I heard about the casualty insurance from the merchants. It is a truly wonderful mechanism. So I thought—” He lowered his voice slightly. “How about expanding this insurance system to farmers as well? I think it would be very effective as a mechanism to prepare for poor harvests and disasters.” …I see. The idea itself isn’t bad. But I answered immediately. “It is not necessary.” There was a pause. He blinked. “By that, you mean…?” “For farmers, ‘insurance’ already exists.” I continued matter-of-factly. “In years of poor harvest, we reduce or exempt land tax. We lend out seeds and farming tools. The feudal lord supports their livelihood until the next harvest.” I could tell the surrounding nobles were starting to listen quietly. “In other words—originally, the one who bears that role is the feudal lord.” I looked at him. “If farmers cannot survive without paying insurance premiums, that means the feudal lord is not fulfilling the role of insurance.” Silence fell. The music and laughter felt like they had stepped back a pace. In that atmosphere, I organized my inner thoughts. (Insurance is a contract that divides responsibility, but territory management begins with shouldering responsibility. A lord’s skill is determined by how they support the deficit.) The noble was searching for words. But it seemed he couldn’t find them immediately. The surroundings were the same.

Slightly outside that circle, a certain Count’s daughter was looking at the Third Prince as if to shoot him through. Her gaze—was it hostility, interest, or—was calculation mixed in?

I finally realized. (Did that sound like I was blaming them?) My intention was simple. I just organized the roles and said that duplicating systems is wasteful. But—speaking of “a lord’s responsibility” directly at a soirée didn’t seem to be a welcome topic. Someone cleared their throat, and someone else averted their gaze. I placed my glass down. (…Did I mess up?) Well, whatever. I didn’t lie. As originally planned, I quietly left the venue. The night breeze was terribly pleasant, and I cooled off just a little in the courtyard. (As I thought, soirées don’t suit my nature.)

From the Nobles

The moment the Third Prince‘s words dropped, the atmosphere of the soirée changed visibly. (…Did you hear that just now?) No one voiced it. But the same thought crossed minds everywhere. Insurance system for farmers—the proposal itself sounded like good will. In fact, the reputation among merchants is good. But the Third Prince‘s reply to that was far too direct. “That is the feudal lord’s duty.” Neither soft nor aggressive. He just listed the facts. That stung all the more. (…We weren’t being blamed.) One noble felt a chill on his back. In years of poor harvest, did I properly reduce taxes? Did I circulate the tools I should have lent? did I just get by with superficial relief? Another noble held back from clicking his tongue. (Why say it in a place like this? It’s a soirée. A place for public facades.) But at the same time, he realized he couldn’t think of a rebuttal. The Third Prince didn’t name anyone. He didn’t denounce or blame. He just accurately verbalized the “role.” That is why it arbitrarily entered their hearts. Also, one young noble harbored a slightly different impression. (…That person is scary.) He doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t coerce. Yet, deception doesn’t work on him. (Those are the eyes of a human who unconsciously puts forth sound arguments.) Not suited for soirées. But suited for a ruler—such a thought crossed his mind.

Eventually, the Third Prince left the scene. No one stopped him. The remaining nobles finally let out small breaths. “…That was a heavy topic.” “Not a conversation for a soirée.” While saying so, not a single person said, “He is wrong.” They couldn’t say it. That night, several nobles went to sleep while picturing the ledgers of their own territories. From that night on, the evaluation of the Third Prince whispered among the nobles began to change slightly. —As a Prince who is difficult to handle, but must not be ignored.