Chapter 19
Lydia headed to her father’s office while clutching the reply from the Third Prince to her chest. Her steps were somewhat bounding. She steadied her breathing in front of the door and called out. “Father, do you have a moment?” “Enter.” A short reply. Her father, who had been facing his desk, looked up and his eyes stopped on the envelope in Lydia’s hand. “…What is that?” “It is a reply from His Highness the Third Prince. He gave me advice regarding the territory.” Her father’s eyebrows moved slightly. “Show it to me.” Lydia held out the letter. Her father accepted it and quietly read through it. At first, he was silent. However, with every page he turned, his expression gradually became grimmer. Having finished reading, her father placed the letter on the desk. And then, he spoke in a low voice. “Lydia.” “Yes?” “What kind of disrespect have you committed?” She didn’t understand the meaning. “Huh?” “Did you consult me about this matter?” Lydia’s gaze swam. “…No.” “Did you consult the steward?” “…I haven’t.” “In other words.” Her father’s voice became heavy. “You moved alone, wrote a letter to His Highness the Prince, sent him materials, and demanded his opinion, didn’t you?” Deep inside her chest, it turned cold. Her father tapped the letter with his finger. “The fact that His Highness the Third Prince wrote this so concretely means…” He turned the paper. “His Highness read your materials, investigated the movements of surrounding territories and the country, and then showed his thoughts.” Lydia blinked. “Isn’t that… something to be grateful for?” “Wrong.” Her father’s voice strengthened slightly. “Originally, this is not something a member of the Royal Family does.” The words pierced her. “You wrote, ‘Please give me your opinion,’ didn’t you?” “…Yes.” “That means you ‘forced him to take the trouble to investigate’.” She gasped. “Moreover, the initial materials were likely hard to read, and the main points probably weren’t summarized.” Her heart throbbed with pain. “His Highness sent those back. But the second time, he read them properly.” Her father let out a deep sigh. “This, Lydia, is not guidance.” Looking down at the letter, he spoke quietly. “He is facing you with sincerity.” Lydia’s throat made a small sound. She was happy. That he read it. That she got advice. But now, she finally realized. This isn’t “teaching.” It is a trace of the time he spared and the thought he put into it. “It is too disrespectful.” Her father said it one more time. “First, what you must do is thank him.” Lydia bowed her head deeply. Even after leaving the office, the depths of her chest were sunk heavy. As she walked down the corridor, her father’s words repeated in her head over and over. Her feet stopped. …Ah, I wasn’t thinking about anything. I was just happy to get advice. Proud that he read it. I didn’t even consider how much time and effort I made him use behind the scenes. Her chest tightened. When she returned to her room, she immediately faced her desk. Her fingers spreading out the stationery were trembling slightly. This is not a letter of consultation. Nor is it a letter seeking an opinion. It is simply a letter to apologize. She picked up a pen and began to write slowly. Her eyes grew hot, and the letters blurred. Even so, she did not stop her pen.
Even after Lydia left the room, the Count stared at the letter on his desk for a while. The Third Prince‘s handwriting is neat. There are no unnecessary words; only what is necessary is lined up quietly. Suddenly, a rumor he heard in the past crossed his mind. —The Third Prince lacks talent. He is an obscure existence even within the Royal Family. However, the Count slowly shook his head. “…Truly, rumors are unreliable things.” The person who wrote this letter cannot be incompetent. Every single piece of advice is shown based on an understanding of the territory’s reality, the movements of the country, and the surrounding situation. It cannot be written with desk knowledge alone. “…This will not be enough with just my daughter’s apology.” The Count took out a new sheet of paper. He fixed the nib of his pen and straightened his posture. A letter of thanks sent to a Prince must be a courtesy as the head of a Count family. An apology for his daughter’s disrespect, and deep gratitude for the thoughts shown. And above all—an oath to absolutely put this advice to use in the territory. The text became long. But he gave weight to every single line. When he finished writing, the Count stopped his hand. Then, he took out one more envelope. He quietly enclosed the letter of apology Lydia had written earlier. He sealed it immediately and ordered the fastest horse to be brought out. “Call the steward. The head of the Blacksmith Guild, too. And the person responsible for highway management. Immediately.” The servants began to move hurriedly. By the time people gathered in the office, maps and ledgers were spread out on the Count’s desk. “First, we will perform temporary repairs on the highway. Not complete repairs. It is fine as long as carts and people can pass.” “Make recalling the blacksmiths the top priority. Offer them tax exemptions.” “Identify candidate sites for the retention basin. Lowlands along the river. We are postponing the embankment plan.” Instructions flew in rapid succession. No one objected. Because there was no hesitation in the Count’s voice. Lydia was watching the scene from a slightly distant place. And she realized. The Third Prince‘s letter had removed the hesitation within her father. From that day on, the Crawford family began to move. It will likely take time for results to appear. Tax revenue will not return immediately, nor will the number of artisans increase instantly.
But it was clear to everyone’s eyes. The territory has certainly begun to move forward.
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