[V14C4] The Vast World I Wanted to Show You

Bridget Greyham came from a family with many members involved in diplomatic work. Because of that, she heard a lot about foreign countries since her childhood.

So, whenever she was invited to Duke Crockford’s estate to keep Felix company, Bridget would share everything she heard from her father and brother.

Stories about the climate and landscape of foreign lands. Their culture, food, clothes, architecture, history, and legends. And after every story, Felix’s light-blue eyes would sparkle, and he would say…

“Bridget, you know so much.”

Bridget’s father often scolded her with, “Stop trying to show off your knowledge.” Apparently, this kind of behavior was unbecoming for a modest lady.

But Bridget was not telling these stories to brag about herself.

She simply wanted to share wonderful things from far-off lands with Felix, who rarely had the chance to go outside.

Felix was incredibly frail. He would run a fever from the slightest thing and often collapse from dizziness. Just a short trip outside would leave him bedridden, let alone traveling abroad. It was no wonder his attendant became so overprotective.

But Bridget knew. She could tell that deep down, Felix was far more curious than the average boy.

Once, when they were talking about famous paintings, Felix said:

“The art museum in Alpatra sounds amazing. The statue of the Golgi monsters must be scary… but I’ve always wanted to see one of Michele Pinto’s landscapes.”

“Michele Pinto’s portraits are just as famous, you know?”

“…Yeah. But I like landscapes more. The wider the better.”

Calling paintings “wide” was a strange way of putting it, but Bridget understood what Felix meant.

He was not looking for a scene framed by a window, but one you would see standing on a hill, with a view of everything around you.

Or standing on a beach, gazing at the far-off horizon.

…Or staring up at the night sky, stretching on forever.

Felix yearned for that kind of endlessly vast world.

That’s why, when Bridget told stories about foreign places, Felix’s eyes would light up, he’d praise her, and then shyly ask to hear more. Which made Bridget incredibly happy.

At the end of each story, Felix would always mutter in a quiet, dreamy tone.

“I hope I can go there someday.”

“Please get a hold of yourself, Your Highness. You will be required to make diplomatic visits there one day.”

“…Yeah, that’s true.”

However, both Bridget and Felix understood the reality, somewhere in the back of their minds.

The “someday” Felix spoke of was never going to come. He was simply too frail. He lacked the physical strength to travel for diplomacy.

(Then I’ll do it in his place. I’ll handle all of the diplomacy for him.)

She would travel with her own feet and remember what she saw, heard, and felt. Then, she would return to tell Felix everything she had experienced in the vast world.

Such was the wish of the young Bridget.

＊　＊　＊

A few sparse crop fields were scattered across the bleak landscape outside the carriage window, with Valmbelk Castle visible in the distance.

A rundown, old castle. This was Bridget’s first impression.

Valmbelk Castle was built from stone and gave off the impression of a rough fortress, with no trace of elegance. The outer walls and surrounding fields looked poorly maintained.

There were hardly any young men in the fields either, so the atmosphere seemed far from lively.

Bridget had seen many cities and castles since becoming a diplomatic secretary. Out of all of them, Valmbelk was by far the most desolate.

(Is the security going to be okay in a place like this?)

Security was not Bridget’s area of expertise, but as the secretary of the Third Prince, she could not simply ignore the possibility.

The lord of the castle, Margrave Valmbelk, was said to be the grandson of the Sword Saint and a proud warrior. But they would have no peace of mind without enough people assigned to security.

“We’ve arrived, Prince Albert. Lord Birendahl and the other Imperial representatives seem to be present already.”

In response to the coachman’s declaration, Albert said, “I see,” and gave a stiff nod. His face was visibly tense and his fists were tightly clenched.

Supporting him in diplomacy was Bridget’s job, so she approached him with a gentle smile.

“Let’s go, Your Highness.”

“Y-Yeah! Time to go, Bridget! Patrick!”

“Mm…? Yawn… Ah, good morning, Albert-sama~”

“Patrick! I’m your master! How can you sleep so soundly right next to me?!”

Albert’s attendant, Patrick Andrews, was exceptionally capable when it came to loosening the nerves of his master whenever he started growing tense.

Given that, Albert should be fine in his care.

Bridget performed a quick check of her uniform and hair, then straightened her back.

Many believed that female secretaries served mainly as a sight for sore eyes, leaving their male counterparts to do the actual work. Such assumptions were common in both high society and diplomacy.

(If Lord Birendahl intends to harass Prince Albert, his first target is likely to be me.)

There could be no letting her guard down, not even for a moment.

Her battle would begin the moment she stepped out of this carriage.

(Now then, it’s time for diplomacy.)

＊　＊　＊

Henrik Blanquet clung to the window of his office. He was drenched in cold sweat and as pale as a sheet, clutching his head with both hands.

“Frieda,” he muttered in a trembling voice. “This is bad… Some outrageously beautiful princess has shown up.”

“Brother, the Kingdom of Ridill does not have any princesses.”

“Come on, just look at her. She’s got to be some kind of princess. Her aura is overwhelming… There’s no way she’s an ordinary woman…”

Henrik had excellent eyesight, so he could see the delegation stepping out of the carriage, as well as make out each of their faces.

The first one to catch his eye was the beautiful woman standing just behind Third Prince Albert.

She looked to be around twenty. Her dazzling blonde hair was tied up, and though she wore a modest uniform, it did nothing to conceal her beauty. In fact, it only emphasized how extraordinary her looks were.

But more than her outward beauty, Henrik was captivated by the unwavering strength in her gaze.

Because he knew people who had eyes like that.

“Augh…! Now we have to deal with a princess…!”

The previous emperor had over ten daughters, making them sisters to the Black Lion Emperor.

Henrik had met a few of those princesses. Most were strong-willed, assertive, and exuded that kind of overwhelming presence.

Henrik could not help but wonder, despite how rude it was, if the kind-hearted and reserved Princess Cecilia truly came from the same bloodline. The remaining Imperial princesses were, to put it bluntly, the epitome of selfishness and ego.

“Nothing good ever happens when a princess shows up… There’s that one time I was ordered to fetch a fresh dragon scale to make her a new brooch. And that other time I had to fight a training match against a hundred of my men…”

“Brother.”

“She casually called our castle a doghouse, and kept being picky about wine brands… Come on, we have red and white, isn’t that enough? We’re a beer household!”

“Actually, I like the red wine from Rushavineh.”

“Frieda!? Did you get spoiled during your time in Ridill!?”

Apparently, the Albright family had been feeding Frieda quite well, which was a relief.

“More importantly, Brother, that woman is likely the diplomatic secretary, Bridget Greyham.”

Henrik let out a dumbfounded gasp.

Bridget Greyham. The diplomatic secretary to the Third Prince, whose beauty had been highly praised by Einhard. Apparently, the Black Lion Emperor had also taken a deep interest in her.

So she was not a member of Ridill’s royal family, but that didn’t mean Henrik could breathe a sigh of relief.

After all, there’s no way she was ordinary if she caught the eye of the Black Lion Emperor.

“Oh no, what are we going to do? I didn’t manage to get any silk sheets… Can I give her the one under the family heirloom…? Except, uh, it’s kinda got a bloodstain on it…”

“More importantly, shouldn’t you be heading out to welcome them?”

“Oh yeah, right. Guess I have to go… Ugh, I’m so screwed.”

While muttering complaints to himself, Henrik threw on the jacket that had been hanging over the back of his chair.

Traditional Valmbelk embroidery covered every portion on the cuffs and collar of this jacket. But to tell the truth, the embroidery was made so elaborate to cover up the fraying fabric and uncleanable bloodstains.

(I really hope everything ends peacefully this time…)

An ironic thought considering he wore a jacket with hidden bloodstains. The young Margrave Valmbelk walked off while letting out another sigh.

View the latest chapters at seeker142.github.io