Chapter 84: Reluctant Attire and the Road to the Capital

To be honest, packing luggage truly required no personal effort from me.

The only items needing my touch were a few intimate “personal effects”—as for dresses, shoes, stockings, cosmetics, and accessories, whose quantities and varieties even Kritiya and I couldn’t fully grasp, those trifles were naturally handled meticulously by the maids and servants.

This was probably the convenience of nobility: all the tedium one ought to manage oneself could be offloaded with a mere flick of the lips, freeing up vast swaths of leisure and energy, enough to drown one in the airy allure of such privilege.

I hastily shed my nightgown, preparing to don travel attire.

Inwardly, I couldn’t help grumbling—I really wanted to shove this all onto Kritiya, but she had to be dead to the world at this critical juncture.

And the estate side seemed to be pressing urgently, forcing me to grit my teeth and tackle this task I was unskilled at and loath to do.

How infuriating . . . when did she pick up this habit of sleeping in?

“Tch . . . these bra hooks are impossible to see—such a hassle!

How does she even clasp them normally . . . ?”

“Miss—are you not ready yet?

Do you need help?”

The maid’s voice suddenly came from beyond the door.

I whipped my head around in a panic, gazing at the gray-haired girl in the mirror—garments half-undone, her pale arms twisted awkwardly behind her back, as if locked in a silent struggle with those tiny hooks.

“Tch!

Wait just a bit longer!”

“It’s just . . . Miss, you used to always have me do this—now you insist on dressing yourself . . .”

The maid’s murmur drifted faintly into my ears.

What could I say?

I could only swallow the inexplicable surge of shame and wrestle on with those disobedient hooks.

Fortunately, a bit of fumbling got them fastened at last.

The rest of the clothing was far simpler: a crimson-purple traveling dress, corset, vest—I followed suit, layering them on as best I recalled from Kritiya’s routines.

Though I vaguely remembered some “ladylike dressing etiquette” or other, time was short; as long as the exterior looked passable, I couldn’t afford to fuss.

“Urgh . . . feels a bit stuffy.”

I twisted my neck uncomfortably, yet still pushed open the bedroom door.

“Miss—you look utterly stunning, but your hair . . .”

The maid hesitated.

Only then did I realize my cascade of silver-gray locks still hung loosely over my shoulders.

“Ah . . . no matter, I’ve brushed it.”

I absently tucked a few strands behind my ear, bluffing airily.

“Don’t worry— this casual style is all the rage now . . . hardly improper.”

“Very well . . . if you insist.”

My earlier stubborn handstand had already inured the maid to certain quirks of mine; she made no further ado about the hair, merely stepping forward to gently take my arm and guide me onward.

“Miss—this way, please.”

“I know the path.”

Her five fingers clamped firmly around my elbow.

I shook my wrist, but found her grip exceptionally tight, her gaze fixed straight ahead down the corridor, as if executing some mission admitting no error.

Though I could have wrenched free by force, I didn’t wish to act brutishly, so I let her half-lead, half-drag me along.

“When . . . did she start as a maid in the castle—Cairou?”

As she pulled me forward, I pondered inwardly.

Through spring, summer, fall, and winter—Kritiya at ten would have been about her age; impossible for a ten-year-old to be sent into service for others.

Thus, her time working in the castle must have been quite recent, these last few years.

In a haze of drifting thoughts, she had already led me beyond the castle’s heavy gates.

Clear daylight stabbed like a sword; I reflexively raised a hand to shield my eyes.

A mingled scent of fresh grass and damp earth flooded my nostrils, accompanied by the restless whinnies of horses and the clip-clop of iron-shod hooves on stone.

Through the slight parting of my fingers, I glimpsed ornate carriages, guards standing rigid as statues in their plate armor, and sleek steeds at the rear, snapping at swarming flies—the hazy, swaying outlines gradually sharpening in the blinding glare.

Then, I saw him—the Duke.

Clad in casual attire, a few attendants at his heels, he was murmuring in low tones with the man beside him.

I peered intently, and my heart tightened—that man was none other than Earl Arendel!

The very fellow whose face Kritiya had slapped in public yesterday—how could he be here?

As I drew slowly nearer, the Duke noticed my approach.

He turned, his profound gaze settling upon me, emotion inscrutable.

“All prepared?”

“Mm . . .”

For a moment, I knew not what attitude to adopt toward this man—who loomed as my superior yet postured as a father before me.

I managed only a vague murmur, my eyes inevitably drifting to lock with the stare Earl Arendel cast from behind him.

His gaze flickered, ultimately settling into a near-hypocritical calm.

“Very well.”

The Duke’s voice pulled me back to the present, his tone steady and unquestionable.

“In that case, at noon sharp, you depart on schedule.”

“Uh . . . depart?”

I queried reflexively, a surge of foreboding unease rising in my chest.

“To where?”

“The capital.”

Duke Airandil replied curtly.

So that’s it . . . he rouses us at dawn like the grim reaper, suddenly waving his hand to demand immediate departure for the capital.

He sets everyone scurrying in preparation, yet offers not even a proper reason.

In the swaying carriage, I couldn’t help venting inwardly to Kritiya.

But the girl, after hearing the full account of events, merely leaned against the cushions in silence, offering no immediate reply.

And get this . . . he even arranged for that Viscount Arendel to escort the journey . . . when he saw with his own eyes the nonsense that went down between you and that fool!

I pressed on with my grievances, yet felt Kritiya’s form pause briefly before she spoke.

“Father has his reasons for this.”

Ah . . . reasons—he certainly has his reasons!

I nearly sighed.

“I’d say he’s using that man to test you—or rather, to make things difficult.”

“The Earl of Ley Bay is a key vassal to Airandil.”

Kritiya’s emotions remained even, devoid of ripples, as if stating a fact utterly detached from herself.

“Yesterday, I caused that viscount— the Earl’s son—to lose face publicly.

Thus, the resulting fallout naturally falls to me to mend.”

“In whatever manner it takes?”

“In whatever manner it takes.”

Kritiya repeated clearly, as if reaffirming some established tenet.

I wanted to probe deeper into her specific plans, but she deftly shifted the subject, her awareness drifting toward a more distant horizon.

“Speaking of which . . . what do you suppose Father’s intent is, sending me to the capital this time?”

“Er . . . to school?”

I replied with slight hesitation.

By my calculations, though the novel from my past life hadn’t specified Kritiya’s exact enrollment date, it was doubtless around now.

“Yes . . . the Royal Comprehensive Academy . . .”

She murmured.

“He’s been waiting for this day—to send me there, into the fray of noble social circles.

I belong there.”

For a moment, I knew not how to respond.

Collegiate life often evoked dreams of youthful purity.

But I knew well that the Royal Comprehensive Academy—that higher institute spearheaded by the Tian Empire’s royals—was anything but simple.

Undoubtedly, the academic or magic departments might retain some air of scholarly pursuit; the warrior division housed many commoner recruits from the ranks, still bearing traces of raw grit and simplicity.

But I recalled clearly: Kritiya was headed for the so-called “Comprehensive Department”—where nine in ten students hailed from noble houses of the capital region, interspersed with scions of merchant clans rich as rival nations.

In their futures, if not all, then at least half would inherit family power, plunging into the treacherous arena of fame and fortune.

Those courses in literature, politics, philosophy, arts—even lectured by empire-renowned masters, brimming with exquisite knowledge—could scarcely veil the seething undercurrents beyond the classroom.

It was little more than a miniature stage erected in advance for these youths, rehearsing the myriad intrigues of future courts and salons.

“Or rather—that was its purpose all along.”

I thought to myself.

For border nobles like Airandil, entanglement in the capital’s noble quagmire was rare; Kritiya’s enrollment . . . to socialize, to learn . . . signaled the Duke’s issuance of some deliberate intent.

“But . . . what do I care about such complexities?

Those intricate machinations were never my aim.

I knew full well what I must do: aid Kritiya in averting the tragic downfall of her past life.

And how precisely to manage that . . . I’d need to deliberate carefully before reaching the capital . . .”

Yet just then, as Kritiya and I each sank into our private musings, a frantic tattoo of hooves approached from afar, shattering the journey’s monotony like sudden rain.

In its wake came a clarion shout—loud, even rough-hewn—that pierced the carriage walls to strike our ears clearly:

“Hold up!

Stop the carriage!

You ahead—halt!

We have words for you!”