Episode 72

Marcus swiftly extended his hand in a mimic of a gesture. Though the King glared at him, Marcus continued quickly.

“You said so yourself at the royal ball a few years ago! That if I ever settled down and married, you’d grant me any gift I wished!”

“That was because, thanks to you, three noble young ladies quarreled at that very ball!”

To be precise, it had not been “I will give you a gift,” but rather a muttered “If I can get that rascal married and on a leash, I’d give anything.”

But now, it was too late to pretend otherwise, and unwilling to appear stingy, the King narrowed his eyes and asked,

“What is it that you want so badly?”

In truth, Marcus didn’t much care what he received. Royal wealth was always more or less the same, and if he desired anything truly rare or valuable, it would be better to buy it with the money of the Hanger family.

Thus, the King assumed Marcus was requesting some honor the royal family alone could bestow—or something tantamount to it—and stroked his beard as he speculated. “Perhaps a noble title? No, I’ve heard the lady’s family is currently petitioning for a baronetcy…” While the King was thus lost in thought, Marcus spoke.

“I have a goddaughter. She is my wife’s niece, so she will soon be my niece as well. A maiden of seventeen.”

“Oh my,”

murmured the Queen beside him, her eyes widening. The King signaled Marcus to continue. Grinning broadly, Marcus said,

“I wish for my niece to be able to participate in public activities under Your Majesty’s endorsement.”

Despite the smile, what emerged from his lips was a puzzling statement. The King and Queen exchanged glances, then looked back at Marcus.

“Public activities?”

“Yes.”

“By ‘endorsement,’ do you mean…”

“I mean I wish for Your Majesty to lend her your support!”

What on earth is he talking about? The King scratched his ear.

The Queen asked first,

“…Has the young lady never made her debut into society?”

“Regrettably, not yet.”

Marcus nodded solemnly. The Queen’s expression changed—she understood now.

It seemed the girl had not undergone a debutante ball accompanied by a safrón. But at seventeen, it was now rather late to suddenly hold a debut with a sponsor escort.

She was well past the age where marriage prospects were being pursued. To be introduced alongside twelve- or thirteen-year-old girls at this point would look absurd.

So, instead of a safrón… The Queen considered this and asked again,

“…Do you not wish me to grant her endorsement, but His Majesty?”

“Yes! Because this is Your Majesty’s wedding gift!”

Archibald looked somewhat displeased, and the King remained baffled.

Yet the Queen had roughly pieced it together. In such cases, when a girl had missed her formal debut, it was customary to expand her network without a debutante ball, by being accompanied by a woman of high standing. Ordinarily, this would mean asking the Queen. However, Marcus Hanger seemed to desire the King’s authority behind her, since it was the King’s gift.

Though I don’t quite understand why…

The Queen cautiously relayed her interpretation to the King. All the while, Marcus simply blinked and smiled at the pair.

Finally, the King seemed to grasp the situation and furrowed his brow.

“I suppose I don’t mind… but this isn’t a social debut?”

“It’s for public activity!”

The King turned to Archibald.

“Is your son planning to introduce his niece into business or anything of the sort?”

“…If I may say one thing, Your Majesty. Let us not forget that my son is a schemer.”

Archibald gave a wholly irrelevant response, and Marcus muttered, “Father, really,” in complaint.

There was undoubtedly something fishy going on.

The King couldn’t shake the feeling he was being deceived, but he nodded nonetheless. Pressing further seemed fruitless—the sly rascal would never answer directly.

Besides, what kind of public activity could a seventeen-year-old girl engage in? Unless she was plotting to overthrow the monarchy, it felt too petty a reason to deny the request with a flat “Whatever it is, I won’t permit it.”

When the King reluctantly gave his consent, Marcus beamed.

“You mustn’t take it back!”

The King scowled and sneered.

“Fine, now let’s hear what this public activity is.”

“Yes! But first, there’s something I must tell you!”

“What now?!”

After ‘more important matters,’ now there’s something ‘to be told first’? The King grew irritable, but Marcus charged on.

“You began construction according to the blueprint of the artist brought in by the Duchess of Bellona, didn’t you?”

“That’s right. To build an exposition hall with a retractable ceiling takes time—we began groundwork a week ago. Oh, but you wouldn’t know, would you? You didn’t attend the meeting.”

The King gave a mischievous grin. He had just remembered the matter of the Duchess’s supposed lover. Ah yes, that blonde woman—who was she again? I should ask… He was just thinking this when Marcus opened his mouth again.

“Then that construction can’t be cancelled now, can it?”

“…Not anymore. If we halt it now, we won’t meet the exposition deadline. And the budget’s already been allocated.”

A flicker of unease crossed the King’s face. Marcus grinned brightly.

“I know who that artist is!”

“What?”

The King’s eyes widened. Marcus, with great flourish, stretched his hand skyward as if supporting the heavens. The King thought he looked like a fool drunk on romanticism.

“She is neither crippled nor ill. She is my goddaughter—endorsed by His Majesty himself!”

That day, the royal court was turned on its head.

The exposition committee meeting was canceled, and Marcus was nearly expelled from the palace. To think the designer of the exposition hall was a seventeen-year-old girl! Outrageous!

Yet “nearly” expelled, meaning—he wasn’t.

The King did not rescind the wedding gift. Not out of dignity or royal pride. Rather, it was because Archibald Hanger pledged to fund an additional thirty percent of the exposition’s budget. No one could argue with a mountain of gold.

Moreover, someone unexpected flared up every time the King uttered, “A woman, really?” It was the Queen. Usually mild and smiling quietly beside her husband, she broke form that day.

“And what, pray tell, is wrong with a woman?”

The King, ever authoritative, found himself powerless before her that day.

Thus, one name was grandly inscribed upon the foundation stone of the exposition hall.

Juliet Starwood.

The beautiful structure—with its retractable ceiling and a wall made entirely of glass—was later met with resounding praise from foreign guests at the World’s Fair. The King swelled with pride. The Queen, doubly so.

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