alpindale/light-novels · Datasets at Hugging Face

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I know better than to believe wartime gossip. This Arnold Hein is a lot different from what I’d heard he was like at nineteen. He’s not as diabolical as the rumors led me to believe. He likes to push, but he isn’t unkind. The thought drifted across her mind, leaving her conflicted. Well, he’s not unkind now. But I still don’t like not knowing his motives. And he’s a bit of a jerk, to be honest.
She tried to settle her mind and just observe. Gathering intelligence was necessary to lead a long, carefree life lazing around the palace.
If I recall correctly, that’s Lord Hannawald. He seems to be on good terms with Count Gayle. Duke Hudemann and Duke Teinitz are having a friendly enough conversation, yet they don’t seem close. Rishe ticked off the names of people she’d met, committing them to memory.
A wave of sweet perfume wafted over her. A pretty girl with soft blonde hair had appeared at her side. “How do you do, Lady Rishe? I’m Cornelia Thea Toona.”
Duke Toona’s family was the thirty-first house she’d met tonight.
Rishe smiled graciously. “Rishe Irmgard Weitzner. A pleasure to meet you.”
“The pleasure is all mine.” Cornelia smiled sweetly. Her eyes were big and bright, her lips full. She held a glass in each hand and offered one to Rishe. “Wine? I see you’re empty-handed.”
A gaggle of other ladies nearby began giggling among themselves.
“How dare she act so haughty when she’s a captive. It’s time for her learn just what she is. A pawn to be played and discarded.”
“She should enjoy her time on Prince Arnold’s arm while she can.”
“She is from a minor nation, after all.”
As Rishe took note of their whispers, Cornelia gazed at her with doe eyes. “Does my offering offend you in some way?”
If I remember correctly, House Toona holds a vast territory in southern Galkhein.
Rishe held out a hand to accept the glass. “How could it? Thank you, Lady Cornelia.”
Before Rishe could touch the glass, Cornelia gave a dramatic shout. “Oh dear! My hand slipped!” She dropped it, quite obviously on purpose. Without thinking, Rishe grabbed her skirts and leaned back, plucking the glass out of the air with the other hand.
Cornelia let out a cry of surprise as Rishe caught the wine before any could spill. She swirled the glass and brought it to her nose to breathe in the bouquet.
Hmm… That’s mashed capsicum. Where did she even get that? What a waste of perfectly good wine. And why bother spicing it enough to singe the tongue if she just planned to ruin my dress? Pick a plan, my dear.
Hiding her exasperation, Rishe smiled brightly. “I’ve never had a wine quite like this. What an unusual scent.”
Cornelia bit her lip in frustration. Rishe beamed at her. You’ve got such a pretty face, Lady Toona. Why don’t you smile?
Rishe leaned in close to Cornelia. “This vintage isn’t available where I’m from. I’m ever so anxious to learn more. Should I perhaps invite Prince Arnold over to enjoy a glass? Which tray did you get this from?”
“What? Oh, um…” Rishe had a policy of never backing down from a fight, but it seemed Cornelia didn’t share it. “S-sorry, but I don’t remember. Such a large hall, you see.”
“A shame. I’ll just give His Highness this one, then. I’ll be sure to let him know who it’s from.”
“Uh, wait!” Cornelia rapidly shook her head. “I-I got that glass for you, so I think you should—you know what? Never mind! Maybe I should just take that—oh no!”
Rishe ignored the ashen-faced Cornelia, raising the glass and swallowing down a gulp.
“I-I can’t believe…”
“Such a spicy flavor, just as I imagined.” Rishe smiled again to the assembled group’s astonishment. “What a warm welcome. I do hope the two of us can spend more time together. Perhaps…a tea party?”
“Th-the two of us?” Cornelia stammered.
“Yes. I want to know all about House Toona.”
Cornelia looked flabbergasted, but she recovered herself and nodded.
That should do. One of Rishe’s eventual plans required a plot of land in a temperate climate. House Toona’s would likely be perfect, but she needed to confirm a few things with Cornelia. Never back down from a fight. Even further…
She recalled the words of her mentor from her days as a merchant.
Don’t bother with fights you can’t win.
The other ladies fled, fearful of this strange girl who gulped down painfully spicy wine like it was nothing.

***

Rishe retreated to the empty balcony to enjoy the music, grimacing with every stinging mouthful of wine. She drank it in decreasing sips until Arnold joined her.
“What are you making that face for?”
Rishe swirled the glass. “Don’t worry, it’s not you. It’s just this wine is so spicy.”
“Spicy? The wine is?”
“Mm. It’s seasoned with capsicum. I barely managed to get that first mouthful down without gagging.”
Arnold swiped the glass from her hand. “Don’t tell me this was a poisoning attempt!”
Rishe clicked her tongue in annoyance at her own lack of vigilance. No one else would be able to grab something from her so easily.
Arnold glared at the wine. “You don’t need to drink this. I’ll get rid of it.”
“Hey, give that back! They ruined a perfectly good glass of wine because of me. I’m not going to waste it.” She grabbed it back and took another sip, shuddering at the taste.
Arnold glowered. “Tell me who did this. I’ll have them executed.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You don’t kill people like her—you use them.” Just the tiniest bit of wine to go, but it was getting harder to make herself drink it. She gave the glass a reproachful look, then glanced back at Arnold. “Oh, and I owe you an apology.”
“Do you?”
“I used your name to defend myself.” The girls had only backed off when she threatened to tattle to Arnold. Rishe found that sort of thing inelegant in the extreme, and she was embarrassed.
Arnold sighed at Rishe’s apologetic bow. “There’s nothing wrong with a wife invoking her husband’s name.”
Rishe hesitated. “We’re not married yet.”
“That’s a formality. It’s as good as done, if you ask me.”
“I…see.”
He took her distraction as an opportunity to swipe her glass back. Instead of dumping it out, Arnold gulped the rest of it down.
“Damn, that packs a punch,” he grumbled.
“I told you that!” Rishe snapped. “Are you all right? Let me get you some water!”
“I’m fine. But now you’ve fulfilled your obligation to the wine, haven’t you?”
Rishe didn’t know what to say. He’d helped her—not by taking charge but by following her lead. Without cutting her down and telling her she was being foolish. Without rolling his eyes and dismissing her desires as trifles.
“Thank you,” Rishe said stiffly, which just made him laugh.
“What were you thinking about when we were dancing?” he asked.
“What do you mean?”
“You were thinking about someone else, weren’t you? Who?”
Rishe didn’t know a delicate way to say I was thinking about a future version of you I met in another life.
“Hmm?” His tone was oddly light, teasing even. But the gleam in his hunter’s eyes said she wouldn’t get away so easily.
Obviously, Rishe couldn’t give him an honest answer. “I wasn’t thinking about anyone else. I was worried about you.”
“Why?”
This was the closest she could come to the truth. “Were you injured here?” She patted her own left shoulder with her forefinger.
Arnold went silent. His left shoulder was slightly slower to react than his right—if his right was at one hundred, then his left was at maybe ninety-eight. It was hardly noticeable, but Rishe had picked up on it. He was right-handed, and she wouldn’t have noticed it if they’d been dancing normally.
That, and if it hadn’t been for memories from her past life.
Rishe had only managed to inflict a single injury on him. An instant, a moment’s hesitation where she saw her chance and slashed left. Of course, he’d shrugged off the injury and effortlessly run her through.
“Heh.” Arnold finally broke his silence with grim laughter. His eyes sent shivers down her spine, cold and bewitching. In lieu of an answer, he reached for his collar, unfastening the clasp with a snap and drawing his jacket open with a rough tug.
Oh my.
Rishe drew in a breath. A great scar was engraved into the nape of his neck, just low enough to be concealed by clothing. It looked several years old. “It’s an old wound. It continues to the top of my shoulder and pulls the skin taut.”
“How awful.” Rishe couldn’t help but reach out to gingerly touch the nape of his neck.
Arnold accepted her touch without a word. She’d half expected to be slapped aside.
Her fingers slowly traced the shape of it. She could feel the rough skin through her gloves.
He must have gotten this over a decade ago. Someone stabbed him—and not just once or twice. They must have done it over and over to make this scar pattern.
Her medical training had her shuddering at the image of a nine-year-old Arnold ashen and trembling with blood loss. The fact that he’d survived and retained the use of his arm was incredible. And then to go on to wield a sword so skillfully—his suffering must have been immense.
“Only a few people know about this injury. You’re the first to notice on your own.”
“How did it happen?”
That grim smile returned as he looked down at Rishe. With the moon hanging behind him, he was as opaque as ever, but Rishe understood the sentiment.
I shouldn’t pry.
Rishe pulled her hand away, and that ominous smile that sent chills down her spine disappeared. Arnold put his jacket back in order, reclasping it at the neck.
Someone tried to kill Arnold Hein about ten years ago. But who and why? Rishe cast her eyes down as she ruminated. The most obvious beneficiaries of a dead crown prince would be potential heirs and those loyal to them. I believe Arnold has a younger brother, but I haven’t met him yet.
Odd. Rishe might be a hostage, but shouldn’t she meet her future relatives? Perhaps it was Arnold’s doing and not the will of the imperial family themselves. He didn’t seem to want to involve her in anything unless it was absolutely necessary—he hadn’t told her about this ball, after all.
Rishe looked up at him. “Your Highness, may I select my maids some time over the next few days?”
“Very well. I’ll tell Oliver to make that a priority.”
“Ah, I can do the selection myself. We needn’t trouble him.”
Arnold arched an amused brow. Gone was that unsettling smile, replaced with his easy manner. “What are you planning this time?”
“Oh, nothing important,” Rishe said. She picked up her empty glass. “I’m merely concerned about the servants’ working conditions.”
To protect her life and well-being, she needed to keep from dying at twenty years old again. And to do that, she had to prevent Arnold Hein’s war. Her best bet would be to appeal to the important people she’d known in her past lives. People with influence.
Plus, there was a mountain of things she needed to do in preparation for the marriage ceremony.
I need to sow a plot of land, grow herbs, do lots of shopping, get cheap alcohol, and then…
Rishe began a to-do list that had nothing to do with war in the least.

***

As the ball wound to a close, a lone boy stood in the gloomy courtyard of the imperial palace. He had soft black hair and round blue eyes. No older than sixteen, he had an androgynous grace to him, gaze fixed on the balcony above.
He was watching a girl.
She had coral-colored hair, and even from this distance, he could tell she was beautiful. She stood there alone, apparently waiting for someone. Whoever it was must have shown up because her hand slipped from the banister, and she stepped away. Not too long after, a man appeared where she had been standing.

I know better than to believe wartime gossip. This Arnold Hein is a lot different from what I’d heard he was like at nineteen. He’s not as diabolical as the rumors led me to believe. He likes to push, but he isn’t unkind. The thought drifted across her mind, leaving her conflicted. Well, he’s not unkind now. But I still don’t like not knowing his motives. And he’s a bit of a jerk, to be honest.

She tried to settle her mind and just observe. Gathering intelligence was necessary to lead a long, carefree life lazing around the palace.

If I recall correctly, that’s Lord Hannawald. He seems to be on good terms with Count Gayle. Duke Hudemann and Duke Teinitz are having a friendly enough conversation, yet they don’t seem close. Rishe ticked off the names of people she’d met, committing them to memory.

A wave of sweet perfume wafted over her. A pretty girl with soft blonde hair had appeared at her side. “How do you do, Lady Rishe? I’m Cornelia Thea Toona.”

Duke Toona’s family was the thirty-first house she’d met tonight.

Rishe smiled graciously. “Rishe Irmgard Weitzner. A pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure is all mine.” Cornelia smiled sweetly. Her eyes were big and bright, her lips full. She held a glass in each hand and offered one to Rishe. “Wine? I see you’re empty-handed.”

A gaggle of other ladies nearby began giggling among themselves.

“How dare she act so haughty when she’s a captive. It’s time for her learn just what she is. A pawn to be played and discarded.”

“She should enjoy her time on Prince Arnold’s arm while she can.”

“She is from a minor nation, after all.”

As Rishe took note of their whispers, Cornelia gazed at her with doe eyes. “Does my offering offend you in some way?”

If I remember correctly, House Toona holds a vast territory in southern Galkhein.

Rishe held out a hand to accept the glass. “How could it? Thank you, Lady Cornelia.”

Before Rishe could touch the glass, Cornelia gave a dramatic shout. “Oh dear! My hand slipped!” She dropped it, quite obviously on purpose. Without thinking, Rishe grabbed her skirts and leaned back, plucking the glass out of the air with the other hand.

Cornelia let out a cry of surprise as Rishe caught the wine before any could spill. She swirled the glass and brought it to her nose to breathe in the bouquet.

Hmm… That’s mashed capsicum. Where did she even get that? What a waste of perfectly good wine. And why bother spicing it enough to singe the tongue if she just planned to ruin my dress? Pick a plan, my dear.

Hiding her exasperation, Rishe smiled brightly. “I’ve never had a wine quite like this. What an unusual scent.”

Cornelia bit her lip in frustration. Rishe beamed at her. You’ve got such a pretty face, Lady Toona. Why don’t you smile?

Rishe leaned in close to Cornelia. “This vintage isn’t available where I’m from. I’m ever so anxious to learn more. Should I perhaps invite Prince Arnold over to enjoy a glass? Which tray did you get this from?”

“What? Oh, um…” Rishe had a policy of never backing down from a fight, but it seemed Cornelia didn’t share it. “S-sorry, but I don’t remember. Such a large hall, you see.”

“A shame. I’ll just give His Highness this one, then. I’ll be sure to let him know who it’s from.”

“Uh, wait!” Cornelia rapidly shook her head. “I-I got that glass for you, so I think you should—you know what? Never mind! Maybe I should just take that—oh no!”

Rishe ignored the ashen-faced Cornelia, raising the glass and swallowing down a gulp.

“I-I can’t believe…”

“Such a spicy flavor, just as I imagined.” Rishe smiled again to the assembled group’s astonishment. “What a warm welcome. I do hope the two of us can spend more time together. Perhaps…a tea party?”

“Th-the two of us?” Cornelia stammered.

“Yes. I want to know all about House Toona.”

Cornelia looked flabbergasted, but she recovered herself and nodded.

That should do. One of Rishe’s eventual plans required a plot of land in a temperate climate. House Toona’s would likely be perfect, but she needed to confirm a few things with Cornelia. Never back down from a fight. Even further…

She recalled the words of her mentor from her days as a merchant.

Don’t bother with fights you can’t win.

The other ladies fled, fearful of this strange girl who gulped down painfully spicy wine like it was nothing.

***

Rishe retreated to the empty balcony to enjoy the music, grimacing with every stinging mouthful of wine. She drank it in decreasing sips until Arnold joined her.

“What are you making that face for?”

Rishe swirled the glass. “Don’t worry, it’s not you. It’s just this wine is so spicy.”

“Spicy? The wine is?”

“Mm. It’s seasoned with capsicum. I barely managed to get that first mouthful down without gagging.”

Arnold swiped the glass from her hand. “Don’t tell me this was a poisoning attempt!”

Rishe clicked her tongue in annoyance at her own lack of vigilance. No one else would be able to grab something from her so easily.

Arnold glared at the wine. “You don’t need to drink this. I’ll get rid of it.”

“Hey, give that back! They ruined a perfectly good glass of wine because of me. I’m not going to waste it.” She grabbed it back and took another sip, shuddering at the taste.

Arnold glowered. “Tell me who did this. I’ll have them executed.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You don’t kill people like her—you use them.” Just the tiniest bit of wine to go, but it was getting harder to make herself drink it. She gave the glass a reproachful look, then glanced back at Arnold. “Oh, and I owe you an apology.”

“Do you?”

“I used your name to defend myself.” The girls had only backed off when she threatened to tattle to Arnold. Rishe found that sort of thing inelegant in the extreme, and she was embarrassed.

Arnold sighed at Rishe’s apologetic bow. “There’s nothing wrong with a wife invoking her husband’s name.”

Rishe hesitated. “We’re not married yet.”

“That’s a formality. It’s as good as done, if you ask me.”

“I…see.”

He took her distraction as an opportunity to swipe her glass back. Instead of dumping it out, Arnold gulped the rest of it down.

“Damn, that packs a punch,” he grumbled.

“I told you that!” Rishe snapped. “Are you all right? Let me get you some water!”

“I’m fine. But now you’ve fulfilled your obligation to the wine, haven’t you?”

Rishe didn’t know what to say. He’d helped her—not by taking charge but by following her lead. Without cutting her down and telling her she was being foolish. Without rolling his eyes and dismissing her desires as trifles.

“Thank you,” Rishe said stiffly, which just made him laugh.

“What were you thinking about when we were dancing?” he asked.

“What do you mean?”

“You were thinking about someone else, weren’t you? Who?”

Rishe didn’t know a delicate way to say I was thinking about a future version of you I met in another life.

“Hmm?” His tone was oddly light, teasing even. But the gleam in his hunter’s eyes said she wouldn’t get away so easily.

Obviously, Rishe couldn’t give him an honest answer. “I wasn’t thinking about anyone else. I was worried about you.”

“Why?”

This was the closest she could come to the truth. “Were you injured here?” She patted her own left shoulder with her forefinger.

Arnold went silent. His left shoulder was slightly slower to react than his right—if his right was at one hundred, then his left was at maybe ninety-eight. It was hardly noticeable, but Rishe had picked up on it. He was right-handed, and she wouldn’t have noticed it if they’d been dancing normally.

That, and if it hadn’t been for memories from her past life.

Rishe had only managed to inflict a single injury on him. An instant, a moment’s hesitation where she saw her chance and slashed left. Of course, he’d shrugged off the injury and effortlessly run her through.

“Heh.” Arnold finally broke his silence with grim laughter. His eyes sent shivers down her spine, cold and bewitching. In lieu of an answer, he reached for his collar, unfastening the clasp with a snap and drawing his jacket open with a rough tug.

Oh my.

Rishe drew in a breath. A great scar was engraved into the nape of his neck, just low enough to be concealed by clothing. It looked several years old. “It’s an old wound. It continues to the top of my shoulder and pulls the skin taut.”

“How awful.” Rishe couldn’t help but reach out to gingerly touch the nape of his neck.

Arnold accepted her touch without a word. She’d half expected to be slapped aside.

Her fingers slowly traced the shape of it. She could feel the rough skin through her gloves.

He must have gotten this over a decade ago. Someone stabbed him—and not just once or twice. They must have done it over and over to make this scar pattern.

Her medical training had her shuddering at the image of a nine-year-old Arnold ashen and trembling with blood loss. The fact that he’d survived and retained the use of his arm was incredible. And then to go on to wield a sword so skillfully—his suffering must have been immense.

“Only a few people know about this injury. You’re the first to notice on your own.”

“How did it happen?”

That grim smile returned as he looked down at Rishe. With the moon hanging behind him, he was as opaque as ever, but Rishe understood the sentiment.

I shouldn’t pry.

Rishe pulled her hand away, and that ominous smile that sent chills down her spine disappeared. Arnold put his jacket back in order, reclasping it at the neck.

Someone tried to kill Arnold Hein about ten years ago. But who and why? Rishe cast her eyes down as she ruminated. The most obvious beneficiaries of a dead crown prince would be potential heirs and those loyal to them. I believe Arnold has a younger brother, but I haven’t met him yet.

Odd. Rishe might be a hostage, but shouldn’t she meet her future relatives? Perhaps it was Arnold’s doing and not the will of the imperial family themselves. He didn’t seem to want to involve her in anything unless it was absolutely necessary—he hadn’t told her about this ball, after all.

Rishe looked up at him. “Your Highness, may I select my maids some time over the next few days?”

“Very well. I’ll tell Oliver to make that a priority.”

“Ah, I can do the selection myself. We needn’t trouble him.”

Arnold arched an amused brow. Gone was that unsettling smile, replaced with his easy manner. “What are you planning this time?”

“Oh, nothing important,” Rishe said. She picked up her empty glass. “I’m merely concerned about the servants’ working conditions.”

To protect her life and well-being, she needed to keep from dying at twenty years old again. And to do that, she had to prevent Arnold Hein’s war. Her best bet would be to appeal to the important people she’d known in her past lives. People with influence.

Plus, there was a mountain of things she needed to do in preparation for the marriage ceremony.

I need to sow a plot of land, grow herbs, do lots of shopping, get cheap alcohol, and then…

Rishe began a to-do list that had nothing to do with war in the least.

***

As the ball wound to a close, a lone boy stood in the gloomy courtyard of the imperial palace. He had soft black hair and round blue eyes. No older than sixteen, he had an androgynous grace to him, gaze fixed on the balcony above.

He was watching a girl.

She had coral-colored hair, and even from this distance, he could tell she was beautiful. She stood there alone, apparently waiting for someone. Whoever it was must have shown up because her hand slipped from the banister, and she stepped away. Not too long after, a man appeared where she had been standing.