A Fortune-telling Princess

Even...

The same held true for the Duke of Jevillan.

He tapped that shoulder as if unaware a Guardian was perched on it.

So until they’re summoned, they’re like ghosts?

It was said Guardians remained in their own space until their master called them forth.

But clearly, the truth was a little different.

They hover nearby all along, unseen? Then when called, they manifest?

Just then, the red eagle that had been nodding drowsily on his shoulder suddenly lifted its head.

“......”

[...]

Their eyes locked.

For a moment the Guardian stared blankly at her, then it beat its wings once and alighted on the table. Camilla’s gaze followed the movement without thinking.

[You can see me.]

She flinched, realizing the voice belonged to the red eagle.

Her expression tightened.

Wasn’t a Guardian’s voice supposed to be heard only by the lord?

Why was everything contrary to the lore?

Even as she fretted, the Guardian circled her with a curious look, as if beholding something rare.

[Pure.]

Pure? What is? Me? I do keep clean, sure...

[Your spirit is clear.]

What kind of mystic sermon is this? Are you a cult leader?

“Jeti.”

The Duke of Jevillan spoke a name softly.

Jeti?

Chocolate-sweet...

As that thought flickered, radiant light spread through the room.

Moments later, the red eagle was visible on his shoulder to her naked sight. Duke Sorpel’s fierce eyes turned toward it.

So I was right.

It took a summons before others could see a Guardian. The master as well.

But then why can I see—and hear—it?

They were no different from ghosts. That was the only conclusion.

“Why summon your Guardian pointlessly?”

“I simply wanted to see him.”

“Do you mean to set this room aflame?”

“I said I wanted to see him. Guardians... you never tire of looking at them. But then, you wouldn’t know.”

“Go home and look all you want, then.”

“Always so prickly.”

Plainly he had called it just to needle Duke Sorpel.

Camilla herself found the smug little chuckles after summoning the Guardian irritating.

But then—

Whip.

“...!”

Jeti spread its wings lightly, then drifted down to perch elsewhere.

Not on the Duke of Jevillan’s shoulder, but on Camilla’s.

“......”

“......”

“......”

What are you doing?

Why act friendly all of a sudden?

A stunned silence fell across the room.

Both dukes stared with eyes wide.

“...Jeti.”

[...]

“Come here.”

Whip—

“...!”

Even at his master’s call, Jeti snapped its head away as if ignoring him, then fluttered up to settle atop Camilla’s head.

“Jeti, I said come.”

[No.]

“What?”

[I like it here. This child’s spirit is clean. Like a newborn.]

“What!”

[I like her.]

“......”

The Duke of Jevillan glared at Camilla with eyes blazing. She offered an awkward smile.

I’ve always been a little too popular with these sorts of beings.

She lumped Guardians in with ghosts, plain and simple. In other words—

Shoo!

A nuisance.

She shook her head sharply to dislodge Jeti.

But the bird merely lifted off and settled back on her shoulder.

I said go!

She shook again. Still it clung.

Clearly, these things were no different from ghosts—once attached, impossible to shake.

“Hm.”

Watching it all in silence, Duke Sorpel’s mouth curved faintly upward.

“Seems your Guardian prefers my daughter to you.”

“Nonsense! No one obeys me more faithfully than he. Jeti, here, now!”

Whip!

“......”

“Indeed. Obedient as can be.”

“......”

As his friend’s face flushed red, Duke Sorpel’s ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) smile only deepened.

Chapter. Off to the Academy

“Are you truly going to be all right?”

Maid Donna asked, worry etched across her face.

What’s this girl so worried about?

Well, Camilla could understand.

“Wouldn’t it be better to change departments, as the duke suggested?”

Today was the very first day of the new term.

Camilla, dressed and ready for the Academy, had endured Donna’s anxious expression through the entire preparation.

“Don’t worry.”

Camilla lightly tapped her shoulder.

“But still...”

Even as Donna’s face refused to soften, Camilla only smiled faintly. She knew perfectly well why the girl looked that way.

The most isolated student in history.

Camilla wasn’t only ostracized in noble society—she was a pariah at the Academy too. That didn’t mean she was bullied.

No one dared openly torment someone listed in the registry of House Sorpel, one of the Three Great Guardians.

They just treated her as invisible.

Whether she was there or not, no one paid her the least attention.

And the pinnacle of that isolation was the department Camilla had chosen.

There, she truly existed like a ghost. Even the instructors looked past her.

Why?

Because her skill was abysmal.

If she learned one thing, she forgot it before the day was out. Finally, the instructors had given up.

They couldn’t scold or punish the duke’s young lady, so they ignored her instead.

The department Camilla Sorpel had chosen was—

“Straighten your posture!”

“Yes, sir!”

“James, Hamil—start sparring now.”

“Yes, sir!”

The swordsmanship department.

Oh, you poor fool.

No talent for physical effort, yet here she was.

As she watched the others train across the practice yard, a sigh slipped from her lips.

House Sorpel was, above all, a house of the sword.

It had risen by the sword, and still bore the name of the finest sword lineage on the continent.

That was why Camilla had chosen swordsmanship: to declare herself, somehow, a true member of the house.

But that only works if you have talent.

For someone with hopelessly poor coordination, what was she doing here?

With no gift for the blade, she was nothing but a laughingstock.

In fact, her incompetence only proved, more than anything, that she bore none of Sorpel’s blood.

And yet she’s stubborn.

She knew it herself, but still clung to the department without quitting.

Perhaps her last desperate attempt.

She must have wanted recognition—not from anyone else, but from herself—that she was indeed part of House Sorpel.

There was no other reason for her to stay here, despised and ignored, without the skill to match.

Pitiful, really. Beyond pitiful.

That was why, when Duke Sorpel had suggested she change departments, Camilla hadn’t been able to answer yes.

Besides, the real Camilla might yet return to this body. Changing her department unilaterally wasn’t an option.

She had chosen this path, for better or worse.

Well, to hell with it.

Camilla plopped herself down on the ground.

Teachers and students alike were too busy sparring to bother with her anyway.

She had no wish to beg attention from people who ignored her even when she spoke first.

Fine by me.

She lay flat on her back, staring up at the clear, cloudless sky until her eyes drifted closed.

The shade under that tree is the perfect spot.

A single great tree stood at the edge of the yard.

But someone was already sitting beneath it, so she hadn’t looked that way.

“......”

“......”

Now the yard’s eyes were on her. Surprise and bewilderment spread across their faces.

Even with her head bowed, Camilla always remained in her place until the lesson ended.

But this?

Students gaped as she stretched out in the corner of the yard, dozing as if on a picnic.

No one dared approach.

Not even the sword instructor. He, too, had ignored her long enough that it felt awkward to address her now.

“Honestly!”

“......!”

Camilla suddenly sprang up, snapping in irritation. Everyone watching her flinched.

But her annoyance wasn’t at them.

What kind of training ground has no shade at all?

That lone tree was it.

Scowling at the sun, she glanced toward it.

There sat a young man, early twenties at most.

...A radiant, sorrowful god?

Why did he have a sword buried in his chest?

The man gazed wistfully at the trainees, an icy blade piercing his heart.

Camilla glanced from the blazing sun to the tree’s shade, then at last walked over and sat down beneath it, careful not to look at the ghost.

Fortunately, he paid her no mind either.

Like a statue, he kept his place, watching only the yard.

Not even curious.

Whatever his story was.

Camilla stretched out again on the ground, closed her eyes, and let herself drift.

“Hey, isn’t that the Lady of Sorpel?”

“I—it looks like her?”

“Is she... sleeping?”

“Good grief...”

Students passing near the yard stopped, gawking.

Who dared lounge like that during class?

When they peered closer, shock rippled through them.

It was none other than Camilla.

And among them stood Petro Jevillan, son of the Duke of Jevillan.

“......”

Watching Camilla shift lazily in the shade, Petro’s lips curved upward.