Our Summer Is Not Over - vanish into fiction

That was something Mia knew well.

Even if you had money, non-inheriting nobles or those who weren’t traditional aristocrats could not have a residence in the capital. It was a law enacted immediately after Dylan gave up his succession in the past.

“If the ducal house is not inherited, Duchess, you may have to live a life less comfortable than now. The merits you gained from the war won’t last forever.”

If Dylan retired, it meant she would no longer be able to stay in this mansion and would have to live somewhere outside the capital. For a noble, being removed from the capital was no different than declaring oneself obsolete.

When she stayed silent, the nobles all assumed the young duchess was agreeing with their points.

Those who hadn’t spoken up first began to add various things, supposedly out of concern for her.

“How about embellishing your achievements a bit? If word got around that you went all the way to the front lines and devoted yourself to the war effort, everyone would rally behind House Rihardt.”

Even though they all knew perfectly well she had spent the whole war in the capital, the nobles spoke with shameless composure.

“That sounds good, too. And what if we slightly exaggerate the story of how you lost and then regained your voice?”

“Oh! That’s right. The tale of losing your voice, which no Murad physician could cure, but a Hipoli doctor managed to fix! That sort of story could be quite effective as well.”

At their continued suggestions, Mia clenched her fist and closed her eyes briefly.

The real Cydemia had lost her voice not long after birth. To become like her, Mia herself had endured much in order to force herself to lose her voice. Taking poison, being consumed by utter terror, and so on.

If she really were Cydemia, what they were describing would be a ‘miracle’. For Mia Blair, her stand-in, it was simply ‘survival’.

“If we do all that, only good things will be said about the Rihardt family. Its prestige would be greatly elevated. It’s the best course.”

“If a child is born between you and His Grace, it would be far better this way. The child of a non-inheriting house is no different from a commoner, after all.”

Throughout all this, Mia kept her silence.

Then, a stern-looking noble crossed the line.

“In any case, wasn’t it only with His Majesty’s and His Grace’s help that a Murad native like you could settle here? So you ought to repay that favor and think about the future, and help persuade His Grace…”

“Ahem.”

At the excessive comment, the other nobles all coughed in an attempt to smooth things over. An awkward silence fell.

“We only say these things out of consideration for the future of House Rihardt and the Kingdom of Hipoli, so please don’t take offense.”

Someone stepped in to calm the situation.

As Mia let out a weary sigh, someone descended the stairs behind her. All eyes turned that way.

A glimpse of pale red hair entered Mia’s sight.

“What are you all doing here? …Ah, it’s been a while, Duchess.”

“It has, Marquis Luc. You came along as well.”

“My apologies for the long absence. It’s been three years since we last met because of my daughter.”

The family heads, recalling the trouble Mia had once faced because of the marquis’s daughter, glanced at each other. With a brief reminder to consider what they’d discussed, they quickly took their leave.

Once everyone had gone, Mia spoke in a calm voice.

“How is Lady Luc? I haven’t heard any news, since she hasn’t been active outside.”

“She avoids going out, so she stays only in the house. The doctor said that’s best, too. I apologize for the trouble last time.”

Annabelle Luc, the only daughter of Marquis Luc, and once the fiancée of Dylan Rihardt’s cousin Rodrigo Miller.

After Rodrigo died due to Dylan’s harsh tactics, Annabelle made unreasonable demands for Dylan to take responsibility. Harboring such feelings, she of course resented Mia, who married Dylan. While Dylan was away at war, Annabelle even caused a scene at a banquet, going so far as to swing a glass at Mia’s face.

It hadn’t left a deep scar, but for a marquis’s daughter to injure a duchess was a matter that could have gone to trial. But Mia hadn’t wanted the incident to become bigger.

Recalling those events, Mia lightly brushed her fingers over the spot where the wound used to be, now without a trace.