I'm still not really sure how it happened. One day, she was hanging around the workshop, prodding at the many things scattered about and asking questions about everything and anything. And the next, she was in my bed, naked beneath the sheets. With her face propped up in her hands, and her legs kicking up and down, she stared through her ever-piercing gaze as I blushed and turned away.

I was never able to perfectly piece together exactly how she managed to ensnare me. It just sort of happened. But from that day on, I stopped rejecting her. I welcomed both her presence and her advances.

And somehow, she was always there, right by my side, for as long as I could remember.

___

The whole party watched as Lord Cento, the idiot that'd challenged the princess to a duel, was carted off atop a stretcher. Under ordinary circumstances, he should have been able to regenerate from the damage and return to the party unscathed. After all, he was a warrior over five hundred. Regrowing his flesh was among the most basic of tasks.

Alas, he was just a little too unconscious to give his body the order; Headhydra had beaten him so black and blue that his brain had completely shut down. Claire didn't bother ordering the serpent to stop, and as Rubia was too overwhelmed to make the request herself, the spirit had simply continued, and for good reason. By setting an example, by expressly denying his surrender, they'd sent the message that the foolish action was not to be repeated.

The Cadrian people were, after all, far too self-serving. If anyone were to get away with such nonsense, the rest would be sure to attempt the same.

Granted, the beating alone was unlikely to keep all the freshly inspired fools at bay. If the crowd's excitement was any indication, further action was required to ensure its compliance.

"That was rather impressive," said a rabbit lady dressed in purple. "It almost looked as if she defeated him without lifting a finger."

"I dunno," replied the male beside her. "Her individual attacks weren't as fast as I was expecting. There was a fair delay between each strike, and it didn't seem like she was hitting him with much force or velocity."

"That must've been deliberate," muttered a nearby centaur. "She was striking him fairly gently while moving quickly enough to be nearly imperceptible. Think about it. She returned to her initial position after every blow, and quickly and accurately enough that it didn't even look like she moved."

"I don't mean to disregard your opinion, Lord Garus, but she wasn't doing anything like that at all. Her mana was doing all the attacking for her."

"Magic isn't invisible. We'd have at least seen something if she was casting a spell."

"Normally, yes. Have you heard about the attempted assassination? The investigation's conclusion was that she strangled them without so much as lifting a finger. It could only have been her magic."

Similar murmurs spread throughout the hall and soon returned it to its lively, pre-duel state. There was only one problem. The various groups chatting among themselves soon converged on the same conclusion: if they wanted answers, all they needed to do was ask. After all, the princess was right in front of them, standing beside her father, and frankly, expecting social interaction.

The only problem was her lack of a voice—though some had begun to suspect even that. After all, King Ragnar of Kryddar, the realm's greatest mortal healer, was present and in attendance. And he could fix any wound that wasn't divinely inflicted. Moreover, the fact that she'd killed a goddess proved her excellent condition. There were no longer any clear reasons for her lack of words. At most, one could maybe chalk it up to a habit ingrained by her extended silence.

Of course, not everyone in the room was focused on the obvious dilemma. Case in point, the fish-loving fox and the ever-starving wolf.

"Oh my gosh! The lobster is so good! The claws are so sweet and dense at the same time! Where the heck did they even find these!? None of the lobsters back home taste nearly this good!" squealed Sylvia.

"Try it with cheese." Lana grabbed a few slices of brie off a nearby charcuterie board, placed them atop a lobster's tail, and melted them with a flame-spitting artifact. The metallic cylinders weren't labeled, but that was precisely what they were meant for. It was a wonder how she'd even figured it out.

"Oh my gosh, I think I'm gonna drool…" Sylvia gulped as she lifted the lobster to her lips, tail and all, and downed it in a single bite. "Wow! It's so creamy! Wait, is it just me, or is it sweeter too?"

"It is."

"How the heck does that work!?"

"Dunno. But it's tasty."

"I do believe some of the northerners eat them in precisely that manner, albeit with a different variety of cheese." Baron Gieronymus Esquilinus, the horse that had joined them in their gluttony, forced a smile as he finally recovered and inserted himself into the conversation again; the duel and its fallout had left him completely frozen. "I believe it was one of the nuttier, aged cheeses."

"I think I like it better this way," said Sylvia. Moving on from the lobster, she grabbed a giant crab leg off her plate. "Wait a sec, is it just me, or does this look kinda familiar?"

"Ah, I do believe those are from the Langgbjern expedition," said the baron. "I heard that the recent one was quite successful. I can't quite remember what the monsters were exactly, unfortunately."

"Let me see." Lana grabbed one of the legs, brought it to her face, and gave it a light sniff. "It smells… orniferin."

"Oh! Aren't those supposed to be those giant centipede thingies?" asked Sylvia, as she bit through a leg.

"Kind of. They were more crabby," said Lana.

"Ah, yes. I did hear the rumour that your delegation explored the mountains," said the baron, with a welcoming smile. "It seems it was more than just a rumour after all. Would you mind enlightening me as to the details of your journey?" Alas, he was readily ignored.

"If I knew they were gonna be this tasty, I would've saved their corpses instead of just leaving them to rot."

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"Their shells were tough," said Lana. "They'd make good armour."

So on and so forth, they drifted between food-adjacent topics as they cleared out the buffet. The staff had to refill half the dishes on account of their consumption alone.

Claire was present in the same space as them, and technically she'd spent the past few minutes chewing through steak, but her mind was on the talking dilemma. The obvious solution was to sneak away, enter Rubia's body, and talk on her behalf, but such an approach was unlikely to prove fruitful long-term. Either that, or she could manipulate the homunculus' lips with her vectors whilst teleporting her voice such that it would seem to come from the faker's throat. Alternatively, she could always get Rubia to step out and literally take her place by assuming her childhood form.

There was a whole plethora of viable choices, but Claire decided against them all. Sure, the sticky situation was entirely her fault. There was no denying that, just like there was no denying the little princess' determination. Though a little overwhelmed, she was still trying her best to handle the crowd. When Claire looked her way, she only met her gaze, nodded, and returned her attention to the surrounding nobility.

Seeing that, the original had no choice but to smile and return to minding her own business. There was no point trying to protect someone who didn't want it. That much, she'd learned first hand, courtesy of a certain furball.

"Holy crap! What the heck is up with this ice cream!?" asked the hat in question.

"It's rich and sweet," said Lana.

"That would be because it's made from the milk of a particular species of cow. In Cadria, most of our cattle are of two different varieties, one for meat and the other for milk," explained the baron.

"Oh, that's a good idea! I should have some more steak." Sylvia immediately dashed to the other side of the buffet, grabbed a few pieces of the perfectly cooked meat, and slathered them in a variety of sauces.

"Seconds? Good idea."

"...Did they not just have dessert?" One eye twitching, Lord Gieronymus turned to the only member of the Northern Brigade that hadn't suddenly run off. With how long he stared, it was clear that he'd expected some sort of response, but Claire said nothing. She simply allowed her gaze to follow her companions as she enjoyed her meal.

Her plate wasn't nearly piled as high as Sylvia's or Lana's, but she was taking just as long to work through it. She slowly savoured each bite and carefully deconstructed the flavours with her tongue, as she always had.

"I know your companions are enjoying the food, but you haven't said much. Is it not to your taste?" The baron tried starting another conversation, and he wasn't the only one. A few others finally began to approach, their eyes glimmering with a predatory light. But unlike Jules, Claire was accustomed to dealing with the nobility. Most were smart enough to take hints; she just needed to make it look like she didn't want to be bothered. Hence why she magically grabbed everything she wanted to eat.

By floating the dishes in the air around her, she turned them into a barrier—something that could physically deter all but the most magically curious—whilst rejoining the rabid canines on their quest to eat all of creation.

The baron was left cursing under his breath, but he was hardly the most disappointed. Standing on the other side of the hall, Octavia Augustus was mad enough that she nearly bit her sleeves out of frustration.

"I thought you said he was supposed to be handsome! He doesn't even have a face!" The words were meant for 'Claire,' but the princess' placeholder never heard the declaration. Octavia would have to wait through a line of about twenty people before it was her turn to interact with the Cadrian royals. Her plan was to greet them, the Kryddarian king, and then the Vel'khanese brigade again before returning to the party and enjoying the rest of the evening. Many of the others had the same idea; the order was important when it came to establishing a hierarchy, and she doubted that the foreigners could outmuscle Kryddar, considering that they'd requested a proxy war to prevent their lands from being invaded.

Sure, the queen was an aspect, and the Grand Magus had taken their side, but they were still a weak, faraway nation that didn't have anyone with enough of a spine to challenge their warriors head-on.

Or at least, that was her initial impression.

"Absolutely not!" A scream rang through the hall, cutting off the music with its unbridled rage. The speaker in question, a vampire with silvery red hair, grabbed a particularly odd-looking halfbreed by the collar. "Say that one more time! I dare you!"

Chloe was straight-up fuming. Her face red and her chest heaving, she had grabbed the man's collar with such ferocity that her knuckles had turned porcelain white. Claire frowned as she noted his familiar, vomit-inducing gaze. He was one of the ones that'd lusted over her ears from the earliest years of her childhood. Like the late Lord Pollux, his guidance stemmed almost entirely from his loins.

It didn't help that he was all too easy to remember. He was a mix between a centaur and a cottontail, and he effectively had the bottom half of a horse and the upper body of a rabbit. Neither part was scaled to match the other. And that, perhaps, was the problem; his upper brain was quite literally half the size of its lower counterpart.

"It was a compliment," he said, with a laugh.

"Compliment!?" shrieked the maid. "You sai—"

"Yeah, I know what I said." The half-rabbit smirked. "And I'd be happy to extend the offer to her face proper."

"Look at her again, and I'll slit your throat," snarled the maid.

"Why are you even mad? You clearly look at her the same way." The rabbit-horse sighed. "I recognize my kind when I see it, you know?" He briefly glanced at her eyes before giving his shoulders an exaggerated shrug and breathing a tired sigh. "Well, it looks like we're at an impasse. I don't know how you do things in Vel'khan, but here in Cadria, it means a duel."

"Fine," said the maid. She released him and stepped back as a dagger appeared in her hands. "Get ready, scum."

The baron briefly raised a brow before shaking his head and laughing. "Wait, did you think I was going to fight you myself? Get real," he said with a chuckle. Stepping back, he allowed a massive bull of a man to take his place. "This is Sigmus, a warrior from my land who will be fighting on my behalf. He's one of the strongest fighters I know, and with any luck, he'll be one of the seven."

The giant centaur was perhaps a little more well-mannered than his master. Demonstrating none of the other man's arrogance, he simply greeted his opponents with a silent nod.

"Bullshit!" said a voice in the crowd. "There's no way that weakling's going to be one of the seven! He's top fifty at best!" A portly, somewhat-drunk elf inserted himself into the arena. "I bet I can kick his ass with both eyes closed and one hand behind my back!" The man turned briefly to the Vel'khanese with a hic and bowed. "I am Arthur Greenwood of Gandia, Mistborne Greenwood Elf, and a knight trained in the way of the Royal Cadrian Swiftblade. I'd be happy to serve as your proxy in this battle."

The words themselves were rather convincing. It was a shame that he was drunk enough for them to be slurred together.

"Oh, fuck off! You again!?" grumbled the horse-rabbit.

"Yeah, me again! Suck it, asshole!"

"Would it not impact our reputation if we refrained from participating ourselves?" asked Arciel.

"Nah, this is normal," said the elf. "Happens all the time."

Arciel lightly tapped her fan against her chin. "And why, precisely, have you volunteered in our stead?"

"It's 'cause I'm not really one for spoilers."

"I do not suppose you would be willing to elaborate?"

"Everyone here is curious about your abilities. It's why this dumbass is picking a fight, and why no one's even thought to stop him, in spite of how bad it is diplomatically. But me, I don't want to know shit until it's time for the big event."

"Then I suppose I see no reason to refuse," said the squid.

"Great." A grin on his lips, the elf drew a sword from his waist and lowered his stance while his opponent equipped a pair of heavy metal gauntlets.

And so they began the deadly dance.

Similar conflicts continued throughout the night, professing to the Vel'khanese that even the Cadrian nobility was still Cadrian at heart.

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