The heavy oak door to the master suite creaked open, admitting a sliver of morning light. Lara, a maid with tired brown eyes and a thin scar slicing through her eyebrow, stood stiffly in her tailored uniform.
"Madam, wake up," she murmured, her voice hushed but firm. The massive room was dominated by a four-poster bed where a figure lay completely obscured by silk blankets. A cascade of rich, vibrant Scarlett hair spilled out onto the pillows.
"Ugh... a few more minutes," a woman groaned, finally opening her eyes.
Lara held her formal bow a moment longer. "Madam, the Duke specifically requested you attend the morning meal."
"Tch. What does that old man want now?" Elizabeth pushed the blankets away and stretched, her muscles popping faintly beneath the fabric of her sleep shirt. "Tell him I'll be there, Lara." She frowned at the maid's overly submissive posture. "And stop bowing so damn much."
"Yes, Madam Elizabeth. I will inform His Grace." Lara executed one final, deep bow before swiftly exiting the room. As she passed through the quiet halls, she saw the usual ebb and flow of servants—some heading toward the Duke's office, others preparing for the day's chores. She paid them no mind, heading straight for the kitchen.
Lara bowed again at the doorway. "Master, Madam is awake and will arrive at the dining hall shortly."
A deep, warm voice answered from the stovetop. "I got it. Thank ya for telling her." Abraham Scarlett, the Duke, was frying chicken in a large pan, and the crispy, savory aroma filled the massive kitchen.
"It is my duty, Master." Lara bowed and turned to leave, knowing Abraham often cooked when he had something serious on his mind.
Tch, now what should I wear? Elizabeth mused, walking over to her enormous, walk-in cupboard which housed dozens of high-end dresses. No, first, hygiene.
She discarded the thought of clothes and instead opened the door to the connecting bathroom. After a long, refreshing bath that cleared the sleep from her head, she returned to the cupboard.
I should just wear what I wear normally.
Ignoring the luxurious gowns, she settled on a practical outfit: simple pants and a form-fitting dress over a bra. Prepared for the day, she walked toward the dining hall, taking a moment to admire the vibrant garden outside the window—a meticulous display of flowers and flitting birds, a world away from the political machinations inside the castle.
When she reached the hall, the Duke was already seated at the head of the table.
"Alright, so what is it, Dad?" she asked, taking a seat. She looked at her father, whose black hair and meticulously trimmed beard gave him a handsome, middle-aged look that still commanded authority.
"...Do you want to attend Akashic Academy?" he asked, placing a perfectly fried piece of chicken onto her plate.
"Bruh. Dad, that's insane. I'm twenty-three years old! And why would I attend Akashic Academy anyway? I already went when I was eighteen." She speared a piece of chicken with her fork and popped the whole thing into her mouth, closing her eyes in satisfaction before giving him a thumbs-up. "It tastes amazing, Dad. Did you cook it yourself?"
"Yep, I got bored, so I cooked it myself," he replied casually. He added more food to her plate. "Yeah, it is kind of bullying now that I think about it. Mm. It's not that they want you to join as a student, though."
"...Dad, I'll get fat if I eat that much," she complained, though she was already resisting the urge to devour the rest. "So, is this the main reason you asked the maid to wake me up so early?"
"Well, yeah. Though you won't go, I guess. You're already doing all the territorial work, so I rejected it right away," he said, biting into his own chicken. "After all, my daughter already has enough on her shoulders."
"Mm, well, thanks. But which role did they want me to take, exactly?"
Abraham paused, setting his fork down. "Well, they wanted to invite you as a battle teacher. Kind of like how you 'beat up' our soldiers to train them, but... it has to be taught strictly by the book and all the traditional curriculum."
"Oh. I was kind of interested when I heard 'battle teacher,' but if I have to teach them according to some dusty book? Hell nah," she said, drinking a full cup of water to wash down the chicken.
"That's why I rejected it," he confirmed, giving her a look that begged for approval. "I mean, the only benefit you'd get is probably getting more irritated. It's not like Abraham Scarlett's daughter is lacking anything to even consider it, since I made sure you won't lack anything." He smirked, proudly awaiting the praise.
"Heh. Yep, everything except a mother, Father," she said, her voice dropping slightly. A moment later, she smiled reassuringly. "Though, don't worry, Dad. You did everything you could as a parent."
"I—I did everything I can. So don't worry. Just enjoy your life," he stammered, placing a heavy, warm hand on her head. "After all, you are the best daughter a father could ever get."
"Hehe, thanks, Dad. Though, you should smile more, I guess."
"Mm. Well, I will try." Abraham pulled his hand back. "Now, while I probably know why you rejected that offer, can you tell me why in your own words?" he asked, watching her continue to eat the delicious food he'd piled on her plate.
"Erm, well, first of all, I could endure the academy requirement. They probably wouldn't enforce the 'by the book' rule for the Duke's daughter, since it's a talent-based academy, not a traditional one—most noble families attend it," she explained, munching on her food.
"If so, why the rejection?"
"Obviously, political bullshit, Dad. There would be so many brats sucking up to me just because I'm the daughter of Abraham Scarlett. I also heard there are royal family kids attending, so I want to avoid that even more."
"Mm, true. While I kind of avoid that mess, it comes with the territory of being a noble family head," he said, wiping his hands on a linen napkin.
"True, I guess," she agreed, getting up to wash her mouth and hands. "Since my dear dad is stronger than most nobles, they'd probably just want to get into your inner circle."
He chuckled, a short, dry sound. "Not a chance. There is no benefit for me to even consider that. If they have to use my daughter to get my attention, I'm better off making them think I'm arrogant or prideful."
"Mm, that's why," she said, returning to the table. "Well, hey, it's all just a theory. A political theory."
"Heh, true. It may not be exactly like we expect, but at least 90 percent of it will be similar. Such is the nobles' personality—though I'm not saying we're not like them," he finished, sitting back down.
"Well, at least you're better, according to me. Hey, maybe that's my bias," she said, chuckling as she leaned back onto the couch nearby.
"Mm, well, might be," he said, laughing.
"Though, you are a bit too similar to me."
"Well, obviously. You raised me yourself when you could have hired a nanny or something," she said lazily, crossing her arms.
"Urm. I'm not so incompetent that I have to hire someone to raise my daughter," he said, instantly defensive.
"Mm, well, that's fair. Though what you did in the past is kind of hilarious now that I think about it... Dad, you basically took me to every single military meeting and trade negotiation."
"Haha, very funny," he said, genuinely amused. "I was young at the time, only twenty-two, so I didn't know much about raising kids."
"Mm, well, it's fair, I guess. I kind of grew up in your military training camps, so I grew up like that," she confirmed.
"Mm. Well, though I think I did very well raising you, you should have had a mother figure to teach you about being a woman," he said, getting up from the chair.
"Mm, what happened, happened, Dad. You can't change it," she said bluntly. "After all, I wouldn't be the same if it hadn't happened."
"Argh. Well, you are right. No use overthinking, I guess." He chuckled awkwardly. "So, are you going to wander around town now?"
"Mm, well, yeah. I want to see if they're slacking off or something so I can beat them if they slack off," she said, an odd note of excitement entering her voice.
"Haha, okay," he laughed awkwardly. This is why I thought you should have had a mother figure, he thought. You really got everything from my young self, but that habit of 'beating' the slackers—that's her own thing. Definitely her own thing.
"Um, what's wrong, Father?" she asked, seeing his strange expression.
"Haha, nothing," he said, giving her a big, forced smile.