Chapter 122: How to Enjoy the Founding Festival (1)
The bottle was half-filled with small, round pills. Aracila’s sharp intuition told her it was the old man’s medicine, and she swiftly bent down to pick it up. Holding it close so he could see, she asked, “Sir, is this yours?”
The old man, gasping for breath, gave a weak nod. “Two… two…”
“Two pills? You need two, right?” Aracila quickly fished out two pills and gently placed them in his mouth. As he struggled to swallow, his throat barely moving, she knelt beside him, firmly massaging his arms and legs to ease his trembling.
Just then, a group of priests appeared at the end of the corridor, hurrying toward them. Aracila waved her hand high, calling out, “Over here! Someone’s collapsed!”
“What? Hold on, we’re coming!” Startled by her shout, the priests rushed over. Aracila handed the old man into their care and stood, brushing off her clothes.
“Please look after him,” she said. “I’m in a bit of a hurry and need to go.”
“Of course,” one of the priests replied.
With a quick bow to the old man, who was still struggling to steady himself, Aracila turned to find Tailor. As she walked away, the old man, now supported by the priests, watched her retreating figure with an unreadable expression.
“Sir, may we have your name?” a young priest asked politely. “We’ll contact your family.”
The old man’s voice came low and gravelly. “Howard Rondra.”
At the name, a few priests widened their eyes in recognition. The medicine had begun to take effect, and his breathing steadied. He spoke again, his tone firm. “No need to contact my family. Just call for my attendant waiting outside.”
Then, in a quieter, almost whispered addition, he said, “I don’t want rumors spreading that I collapsed while visiting to honor my daughter.”
***
Having secured Tailor’s promise to help with the sketch, Aracila returned home. Damian, who had arrived earlier, greeted her at the door. “You’re rather late. Busy day?”
“Not exactly,” she replied. “I ran into the priest who notarized our contract at the temple…” She recounted everything Tailor had told her, and Damian’s expression grew grave.
He rubbed his chin, his brow furrowing. “So, someone besides the Vandemir Duchy suspects our marriage.”
“Yes,” Aracila said, clicking her tongue lightly. “Some sharp-nosed busybody must’ve caught wind of something.”
Damian fell into deep thought, his face serious. Sunlight streamed through the window, catching his eyes and making them glow brighter than usual, a vivid golden hue. Aracila, glancing at him, was struck by a sudden thought: His eyes are the same color as that old man’s.
In the urgency of helping the old man earlier, she hadn’t noticed it, but now the realization hit her. Golden eyes weren’t exactly common, and the coincidence felt oddly significant. Beyond the eyes, though, there wasn’t a single resemblance between Damian and the old man.
Lost in her thoughts, she stared at him a moment too long. Feeling her gaze, Damian blinked, a hint of embarrassment crossing his face. “What’s wrong? Is there something on my face?”
“No, it’s not that,” she said quickly. “It’s just… your eyes look especially beautiful today.”
She didn’t see the need to mention the old man or dwell on the fleeting thought. Her words were honest—Damian’s eyes, catching the soft light of the sun, truly were striking. There was no lie in her admiration.
A flush crept up Damian’s ears. It was a simple compliment, but coming from Aracila, it felt weighty, almost overwhelming. He covered his mouth with a hand, letting out a series of awkward coughs. “Ahem, ahem! Anyway, I’ll look into whoever’s been intimidating the priests. Don’t worry about it, my lady.”
“I’m helping too,” Aracila said firmly. “Don’t try to handle it all on your own.”
Her words made Damian flinch. He was already investigating Frederick behind her back, and her pointed remark hit a nerve. But deciding it wasn’t the time to come clean, he steered the conversation elsewhere. “By the way, the streets were packed today because of the Founding Festival. Hardly any room to move.”
“It’s the empire’s biggest festival,” Aracila said. “People come from other countries just to join in, so it’s always crowded.”
“Is that so?” Damian replied. “I’ve never attended the Founding Festival before, so I wasn’t prepared for that kind of crowd.”
Aracila’s eyes widened in disbelief. The Founding Festival was the one event every citizen of the empire cherished. Even the loftiest royals had memories of stepping out to join the celebrations at least once. Even Aracila, who wasn’t fond of noise, had fond childhood memories of attending parties or exploring the festive streets with her family. The Founding Festival was a tradition woven into the fabric of every imperial citizen’s life—a shared memory, a collective joy. And yet, Damian had never experienced it?
Her expression turned resolute, more serious than ever. “This won’t do.”
“What won’t do?” Damian asked, startled.
She grabbed his hand with a determined grip, her face solemn. “We’re going to the Founding Festival together.”
She had a faint sense of why Damian might have no memories of the festival, and instead of probing for answers, she made her declaration with unwavering conviction.
“Now that I think about it, it’s unfair that everyone else gets to have fun while we’re stuck working,” Aracila said.
Even the Emperor set aside his duties to rest during the Founding Festival. Yet Aracila and Damian had been running around since morning, inspecting airships and lamps without a moment’s break. It felt unjust. Who knows when we’ll get another chance to enjoy the festival together? Why should we spend it working? The inspections were done, anyway—surely they could afford some personal time now.
Aracila turned to Damian with a spark in her eyes. “Let’s make this Founding Festival one to remember, just the two of us.”
Damian, who hadn’t brought up the festival with the intention of pestering her like an excited child, was caught off guard. Worried he might have put pressure on her, he took a step back. “My lady, you don’t have to go out of your way for me.”
“What, you don’t want to have fun with me?” Aracila shot back, her tone playfully prim. “Fine, I’ll find some other friends to go with.”
The word “friends” instantly brought Frederick to Damian’s mind, and his eyes flashed as he grabbed her hand firmly. He might tolerate others, but there was no way he’d let Frederick steal a moment with Aracila. “No, I want to go with you,” he said, each word deliberate. “So don’t go looking for anyone else.”
At the very least, as her husband, he wanted to claim her company for himself.
“Alright, then,” Aracila said, grinning. “Shall we go tomorrow?”
“Yes, let’s do it,” Damian replied without hesitation.
Her bright smile sealed the deal, and just like that, they had a festival date planned.
***
The streets of the Founding Festival were a vibrant mix of nobles and commoners, blending together in a colorful throng. For well-known figures like Aracila and Damian, this meant attracting more attention than they’d like. Commoners might not recognize them, but most nobles certainly would. Dragging along a retinue of knights would only draw more eyes in the crowded streets, which was the last thing they wanted if they were to enjoy the festival properly.
So Aracila deliberately dressed down, forgoing her usual ornate accessories. She chose a simple dress in navy and white, her hair tied up high, and carried a small, unassuming handbag. The moment she met Damian at the entrance to the central hall, she handed him something she’d prepared: a white mask adorned with pink flowers.
“What’s this?” Damian asked, eyeing it. “Why are you giving it to me?”
“We already stand out on our own, and together we’re bound to turn heads,” Aracila explained. “I thought we could cover our faces to avoid any unnecessary hassle.”
Damian looked skeptical. “I think wearing something like this will make us stand out even more.”
The idea of donning such a bright, frilly mask made him uneasy—it felt far too flamboyant for his taste.
“You don’t get it,” Aracila said lightly, already slipping on her own mask, adorned with blue flowers. It covered half her small face, blending seamlessly with her features. “At the Founding Festival, people wear all sorts of wild outfits. This is nothing.”
Damian reluctantly put on the mask. With his striking silver hair and golden eyes framed by the pink flowers, he looked unexpectedly dashing. “Besides,” Aracila added, “if we use our real names, people might recognize us. So I’m going to call you by a nickname.”
“A nickname?” Damian asked, puzzled. He’d never had one in his life. “What kind?”
Aracila’s smile widened. “Mimi. I’m calling you Mimi. That’s okay, right?”
“No, it’s not,” he said immediately, his voice firm. A delicate mask was bad enough, but a cutesy nickname like Mimi? It was too much. He couldn’t imagine anything less suited to him.
“Why Mimi of all things?” he asked, exasperated.
“Because it sounds adorable,” she replied simply.
Her straightforward answer left him speechless for a moment. Noticing his displeased expression, Aracila sighed lightly, as if conceding. “Fine. If you have another nickname in mind, tell me. I’ll use it. But you’ve got ten seconds.”
“I…” Damian faltered.
Aracila spread her fingers and began counting down, folding them one by one. Damian racked his brain desperately for an alternative, but nothing came to mind. The ten seconds passed fruitlessly, and Aracila flashed a triumphant smile. “Let’s go, Mimi.”
“…Fine,” he muttered.
They arrived at the bustling entrance to the main thoroughfare and stepped out of their carriage. The streets were too packed for the carriage to proceed any farther. As Aracila had said, their masked appearance was tame compared to the festival’s wild array of costumes. A man strutted by in a rainbow-colored dress, a woman sported intricate designs painted across her skin, a child pranced about in an animal costume, and an elderly man wore a suit covered in floral patterns. People who were ordinarily unremarkable had transformed into vibrant, free-spirited versions of themselves for the day.
“You’re right…” Damian murmured, half in awe, half in disbelief. “This doesn’t stand out at all.”
If anything, their masks felt almost restrained compared to the spectacle around them.
“Everyone’s been waiting for this moment to let loose,” Aracila said with a shrug, familiar with the festival’s exuberance. “They pull out all the stops they’ve been saving up.”
Damian’s eyes sparkled like a child seeing a circus for the first time, and Aracila couldn’t help but find it endearing. A soft laugh escaped her as she grabbed his arm and pulled him forward. “Come on, let’s go have some fun. There’s so much to do at the Founding Festival!”
─── ･ ｡ﾟ✧: *. ꕥ .* :✧ﾟ. ───
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