Chapter 523 — The Banquet

"Mar... chioness?" Rebecca stared, pointing at her own nose as she questioned the duchess. "You're talking about me?"

"Is that not right? Under Ansu law, the first heir of a noble house, once of age, automatically assumes a title one rank below that of the parent until formally inheriting," Victoria said to Rebecca—though clearly the words were not meant for Rebecca alone. "Duke Gao Yang Cecil has already opened up land in the south befitting his rank, so in accordance with the agreement made that day at Silverkeep, the rights the Cecil family is due have been restored along with it."

Her gaze settled at last on Gao Yang, who merely gave a faint nod to show that he was aware of the matter.

The duchess's expression did not change, but inwardly she sighed.

As Wales Moen had said that day—what is already in the other's hands does not count as a gift. For an ancestor figure who had no need whatever to care about the Second Dynasty's attitude, "recognition" from Saint Sunil was utterly worthless.

Rebecca, for her part, was somewhat bewildered—she did know of the "agreement at Silverkeep" that Victoria mentioned, because she had been present when it was concluded. Back then, the Frostvein Order had reclaimed from Francis II the perpetual right of expansion granted seven hundred years prior, and the Second Dynasty had also declared its recognition of the Xuanmai Order's ducal title—but with conditions attached: Gao Yang Cecil's ducal title would be only a personal, perpetual honor, not hereditary for the time being, unless in his lifetime he could use the right of expansion to open up the minimum land required for a duchy; only then would the Cecil family's ducal title and its related powers be restored...

At the time, the great personages in Silverkeep had all seemed to think the Xuanmai Order could never carve a duchy out of the wasteland in one lifetime.

In fact the Xuanmai Order really hadn't carved a duchy out of the wasteland—he had simply wiped out the southern nobles. That was nothing like what had been agreed...

Rebecca—the new Marchioness of Cecil—blinked her muddled eyes, scribbling formulas in that head of hers so good with machinery and fireballs, trying to work out the difference between "ownerless land seized after wiping out the people on it" and "genuinely ownerless land in the wasteland." Before she could figure it out, she saw that her own Ancestor had begun chatting on with the duchess as naturally as could be: the Ancestor seemed not the least surprised, and the duchess did not mention a single detail of the pact made that day...

Rebecca thought it over and suddenly decided politics was truly formidable—so everyone could just be shameless...

Before Gao Yang, Victoria was raising her cup slightly. "With the kingdom in such turmoil, having a powerful guardian duke holding the south gives everyone in Silverkeep a good deal more peace of mind."

Gao Yang raised his cup as well, smiling. "That's excellent to hear—it seems this outdated old fellow is still rather popular."

The two guardian dukes exchanged courtesies, clinked cups amicably, and spoke their polite words, each turning over thoughts in their mind the very opposite of what their lips said—and leaving the reporters at one side of the hall, shouldering their arcanonet terminals, the most perfectly angled photographs of the occasion.

With that, Gao Yang made ready to leave—as the host of this banquet, he had more than one guest to attend to.

There was still much he and Victoria Wilde had left unspoken, but he was in no hurry; the truly important matters were meant to be discussed after the feast.

Watching her own ancestor turn to go, Rebecca waved. "Grandpa Yanren—can I have a few more cakes today?"

Gao Yang did not look back. "Just don't stuff yourself sick."

"Hey! I know!"

Moments later, another plate of cake had appeared in Rebecca's hands. The newly minted lady marquis was beaming, showing off to Victoria. "You should try this—Mr. Paul Sade's cakes are as good as his roast meat."

So utterly carefree.

Victoria Wilde looked at Rebecca—at this girl with cream already smeared across her face, whose manner was not in the least that of a lady marquis—and could not help shaking her head.

"Not having any?"

"No. I'm just a little envious of you."

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