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Among them, families who owned houses in areas that were inaccessible without immense wealth, such as Santurtu Street or the vicinity of Tyumen Square, typically began their activities around early February.
The reason was that in early February, the 19 Nobles' Council's
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was held in Makhachkala. Since most of the Ohala Empire's historic high nobility belonged to this Council of 19 Nobles, an early season naturally formed.
This season, which started about three weeks early, was called the Winter Social Season, and the gentlemen and ladies who could immerse themselves in it were treated as noble aristocrats whom everyone looked up to.
Judging by Tatyana's remarks, it seemed the Tolstoy family, to which a woman named Emma belonged, were high nobles who spent the Winter Social Season in Makhachkala. In truth, whether Emma was a high noble or a stable hand was none of my business. What mattered here was that the likelihood of Valentin pretending to be busy using this Winter Social Season as an excuse had become very, very high.
“He’s definitely packing his schedule on purpose to avoid me. That way, he has an excuse to reject my invitations, which are as persistent as a leech.”
“My cute little kitten? That might just be your narcissism talking. I doubt there is anyone busier in Makhachkala right now than Valentin Dmitriev. There's a line of people around the block trying to have a single conversation with him before his coming-of-age ceremony.”
“This is different. My gut is telling me. That damn Valentin is intentionally screwing me over. Right, Vasily?”
Vasily chose silence. It was practically an indirect admission.
I couldn't be certain, but since the prophecy that day, the relationship between Vasily and Valentin seemed to have grown stronger. It wasn't that Valentin visited the Imperial Palace every single day, but whenever Vasily went out for a long time or wrote letters late into the night, the recipient was usually Valentin.
Far from the prophecy creating a rift between them, it seemed they were eliminating problems, large and small, through conversation and cooperation.
'Leaving only me out.'
I felt a bit slighted.
“Aha. Right, a cat's intuition is scarier than a human's. Is that why you plan to send a tenth invitation today?”
“No.”
“Then?”
I silently stared at the forehead of Vasily, who was busy maintaining his silence. I stared so intensely that it wouldn't have been strange if a hole had been burned right through the middle. After finishing his third newspaper and emptying his teacup, he finally spoke.
“Ivan, you help Lara with her outing today. I heard you were also invited to Miss Emma Tolstoy's poetry reading? Take Lara with you.”
“Wait. What?”
The second son, Ivan, who had been half-heartedly eating, looked at Vasily with an expression as if he had been unexpectedly hit in the back of the head. Even so, Vasily's attitude was firm.
“Lara hasn't had many chances to go out lately. I've been busy, and Tanya has been busy too. Haven't you been busy playing around lately? Spend a day with her.”
“Brother. You're using fancy words, but in the end, you're just saying that since Valentin is attending the poetry reading, I should help Lara get a glimpse of his face, aren't you?”
“Of course. Do you think I'd go to enjoy a poetry reading, which has absolutely zero fun in it?”
When I craned my neck and answered in Vasily's stead, Ivan turned to me with a face that looked like he was grinding his teeth. I felt sorry for Ivan, but this was an opportunity I had barely managed to secure by acting cute—or something like that—in front of Vasily last night.
Meet Valentin at the poetry reading. Pester him. Get an apology. Make him my subordinate. Today was the day of the decisive battle to achieve that grand plan.
“I hope you don't spout any nonsense there, Lara.”
“Does that mean you'll take me?”
“Sigh... I wondered why you were being strangely well-behaved.”
Fearing that Ivan might abandon me, I entered the dining room already fully prepared for the outing. Ivan, who was tearing into bread with a dissatisfied look, filled his stomach without confirming or denying. Then, without even glancing my way, he engaged in a conversation with Vasily about the state of the Empire.
I clung stubbornly to Ivan's side until the short lunch ended, and then I climbed into the pod with him. Ivan, who sat me next to him, had a face of half-resignation.
“No matter how much I think about it, you were raised far too spoiled, Lara.”
Offended by those words, I narrowed my eyes and replied.
“Why the sudden act of generosity? I don't remember ever being spoiled by you.”
“Does the fact that I'm the one taking you right now not even register?”
“Yes, thank you. I'm not being sarcastic; I mean it.”
If someone asked me which sibling I was least close to, ten times out of ten, I would pick Ivan.
In fact, Ivan, the third child of the Imperial family and Tatyana's twin, was distant not only with me but with all his siblings. Up until three years ago, the distance between Ivan and me had been as narrow and intimate as the distance between him and Tatyana, but at some point, we had drifted apart rapidly and never recovered.
He spent far more time wandering outside than staying in the Imperial Palace, and unless it was the semi-mandatory breakfast attended by the siblings, meeting him privately was as difficult as plucking a star from the sky.
'Does Ivan find family annoying?'
He generally avoided deep conversations with us, sticking to trivial chatter, and he especially refused to go on a single outing with me. A considerable amount of time had passed while both he and I grew to dislike each other.
It was so bad that today's walk was the first time in nearly a year that the two of us were going out alone.
Family.
Searching through my memories, the point where Ivan started acting crooked was quite clear. It began the season four years ago when our uncle, Duke Libertan, went into seclusion due to an unexpected decline in health.
Ivan, who had followed our uncle more than any of us, became noticeably quieter and his complexion grew dark after he left the capital. It wasn't that I disliked our uncle, but looking back, it seemed he had been particularly kind to Ivan.
'Is Uncle still very sick?'
Just how vicious a disease could it be to require recuperation in the countryside for four whole years?
Sometimes I imagine Ivan becoming kind and friendly again, as he was before, once he returns. However, whenever I ask my parents about our uncle's well-being, the answer is always, "He is in a state where he needs a little more time." Four years ago, and even now.
'He couldn't have died, could he?'
Right, no way. Would he have closed his eyes in the meantime? If he had passed away, we would have had a funeral. Of course! Absolutely.
Ivan gave me a piece of advice in passing with a sullen face.
“You haven't forgotten Tanya's words, have you? You'd better give up on Valentin.”
“Give up on what?”
“Your feelings for Valentin.”
“I never even started having any. Why is everyone deciding whether I like him or not without my permission? I have absolutely no intention of having that damn Valentin as a husband!”
“Damn, what? ...Then why on earth are you obsessed with Valentin? It can't be because you find the title of 'Prophet' fascinating.”
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