Chapter 108 A New Troublemaker
The plate of cheese tarts in my hand almost slipped.
Oh no.
Out of everyone in this ballroom-sized hall, why did the unruly prince from the Empire of Thurn have to stop right in front of me?
Kurt stood there lazily, one hand in his pocket, his eyes fixed on me with clear mockery. He was doing this on purpose. This prince was famous for causing trouble at every royal event.
"Your dress is almost exactly the same color as that stone-faced general over there," Kurt repeated, raising his voice just enough for a few nobles nearby to hear. "Is it a planned couple's outfit, or are you preparing some kind of show, Miss Varannes?"
A few nobles at the buffet table immediately turned our way. The whispers that had died down started up again. Their stares were sharp, pinning me in place.
If this keeps up, I'll end up in the papers again tomorrow morning.
I took a deep breath and put on my fakest smile. Acting indifferent was the only way to survive in this novel.
"You must be mistaken, Your Highness," I replied, using the most innocent tone I could muster. "Maybe the palace tailor ran out of other colors besides midnight blue. Better to wear what I was given than show up in a burlap sack, don't you think?"
Kurt chuckled. His laugh was crisp, but his eyes were cunning. He looked completely bored by all the nobles who'd lined up earlier just to shake his hand. So, when he saw something odd—me, standing awkwardly in the corner in a dress that matched Claus—he instantly saw an opportunity for mischief.
He stepped closer. My space shrank. The buffet table pressed against my back.
"The matching outfits might be a coincidence," Kurt said, his lips curled in a sideways grin. "But as for the Varannes territory... I'm curious how much a little noble like you actually knows about your own land."
Thump.
My heart jumped into my throat.
Here it is. The first trap.
According to the political plot of this novel, Varannes plays a key role in the northern trade route.
But the economy's in trouble because of insane logistics taxes and poor management by the previous officials.
Kurt was throwing me a loaded question about commodities and taxes, hoping I'd freeze up, stammer, or cry like the usual pampered noble ladies who do nothing but dress up and sip tea.
He wanted to embarrass me in public. To make me tonight's entertainment.
My mind went into overdrive. My old corporate PR crisis mode kicked in automatically. Macroeconomic analysis, supply chain management, and lobbying strategy lined up in my head in seconds.
I gently set the plate down on the table. I looked straight into Kurt's eyes, unblinking.
"Oh, the commodities in our territory?" I asked sweetly, still feigning politeness. "We're currently in the middle of a fiscal restructuring, Your Highness. Even though logistics taxes have shot up thirty percent over the last two quarters, the Varannes family doesn't depend on palace subsidies."
Kurt, who had been smirking, immediately furrowed his brow. One pale eyebrow shot up.
I continued, my voice steady, measured, and confident—just like a COO presenting to a board of directors.
"The real problem isn't wheat production or iron mining, but the inefficiency in overland distribution, which is controlled by local cartels. If I were in charge, the first step I'd take is to cut out the paperwork for transit permits,
reroute logistics to independent river channels to lower operational costs, and move the tax center directly to the eastern port—bypassing palace middlemen entirely. That way, local profit margins could rise by at least 14 percent in a year,
and the capital's food price monopoly would collapse on its own."
Silence.
Suddenly, the buffet table was dead quiet.
The nobles nearby stared, mouths agape. It was as if I'd started speaking alien. Since when did a noble lady talk about fiscal restructuring, supply chains, and food monopolies at a royal engagement ball?
I realized I'd just gone full corporate-speak in the middle of a novel. Crap, my PR instincts are way too active!
I quickly put on a fake panicked face, bowing my head and forcing my voice to tremble, trying to sound cute.
"Ah... I-I mean... that's all, Your Highness. Sorry if I sounded rude. I'm just a silly girl who doesn't understand state affairs..."
I batted my lashes a few times, praying my dumb act was convincing enough.
But it was too late.
Prince Kurt didn't laugh mockingly anymore. The boredom had vanished from his face, replaced by something much more dangerous. His blue eyes widened, and suddenly a sharp, curious glint appeared there.
He looked me up and down—not with the earlier condescension, but like a hunter who'd just discovered a rare animal in a dead forest.
Kurt's lips curled into a wide, genuinely excited smile—far more enthusiastic than when he'd greeted the royal family earlier.
"Wow," Kurt whispered, his voice full of amazement. "A new toy."
His eyes sparkled with danger. He leaned in a little closer, whispering words that sent shivers down my spine.
"You're much more interesting than this entire boring party, Miss Ilse de Varannes."