At this, Cleta glanced at the maids stationed nearby. It was a silent request to send them away. Helia waved her hand, and the maids promptly left the room as if waiting for the cue.

Only after the two were alone did Cleta finally speak after a brief pause.

“Wouldn’t you have something you’d like to say to me directly? I’m here to listen.”

It was a rather arrogant remark. On top of that, throwing out an ambiguous topic without getting straight to the point was precisely the kind of language commonly used in social circles. Helia smirked. The casual lowering of speech, as if it were a given, was just the beginning.

“If it’s not about dancing a social waltz with me but a transaction you’re after, then you’d better show the proper attitude.”

Cleta’s eyes widened slightly in surprise, but she maintained her unshaken smile. After a brief silence, she spoke softly.

“You’re accepting witches, I hear.”
Helia had anticipated this topic. However, Cleta was the first person to speak directly to her about it.

Helia looked at Cleta intently. She sat upright, meeting Helia’s gaze boldly. Helia could easily detect the tiny sparks flickering within her. The moment she saw that light, she understood—there was no need for unnecessary mind games.

“That’s right.”

“My father was outraged, threatening to sever all ties with the revolutionary army immediately.”

As expected. It wasn’t surprising, especially given that the elderly from the southern provinces, who were resistant to change and maintained a conservative stance, would clash with her. It was also why Ikael was struggling. No matter how cleverly he maneuvered, countering influential families like the Marquis of Harpers was difficult. The other day, he had complained to her that there seemed no way to win them over.

Helia nodded and asked, “So?”

“I told him I’d speak with Her Highness the Princess and asked him to calm down.”

“What are you planning to say? For the record, if it’s about abandoning the witches, I won’t listen.”

Helia preemptively set up a defense. But Cleta simply smiled faintly. Was she wrong? As Helia pondered internally, Cleta brought up an unexpected subject.

“I want to ask about your country. In that country, can I inherit my family?”

Helia froze, her gaze locked on Cleta. She still sat with her shoulders back and perfectly upright, asking her questions. However, the friendly glint in her eyes from moments earlier had vanished. Her face had lost its smile, now devoid of expression, her eyes emotionless. Helia observed the transformation slowly.

“As far as I know, your younger brother is alive and well to inherit.”

Cleta Harpers was the eldest daughter of the Harpers family. With a younger brother who was only two years her junior, it was customary for the title and family inheritance to pass to him. Titles were typically inherited by the eldest son, and daughters could inherit if there were no sons. However, in most cases, a close relative was adopted to continue the line, making it rare for daughters to receive titles. Furthermore, titles could not be arbitrarily transferred; the only way to renounce one was to return it to the state.

“That’s precisely why I’m asking Your Highness.”

“…”

“I want to inherit my family, not kill my brother.”

Cleta spoke nonchalantly as she lifted her teacup to her lips. She believed herself more suited for the marquisate than her brother. It frustrated her that she couldn’t even compete for the position simply because she was a woman.

Helia reflected. It made sense. She was the firstborn, already skilled enough to dominate social circles at a young age. By contrast, her brother was reportedly an incompetent scoundrel. It was undoubtedly unfair.

Helia was glad she had decided to establish a new nation. It meant her word could become law. Correcting such absurd principles would have been more challenging if she had merely inherited Baileys. Building a palace on barren land was more straightforward than constructing a doghouse on crowded soil.

“In a world where I’m the queen and witches establish guilds, there’s no reason you couldn’t inherit your family.”

Cleta visibly relaxed and smiled. Helia could sense the desperation that had driven her here, all for that single answer. However, simply granting her request without reciprocation wasn’t a proper transaction.

“Now it’s my turn to ask.”

“Please, go ahead.”

“Can you persuade the Marquis of Harpers?”

Cleta’s eyes gleamed as she confidently replied.

“Don’t worry. I’ll take full responsibility for convincing my father.”

“Alright.”

“The one who was so anxious about how to pass down the title was none other than my father. If I return with this news, he’ll gladly accept it.”

“The Marquis of Harpers?”

Helia didn’t bother to hide her surprise. It was hard to imagine the rigid elder of the southern region fussing over handing down a title to his daughter.

“Otherwise, the title would’ve gone to my incompetent younger brother. He has no interest in the marquisate whatsoever.”

Cleta shrugged her shoulders. Indeed, capable heirs were essential to preserve the reputation of a prestigious family. Passing down the title to an incapable son merely due to his gender risked erasing all the family had built. There were fallen nobles who had lost everything but the nominal title due to such decisions. For the Marquis of Harpers, who valued the family’s honor above all, it must have been a source of sleepless nights. To someone who truly prioritized the family’s legacy, the heir’s gender would be a secondary concern.

That made what Helia was about to say even more crucial. Deciding to seal the matter, she opened her mouth.

“Your family’s legacy won’t disappear or require rebuilding. I promise its prestige will continue in the new nation as well.”

“In that case, we shall pledge our loyalty to Your Highness in the name of Harpers.”

The words she had most wanted to hear were finally spoken. Helia smiled in satisfaction, feeling like she had overcome the highest mountain.

Once the news spread that Helia had secured an alliance with Harpers, convincing others became significantly more straightforward. Most nobles, having regained their composure, aligned themselves accordingly. Meanwhile, Ikael focused on keeping the practical officials and their subordinates in check. When Helia inquired why, Lette responded nonchalantly.

“Is there anyone among the nobles of Bailey who doesn’t owe me their life?”

That is a perfectly reasonable explanation. Even if it was through some other power, the fact remained that they had survived and recovered, thanks to Lette. Why hadn’t witches united earlier if this was possible? When Helia asked, Lette shook her head.

“With such a long history of oppression, we instinctively hid our identities as witches, living scattered lives. Such an opportunity never arose.”

Helia understood. She was more than willing to provide if they had only needed a central figure to rally around. She wished they would settle in her nation, establishing roots, forming guilds, helping people with their power, and gaining influence. Lette laughed brightly, confidently assuring Helia that her wishes would come true.

✥✥✥

Helia continued meeting various individuals afterward. Those few bold enough to express dissatisfaction were granted direct audiences with her. However, once face-to-face, they were overwhelmed by her imposing presence and struggled to voice their grievances. Even complaints about Lette were met with, “So you believe you can be more helpful than a witch?” leaving them without a rebuttal. Helia didn’t stop there, challenging them further.

“If you still have complaints, prove yourself through results. Then you won’t be treated as less than a witch.”

Left with no choice, they poured their energy into doing their utmost.

After meeting and calming the unrest individually, Helia finally summoned Enoch. He had been growing anxious, wondering if she intended to discard him. If so, she should’ve done so earlier. He couldn’t comprehend Helia’s actions—continuing to assign him tasks while saying nothing to him.

Enoch’s feelings toward Helia were complicated. Learning the truth had filled him with guilt, but a lingering resentment toward her remained. His deep-seated hatred for the Bailey royal family made it difficult to let go. Yet, he also resented himself for still harboring ill feelings toward her. Torn between conflicting emotions, he spent restless days.

Then came the news that she was summoning him. Enoch dressed in his finest attire and headed to Helia’s residence. The thought of a private meeting with her made him tense. Of course, the secret guards he had stationed under Ruben’s orders would be watching over them, but still.

Although Enoch was more of a strategist than a fighter, he was better than Ikael at climbing. Scaling the terrace was easy enough, though doing so late at night felt uncomfortable, like sneaking into someone else’s home. Still, it wasn’t sneaking if the homeowner had allowed it.

He tapped the window three times—a signal. There was no response. Carefully, he reached for the doorknob, which turned without resistance. He considered warning her to keep it locked for safety for a moment, but then he stopped himself. His habit of fussing over details under Ruben’s command had resurfaced. While his former master wouldn’t mind such interference, Helia might find it irritating.

Thinking about it left him feeling overwhelmed. Soon, his lord would change. The thought of how he should adapt to his new lord—or whether he would even be accepted—filled his mind with a haze, as if he had lost his way in a fog-laden forest.

“You’re here.”