Ophelia blinked.

For a moment, she wondered why she was back in the forest. And then she realised that she wasn’t.

After all … this wasn’t the forest.

It was just a normal one.

Or at least it was until she’d crashed into it, taking several trees with her.

Lying flat on her back, she took in the stars blinking amidst a canopy of gently dancing leaves.

Stars.

She thought that was nice. Elven forests were too practical for that.

A hole in the forest ceiling meant a hole for an intruder to fly through. And if there was one thing elves disliked more than tourists, it was anything remotely fae-shaped.

She spent a moment admiring the constellations, then slowly turned her face to the left.

There, right beside her, a fruit slime was slowly absorbing an orange. And while eating the peel wasn’t particularly strange, the fact it was there at all was.

As monsters at the bottom of the food chain, fruit slimes bounced away from anything that wasn’t a newly born squirrel.

For a fruit slime to have deemed Ophelia unthreatening enough that it could absorb dinner in peace was all that needed to be said about how far she’d fallen. Literally and figuratively.

Ophelia the Snow Dancer.

An S-rank elven sword saint.

A beautiful elven maiden whose services were courted by the very shadows, whose prowess in the art of stabbing everything was matched only by her talent at sewing mittens and scarves.

And she’d just been punted away after asking a princess to marry her.

Just like that.

As a result, Ophelia could only stare.

And then–

“Wooooooo! She didn’t say no!”

She threw her arms upwards as though to hug the moon.

Such was the smile gracing her face, anyone seeking to hire her would slink past in search of the nearest other elven maiden instead.

Ophelia was shocked.

She really didn’t expect that to go so well.

True, she was generally amazing at everything she did. Whether it was picking up a new hobby or a weapon, natural talent and overlapping skills meant she was already an expert before she even began.

But when it came to the art of courtship, she was well and truly as inexperienced as a maiden could be.

However, unlike other maidens, she had overwhelming confidence on her side … and more importantly, a step-by-step action plan.

Step 1: Subtly advertise her housekeeping skills.

Step 2: Repay all the crowns she owed.

Step 4: Decide whether it was going to be a church or forest ceremony.

Granted, her plan might have changed several times over the course of several hours. Often over several minutes as well. Maybe even while deciding where to point that really big dwarven cannon.

But in the end, marriage was clearly the only sensible option.

After all, it meant they could still murder each other later if they wanted to.

Yes.

Ophelia was satisfied.

Even if her head hurt.

Again.

There was definitely another bump forming. She could feel it creeping up on her. A tingling slowly getting worse even as the soft grass cradled her. It was pretty much the same sensation as last time.

And that … was still amazing!

Despite all the things that had happened to her since she headbutted a pillar, nothing caused her to start reading up about home soothing balms like a crazy human girl who was still first and foremost a rival.

With that kind of mutual bond, there was no chance of boredom.

They might stab each other. But they’d never get divorced.

The aunties were going to be disappointed.

With a stable relationship like that, they’d be scraping the barrel for gossip. She just needed to survive the first few months. The moment they saw a princess admiring her cozy cottage, the rumours would begin spreading like wildfire.

“–Pfffffft.”

And they’d probably be started by the girl struggling to maintain her composure.

Ophelia turned her face to the right.

Garter belt. Stockings. Roulette skirt. Shoulderless waistcoat.

Sitting at the base of a tree, a familiar figure was forgetting that she was supposed to be needlessly cryptic even though all it did was make her own job harder.

She covered her mouth with both hands, but even if her smile was hidden, the amusement in her eyes of scarlet and gold was as clear as the moonlight perfectly angled to only partially reveal her daringly dressed figure.

There was also her laughter.

“Pwahahahahahaha!”

Now needing to hold her stomach, the Dealer childishly swung her legs, a genuine smile released to the world.

Ophelia was quite proud of herself.

She had plenty of ways to harass mysterious figures in the shadows, but making them break character was still really hard to do.

“Ah.” The girl wiped a tear from her eye, slowly recovering as she sat up against the tree. “That was quite something. Your reputation doesn’t do you justice. It takes bravery beyond any sword saint in history to attempt what you just did.”

Ophelia shrugged. She didn’t bother sitting up for this.

Besides, the stars were pretty.

“Other sword saints aren’t very picky. I have standards. That means whoever catches my eye needs to survive being stabbed at least once.”

“So I see. I congratulate you on an excellent start, then. I believe your chances of securing the princess’s affection after failing to stab her are very high.”

“I know.”

“That was a lie.” The Dealer plucked a daisy from the grass, then began separating the petals. “Your hopes are utterly doomed.”

“That’s just realism speaking. I’m confident this will work.”

“Confidence is important. But it won’t fill the gaps. I can help with that.”

“Great. I’ll pass. Don’t get me wrong, I like shady schemes, but only when it bothers other people.”

“This isn’t a shady scheme. Just an act of charity. And while I’m usually not allowed to sneeze without an ulterior motive, the truth is that I cannot bear to see a fellow maiden in need. As a hopeless romantic, this matters too much to me. If you permit me to assist, you shall find me an invaluable ally to your cause.”

Ophelia hummed.

She didn’t believe the girl in the slightest, of course. This was someone who spent so long in the shadows that vampires probably told her to get sunlight.

Still, she decided to listen.

She needed to determine where to stab with the wooden spoon she still had on herself. This girl was trouble. And Ophelia wanted to be the princess’s only problem.

“Do you have experience with these things, then?”

“I have experience in witnessing more failed courtships than I care to recount. And I understand that yours will join the long and inglorious list. You have a title, but no lands and no wealth. Your worth needs to be higher. You need crowns. More than you can steal.”

Ophelia nodded.

Left kidney. Single jab. Instant immobilisation. She just needed an opening.

“The answer is the same as last time. Not interested. You can skip the sales pitch.”

“This is merely the truth. The princess desires to secure the prosperity of her realm. She also requires a marriage partner suitable for her high status. Your title alone is not enough. To earn her approval, you’ll require a considerable amount of both standing and wealth. Otherwise, there’s no reason at all for her to consider you.”

Ophelia sat up.

Then, she simply pointed at herself while nodding.

“Me. A beautiful elven maiden is the reason. Wars have been fought for less.”

“True, but I’m afraid such shallowness is unlikely to move your princess.”

“I also have a great personality. And also a cottage.”

“She has a tower. She doesn’t need a cottage.”

“That’s because she hasn’t seen it. It’s seriously cozy. Why do you think someone like me hasn’t moved to a bigger kingdom? Once she sees it, I’m 100% confident she’ll be losing rock, paper, scissors to me over furniture decisions.”

“You’ll still need more. Even if the princess is satisfied … which she won’t be, the king and queen will not. A betrothal gift is required in excess of what you can pay. There’s an opportunity cost in allowing you to marry into royalty. She represents an alliance with another kingdom, another family. Sadly, while there’s merit in forming closer ties with the elves, you’ve deliberately ostracised yourself from the forests.”

Ophelia groaned.

She was starting to regret what happened during the last family gathering. It’s not like she needed to stab all of them back. Just half of them would have been enough.

“... Fine. You get one try at convincing me. No more.”

The Dealer’s smile sharpened. She wasted no time.

“Should you lend your expertise to Lotus House, the Grand Duchess has in her endless generosity agreed to grant you the title of marquess. A very rare and prestigious honour, bringing you at once into the upper echelons of nobility. It is a suitable rank for marriage to a 3rd princess.”

“Yeah. And I’m sure she’ll hear me shouting the title while she’s walking away. There’s no chance she’ll buy that I’m suddenly nobility. Besides, I’m pretty sure she doesn’t like you guys.”

Ophelia raised a hand to the edge of her lips, loudly whispering her next words.

“Psst. Nobody does.”

“I didn’t say the title would be for Granholtz,” said the Dealer, accepting the truth without quarrel. “Name the nation. Any nation. The Summer Kingdoms. Lissoine. Rozinthe. The Dunes. A preserved roll of ancestry will happen to be discovered by a group of respected adventurers. Corroborated by a dozen archmages, it will prove through a carefully concealed marriage that you are now the rightful heir to a noble title and a significant plot of land, ousting whoever has illegally sought to lay claim to your inheritance in your absence.”

Ophelia glanced to the corner in thought.

“Deal,” she said with a click of her fingers.

“Oh? … That was fast. How wonderful. Then have you also decided–”

“But I want a better title.”

The representative from Lotus House didn’t betray a moment of surprise.

Haggling, after all, was something she did as often as trolls.

“Marquess is a very high ranking title, Miss Snow Dancer.”

“Yeah. But I want a higher one.”

“… I see. So you wish to become a duchess. That is considerably more difficult. But perhaps I–”

“Nope. I want to be a princess.”

The Dealer paused, her smile frozen.

“Excuse me?”

“I want to be a princess. Then there’ll be zero complaints if I marry one as well.”

“You can’t be a princess.”

“Why not?”

“Because royalty is different from nobility. It is very hard to engineer proof of such a claim.”

“Why not? Just find a tiara with my name on it. Also make it blue to match my eyes.”

“A tiara with your name on it presents its own problems. Even if it were accepted as proof of royal lineage, all it would mean is gaining more enemies than you can count. Whereas nobility can be evicted, royalty cannot. You would cause either a civil war, or more likely, every professional assassin in the continent to seek the bounty on your head.”

“I’m already sold. You don’t need to sell me more.”

The Dealer raised an eyebrow.

“I can offer you the title of duchess. No more. Perhaps with rumours of royal connections via a distant cousin of somebody’s aunt.”

Ophelia nodded … and then shook her head.

“Still a pass. I’m just going to get a diamond instead.”

“... I see. May I ask if you were ever open to considering my offer?”

“Nope. But I wanted to see what the standard rate for bribery was these days. All I need is a diamond. If I can’t be a princess, I’m just going to stick with mine. My title is better than everything else.”

The Dealer brought up her knees, then idly hugged them.

It was the most casual negotiation either of them had probably enjoyed. Declining invitations into shadowy organisations would be a lot easier if everyone could do it while sitting on a patch of grass.

“My, that’s a shame. Then I suppose I should wish you luck … except I did speak the truth about wishing to help.”

The Dealer pointed with a finger behind her.

As she smiled, both her eyes of scarlet and gold flashed.

“Allow me to offer something for free–in exchange for making me laugh. A diamond of particular note can be found in the royal capital. Perhaps it will do. Just.”

“Oh, okay. I mean, I figured as much. It’s where everything is. But I really can’t rob the Royal Treasury. It’ll sort of defeat the point of me getting a diamond in the first place.”

“The diamond I refer to isn’t in the Royal Treasury, but in another vault just as closely guarded. You can find it in the heart of the Adventurer’s Guild, under the auspices of Guildmaster Timon Quinsley.”

Ophelia hummed in thought.

The vault in Reitzlake’s Adventurer’s Guild was said to contain treasures from the very founding of the guild itself. She’d even peeked through the doors once or twice to consider having a look. Except the smiles from the receptionists always made her feel uneasy.

Guards didn’t worry her. But for some reason, they did.

“There’s something else there as well,” said the Dealer, looking pleased as she rested her chin against the pillow that were her arms. “A thing equal in worth to any jewel. There’s a unique sword in that vault called … the Severing Oath.”

“The princess doesn’t need a sword.”

“No, but you do. I think it would suit you nicely. It’s a masterwork weapon fit for royalty, forged by a human and an elven blacksmith in ages past. If the princess sees you wielding it, I’m certain she’ll be deeply impressed. That is my feeling.”

Ophelia nodded.

Then, she rose to her feet, all the while smiling in appreciation.

“Alright! Thanks for the help.”

“It’s my–”

Thwunk.

Suddenly, the girl vanished as a wooden spoon lodged itself like a knife against the tree she’d been sitting against. Newest update provided by novel※fire.net

Ophelia hadn’t expected anything else. But she was still intrigued by what she saw.

Gone in the blink of an eye. But it wasn’t magic that allowed her to disappear. Nor was it a martial technique. Now that was something weird enough to impress her.

She’d probably need to give it more thought before the next time they met. One of these days, she’d probably need to stab her.

But first things first–

Quack, quack.

Ophelia beamed as a pair of friendly ducks waddled through a shrub.

Both of their beaks, even Duck A’s, were slightly purple from where they’d clearly nibbled on every blackberry on the way here.

She kneeled down, scooped them up, then turned towards the royal capital.

The Royal Treasury was now off-limits. But all that meant was that she could visit the next best thing. A vault found in one of Reitzlake’s most popular tourist attractions.

“Okay! It’s time to rob the Adventurer’s Guild!”

A pair of ducks looked up at her, nodding in agreement.

She smiled as she skipped away.

After all, despite what any scandalously dressed figures in the shadows said, Ophelia really didn’t need a roll of parchment for her to have a fancy title.

All it took was her own fame … and while she was still the Snow Dancer, when all was said and done, perhaps she’d also be known as something else.

What would she get for marrying the crazy human girl?

An answer came to her at once.

The Snow Princess. That sounded nice.