Are Beast Nobles Supposed to Be This Lewd?

It took Mirabelle a little while before she could truly settle into breakfast.

A servant poured her a fragrant herbal tea whose delicate aroma carried hints of mint, lemon balm, and something floral she couldn’t quite place. She stirred in a spoonful of honey before taking her first cautious sip.

Warmth spread pleasantly through her stomach.

Almost against her own better judgment, she reached for one of Lonen’s newest creations, a still-warm pastry whose buttery layers practically melted on her tongue.

It was...

ridiculously good.

And somehow, the conversation never drifted anywhere dangerous.

Three generations of Duchesses spent the late morning on the terrace of Castle Luchsenstein, contentedly eating their way through an absurd amount of pastries while discussing nothing more threatening than the journey from the coast, the unusually pleasant weather, and the ever-growing list of wheat recipes Lonen had apparently become obsessed with.

Little by little, Mirabelle felt the tension leaving her shoulders.

The birds sang in the gardens below.

Porcelain clinked softly against silver cutlery.

A gentle summer breeze carried the fragrance of flowers across the terrace.

Mirabelle found herself pleasantly surprised by how easy it was to talk to her grandmother.

The rigid severity she had projected upon her arrival had melted away entirely. Instead, the old Lynx woman listened with genuine interest as Mirabelle explained how Luchsenstein had come into possession of wheat flour and what had followed since.

When a pair of servants erected large sun canopies against the heat, she watched with mild curiosity. Rather than modern umbrellas, they planted sturdy wooden poles into heavy stone bases before raising broad rectangular wooden frames between them. Fine linen cloth was then stretched across the structure until cool patches of shade spread over the terrace.

The difference was immediate. The harsh warmth of the late-morning sun disappeared from her skin, replaced by pleasantly cool shadows dancing in the breeze.

For a fleeting moment...

It felt like continuation of a perfect morning.

Perhaps the interrogation had been postponed after all?

Which was precisely why her grandmother’s next question caught her completely off guard:

"What does a Duchess possess?"

Mirabelle barely looked up from the slice of bread she’d just coated with an entirely unreasonable amount of butter.

"Lands."

"Wrong."

The single word sliced cleanly through the peaceful atmosphere. Gone was the conversational warmth from moments before.

Her grandmother’s voice had become sharp.

Measured. As cold and precise as a knife.

Mirabelle stiffened so suddenly she nearly dropped the bread in her hand. She slowly lifted her eyes to the elderly Lynx woman.

’What does a Duchess possess?’

There had to be something she was missing.

"...A castle?"

The slight upward inflection at the end betrayed that she was guessing.

"Wrong."

Her grandmother calmly took another bite of her croissant. Completely unhurried.

"...My title?"

Mirabelle glanced sideways toward her mother. Miranda appeared utterly fascinated by the fruit tart on her own plate.

No help was coming.

"Also wrong."

This time, her grandmother carefully placed the croissant back onto her plate. She folded her hands neatly in her lap.

Then she sat even straighter than before and fixed Mirabelle with those piercing grey eyes.

"A Duchess possesses nothing except responsibility." A pause. "Everything else belongs to the Duchy.

And when does a Duchess cease to be a Duchess?"

Mirabelle swallowed.

That sounded like a trap.

Somehow, she was certain it was connected to the previous question. If a Duchess possessed nothing but responsibility...

"...When she no longer carries that responsibility?"

Her grandmother didn’t even bother calling the answer wrong this time.

"When she no longer has a duchy."

Silence settled over the table.

"Responsibility alone does not make a ruler, Mirabelle. It is responsibility for something.

Without a duchy, there is no Duchess. Only a woman with regrets."

Her grandmother’s words made sense.

They were almost painfully true.

Mirabelle reached for her teacup, taking a slow sip to hide the faint embarrassment creeping across her face. She had let herself become completely disarmed by the pleasant atmosphere.

Somewhere along the way, she’d forgotten that every word spoken across this table might be part of the examination.

’Not anymore!’ she told herself. ’Now I’m paying attention.’

Her grandmother simply picked up her pastry again and took another bite. Then, as casually as if they were still discussing the weather, she posed her next question:

"A village is under attack. Either the villagers or your soldiers will die." A pause.

"Which do you choose?"

Mirabelle had just taken another sip of tea.

She inhaled sharply. The tea went down the wrong way. She broke into a violent coughing fit.

Now, her mother looked at her with genuine concern as Mirabelle struggled to catch her breath. It took several moments before the coughing subsided.

Only then did she look up at the elderly Lynx woman.

"...Excuse me?"

Her grandmother had calmly continued eating throughout the entire ordeal. She set down her cup.

"Mirabelle." Her voice remained perfectly even. "Do not pretend you’ve suddenly gone deaf. You understood my question perfectly."

Mirabelle stared at her in disbelief.

She was serious.

Actually serious.

What kind of question was that?

"There isn’t a right answer."

Those piercing grey eyes settled on her once more.

"I know." The old Lynx woman folded her hands loosely in her lap again. "That is precisely why I expect you to think about it."

"Then give me your answer."

Realization slowly dawned on Mirabelle.

Her grandmother wasn’t testing whether she knew the correct answer.

She wanted to see how her mind worked.

So Mirabelle began thinking out loud.

"If my soldiers die, Luchsenstein could be left dangerously undermanned for months. That would weaken our defenses and invite further attacks."

She paused briefly.

"If the villagers die instead, we’ll lose farmers, craftsmen, families... It could lead to food shortages, lost production, and cripple the local economy."

Her eyes drifted toward the gardens as she continued piecing the problem together.

"If I send my soldiers, but they die protecting the village, there’s still a good chance they’ll take many of the attackers with them before they fall.

Villagers can’t do that.

Most would simply be slaughtered."

She frowned.

"If I abandon the village entirely, the enemy suffers fewer losses. That makes another raid more likely."

Her fingers tightened around her teacup.

"And...

My soldiers chose this profession knowing they might die protecting others.

The people living in that village didn’t."

Silence settled over the terrace as she decided. Then Mirabelle finally looked up:

"I would sacrifice my soldiers.

Not because their lives are worth less...

...but because that’s the duty they willingly accepted, while the villagers never chose to become casualties of war."

Contrary to Mirabelle’s expectations, her grandmother didn’t comment on her answer.

Instead, she calmly dabbed the corners of her mouth with a linen napkin.

"Very well." She set the napkin aside.

"Your soldiers are dead. Now what?"

Mirabelle frowned.

"...Excuse me?"

"You made your decision. Live with it.

What do you do next?"

Once again, Mirabelle’s mind began racing.

"All right..." she murmured. "The attack has already happened."

She took a breath before continuing, thinking aloud:

"The villagers have fled. My soldiers are dead.

That means I have several immediate priorities.

First, I have to assess the damage. The village is likely devastated, so the survivors will either need temporary shelter elsewhere or the village must be rebuilt as quickly as possible.

If it’s rebuilt, I’d reinforce its defenses at the same time to reduce the chances of another successful attack.

I’d call on neighboring villages to send workers and whatever soldiers they can spare to speed up the reconstruction.

At the same time, I’d send warnings throughout the duchy, instructing every settlement to increase its watches and prepare for the possibility of further raids.

I’d also contact neighboring territories. I’d warn them of the attack and request military assistance if necessary. I’m fairly certain Rotwald, for example, would respond quickly."

Mirabelle’s mother nodded absentmindedly.

"I’d dispatch scouts to determine who carried out the attack, assuming we don’t already know, and whether they’re preparing to strike again.

Then I’d begin recruiting and training new soldiers immediately."

She paused for a moment before adding quietly, "And I’d make sure every person in my duchy knew exactly what those soldiers had died protecting.

Their sacrifice shouldn’t disappear into a report.

I’d also ensure that their mates and children are provided for."

One of her grandmother’s eyebrows rose ever so slightly. Mirabelle noticed.

She knew that wasn’t common practice on the Beast Continent.

"I firmly believe that soldiers fight differently when they know their territory will care for the families they leave behind.

A soldier who doesn’t fear for the future of his loved ones can devote himself completely to protecting everyone else’s."

"Interesting."

The old lynx female apparently had decided that she wasn’t done eating and reached for another piece of bread.

"Let’s see whether you’re willing to make the same decision..." Those pale eyes settled on Mirabelle once more. "...when the soldiers are your mates."