Chapter 13: Noble's Duties Are Too Much!

Skipping all the way to the back, instructions remind her to write a declaration that she's signing on behalf of Cole, who's usually the sibling taking care of military affairs.

Clicking her tongue in annoyance, she habitually reaches for the bell on the desk, lifting it and ringing it loudly. Contrary to her expectations, Frederick emerges through the door immediately, an expression of surprise on his face. "You called, my lady? Have you completed the work already?" he inquires frantically.

"No, but I have a question," she purses her lips. "Why do I have to do the military administration work in Cole's stead when Roseann could do it instead? I'd seriously prefer it if I could spend my hours recovering or doing more light-hearted activities."

Frederick tries to mask the surprise on his face to such an unexpected question. "You've always been much more proficient in such matters and have always offered to take up such responsibilities in scenarios that Master Cole is out on his duties. Furthermore, you're in charge of the political decisions of the house, I suggest you don't waver, my lady."

"What does Roseann do then?! All these papers are me signing on my brother's behalf, which, I think—" Myra flips the papers to briefly scan through the contents of the contractual papers.

"—don't exactly need my signatures or words of approval since Father has seen them himself. Whether or not the army barracks are doing alright isn't my concern, correct? I haven't been offered any context on the situation."

"My lady, the camp has been attacked by invaders. Your duties as such have all been chosen and regulated for you by the Duke. Not only do you have to come up with a strategy through which enough resources are sent for support, you are required to review the cultural affairs of the upcoming festivals to determine the contribution of the family and write a letter," Frederick pauses here to ensure he won't be panting mid-sentence.

"I request that you focus on your duties, else it will be impossible for you to finish in the little time that you've been permitted," Frederick elaborates and Myra finds herself sulking in disbelief, appalled as to the numerous duties which are now burdened upon her shoulders.

With the little memories she has of herself, Myra barely feels the pressure to rush, her mind fixated on the rumours about the crown prince searching for a bride.

Letting out a groan, she dismisses Frederick, reluctantly signing against the contractual papers, for which she has to reference old settlement papers to copy her signature.

Myra realises that being a noble daughter isn't something she can easily get used to, especially since she's stuck in the mind of a school girl for whom a luxurious life is unusual. Lazily scanning through the papers, her handwriting sprawls across pages, signing sluggishly against blank lines and empty spaces.

Within the first hour, she finds herself ready to doze off, eyes heavy-lidded and threatening to fall shut.

It's only when she accidentally slams her head against the table a little too hard that she jolts awake again, accidentally spilling ink onto the table. Luckily for her, none of the important paperwork gets stained, only a couple pages of a book she had left open to understand the cultural history behind an upcoming festival, the three-day Moonshine festival.

Seemingly hours pass and by the time Myra has cleared through the stack of paper work, she realises her back is excruciatingly achy. She stands to stretch, her muscles sore all over. Myra walks around the chair, looking out through the clear glass to the garden beneath her, hand wistfully pressed against it as she yearns to go outside.

'Oh, I still have the letter to write to Cole', she reminds mentally, hesitantly trudging back to her chair while unrolling a scroll of parchment which had been left for her use.

Dipping her feather quill into the ink, she hovers it above the page, pausing as she realises she doesn't know what to ask. 'Dear Lord Cole, my beloved brother,' she scribbles in cursive and then pauses, her mind going completely blank. 'I hope the weather is treating you well.'

Myra thinks, sitting back as she taps the pen against her chin. Starting off with basic courtesies, asking if the circumstances have changed, she continues while reading the words under her breath, 'Father has instructed me to ask for updates on the situation in the farwest. I am not entirely aware of what exactly has happened or details of the attack, all of which I am required to know before I am able to dispatch more help your way.'

Myra lifts the pen and scribbles against a rough piece of paper to get rid of excess ink. As of today, resources are being sent to aid your fight, mostly food and water in case those in your possession have been polluted by invaders. How is the town? Are the people safe?' and she keeps writing till it makes enough sense to cut the letter off there.

Signing off with the signature she's so sure has been ingrained into her hands, she folds the letter tightly and slips it into an envelope. With a vial of melted wax, she drips it lightly over the envelope to seal it, pressing it down with the wax seal with her family's emblem.

Letting out a huff, mixed with satisfaction and exhaustion, Myra rings the bell and Frederick, too conveniently, appears through the door.

"Perfect timing, my lady, I was just about to check on you," he comments. "Are you done with the work?" he questions, cautiously approaching the table with her permission. Myra nods, about to keep the quill away into a drawer until Frederick notices it.

"Oh, you are required to break the tip and dispose of the pen instead of putting it away."

Myra furrows her eyebrows but Frederick continues to stare pointedly at her, as if it isn't the rudest thing you could do with an authority, till Myra obliges and snaps the tip by pressing it against the table. She cleans the tiny splotches of spilled ink, disposing of it in the trash before standing nonchalantly.