“How can they be so much like your younger self? No, I think they could be worse. There’s not a trace of childlike innocence in them.”

She seemed to be about to say, “Why do they have to be like that?” but quickly stopped herself when she caught Swan’s suspicious look.

“So how was your rhetoric lesson? It was your first with Lord Danry, so I imagine it must have been a challenge to keep up.”

“It was fun. He said I was better than Rigen.”

“Who said that? Lord Danry? No, I was better. He said so.”

Rigen, circling at his feet and clearly wanting to be held, quickly interrupted Klaus’ words. Atlion scooped Rigen up in his other arm and planted a kiss on his cheek. 

“Looks like you both did well.”

“I said I did better.” 

“No, I did better. Lord Danry said so.”

“All right, all right. It sounds like you both did well. Your father was good at rhetoric too.”

Atlion said with a deep chuckle and planted a kiss on each of his bickering sons’ heads. 

Today had been the twins’ first lesson in rhetoric. 

When they finished, Atlion would meet with their teacher, Lord Danry, to discuss their progress. To be honest, Lord Danry admitted, the boys didn’t show any exceptional talent. Of course, they weren’t unintelligent – given time and effort, they would improve. But it might be unrealistic to expect ground-breaking academic achievements. 

Atlion didn’t mind. After all, he hadn’t been particularly fond of rhetoric as a child either. He was average at best, but never exceptional. If anything, his younger brother Calyps had been much better at academic studies.

Even their late father, the Emperor, used to say, *What good is a ruler who excels at rhetoric?* Solerium was, at its core, a nation of knights – a land where chivalry was valued above all else.

The twins had inherited Atlion’s talents, showing greater aptitude for swordsmanship and military tactics. In fact, they seemed to excel at everything physical. They were riding horses by the age of three, trotting confidently in the saddle. They may even have had a greater talent for horsemanship than Atlion himself.

As he gently calmed the twins, who were bickering like proper children for once, Atlion’s gaze fell on Theo’s child, whom Mirabella was holding. Swan stood nearby, smiling at the little one as if she were her own daughter.

“I’ve never seen a commoner’s child before. I thought they were really ugly…”

Rigen whispered softly. Though his tone was indifferent, the way he kept casting furtive glances showed he wasn’t entirely disinterested. Klaus, too, seemed mildly curious, staring at the child with a steady gaze.

“She’s cute, isn’t she?”

“What?”

Rigan hesitated, his lips twitching before his cheeks turned red. 

“Ah, no. She’s not pretty. She’s ugly. Clody’s much prettier.”

Clody was Calyps and Liriette’s youngest daughter, born late in the family. As the youngest, she was showered with affection, but she was also a huge troublemaker, wild and untamed. The twins found her incredibly annoying. 

In fact, they didn’t just find her annoying – they dreaded her visits to the palace. On days when Clody arrived, the twins would spend the whole day avoiding her, running from one place to another. And yet… 

“Be kind to her. She’s just a baby.”

“Even though she’s a commoner?”

Having been born princes and lived their entire lives within the palace walls, the twins had a strict understanding of rank and status. It was natural. After all, the difference between classes and positions was deeply ingrained. 

Still, Theo’s child was someone Swan considered special. For his part, Atlion didn’t want to treat her coldly either. 

In any case, it had been Atlion who had allowed this visit. He wanted to see for himself that Theodor Dianton had indeed moved on with his life.

He thought of the man who had probably just crossed the border and arrived. Wasn’t there something about delays in Dale due to the business of his trading caravan? Theodor had sent word to Swan that he would send his wife and daughter ahead to Solerium’s Triaton, their homeland, while he finished his work.

Now his wife was preparing to meet the Imperial couple, and his daughter sat here being adored by Swan.

“Even if she’s a commoner, a baby is still a baby.”

Klaus looked at the child. After putting the twins down, Atlion instructed them to treat her kindly. Only then did the twins soften their expressions and sit down in front of Muriel. They looked at her as if she were an exotic creature from a distant land. Of the two, it was Rigen who showed the most curiosity, reaching out to stroke Muriel’s chubby cheeks.

Watching her sons, Swan rose from her seat and walked over to Atlion. Instinctively, he wrapped his arms around her and planted repeated kisses on her cheek and the bridge of her nose. His gestures were unreserved, completely unconcerned with who might be watching. 

Swan had grown accustomed to such gestures. Where once she might have found them embarrassing, she realised that the nobles of the court had no qualms about openly loving their wives or mistresses. 

Though they rarely spoke the word love out loud, they didn’t seem to find it shameful to cherish their wives. It was strange, considering that commoners often behaved quite the opposite. 

Swan closed her eyes and rested her face against Atlion’s chest for a moment. The faint scent of peonies lingered on the emperor, who had matured into an impeccably dignified man. She inhaled deeply, as if to etch the scent into her being, then exhaled gently. Atlion looked down at her with tender affection before speaking.

“Shall we have lunch at the ‘Cabin’ today?” 

Swan lifted her head, her cheeks turning a rosy shade at the mention of the Cabin.

—

The Cabin, or Farmhouse as it was known to the Emperor and Empress, was their most private and intimate retreat – a secluded imperial villa within the palace grounds. To the imperial couple it was the Cabin, but to the court nobles and palace staff it was known as the Farmhouse. 

The sprawling Imperial Palace was a monumental structure steeped in the rich history and heritage of the Solerium Empire, which had flourished for generations. Majestic and grand, without a hint of fading grandeur, it was a symbol of Solerium’s pride and prestige. Yet Swan found it difficult to relate to this vast, almost overwhelming place. 

Even after her identity as the legitimate daughter of the Marquis of Clepassé had been revealed and the shadowy eyes that had been cast upon her had dissipated, Swan still found it difficult to embrace the palace and its ways. Being the daughter of the Marquis didn’t change the fact that she found the customs of the court strange and difficult to understand. 

For a time, even after the birth of her twin sons, Swan struggled with a deep sense of lethargy. Her fragile health, weakened by a mild postnatal fever, added to her malaise. 

It was during this time that she received the cabin as a gift. Saying he had something to show her, Atlion had roused her from her despair and led her through the palace’s glass greenhouse to a serene garden beyond. 

There, under the spring sun, the garden was alive with the vibrant colours of blooming lilacs and early roses. Towering deciduous trees with lush green foliage and neatly trimmed shrubs exuded a tranquil freshness. The wooden cottages, with their modest and unassuming roofs, stood in rows and exuded a charm rarely seen in the grandeur of the palace. Tall garden trees and the colourful blossoms of May painted a picture so idyllic that it was like strolling through a picturesque country village. 

It was a far cry from the grandeur of the Imperial Palace. Atlion, noticing Swan’s bewildered expression as she looked at the modest houses, led her on until they stopped in front of the house that stood in the middle of the garden. With Swan seated on the horse in front of him, Atlion lifted her gently to the ground and smiled.

“The Empress’s cosy garden.”

This little cabin was a gift from Atlion to Swan – a private villa given to the Empress by the Emperor who adored her. It was given to her after she gave birth to the twin princes, the proud heirs who would uphold the Empire. This retreat, far from the towering, imposing palace, belonged entirely to Swan. 

Unlike the Imperial Palace, where everything down to the smallest detail required the Emperor’s express permission, this modest yet elegant villa was entirely under Swan’s authority. Whatever she chose to do here was hers alone, free from interference. It was truly her sanctuary – her cozy cabin.

“I like it.”

Swan said, nodding at Atlion’s suggestion of spending the afternoon in the cabin. 

Even though the villa was under her control, Swan didn’t think of it as just her own space. To her, this place felt like a real home – a place where she and Atlion could shed the heavy crowns of Emperor and Empress and enjoy small, peaceful moments of rest together. 

For this reason, Swan had spent most of her time in the Cabin when the twins were still infants. Even Atlion often returned to the Cabin with Mirabella after leaving the main palace on official business. The Empress’s Cosy Garden had become a new sanctuary for the family – a place of rest and warmth. 

—

Although it was called a cabin, it was far from being an actual cabin. Of course, such a small and rustic structure would never be allowed within the grounds of the Imperial Palace. Had such a thing existed, it would have been quickly demolished as unsightly. 

But the cabin and the surrounding village-like retreat were designed for Swan alone. It was a place where she could reminisce about her childhood with her mother and relive the moment she first met Atlion. 

So it didn’t matter how much the Imperial cabin resembled the original. What mattered was that Atlion had given her a little home of her own. That he had given her the small but warm family she had always dreamed of was more than enough for Swan to feel grateful. 

“Can Myu come too?” 

Mirabella asked Swan, cradling Muriel in her arms like a doll. The cabin was quite a distance from the main palace, requiring either a carriage or horses to reach. 

Swan gently took the child, who had been awkwardly cradled in Mirabella’s arms, into her own and nodded. Mirabella beamed with joy and gracefully lifted the hem of her bright sky-blue dress as she skipped lightly down the corridor.

Rigen watched the small child cradled in her mother’s arms. Apart from Clody, he had never seen a child so small. But this one seemed even smaller than Clody. They had said she was three years old, but she seemed smaller and more fragile than Clody, who was the same age.

It seemed that if he held her too tightly, she might snap like a twig. Klaus had said the child looked stupid because she was a commoner, and Rigen had silently agreed. The round, chestnut head, the innocent face with the braids that made her look like a teddy bear, the green eyes that blinked open and closed under long, fluttering lashes – it was all ugly to him.

And despite her ugliness, she clung to her mother’s arms, which annoyed him even more. When Mirabella had held her, she had been quiet and still, but when Rigen had tried to hold her, she had whimpered and wriggled, retreating into her mother’s embrace. It made her seem even more disgusting.

Rigen sat in the carriage and stared at the child.

The child was holding a small doll that Mirabella had given her earlier. It was a finely crafted and intricate wax doll, dressed in a gown more luxurious than the child’s own. The doll’s clothing, a dress embroidered with delicate gold thread and striped at the sleeves and hem, was far too elaborate for a mere toy.

Such a dress was meant for a little girl, not a doll. Rigen stared at the commoner’s child, who blinked stupidly from her mother’s arms and clung to the doll.

“What are you looking at? How dare you!”