“Hey, Eugene. The kid seems to be in a mood today, so maybe tomorrow we should—”

Kyle’s teasing voice trailed off.

“What’s with you? Why that face?”

His purple eyes flickered with unease. Never before had he seen his friend—who always wore a smile as if nothing could reach him—look so hurt.

“…….”

At Kyle’s words, Rote peeked her head out from behind. Her bright green eyes widened.

“……Do you want me to leave?”

Eugene asked in a thin voice. The way his words trailed off, as if he had been drenched, made Rote purse her lips. Her small hand tightened on the hem of Kyle’s clothes.

“Uh—what would you even do if you grabbed me?”

Kyle slipped back, feigning ignorance. Meanwhile, Eugene stood silently for a moment before speaking again.

“If you don’t want to see me anymore… fine.”

The corners of his mouth, pulled up with effort, sagged at the slightest tremor. As he turned his back in defeat, he felt a slight tug.

“I don’t want you to go.”

The lisp in Rote’s voice, softer than usual, sounded oddly cute against the heavy moment. Eugene turned his head to look at her, the one who had stopped him.

“…Don’t laugh.”

With that simple request, Rote pulled her lips wide, showing neat rows of teeth.

Watching her curiously, Eugene soon noticed a flaw among them.

“Huh…?”

“My front tooth fell out…” she whispered, quickly pressing her lips shut. After a hesitant glance, she ventured timidly:

“Looks silly, doesn’t it?”

“No.”

Eugene answered at once, shaking his head. Rote, rolling her green eyes, tilted them upward to look at him.

“Then what?”

“Adorable.”

Rote’s face flushed at once. The redness spread like ink in water, and Eugene’s smile deepened.

‘Like cake.’

As he gazed at her soft cheeks, the thought occurred to him. The sweetness before his eyes seemed as though it would dissolve not in his mouth, but somewhere beneath his breastbone, leaving a faint ache.

“Ha, really.”

Kyle, who had been joking about her missing tooth—saying things like, “Wind must blow right through there!”—let out a half-breath as he looked at the two of them. Watching from behind, Selaia smiled quietly and turned another page of her book.

Summer was slowly coming to an end.

⭕ ⭕ ⭕

The weather changed suddenly towards the end of summer. Even in Cheringen, where rain was uncommon, there were heavy storms. The land, not used to holding water, turned into sticky mud that clung to the hooves of warhorses and the ankles of soldiers.

When the rain-washed soil seeped into wells and soldiers began to experience stomach pain after drinking it, Tropez was forced to withdraw its army temporarily.

Around that time, a rumor spread through Tropez: The Emperor was said to be suffering from delusions.

“Well, it’s a common tale. Lady Tran left Tropez of her own accord. As for Miss Esperote, she is not the Emperor’s daughter. Yet he imagines that she is, and he becomes enraged when he thinks about it.”

Count Regan shrugged as he reported. Laska, toweling his drenched hair, gave a low hum, his blue eyes shifting lazily.

“Shall we stir up the rumors further? We could spread rumors that she endured the Emperor’s obsession even after the divorce or that Cheringingen was seized unfairly as alimony. It might sway public opinion.”

“No.”

His curt reply came as water slid from his hair, trailing down the strong line of his neck and settling in the hollow of his collarbone. His muscular upper body carried the feral, sharpened edge of someone who had just returned from the front lines.

“The more tangled the rumors become, the weaker their core.”

Laska tossed the towel to a waiting attendant, who handed him a shirt without pause. Slipping his arms into the sleeves, he strode forward as he spoke.

“Focus only on the claim that her daughter was conceived with another man after the divorce, and that she isn’t of imperial blood. That alone is enough. It’s the issue that people are most sensitive to right now.”

“Understood.”

Count Regan bowed his head. While it was understandable for the Emperor to provoke a conflict with a neighbouring nation in order to reclaim a former wife he had divorced, such an act could easily be condemned. However, if the former wife was holding the Emperor’s daughter, that could be grounds for leniency. Laska intended to remove that excuse.

“But where are you going now?”

Following naturally at his side, Count Regan asked with a note of puzzlement. Laska glanced back at him, answering as though the question were too obvious.

“Why, to the person I most want to see.”

“Lady Tran? You’ve only just arrived at the palace.”

Having guessed the answer without being told, Count Regan wore a look of disbelief. Was he really going to go straight there, without even an audience or a council, right after washing off the dust of the road?

“Count, do you know one way to win someone’s heart?”

Running a careless hand through his still-damp hair, Laska gave a faint smile. His face alone was enough to unsettle hearts, leaving Count Regan staring blankly as he replied,

“Being handsome?”

“Hm, I suppose that is a way in its own right.”

It wasn’t the answer he had expected. After a brief pause, Laska continued.

“Appearing often before their eyes. That way, they cannot help but think of you.”

And yet how had he been? He had left her here in the royal palace and been absent for quite some time. Though he wore a smile now, in truth he was considerably impatient.

“Personally, I think it’s a useless worry, but I understand Your Highness fears that Lady Tran may have forgotten you. However…”

“As for an audience, don’t trouble yourself. I already sent someone to check. My brother is resting in the afternoon.”

Laska swiftly dismissed the concern before it could take shape.

‘I thought he was being reckless and obstinate…’

Count Regan narrowed his eyes. The man’s precision in handling matters was truly impressive.

“He hasn’t slept well lately, and now that he finally has, there’s no need to wake him early, is there?” Besides, he must have received a written report about the border situation by now.”

Speaking quickly, Laska ran his hand through his hair one last time. The strands fell into place with a natural ease that suited him well, although he seemed persistently conscious of his appearance.

“So, you should go home too. We’ll hold council tomorrow.”

“Wait, but—!”

Before the Count could finish, Laska was already gone, turning briskly around the corner of the corridor without so much as listening.

Count Regan, knowing that in that secluded corridor lay the guest chambers where Selaia and Esperote were staying, finally gave up chasing after him.

“…There’s no way things will ever go as His Majesty the King desires.”

He murmured with a sigh. Yet inwardly, he was certain: King Cleos must already know the truth.

⭕ ⭕ ⭕

The parlor door stood open. Through the wide gap, the figure of a woman could be seen, her back turned as she gazed out the window at the steady rain.

The instant he saw the abundance of her wheat-colored hair, his heart began to race uncontrollably.

“Selaia.”

At the call, the woman’s small shoulders flinched.

When she slowly turned, her face was startled. Her green eyes, round as leaves, and lips parted just slightly, made her look like a frightened rabbit.

“Your High—”

Selaia, who had spoken reflexively, stopped herself. Seeing the tremor in her gaze, Laska smiled.

At last, the word he longed for came from her small mouth.

“Laska.”

The man whose name had been mentioned smiled broadly; satisfaction was evident on his face. He looked like a man to whom the whole world had been entrusted.

“I’ve returned.”

Laska greeted her in a low voice. Selaia blinked, feeling her throat suddenly grow hot for no apparent reason.

“…Welcome back.”

He had longed to hear that greeting spoken earnestly.

Feeling the heat rise to his cheeks like an unguarded boy would, Laska stepped closer to her. Finally, the distance between them narrowed and he moved closer than usual.

“…!”

He could sense her small frame stiffen awkwardly. But he already knew it was not the tension of unease or wariness.

“I missed you.”

Laska whispered, his voice full of disarming innocence. His golden hair fell across his brow, making him look younger than usual.

“I’m glad you returned safely.”

Lowering her trembling lashes to hide her wavering gaze, Selaia spoke calmly. At her words, Laska feigned surprise.

“Were you worried? I thought you’d forgotten all about me.”

“Of course not…!”

Selaia lifted her head in protest, but found herself caught by the warmth in his gaze and the words died on her lips.

Who had ever said blue was a cold color? The heat in his eyes was scorching.

“Each day spent waiting, not knowing when the enemy might strike—it stretched into something unbearably long.”

Swish—the sound of his freshly dried hair slipping loose.

He was close enough for her to hear it.

Selaia tried to steady her breathing, exhaling slowly. However, when she took a breath, the faint, damp scent clinging to him overwhelmed her senses, leaving her mind even more unsteady.