Chapter 2 – Part 3

‘Am I dreaming?’

Of course, this wasn’t a dream. As her senses returned, she barely managed to close her mouth, which had been on the verge of hanging open in shock.

‘The rumors were true!’

Golden eyes paired with platinum blond hair. There was no mistaking it—she knew exactly who he was.

As soon as Mail realized the man before her was not an illusion but reality, she was struck with a deep sense of awe. The rumors were all true. Every single one of them. This country’s emperor was as impossibly handsome as the exaggerated stories had claimed—like a figure sculpted by the gods.

‘I’m doomed!’

Despair hit her like a tidal wave.

If no one else had been around, she might have thrown herself onto the ground and pounded the earth with her fists. That’s how intense her frustration was.

All hope of a peaceful future had shattered. Any faint hope that she might pack her things and return to her homeland early had been thoroughly crushed, leaving no trace.

‘How can someone look like that?’

In that moment, Mail seriously questioned the existence of the divine. If a god existed, how could they create someone like this? There was no way such a face could exist on someone of his status. This wasn’t just unfair—it was excessive.

‘Goodbye, my homeland… goodbye, my safe return…’

Swallowing back tears, Mail bowed deeply. She had to greet him now that they had met. Honestly, she was already a bit late. The moment she saw him, she should have immediately paid her respects, but instead, she had been busy admiring, despairing, and panicking. She’d completely missed the timing.

Bowing as gracefully as she could, she said,

“To the glorious emperor, the sun that never sets upon the empire, I, Mail Fonz Vizeart from the Kingdom of Belthier offer my greetings.”

“Indeed, Lady Vizeart.”

“It is a deep honor to meet you.”

“The pleasure is mine. But… are you alright?”

“Excuse me?”

At his question, Mail unconsciously looked up at him, then quickly lowered her eyes again when she realized her mistake. One doesn’t look directly at the emperor’s face without permission. Though, as if reading her thoughts, the emperor spoke.

“You don’t need to bow. I permit you to meet my gaze.”

“I am deeply grateful.”

“But I must ask again—are you truly alright? Your complexion looks quite poor.”

Hearing the emperor ask if she was alright a second time, Mail’s eyes widened in surprise.

‘My complexion? Do I really look that bad?’ She recalled how, just moments earlier, she’d felt like crying and pounding the ground in despair. A cold sweat broke out. Was it that obvious?

“…I’m fine. It’s just… I got a bit of a headache from being nervous.”

Mail gave a vague excuse, adding that she was perfectly fine now and there was no need for him to worry. The emperor, perhaps sensing that it wasn’t a serious issue, nodded before shifting to a new topic, his tone carrying a subtle hint of mischief.

“I’m glad to hear you’re well. Now, I’d like to hear your impressions.”

“What?”

“Since you’ve seen me, you must have felt something. Let’s hear it.”

For a moment, Mail wondered if she had misheard. Felt something? Of course, she had felt many things.

The emperor’s face was so dazzlingly shameless that it was no wonder Riela couldn’t lose interest in him. Far from losing interest, she would want to become the empress, and Mail would have to follow her around, cleaning up after her. Her future was undoubtedly ruined.

When she imagined the chaos and destruction to come, the only thing that flowed were her tears. It was a symphony of ruin, blending sadness, despair, suffering, and betrayal—betrayal directed at the gods.

But the emperor wasn’t asking because he was curious about such things. Unbelievable as it was, it seemed like he was asking what she thought of his appearance.

In other words, the emperor was essentially saying, “I think I look incredibly handsome, but what do you think?”

“……”

Mail slightly adjusted the image she had of the emperor of this powerful nation. This was a little disappointing.

Still, to be fair, he did have the kind of looks that made such self-regard somewhat understandable. Recalling the admiration she had felt before reality struck her like a bomb, she gave her response.

“You’re dazzling.”

“Hmm.”

“I had thought the rumors of your divine descent were exaggerated, but after seeing you in person, they seem understated.”

“You mean beautiful?”

There it was, right from his own mouth.

Mail was flustered, but didn’t show it. The patience she had honed through Riela came in handy at times like this.

“Yes.”

“How much?”

“Pardon?”

“The most beautiful in the world?”

“……Yes, of course.”

“More than Rash Marigold?”

“……What?”

Mail blinked in confusion. This time, she was sure she had misheard. Or it was an auditory hallucination. Otherwise, why would Marigold suddenly be brought up?

“Not as beautiful as Marigold?”

“……!”

At that moment, the emperor kindly confirmed it. It wasn’t a hallucination or a misunderstanding. Mail’s green eyes trembled like marbles on a table during an earthquake.

Why? Why Marigold, of all things? Comparing a beauty to a flower wasn’t uncommon, so the question itself could be considered reasonable, but out of all the flowers, why specifically Marigold?

Mail, flustered, forgot to manage her expression and looked up at the emperor. Her bewildered thoughts were written all over her face. At that moment, the corners of the emperor’s mouth twitched.

He laughed.

The emperor, with that dazzling face, smiled. And Mail realized.

‘He’s teasing me!’

The emperor had deliberately chosen his words to tease her. Even the most insensitive person would recognize his current expression as that of a mischievous child, pleased with a prank well-executed.

As Mail stood speechless in shock, an image of someone crossed her mind. A man wearing a mask. Red hair, red eyes—a suspicious person whose identity she couldn’t place.

Recalling the man who had teased her for what felt like an entire year over just one mention of Rash Marigold, Mail’s fists clenched tightly on their own.

‘He told him, didn’t he?’

No matter how she thought about it, the only person who could’ve told the emperor about Marigold was that man. Even if his status was high, his personality seemed pretty childish. It looked like they intended to keep teasing her for generations.

‘I hope the next time he winks at the girl he likes at a party, his hair gets caught in a button!’

Unaware that the masked man and the emperor were the same person, Mail cursed him courageously. She was even fairly specific about it.

Whether or not the emperor knew Mail was cursing him, he laughed carefreely before speaking again.

“I don’t think I got an answer.”

“……If you’re referring to Marigold, I think it’s absurd to even compare.”

“So, no comparison at all?”

“Yes.”

“Are you saying I don’t measure up?”

“No, that’s not what I meant!”

How did he know?!

Caught off guard, Mail hurriedly denied it. She had hit the mark, but she couldn’t let it show.

To a garden enthusiast, there was no creature more beautiful than the plants in their garden, no matter how much you searched the world. But that didn’t mean she could just say, “Yeah, Marigold is a million times prettier than you” to the emperor’s face.

What if she ended up floating headless if she did? Shrinking under the emperor’s power, Mail shook her head vigorously.

Meanwhile, at the same time and place, as Mail struggled with her true feelings and walked the perilous path of deception, the cause of all this, Emperor Rohayden, was…

‘This is fun.’

…enjoying himself.

He was someone for whom the word “perfect” fit like a custom-made suit. In other words, he excelled in all areas.

The emperor had first taken up the sword at the age of five and mastered it by the age of ten. A few years ago, while subduing the barbarians, he had earned the nickname “Warlord,” a testament to his remarkable achievements. As with any outstanding swordsman, his dynamic vision was as exceptional as his skills, and the emperor was no exception.

He noticed everything: the subtle twitch at the corner of Mail’s mouth, the slight tremble in her pupils, and the color that briefly drained from her face before quickly returning.

Rohayden caught every change in her expression, reflecting her shifting emotions. He could easily tell where her sincerity lay and where the lies began, though Mail believed she had hidden it well.

‘So it’s true when she said she values watering new sprouts more than meeting the emperor.’

If ordered to praise the emperor, she might concoct something plausible, carefully watching her words. But if asked to praise a garden, she would likely shed tears, pouring out a heartfelt, lengthy speech. Rohayden had an accurate grasp of Mail’s character.

And that’s what made it even more intriguing.

‘The emperor is worth less than a blade of grass?’

TL NOTE: More advanced chapter of this story is already up to the site. Visit dusk blossoms for more advanced chapters and stories