Splash!

Ormil threw the contents of the glass at Mail with all her might. A classic textbook move, like something from “How to Serve Sweet Revenge at a Dining Table: Beginner’s Edition.”

Mail, who had lifted her dress fabric over her head, lowered it back down.

Ormil’s eyes widened in disbelief.

“What the…?”

“Oh dear, my dress got dirty.”

Ormil’s stunt was as classic as they came. Even now, in academies or social circles, young ladies might be watching others get food without utensils, or throwing wine at someone saying,

“Drink this if you’re thirsty.”

And when a trick becomes this common, the target usually learns how to deal with it. After all, once you’ve seen it happen, it’s rare to fall for it yourself.

Mail had come dressed in two layers, knowing this in advance. The outer dress, tied with strings, was easy to lift.

The moment Ormil grabbed her glass with a “I’m going to drench you with this wine” expression, Mail had swiftly lifted the outer dress to cover her head.

With its thick fabric, the dress served as a decent shield. Not a single strand of Mail’s hair was touched by the wine splashed directly at her face.

“I was planning to throw this dress out anyway. Who knew it’d come in handy?”

She was genuinely grateful. The outfit had been too awkward to wear out and too uncomfortable for sleep. She’d regretted bringing it to the empire. Just as she was about to discard it, Ormil had provided a perfect use for it. You never know what lies ahead—not for yourself, nor for your clothes. Life is funny that way.

“Lady Petten, if you’ve exhausted your tricks, I’d rather not entertain you further. I’ve only prepared for this much. If you’re out of cards, it’s best to stop lingering and leave.”

Mail stood up from her chair and, without hesitation, started taking off her soiled dress. The removal was swift. Embarrassment wasn’t quite the right word here; the dress was simply too easy to take off. Just a few strings untied, and it slipped off her body as if by magic. It made one wonder what the designer had intended with this outfit.

The moment Mail finished taking off the dress, she rolled it up and tossed it at Ormil.

With a soft *flap!*, the dress unfurled in the air and landed right on Ormil’s head. Stunned, Ormil couldn’t react in time to dodge it.

“This is my thank-you gift for inviting me. It’s a little stained, but since the lady stained it, I hope it brings you joy!”

Before things could escalate, Mail quickly dashed out of the room after leaving her “gift.” She hadn’t even closed the door completely when the sound of something, like a plate, shattering came from inside. Plugging her ears, Mail hurried down the hallway, thinking:

‘Won’t they have to pay for all those imperial palace items?’

Well, that was someone else’s problem.

After dealing with Ormil, Mail didn’t head straight back to her quarters but stopped by the dining room and then made her way to the garden. Although Ormil had invited her for a meal, she hadn’t actually given her a chance to eat. Since she was already out, she figured she’d have lunch with a packed meal in the garden, as she had yesterday.

Mail entered the garden at a leisurely pace, sat down at her chosen spot, and unpacked her food and utensils. Today’s meal was peaceful, unlike the previous day. No one was there to engage her in conversation, nor did any dagger-wielding intruders appear out of nowhere. From start to finish, it was quiet and relaxed.

After finishing the last dish, Mail tilted her head slightly in thought.

‘Why do I feel empty?’

She couldn’t pinpoint why she felt like something was missing. It wasn’t that the food lacked quantity or flavor, but there was an inexplicable sense of longing.

Trying to figure out the source of this odd feeling, Mail’s gaze landed on the young violet plant nearby. The sprout looked as vibrant as ever.

“Is it because I forgot to say hello? Hmm… Hello, violet! You’re as lovely as ever. When do you plan to bloom?”

While her peers were getting engaged, married, or even raising children, Mail, who had never been in love or even had a crush, found herself pondering over an unlikely source of her feelings, ultimately leaving the garden without finding an answer.

Though the sense of emptiness lingered, Mail quickly pushed it out of her mind. It wasn’t something worth dwelling on.

Mail returned the basket of used dishes to the dining hall and then made her way back to her quarters. To her surprise, lying on the bed in perfect posture was Riela.

“Did you beat the mold?”

Last time, Riela had cucumber slices on her face; today, she had thinly sliced potatoes. Why did she do this again? Oh, because she was bored. Watching Riela use food in unusual ways for the second time, Mail responded,

“Of course.”

“I knew it. Mold is nothing.”

“It really wasn’t.”

Kicking her legs happily while lying down, Riela seemed quite pleased. Just hearing about Ormil’s defeat had lifted her spirits, even though she hadn’t witnessed it herself.

Finding happiness in someone else’s misfortune wasn’t exactly commendable, but given that it was Ormil, Mail let it slide.

After venting about Ormil for a while, Riela suddenly changed the topic.

“You know, I want to go to the library.”

“What? The library?”

Mail looked at Riela in surprise. Libraries were typically known as repositories of knowledge. Riela and a repository of knowledge—it was an odd pairing that felt more strange than mismatched. Then, Mail realized something.

‘Oh, there are romance novels in libraries, aren’t there?’

Riela might have a pure mind, but she wasn’t illiterate. She even had a decent reading ability and enjoyed romance novels. She probably picked up her knowledge of electricity in a similar way. Regaining her composure, Mail moved closer to Riela.

“You’re inviting me to go with you, right?”

“Yes.”

“All right. I would have followed even if you said you were going alone. Should I call Rose?”

When asked, Riela shook her head. A few potato slices fell onto the pillow.

“Rose is busy.”

“What’s she doing?”

“She said she’s going to do some training.”

“…”

There was no need to ask what kind of training. Last time she trained her arms; maybe now she was working on her legs. Mail made a mental note to check which muscles were more developed when she next saw Rose.

“You’re going to the closest library, right?”

“There’s more than one?”

“There’s probably one here in the secondary palace and another in the main palace.”

“Really? Which one is bigger?”

“I’m not sure.”

Based on size alone, the main palace was twice as large as the secondary one, but the layout sometimes meant that facilities like libraries were bigger in the secondary palace.

After thinking for about three seconds, Riela made up her mind.

“Let’s go to the closer one.”

“All right. Let’s take those potatoes off first.”

Without turning her gaze, Mail tugged at a ribbon. If ribbon-pulling were a refined skill, she thought she might be nearing the level of a master.

Soon, a familiar flurry of maids arrived and began to dress up Riela with expert precision. They removed her face mask, washed her, applied makeup, and dressed her in a gown. Given their speed, they seemed well-practiced at this routine by now.

Watching this, Mail realized anew that Riela only seemed diligent about things like this. Going through such an elaborate process every time she went out would be impossible if she were truly lazy.

Before long, Mail left the chambers with a newly radiant Riela.

“So, why did you suddenly decide to go to the library?”

“Well, I did a potato mask out of boredom.”

“Yes.”

“But I’m still bored.”

“…”

“So, what should I do? Should I try a cucumber mask? Then the library came to mind. I actually read a lot of books, you know.”

It was a thought process that was quintessentially Riela. When Mail responded, “Indeed, you’re quite the princess,” Riela took it as a compliment and raised her chin proudly. Since she looked charming while doing so, Mail found it rather endearing.

The library was closer than expected, and they arrived quickly with the guidance of a staff member. Entering, Mail glanced around lightly.

The library was mostly quiet, with a few noble ladies in dresses reading at tables—likely fellow candidates, given their familiar faces.

Mail, mindful that the princess might clash with them, led Riela to the bookshelves.

“Do you have a particular book in mind?”

“Hmm…”

“Or a theme you’d like?”

“A novel with a blonde princess as the heroine.”