“Pardon?”

“Every lady I’ve dined with so far has only eaten enough to survive.”

That was why. All the women who had shared a meal with him would take a few bites, then dab their mouths, claiming they were full.

After witnessing such behavior all this time, he thought all noble ladies only ate enough to sustain themselves. Mail looked at him with an incredulous expression after hearing his confession.

“That could easily sound like you’re bragging about your popularity.”

“Hm? This is?”

“You’re essentially saying those ladies laced up their corsets to the limit and came to dine with you. If I tighten my corset on purpose, I can only smell the food.”

Mail added confidently, “I’d bet this basket that over half of those ladies went home to eat afterward.”

Rohayden replied, “That’s quite a pointless thing to bet on for someone so confident.”

“Pointless? It’s a handsome basket.”

“Oh, did you say it looked like me? Let me correct that. Then it’s worthy of national treasure status.”

“Well… anyway, that’s the point. When a woman can’t eat, it means she put that much thought into her appearance at the gathering.”

“I find it hard to believe, but you must have been popular. Or maybe you’ve only ever dined with one or two people.”

Mail squinted skeptically and asked, “Isn’t it the latter?” Instead of answering, Rohayden just broadened his grin in a relaxed smile.

“…Just now, that looked like a winner’s smile.”

“Did it?”

“Here comes the smugness again. Fine, I’ll accept that you were popular. Your wife must be proud.”

“Wife?”

Rohayden froze, having heard a word he hadn’t anticipated. Mail held out her palms and gave him the synonym.

“Your spouse.”

“I don’t have one.”

“Sorry?”

“I said I don’t have one.”

“Oh.”

“I don’t.”

“Got it.”

Why deny it three times? Mail was puzzled, but Rohayden was just as bewildered. Why did he deny it three times? Feeling unnecessarily embarrassed, Rohayden cleared his throat.

“Why did you think I would have one?”

“Just, nobles tend to marry early. Most people my age are already married or about to be… wait, don’t tell me you’re younger than me?”

Mail looked at Rohayden with an expression that implied, ‘As if that’s possible.’ Of course, it wasn’t. Far from it—he was seven years older. Rohayden, who’d already been reigning for a decade, casually played along.

“How old do you think?”

“That’s a lie.”

“Why?”

“You get a certain vibe from people. From what I can see, you’re at least… a good twenty-something years in. Mid- to late-twenties, I’d say?”

‘I’m sure I’m right. Isn’t that so?’ With an air of certainty, Mail crossed her arms.

Since Rohayden was indeed twenty-seven this year, she was exactly right. Unless one is very old or young, age is generally hard to guess just by voice and physique, yet Mail was sharp in this regard. You could say she had a good intuition.

‘At least she hasn’t figured out that I’m the emperor.’

Maybe, after what happened earlier, she subconsciously rejects the idea. Either way, it was good for Rohayden. The moment she learned he was the emperor, this fun exchange would be over, and he didn’t want this rare amusement to end prematurely.

‘I’ll have to be careful not to encounter her while I’m in the emperor’s guise.’

Unaware of Rohayden’s thoughts, Mail innocently continued her questions to the mysterious “Master.”

“Then why haven’t you gotten married yet, sir?”

“It’s not a duty.”

“Well, technically, it isn’t. It’s not like they’ll arrest you for remaining unmarried.”

“Then why haven’t you married?”

Rohayden knew some basic details about Mail—just her name, age, nationality, and family. It wasn’t difficult to find out such information from the list of people staying at the palace. Mail’s family name remained the same, meaning she hadn’t married.

Mail was indeed single but acted as if she didn’t know what he was talking about, feigning surprise.

“When did I say I was single? In case you didn’t know, I’m already…”

“If you’re about to say you’re married to the garden, spare me.”

How did he know? Mail dropped her act and looked serious.

“Spare me? I’ve pledged a lifelong bond with the garden. I even have modest plans for about 400 trees and 300 flowers…”

“So, you don’t even have a fiancé?”

“Could you not dismiss me?”

Grumbling all the while, Mail answered without much resistance.

“There was.”

“‘Was?’”

“Until three years ago.”

Mail had indeed once been engaged. For a noblewoman, it wasn’t uncommon to have a marriage arranged early on by family, so this wasn’t surprising.

The unique part, however, was that her engagement was a thing of the past. An intrigued look crossed Rohayden’s face, not yet noticing the unexpected sense of relief he felt.

“That sounds like you don’t have one now.”

“Correct. There was, but now there isn’t. So…”

Mail hesitated as she started to recount the past. Should she tell him? It was a somewhat sensitive matter to bring up in any setting. After a moment of contemplation, Mail made her decision. Well, they’re close friends, so why not?

Since she was going to tell it, she decided to make it a story worth listening to, lowering her voice for effect.

“It was, back in the spring… three years ago.”

“This feels like the start of something,” Rohayden commented.

“It’s quite a dramatic story. It wasn’t a simple family conflict or anything like that. So, at that time, I was sixteen, and my fiancé was seventeen. We’d been engaged since I was ten, but we were set to marry only after we reached a suitable age.”

It wasn’t exactly a story she could recount casually. This incident had once thrown Mail’s entire family into turmoil. The cause was her fiancé.

“I don’t think I’ve ever mentioned it, but I’ve been unusually prone to attracting perverts since I was a child.”

Mail had, for some reason, encountered an unusual number of creepy types growing up. That didn’t mean someone would just run up and abduct her, announcing, ‘I’m a pervert!’ or ‘Look at me, a true deviant!’ Rather, her experiences were more along these lines.

“They seemed like perfectly decent people—good reputation, well-bred—only to discover later, ‘What? They’re a pervert!’ That sort of person would often hover around me.”

In other words, Mail attracted people who hid their twisted tendencies behind a normal façade. Now, as she recalled these memories, which had faded with time, she continued the story.

“Three years ago, in the spring, I invited my fiancé over to my house, as he said he wanted to learn more about my interests. I had a garden that I tended myself in the mansion’s backyard.”

Lowering her voice further, she created an atmosphere without needing to try. Rohayden found himself holding his breath, listening intently.

“My fiancé liked reading books and didn’t really go outside. He was quiet and reserved. So, I thought it would be fine for the two of us to be alone in the garden without any guard present. I figured nothing would happen. But…”

Something did happen. Rohayden’s tension mounted.

“That fiancé of mine—or that bastard—seemed unusually curious about matters between men and women that day. Of course, I had zero interest in that, and it was entirely his one-sided curiosity. But he started getting ahead of himself, saying it would be fine since we were going to get married anyway, and tried to force himself on me…”

The tension thickened. Rohayden’s hands tightened into fists without him realizing it.

“Startled, I instinctively threw him down and just started beating him.”

“…What?”

This was not the twist he’d expected. “What’s she doing?” Despite his confusion, Mail continued, as if oblivious to the bewilderment of her audience. The real crux of the story was yet to come.

“I’d learned a few self-defense techniques just in case. Honestly, I’d invited him over partly because I was confident I could overpower him if anything happened.”

Her fiancé was a typical academic type, particularly frail at that. With a skinny frame and minimal stamina, Mail often thought that even if it came to blows, she’d easily win.

“Anyway, I tripped him, and in my shock, I grabbed a branch lying nearby and started hitting him with it. I’d been pruning the trees, so I had a freshly cut branch in my hand.”

“…”

“But the problem arose when I finally calmed down and stopped hitting him. My fiancé, who had been crouched over as he took the blows, suddenly stood up and said this to me.”

What now? Rohayden felt a second wave of tension, bracing himself as Mail continued.

“‘That was amazing! Please, hit me more! Hit me harder with that branch!’”

Rohayden couldn’t believe his ears.

“…What?”