“Oh, I see… It’s great that he was caught red-handed. With the evidence so clear, he’ll be sentenced quickly. Do you know what happened?”

Mail assumed the attacker was a commoner. Regardless of the circumstances, a commoner who assaulted a noble would be unable to escape execution. He might even have been beheaded on the spot.

Mail, however, didn’t want that; she still hoped to catch Ormil, who had orchestrated everything. Confidently, Riela spoke up.

“As a criminal, he’s obviously locked in prison!”

Her tone suggested the answer was obvious. Rose added further details.

“The attacker caught on the scene and even some accomplices have all been taken to prison. From what the maids are whispering, the direct assailant who attacked you will be beheaded in a few days. Of course, I only overheard the maids chatting, but one of the accomplices caught includes a maid, so it’s probably true.”

“Wait, people? There are several people in custody?”

Riela pointed this out sharply, and Rose nodded.

“Yes, more than a few. There’s a variety of genders and ages.”

“Really? Then among them…”

“Lady Blue Mold is included.”

Rose immediately caught on to Riela’s meaning. Riela, thrilled by the news, threw her arms up in celebration. “Ha! Serves her right!”

Mail, too, was surprised by this information. Even Ormil, already?

“But why? Why did Oatmeal get put in prison?”

“You didn’t know when you asked, huh. Let me explain…”

Mail’s explanation was brief and to the point. Once she finished the story, Riela clapped her hands.

“So, is she going to be beheaded, too?”

“Well…”

Ormil Petten’s crime was inciting violence against a noble. If she were a commoner, she’d be executed without question, but the complication was that she was a noble herself.

Though adding the charge of treason might increase her punishment, the fact that they were from different kingdoms made things ambiguous. Apart from matters of rebellion, the law was generally lenient toward nobles.

If there was one glimmer of hope, it was that Ormil had chosen the imperial palace as the stage for her scheme—boldly, in a foreign empire’s palace no less. With this as leverage, they could tack on a slew of serious charges, and there was a chance Ormil could face a severe sentence.

Of course, it all ultimately depended on the emperor’s will. At present, it was fair to say that Ormil’s fate lay in the emperor’s hands.

“The palace maids seem to be placing bets among themselves, speculating on the fate of Lady Mold.”

“Bets?”

“Yes. Most of those who served her up close are betting she’ll lose her head.”

“Excellent! Then I’ll put my money on beheading too.”

“If that’s your choice, Princess, I’ll go the same way. Although, some are betting it will only be a light punishment for show.”

“What? Why?”

“They say it’s because she’s pretty. The idea is that, across all ages and places, beautiful women survive, even for grave offenses.”

“…Pretty? Who? Mold? Are they blind?”

“I think they mean ‘decent for a moldy type.’”

“Still, that’s ridiculous. So, does that mean I can go smack His Majesty and get away with it?”

“You could even attempt assassination and walk free, Your Highness.”

“Right? Haha!”

Riela was certainly a character, but Rose was no less witty. Mail shook his head at their banter.

“By the way, Mail.”

“Yes?”

“You were talking in your sleep earlier.”

“Talking in my sleep?”

Mail was stretching her stiff shoulders and neck when Riela’s words caught her attention.

Talking in her sleep? Well, she had dreamed, so maybe a few words had slipped out. If it had been something profane, Riela’s reaction would have shown it, but it didn’t seem to be the case. Mail asked lightly.

“What was I saying? Was it something like, ‘Stop’ or ‘Wait for me’?”

“No? What’s that about?”

“Then what was it?”

“You were saying you missed someone.”

“What?”

Mail was startled at this unexpected comment. She hadn’t realized she’d said anything so sentimental in her sleep. It’s not like she’d recently been feeling homesick.

Despite herself, a part of her chest seemed to tighten, making her feel oddly anxious. What’s going on?

“…Did I mention *who* I missed?”

Riela nodded and opened her mouth to speak. Mail felt her heart start to pound, a strange nervousness gripping her.

“Let’s see… Ballet? You said you missed ballet.”

“It was Violete, not ballet, Princess.”

“Was it? Anyway, that one.”

“…Violete? I said I missed Violete? In my sleep?”

“Yes, and you said it twice. It was rather heartfelt.”

Mail’s expression shifted to one of disbelief, and she let out a hollow laugh. The strange tension that had gripped her dissipated completely, leaving only a feeling of emptiness.

She stared blankly at the wall for a moment before suddenly pulling the cord by her bed. When a maid arrived, she requested a wet towel, washed her face quickly, and changed into fresh clothes. Seeing her preparations, Riela guessed her intent and commented.

“Heading out?”

“I thought I’d go see Violete, who I apparently called out to so longingly in my sleep.”

“Now?”

“You really shouldn’t overdo it, especially after last night’s events… Going out could be dangerous.”

“It’s fine. I feel all right.”

While dressing, Mail felt her knees, just to be sure, and even hopped in place a few times. She was in perfect condition. Whatever medicine they’d used had been potent—her face and neck were free of bruises, so outwardly, she looked completely fine.

The aches she’d felt seemed to be mostly in her head; once she was up and moving, aside from a slight stiffness, there was nothing wrong.

“Besides, with what happened last night, security will be extra tight today. I’ll be back shortly.”

“Suit yourself. Ah, shall I lend you Rose?”

“I’ll take your goodwill instead.”

Shortly after, Mail stepped out of her room. Riela, ever nonchalant yet generous, waved her off as the door closed. Once it was shut completely, Riela, seated comfortably, let out a lazy yawn.

“So, what do I do now?”

“For good circulation, may I suggest a foot bath?”

“That sounds good. Oh, but Rose.”

“Yes?”

“Now that I think about it… Didn’t Mail say she wanted to see someone besides ‘ballet’? Who was it, her teacher?”

“Not a teacher, a Master.”

“Right, that’s it.”

Riela recalled the detail a bit too late, as there was no one left to tell. She thought she’d let Mail know when she returned—at least, if she remembered by then.

* * *

Banther left work early today, but he didn’t feel entirely happy or relieved. With a firm thud, he placed a one-page personal profile he had been staring at down on his desk. Memories from the previous day came rushing back.

“Your Majesty!”

Banther von Mohaim had felt the kind of thrill last night that could make someone faint. This was because the emperor, who had instructed him to stay put until his return, had come back drenched in blood—whether it was splattered or soaked into his clothes was hard to tell. The emperor had returned to his chambers, washed off the blood, and changed his clothes, but that didn’t erase the shocking image Banther had witnessed.

“Where did you go? No, what did you do? No, wait, why do you look like *that*?”

“You’re quite talkative, Banther. I don’t think it’s anything to make a fuss over.”

“This is not fussing—it’s a perfectly reasonable reaction!”

Banther had every right to be startled. It wasn’t just that he was a delicate soul, easily spooked by the sight of blood. No, what had him utterly shocked was something else.

Who was the emperor, after all? Even if others didn’t know, Banther did. The emperor despised unnecessary bloodshed.

When assassins or intruders showed up, he would unsheathe his sword, but rarely cut or stab—he’d prefer to subdue and knock them unconscious. This wasn’t out of mercy but simply because he didn’t like getting blood on his clothes.

For someone who grimaced at even a single drop of blood on his hem to show up *drenched* in it and tell Banther not to make a fuss? It was beyond belief.

Banther was so dumbfounded that he couldn’t stop himself from questioning the emperor relentlessly. In the end, the emperor, growing weary of the interrogation, gave him an answer.

The underground prison. He had just been interrogating a prisoner.

As soon as Banther heard this, he went silent, rendered speechless. The emperor disliked two things: getting blood on himself and the dark, damp underground prison.

Yet now he was saying that he had voluntarily gone to the very place he hated most to do the very thing he detested.

Banther, still in shock, hurried down to the underground prison himself, hoping to make sense of it all. When he got there, he was hit with a second wave of disbelief.

The stench and the blood were bad enough, but the prisoner’s condition was even worse—completely brutalized. And the emperor had even gone so far as to cauterize the prisoner’s severed limbs to stop the bleeding, which was *almost* considerate.

What had made the emperor so furious? Even though Banther was notoriously slow to catch on when it came to matters of the heart, he wasn’t so dense that he couldn’t see the obvious in front of him. He felt conflicted—this was a very awkward situation.

Could it be that the emperor had feelings for that lady? If so, what about Iseline Tengott?

Banther had always believed that the emperor and Lady Iseline Tengott were in a rather ideal relationship. Even though this wasn’t his problem, he couldn’t help but feel confused. Was Lady Tengott now the ex-girlfriend, discarded for someone new?

“Something doesn’t add up.”

Banther tapped the profile on the desk with his fingers. Was the emperor really falling for someone else? The circumstances seemed to suggest that, but there was still something off.

As far as Banther could recall, the emperor had recently checked on Iseline Tengott’s safety through his secret guards. At that time, he had even looked visibly relieved.

“What a mess.”

It was all too confusing. Sure, it wasn’t impossible to love two people at the same time, but that didn’t sound like the emperor Banther knew.

He briefly thought about his quick-witted younger sister, Telia, but quickly dismissed the idea. Bringing her into this mess would be asking for trouble.

Shaking his head clear, Banther decided to go to bed. With a long day ahead, sleep was the wisest choice.