“Van.”

She knew his name, but somehow it felt awkward to call him that. Instead, she kept it to herself and used the more familiar title.

“Master, do you live here by any chance?”

“You’re here.”

“You seem awfully idle, almost too much so.”

Acting as though he’d been waiting for her again, it seemed. Mail walked closer to face him, clearing her throat unnecessarily. This unplanned yet seemingly fated meeting felt strangely comforting. What surprised her was that it no longer surprised her.

Rohayden chuckled and sat down comfortably.

“I only stop by occasionally, but we seem to meet every time I do.”

“That’s my line.”

“I even came here this morning.”

“But I wasn’t here then. You must have missed me.”

“If I say I didn’t, would you get upset?”

“No way.”

Mail gathered her skirt and sat down beside him, leaving a bit of space between them. It had been quite a while since she had interacted so freely with someone of the opposite s*x. She hadn’t done so since she was young, chatting face-to-face with her friends.

Sitting beside him, Mail looked at Rohayden intently. His mask hid his features, but not his eyes. Rohayden returned her gaze, looking slightly puzzled.

“Your gaze is intense today.”

“Master.”

“Hmm?”

“…”

“You called me, but now you’re silent.”

“Your eyes… Is that their natural color?”

“What?”

Rohayden flinched. At times like this, the mask was quite useful; it concealed any slip in expression. Although startled, he replied without showing it.

“It’s the first I’ve heard of eye dyeing.”

“I know that too, but… hmm… Why did that thought come to your mind?”

With her small head tilted slightly, Mail, who had tied her long brown hair in a simple ponytail, continued to stare at his red eyes, wondering,

‘Wouldn’t a different color suit him better?’ She didn’t know why that thought had come to her.

Mail’s curiosity stopped at mild bewilderment, but Rohayden’s heart nearly dropped. Only he, alone in this place, knew of the weight in his chest. Had no one been watching, he might have placed a hand over his heart to steady himself.

‘I thought I’d been found out.’

Rohayden’s eyes weren’t actually red. He had golden eyes, as if gold itself had been placed in them. Bright platinum hair and striking golden eyes—the symbols of the imperial family and the current emperor. Rohayden, slyly hiding his identity behind a mere mask, heaved a sigh of relief, having narrowly avoided exposure.

“And you, Ma…” he started.

“Hmm?”

When he stopped mid-sentence, it was a fact known only to him that he had faltered while attempting to say her name and hastily shifted to “you” instead.

Only now did Rohayden realize with a jolt. Ever since he first met her, he had known Mail’s name, but this was his first attempt at saying it aloud.

Come to think of it, he’d always referred to her as “lady.” Sure, titles were fine, but the problem was that he had failed to call her by name.

Why? It shouldn’t even be something to succeed or fail at. Confused, Rohayden, unsure of why he’d failed, tried again.

“Ma…”

“Ma?”

“Marigolds are quite lovely.”

“Oh, come on. That’s only natural,” she replied.

…What was this?

Rohayden’s gaze wavered. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Right now, he was facing a completely absurd crisis, all because he couldn’t bring himself to say her name.

The supreme emperor of the empire, who had no one left to look up to, was here struggling to say the name of a twenty-year-old girl, failing repeatedly. It was a story no one would believe—not even Rohayden himself.

“What’s going on?”

“What is?” she asked.

“I feel like I read about this in some legend… Something about turning to stone when you say a name? No, that was when you looked at someone’s face…”

“What are you talking about?”

“Are you feeling unwell?” Mail asked, her expression a mixture of confusion and concern. Rohayden remained silent, studying her.

‘Mail. Mail von Vizeat. Her name was Mail. Mail’s name was…’

“Mail.”

“Why are you bringing up legends all of a sudden… Oh?”

Ah. He’d said it.

What? That was easy.

But Rohayden found no further words. Because Mail, startled that he’d called her name, now showed a clear sign of embarrassment. She blinked faster than usual, and then, unable to meet his gaze, she looked away.

“Oh, yes. Um, you called me?”

Facing him, she awkwardly avoided his eyes, staring off into the empty space, her ears tinged with a faint red.

Rohayden couldn’t bring himself to ask any of the questions popping into his mind. After all, he couldn’t even answer why he had stumbled so many times just trying to say her name.

In the midst of this awkward atmosphere, only the marigolds swayed cheerfully in the breeze.

***

Standing before the door, Amy took a deep breath.

“My lady, it’s Amy.”

“…”

“I’m coming in.”

There was only silence in response, but Amy turned the doorknob. Her mistress’s silence usually meant permission rather than refusal.

Once, she’d misinterpreted that silence, refrained from entering, and was punished for it.

“I’m here to report on the task you assigned me.”

Lying down, Ormil gave a slight nod. Her face was covered with a mask-like facial pack, which seemed to be why she was silent. Amy knelt respectfully by the bed and began to speak.

“I just met with the maids of the Lady of House Ektra. They claim to have spread rumors to sow discord…”

The maids she referred to were Ena, Bina, Sina, and Dina.

Amy had subtly tasked them the previous day, and now she was reporting it all to Ormil.

Ormil wanted to know every minor detail. Since Amy dreaded and feared being punished, she acted exactly as her mistress expected.

Ormil flicked her finger, gesturing for her to continue.

“They said they passed on gossip about the Vizeat Lady to the princess, as if it were mere rumor. How much this will strain their relationship is unclear, but at least the isolation—”

“And isolating her will…?”

“Pardon?”

Ormil sat up, grabbing the mask that began to slip and tossing it aside as she spoke.

“And isolating her will what? Will she break down sobbing just because she and the princess grow distant?”

“That’s…”

Amy hesitated, unsure how to respond. Sowing discord might seem trivial, but it was actually quite cruel.

Sometimes, people crumbled more easily under emotional distress than physical pain. But Ormil seemed uninterested in that perspective.

“I want results I can see. Tangible things that are right in front of me. Got it? I want her shocked and sobbing right now!”

“…”

“Should I just go slap her? Right? That would be better, wouldn’t it? Forget this whole rumor business; bring me something immediate and visible.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll remember that.”

Amy flattened herself to the floor, bowing low in apology. She instinctively bowed to avoid a beating. Fortunately, Ormil didn’t seem in the mood to strike her; instead, she simply observed her bowed maid.

“Amy.”

“Yes?”

“Forget sowing discord. So, what else did they suggest?”

Ormil had instructed Amy to learn all possible ways to torment others, and Amy had gone to gather that information in exchange for a small payment. Understanding her mistress’s wishes, Amy quickly responded.

“They told me various methods, ranging from simple tricks to more elaborate schemes…”

The methods the maids, led by Ena, had taught were petty at best and extreme at worst.

Ormil’s expression turned intrigued as she listened, and Amy felt a surge of relief at her mistress’s favorable reaction. She thought she wouldn’t be punished today.

Amy’s eyelids quivered slightly as she knelt, awaiting Ormil’s next instruction.

* * *

Even in the late afternoon, the emperor’s office was piled high with work. It was mostly because the emperor himself did not particularly aim to reduce his workload.

He stared at the Imperial Knights’ budget proposal, which he had already read three times, as if it were his enemy, then set it aside. The words just wouldn’t sink in.

Banther observed his superior, who was now leaning deeply into his chair, and spoke up.

“Are you tired?”

“…No.”

“But your expression says otherwise.”

“It’s not because I’m tired.”

At this, Banther responded with a curious “Then what is it?” as he picked up the document the emperor had set down. Its content was exactly the same as the one from last quarter, down to the very last letter.

He could stamp it as is. Despite the document needing no particular review, the emperor had read it three times, insisting he wasn’t tired. That was certainly convincing.

“If you’re not tired, that’s an even bigger problem.”

“Sir.”

“Yes.”

“No, Banther.”

“…?”

A faint crease appeared between Banther’s brows. For a moment, he almost asked, ‘What’s gotten into you?’ It had been quite a while since the emperor had addressed him by just his name. He hesitated briefly before speaking his mind honestly.

“It’s unsettling. Please call me Lord Mohaim instead.”

Mohaim was his family name. The emperor ignored him.

“Banther.”

“Oh, what is it?”

“It’s easy. It just doesn’t mean anything.”

“What is? Me?”