“What is? Me?”

“I mean it’s easy. Banther.”

“Just to clarify, I’m not that easy.”

Banther protested in earnest, as he considered himself a fairly dignified and difficult man. Since everyone is entitled to their opinion, none of his friends ever challenged this self-assessment.

The emperor sighed deeply, looking rather conflicted.

“I don’t mean you’re easy. I mean your name is easy.”

“What did my name ever do to you? If you’re dissatisfied with my work, just say so.”

“I mean calling your name is easy.”

“Ah. It certainly isn’t a difficult pronunciation.”

“That’s not it…”

“Is there even such a thing as a difficult name to say?”

Rohayden suddenly fell silent. There was. There was indeed a difficult name. And that was the problem. He had no idea why it was difficult.

“…There is.”

“Now that you mention it, I remember. My little sister once had a pet raccoon she named Eliante Nyantrechesika Halmarimozaria. She wouldn’t let us shorten it no matter what, so we all had to memorize it. Thinking about it now still baffles me.”

“The young Lady Mohaim—or is it now the Marchioness Cyclamin? Well, that does sound like her.”

“She’ll never change, not even till the day she dies.”

“I appreciate hearing your fond memories and personal anecdotes. Unfortunately, I’m afraid it’s not the same case for me. I…”

The emperor thought of Mail. His golden eyes lingered on the empty air for a moment. An image painted itself in the vacant space, as if by magic.

Green eyes, dark brown hair, and that bright smile even as a fallen leaf settled atop her head.

When had he become an artist? The image he conjured was as vivid as any masterful portrait.

“It’s just… difficult.”

“Just difficult?”

“It’s like there’s an itch in my throat… just, well, difficult.”

In the garden, Rohayden had once called out Mail’s name. He had let her unique resonance pass through his lips. After that, there was this faint tickling in his throat. He hadn’t wanted to scratch it, exactly. It was just that he couldn’t find the right words to describe it, so he’d called it an itch. It was a difficult feeling to explain.

Banther tilted his head slightly.

“Are you coming down with a sore throat?”

“…How could that be your conclusion? Where did you get sore throat from what I said?”

“Well, you said your throat felt itchy.”

“That was a metaphor. Don’t you understand metaphors?”

“How am I supposed to know that? The way you said it was extremely limited. All I heard was that a name was difficult and that your throat was itchy. They sound like completely separate issues.”

Banther seemed just as exasperated. Since he didn’t know the detailed context that had led the emperor to bring this up, it made some sense, but someone perceptive would have grasped the situation from the emperor’s sparse words alone.

Their conversation was naturally drifting away from the answer, as two of the least intuitive people on matters of romance continued talking.

If only it were Banther’s sister here instead of him, this conversation would have turned out quite differently. In the end, it was the emperor who raised the white flag first.

“It was my mistake. I was wrong. I shouldn’t have started this with you.”

“If you explain everything to me in detail from one to ten, I’m sure I can provide an answer that isn’t ‘sore throat.’”

“Enough,” the emperor waved his hand, signaling dismissal. Feeling somewhat wronged by this hint of surrender, Banther thought, ‘He’s the one being unfriendly, not me for not understanding.’ ‘Hmph.’

“Well, why not finish reviewing the budget? I can bring last quarter’s documents if you need them.”

“My memory is better than that of a three-year-old; I don’t need them. By the way, how much time remains until the first selection round for the empress candidates?”

This was something Banther knew well. He replied quickly.

“About six days.”

“Six days…”

“I didn’t think you’d be interested.”

Banther raised an eyebrow, slightly surprised. He knew the reasons behind the selection process, including its true purpose. Since he believed the emperor and Iseline had been in a long-term, successful relationship, his surprise was natural.

“Don’t you also not know the exact number of candidates?”

“I haven’t bothered to memorize it.”

“Nor have you received reports on where each candidate comes from.”

“That’s true.”

“Well, if I may add, Marquis Bolthen seems to be handling things well. After all, he was the one most insistent on the need for this selection process.”

Marquis Marhim Bolthen had been instrumental in initiating this empress selection process, both publicly and behind the scenes. Had he not lobbied so persistently, the emperor wouldn’t have considered holding a selection on this scale.

Though Bolthen had fronted other nobles, pretending the push wasn’t his own, the emperor was no fool. He also knew that despite pretending to be burdened, the marquis had likely celebrated inwardly when granted the lead role.

Since even before the selection began, Bolthen had been busy minding the emperor’s mood. So, while his motives were clear, they weren’t dangerous enough to intervene.

Rohayden simply nodded at Banther’s assessment. “Not an inaccurate addition.”

“Could it be that leaving the candidates unattended feels like a waste of time to you? Were you thinking of giving them something to do in the next six days?”

“It’s their time to waste, not mine.”

“So, you’re saying it is a waste.”

“That wasn’t my point. I have no intention of revoking Bolthen’s oversight or disrupting the timeline. I asked merely out of curiosity.”

However meaningless, the emperor pondered it for quite some time, his focus far from the budget he’d abandoned on the table. Instead of rushing him, Banther returned to his tasks. The emperor wasn’t the kind to withhold his subordinates’ departure once his own work was finished.

It wasn’t until Banther had sorted through the remaining paperwork that the emperor finally spoke.

“…Six days.”

“…?”

“Six days is… a short time, isn’t it?”

“Depending on what’s being done, yes. In general, it’s not much time.”

“Exactly.”

“Mind if I add, though? As paid leave, six days is quite long. Even if you gave me only half, I’d gladly take it.”

“Quite the ambition you have. Get back to work.”

‘Che’ Banther only muttered his disappointment inwardly and returned to his paperwork. Though he told his diligent aide to keep working, the emperor himself seemed in no hurry to return to his own tasks.

As darkness began to settle, the emperor’s thoughts grew deeper, like the evening sky. Only he knew the true nature of his contemplation.

—

Riela woke from her nap to see a statue that looked like Mail.

“Hmm, what are you doing? Is this a game?”

In reality, it was Mail herself. She was simply sitting there, lost in thought, so motionless she looked like a statue.

Mail ignored Riela’s first question. Feeling unintentionally dismissed, Riela walked over and gave her a little nudge.

“Mail.”

“Huh! Yes?”

“Are you playing the ‘don’t move’ game? Stop for a bit, then start again. I’m hungry.”

Mail’s stillness wasn’t a game, and if she was hungry, she could simply pull the cord by her bedside to call for food.

Instead of explaining this, Mail just blinked, then nodded. Riela, realizing just how still she’d been, found her behavior odd.

“Uh, what would you like? Shall I order an omelet and salad like yesterday?”

“No.”

“Is there something else you’d like…?”

“I want to go pick it myself.”

“Excuse me?”

“There’s a dining hall, isn’t there? Let’s go.”

With that, Riela stretched while standing and even yawned. Though lacking in royal dignity, she looked adorably charming with her pretty face… or rather, Mail found herself surprised and repeated what she had just heard.

“You mean you want to go to the dining hall?”

“Yes. Is it far?”

“Not very.”

“Rose must be hungry too, right?”

“We can go with Rose, but sitting at the same table as you… that won’t be allowed. By the way, what brought on this decision to go out to eat?”

Riela had times when she could be lazy or diligent, though the former was far more common. It was the first time since arriving in the Empire that she chose to go out for a meal.

The princess gave a casual answer to Mail’s question.

“Just felt like it.”

The simple response made it easy to see that her decision was just a passing whim.

“All right, then. Let’s go together. You’re planning to keep things simple, right?”

“What should I eat?”

Mail was used to her indifferent responses or answering questions with questions. She called a maid to help tidy up Riela’s hair and outfit, given she had just woken up. She also suggested brushing her teeth. After refreshing herself, Riela chattered aimlessly on their way to the dining hall.

By the time Mail had nodded along a few times to her interpretation of her dream—a random dream—the two of them arrived at the dining hall.

Mail remembered the sight of the hall bustling with candidates from early morning. Fortunately, there were fewer people around today than at that time.

As an attendant pulled out a chair for her, Riela quickly took her seat. Mail sat across from her. Taking a sip from a newly poured glass of water, Riela spoke up.

“What do you want to eat?”

Mail, who had also taken a sip of water, looked up at Riela. Whether inviting her to the library or now, she had a quiet way of looking after others.

Though limited to her own people, it somehow made it all the more meaningful. Smiling, Mail replied.

“I’ll have whatever you’re having, Princess.”

“What do you think I’ll eat?”

“No idea.”

“Neither do I.”

“Sounds like you’re having trouble deciding. Usually, dining halls offer a special dish of the day from the chef. If you don’t have a particular craving, you could go with that.”

“Okay, let’s do that. I’ll have the special.”

With a smile, Mail relayed the order to a nearby attendant. After ordering, she looked back at Riela and spoke.

“Princess.”

“Yes?”

“Could you call my name once?”

The request was sudden. But it wasn’t without context.

Riela didn’t know, but it was related to why Mail had been sitting quietly earlier in her quarters. Though a bit puzzled by the abrupt request, she readily obliged.

“Mail.”

Mail thought to herself as she heard her name.

“It feels… fine.”

“One more time, please.”

“Mail.”

“Still fine.”

“What’s fine?”

“Princess.”

“Yes?”

“You’re often called by your name, right? How does it usually feel?”

“The feeling of hearing my name.”

“Well…”

Though it sounded like a vague response, it was a straightforward answer in its own way. What special feeling is there to hearing your own name, after all? Mail knew this too, but feeling conflicted, she rested her chin on her hand momentarily, only to quickly straighten up again, remembering it wasn’t proper dining etiquette.