“…Van.”

Mail whispered the name as if groaning. What had she felt in that moment?

What overwhelmed her was fear.

“I’m scared.”

She tugged on his sleeve, pulling him closer, and rested her forehead against his shoulder. Even as she closed her eyes, vivid images played in her mind.

She saw the wounds.

Festering wounds, left untreated for so long they had rotted away entirely. And lifeless eyes, duller and more hollow than those of a mad person—eyes that seemed utterly dead.

Those lifeless eyes regained vitality the moment she pushed Ormil. As Ormil’s body collapsed forward like a lifeless puppet, a burst of ecstasy seemed to flicker in the maid’s gaze, lighting it up with life.

Mail realized it then. It hit her as if someone had struck her. She understood the torment the maid had endured and the pain that had consumed her until now.

The maid had suffered years of verbal *buse and beatings from her mistress. Then, when her mistress was publicly disgraced and cast out in shame, one might have thought it a happy ending. But the maid soon realized another truth, one that plunged her back into misery.

Her mistress had been punished—not for the harm inflicted upon her—but for reasons entirely unrelated to the *buse.

In other words, if her mistress had not committed those other crimes, the *buse would have continued unabated.

And this realization—that the suffering she endured was too insignificant to count as a crime—deepened the maid’s wounds.

From then on, her heart, already battered and broken, began to fester. The mistress had been punished, but not for the right reasons. The justice she longed for, the justice that could give meaning to her pain, had not been served.

Ultimately, revenge became her only path to peace. The festering wound in her heart allowed no other solution. Vengeance was the only thing that could save her.

And Mail, seeing the maid, saw the Emperor reflected in her.

The Emperor had lost his mother at a young age. If the first Empress Consort had indeed been involved, she was undoubtedly his enemy.

What had become of his enemy? She was dead. But not as a result of punishment for her crimes—her death was an accident.

Perhaps what tormented the Emperor was not merely the loss of his mother but also the guilt of failing to personally hold her killer accountable.

The unresolved grudge, left without a target for vengeance, might have unconsciously hollowed out his heart.

And this terrified Mail. The mere thought chilled her to the bone.

The Emperor would inevitably recover his lost memories. As long as there were those who sought to uncover the truth, the concealed past would resurface during the process of holding the culprits accountable.

Even if the matter was buried temporarily, another threat could arise. Eventually, the Emperor would have to confront his pain.

What if, at that moment, he succumbed to his torment?

What if, like the maid who had pushed Ormil, he became consumed by his agony, his once-bright eyes darkened and lifeless?

“…I’m scared.”

This fear overwhelmed Mail more than anything else.

The Emperor, taken aback by her inexplicable plea, was at a loss. Stiff with uncertainty, he hesitated before cautiously extending his arms. He gently pulled her close, cradling her against him. Her soft frame fit completely within his embrace. Speaking softly, the Emperor finally broke the silence.

“Mail, I…”

He must have deliberated countless times in that brief moment about what to say. Should he ask what frightened her? Should he reassure her without knowing the reason? In the end, he chose honesty.

“The thing I fear most in this world is you getting hurt.”

His low voice carried his unvarnished feelings.

The Emperor had never known fear. It was a word that seemed foreign to him. The idea of being scared or trembling in terror was something he had no experience with since reaching adulthood.

There was one simple reason for this: he was strong.

As a genius in swordsmanship, he reached the pinnacle of skill early and had no equal. Assassination attempts that could unnerve neighboring kings were, to him, occasional amusements.

Even during imperial campaigns to suppress uprisings, he was unshaken. Whether charging into enemy ranks alone or facing overwhelming odds, fear was always someone else’s burden.

Back then, the unofficial moniker of the imperial suppression force, “The Emperor and His Squad,” hinted at how thoroughly he dominated every situation.

He lived a life untouched by fear. Not even physical pain fazed him. His philosophy was simple: “If it tears, stitch it up.” And rarely did he even sustain a scratch.

But then, an anomaly occurred. For the first time, he learned what it meant to be afraid—because of Mail.

The night he rescued her from the dark halls of the deserted palace, he experienced his heart stopping for the first time. The sensation of all warmth draining from his body, as if he were turning to ice, and the shiver running down his spine—this was fear.

“The mere thought of you being hurt chills me to the core.”

“I’m afraid of you getting hurt.”

The Emperor whispered again. Mail blinked. Through their touching bodies, she could feel the warmth and the sound of his heartbeat through the fabric of their clothes.

The arms that wrapped around her back were solid, as if determined to protect her no matter what.

“…”

Her heart thumped. This time, it wasn’t from fear. The sincerity radiating from the Emperor’s words, intangible yet vividly perceptible, overwhelmed her. His words were tantamount to a confession. How was that different from saying, I’m so in love with you I could die?

Mail closed her eyes and lifted her hand to gently pat the Emperor’s back. Her chest felt full, as though overflowing with emotions too great to contain.

She feared for him getting hurt. He feared for her getting hurt. They were each other’s vulnerability and exception. To anyone else, it would seem like a miracle.

“I won’t get hurt.”

“…”

“So you shouldn’t get hurt either.”

It wasn’t possible to accept this miracle as mere blessing, but still—

“You mustn’t get hurt.”

She liked him. She was elated by the feelings he directed toward her. She never voiced her own confession, fearing that doing so would bind her irrevocably, but her emotions grew stronger regardless, an unstoppable force.

Mail hugged the Emperor tightly, as though hoping her fears were mere illusions.

***

“By the way, how were you there?”

The garden, designed for leisurely strolls, had structures where one could sit and rest when tired. Not wanting to part so soon but also unwilling to stand talking for long, the two sat on a low stone wall. Mail glanced at the Emperor as she asked.

The Emperor, who had appeared at just the right moment, covered her eyes, and whisked her away like he had been waiting for her, answered:

“By coincidence.”

It was a lie. He had been waiting. But admitting it would require further explanations, so he deflected with the all-purpose excuse. Mail didn’t press for the truth.

“Then you were on your way to the banquet?”

“Well… I was debating it.”

“I wasn’t really heading to the banquet, you know. I was going there, but that wasn’t my purpose.”

A breeze blew. Mail continued speaking but paused when the chill reminded her she hadn’t brought her shawl. Before she could say anything, the Emperor was already taking off his outer coat and draping it over her.

Forced to wear it, Mail looked a little sheepish but carried on.

“My goal wasn’t the banquet—it was to lure out the culprit.”

“Mail.”

“…I was absolutely confident I wouldn’t get hurt. Mac was with me, after all.”

This, however, was Mail’s lie. At the time, she had thought to herself that even if she were injured, it would be worth it. As long as she didn’t die, it was a worthwhile trade to catch the culprit.

Both the Emperor and Mail shared a frustrating similarity: they worried endlessly about the other’s safety while disregarding their own.

“But still, that was so…”

“I know. It was reckless. I won’t do it again.”

“…Promise me.”

“Alright, I promise.”

After linking pinkies like children, Mail spoke again.

“Anyway, about that—how Ormil ended up inside the palace.”

She recalled Ormil staggering out from behind the door. At the time, she had been too shocked to think, but now it seemed strange.

“At first, I thought maybe she snuck in. Side doors meant for servants are often less guarded at night, and it wouldn’t be impossible to sneak in with some cleverness.”

But on second thought, Ormil’s condition had been far from normal—her unfocused gaze and unsteady gait, for example. Even with a generous interpretation, she didn’t seem capable of pulling off such a feat.

Which meant someone must have helped her sneak into the palace. And in Mail’s view, that wasn’t a coincidence.

“It seems deliberate,” she said, her voice laced with confidence despite the guise of speculation.

The Emperor agreed.

In fact, he had already known Ormil had infiltrated the palace. What the Marquis overlooked was that the Emperor, pouring all his attention into Mail’s safety, had greatly increased surveillance within the palace.

Normally, a mere cook’s aide hiding someone in their quarters might have gone unnoticed.

But with doubled surveillance, not even an ant could slip into the palace undetected, let alone someone like Ormil.

The timing, the person—everything about it raised suspicions.

Upon hearing the report, the Emperor had immediately grown wary. He had Ormil monitored and deliberated on what to do.

If this wasn’t mere coincidence but the work of the culprit, Ormil was sure to be exploited. Simply expelling her would leave room for future trouble.

Ultimately, the Emperor decided to let her act under controlled conditions.

Killing her discreetly was an option but would risk alerting the culprit, who might then become more cautious. Catching them would be easier if they believed their plan had simply failed due to negligence.

The Emperor intended to let them think they’d bungled it themselves.

It wasn’t difficult to extract Ormil. The emperor secretly removed her from the cook’s quarters and led her to the banquet hall. After all, accidents tend to occur more easily in crowded places.

At that moment, a report reached the emperor: Mail was heading to the main palace’s banquet hall alone, without any companions.

The guards assigned to Mail weren’t limited to just Mac. Hidden among them were several colleagues who also played protective roles, one of whom doubled as an informant.

The emperor, naturally, couldn’t just stand idly by. If Ormil encountered Mail in the banquet hall, the outcome was as predictable as it was dangerous—Ormil would undoubtedly lash out without any consideration of the circumstances.

It wasn’t that he distrusted Mac or the other guards, but when it came to Mail, the emperor’s specialty was overprotection and unnecessary worry. He felt he wouldn’t be at ease unless he personally ensured her safety.

That’s why he had already positioned himself at the entrance along Mail’s path, waiting for her.

However, events didn’t unfold as he had anticipated. Ormil moved across the banquet hall faster than expected and opened the door at the entrance. And then, there was Amy’s sudden interference—an entirely unexpected twist.

When Ormil fell down the stairs, she was unfortunate enough to break her neck. It was a scene the emperor had shielded Mail from witnessing by covering her eyes.

In the end, Ormil met her demise. While the method differed significantly from the emperor’s original plan—to orchestrate an accident and have her executed—it was still a resolution. What remained was uncovering who was behind it all.

“If it wasn’t a coincidence?”

“I think it’s the work of someone displeased with my actions. And that someone must be the monstrous entity I’ve been searching for. I expected them to employ professional assassins or specialized personnel, but the fact that they didn’t is unexpected. Even so, it’s too deliberate to dismiss as mere coincidence. Perhaps they aimed to use Ormil to target me.”

“I agree with that assessment.”

“Right? Judging by the situation and the outcome, it seems like they failed. But still, it means they attempted something.”

Mail’s expression grew more serious. It was troubling. If there had been an attacker, they could have captured them to trace the mastermind. But interrogating Ormil wouldn’t likely yield anything useful—not to mention her survival was uncertain. The only lead was whoever had brought her into the palace, but even they might have been nothing more than an unwitting pawn. It was a headache.

She had thought she found a solution, but now it seemed she would have to wait indefinitely again.

“We need to catch them…”

“You don’t need to worry about that.”

“Pardon?”

“I believe we’ll uncover something.”

“Really? From the person who brought Ormil into the inner palace?”

“Yes.”

Of course, the cook wouldn’t provide anything useful. Even if interrogated, all they would spill were recipes. But the emperor had attached a different lead to the case.

Even after removing Ormil, the watcher remained stationed at the site. Their role was to identify anyone secretly approaching the location. Once identified, they were to report back and follow the target.

“That’s a relief.”

Mail’s expression softened, and she smiled in visible relief. The emperor silently observed her, his gaze lingering. When his silence stretched, Mail asked, “What are you thinking about?”

“That I need to open the tower.”

His response was immediate, but it lacked sufficient context for Mail to understand right away. When she asked what tower he meant, he simply smiled without further explanation.

He had already received word that the key had been obtained. Now, he awaited Banther’s arrival before dawn.