“I greet you, Rahatran.”

Maybe because there was an outsider in the room, Hatan gave Has a formal bow—something he normally wouldn’t bother with. He knew that if even his own family didn’t show respect, Has wouldn’t really be Rahatran anymore. So whenever other people were around, Hatan always made sure to treat him with proper formality.

“Sit.”

Has, usually composed and leisurely, wore a deliberately grave expression as he gestured toward a seat.

From the moment he entered the main hall, Hatan had swiftly scanned the faces within. It was immediately clear that the man seated across from Has was a representative of the Chantresha family.

“Hatan.”

“Yes, Rahatran.”

“There has been an issue with the Chantresha House.”

Hatan sat with a face already sour with distaste, his gaze sliding toward the attendant from Chantresha. The attendant, as though waiting for the cue, spoke in an affectedly heavy tone.

“Lady Zakia Chantresha has been consuming Karashuran flower for some time.”

Hatan’s expression shifted into one of pure irritation, as if the very conversation were a tedious burden.

“And?”

“Haah…”

The attendant clicked his tongue as though in futility and turned toward Has. Picking up where his subordinate faltered, Has spoke again in a calm but troubled voice.

“You know what Karashuran flower is, I trust.”

“I know enough.”

“She has been taking it. Fortunately, there have been no visible problems yet, but…”

Has trailed off, sighing heavily, as if the matter itself weighed upon him.

Perhaps frustrated by the drawn-out explanation, the Chantresha attendant suddenly cut in, seizing the conversation for himself.

“The young lady took the dream-flower because of you, Lord Hatan.”

One of Hatan’s eyebrows arched sharply. His earlier air of indifference hardened in an instant into something darker, more dangerous.

“What did you just say?”

“What do you mean?”

But the attendant, unfazed by Hatan’s menace, only lifted his chin higher, as if to provoke him deliberately.

At that brazen display of arrogance, Hatan let out a low, incredulous laugh.

“You’ve grown dull lately.”

“What are you—”

“Rotting away in the countryside, you’ve lost sight of how the game is being played, haven’t you?”

At the insult, the attendant’s face flushed crimson in an instant.

“You are being insolent.”

His voice trembled as though straining to contain his anger. Hatan only gave a dry laugh and cut him off.

“Insolent? Hardly. Insolent is what you’ve just been.”

“W–what…!”

“A mere attendant dares to interrupt the words of a house’s lord.”

“T—that’s only because the Rahatran of Mutran failed to convey the matter properly—”

“Did it never occur to you that spouting nonsense makes you unworthy of conversation?”

The words, clipped and disdainful, made the attendant’s face burn hotter. His lips quivered with humiliation, yet unwilling to back down, he forced words through clenched teeth.

“You—insolent cur! I may be a servant, but I stand here as the representative of House Chantresha! You will show respect!”

“Then perhaps you should try showing some yourself.”

The contrast could not have been greater. While Hatan was calm and relaxed, the attendant was almost frothing with indignation.

Unable to bear it any longer, the attendant jumped to his feet and pointed a finger at Hatan.

“Y—you dare—!”

Hatan snorted once at the thick finger pointing in his direction. Slowly and deliberately, he rose to his feet, seized the finger and spoke in a quiet, menacing tone.

“Seems you’ve missed the rumors.”

“Wh—what…?”

“No one warned you? That Mutran keeps a mad dog? That you’d best be careful not to cross it?”

With those words, his grip tightened. The attendant’s finger began to bend back at an unnatural angle.

“Ahhh—! Aaghhh!”

The face of the Chantresha servant twisted in fury and pain as he tried to break free. But what strength did someone who had only ever held a kitchen knife have compared to a man who had swung a blade on battlefields?

Hatan pressed harder, bending the finger back until the man shrieked as though seized by a fit.

“If you hadn’t heard, then hear it now.”

He released him at last with a scoffing laugh. The attendant clutched his freed hand to his chest as if to hide it.

As he watched him, Hatan offered a calm warning.

“Interrupt Mutran’s Rahatran again and I’ll cut off your head.”

The threat, delivered like the bite of a predator, caused the servant to draw in a sharp, terrified breath.

“I don’t waste words. Remember that.”

“Enough.”

Finally, Has, who had remained silent until then, intervened. Although he had waited a long time to speak, the attendant looked at him with tear-filled eyes, as if his intervention were a salvation. His previous arrogance had vanished without a trace.

“Be careful.”

Hatan said, leaning back in his chair as he threw one last warning at the servant.

“Let’s return to the matter. As you just heard, Lady Zakia Chantresha has been taking Dreamflower for several days… and according to House Chantresha, the cause lies with you, Hatan.”

At that, Hatan’s lips twisted. His eyes turned once more toward the Chantresha servant. Perhaps recalling the pain of the earlier lesson, the man flinched and looked away.

“Seems nonsense has become fashionable these days.”

The remark made the servant’s body jolt. True, Mutran was a parvenu house compared to theirs—while House Chantresha, even weakened, had produced empresses for generations until just three dynasties ago. In that sense, it was only natural for him to look down on Mutran.

And yet here was Hatan, dismissing him so brazenly. Rage boiled up within the servant.

Has, however, explained in a voice devoid of emotion, his gaze steady on Hatan.

“She took it in hopes she might become your woman.”

“How very… inventive.”

Who would have thought that she would resort to Dreamflower, a drug so potent that even courtesans would not use it for seduction? It was an effort almost worthy of applause.

Almost.

But Hatan was not a man inclined toward kindness. What he felt was nothing but the irritation of Zakia’s shameless advances, her trespass beyond all bounds. For a fleeting moment, he even entertained the thought of swatting down that buzzing gnat once and for all.

Not yet, he corrected himself swiftly. He was no longer a free blade, but the keystone of a house. He could not move carelessly.

“So what exactly is it you’re proposing?”

At his question, Has turned his head, directing the attendant to answer.

“Therefore, House Chantresha believes Hatan bears some responsibility for Lady Zakia’s mental and physical suffering. And so, we propose a formal marriage alliance between our houses—”

Bang!

Hatan’s boot came down hard on the low tea table before him. With a languid face wholly at odds with the violence of his action, he addressed the servant.

“Say it properly. Did I ever tell her to take it?”

“……But if you had not turned her away, my lady would not have—”

“Turned her away?”

Hatan let out a laugh of sheer disbelief. Life would be so much easier if he could still swing his sword without a care, as he had in the past. Then he would not have to waste his breath on such meaningless arguments.

The bloodstained days he had long thought himself incapable of missing flashed through his mind unbidden.

“Spurning? What spurning? We were strangers to begin with. What nonsense is this?”

“But—!”

“All she did was throw herself at me, and I didn’t respond. That is what you call spurning? By that logic, I’ve been spurning every soul in the world, haven’t I, Rahatran?”

Hatan tilted his mouth into a crooked smile as he spoke. Has, caught by the barb, forced an awkward smile of his own.

“That’s not what is meant. To a woman who loves you, at the very least, a measure of courtesy—”

The servant stammered, glancing between the two men as he offered his timid protest.

Hatan straightened in his chair and fixed him with a sharp stare.

“And you? You speak of courtesy while failing to show even the barest shred of it yourself?”

“……”

The servant, suddenly struck dumb, shifted his eyes away, unable to endure the pursuit in Hatan’s gaze.

“Rahatran, I beg you, please consider our lady.”

Ignoring the just rebuke, the servant appealed instead to Has. This, after all, had been their plan from the start—and judging by Has’s expression, no real obstacle remained.

“And what does Lady Zakia Chantresha herself say?”

The servant’s lips curved faintly, though he suppressed it quickly. That was the question he had been waiting for. Masking his eagerness with feigned composure, he replied in an even tone:

“My lady has long admired Lord Hatan. All she wishes is that he might recognize her devotion.”

At those words, her image rose unbidden in Hatan’s mind.

She was beautiful. No—truthfully, to call her merely beautiful was an injustice. With her skin like porcelain and the faint scent of acacia honey that clung to her, she embodied the very ideal of every man in the Empire.

Any ornament she touched became an object of envy for even the Empress herself. Garments she had worn became the desire of every woman in the realm overnight.

And yet, was Zakia, a flower of the Empire, of no use to Hatan? To him, Zakia and a nameless peasant girl were indistinguishable — at least, his actions suggested as much.

Has let a faint smile touch his lips as he offered a conciliatory close to the exchange.

“Hatan.”

“Yes.”

His expression remained as sharp and stormy as ever.

Has lifted his shoulders in a small shrug, giving his answer lightly, as if to end the quarrel there.

“My apologies.”

The moment those words were uttered, the servant rejoiced inwardly. He even allowed himself the pleasure of silently mocking Hatan.

However, perhaps that self-congratulation had come too soon, as the next words to slip from Has’s mouth were rather peculiar.

“I thought it best to call you here, so the stance could be made perfectly clear.”

The servant turned his head with a startled expression. Has, his eyes softened with polite composure, continued with even courtesy.

“As Hatan has said, this matter is not to be laid at Mutran’s feet. It was solely Lady Zakia’s doing. Therefore, no matter the request, Mutran cannot concede to Chantresha’s demands.”

The Rahatran of Mutran had spoken, yet the servant could muster no reply. He had expected—at most—some troubled reluctance. Never had he imagined such a firm rejection.

So the stories had said Has was gentle, a man whose temperament flowed like water. They had completely misjudged him.

“B-but—”

The servant tried belatedly to recover, but Has was swifter.

“Furthermore, Lady Zakia has, time and again, inflicted not only mental distress upon Hatan but also minor damages upon Mutran itself. The Emperor himself has, in the past, been forced to intervene.”

At the mention of the Emperor, the servant’s fingers clenched and unfurled in visible unease.

“Thus, should such reckless impositions or interferences occur again, it will be Chantresha that bears the cost of restitution.”

“You cannot mean… Are you suggesting this be brought to a noble tribunal?”

“There would be nothing to prevent it.”

Has shrugged lightly, smiling with an ease that only deepened the blow. It was a disaster of their own making. They had trusted false intelligence about Has, charging in blind without hesitation.

“Now that you understand Mutran’s position, you may take your leave.”

✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦ ✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦ ✦❘

The servant all but fled, leaving Hatan and Has alone to finish their tea and resume the conversation that had been interrupted.

Watching Hatan still frowning, Has spoke with feigned difficulty.

“Now they come running with the most laughable excuses.”

“Then start a rumor of your own,” Hatan muttered.

Has shook his head.

“The perception as it stands is just right.”

Easily coaxed, but not so easily swayed—this precise balance was what best served Mutran’s growing influence. Neither more nor less.

Relaxing his expression at last, Has turned to Hatan with a question.

“By the way, I heard you brought a woman with you.”

“A woman?”

“They say someone entered the annex who isn’t a maid.”

“Ah.”

He was referring to Lisha. If word had already spread all the way from the annex to the main residence, there was no point in trying to hide it. Hatan started to explain how she had come into Mutran but gave up midway.

“I’m looking to broaden the field of espionage.”

“You mean to use a woman as a spy?”

“She’s quite capable.”

Has hesitated, his gaze lingering on Hatan. It had been a very long time since he’d heard the man call anyone outside his closest aides capable.

“Capable, you say?”

Has studied him for a beat, then let out a soft chuckle.

“Seems you’ve taken a liking to her.”

“Who knows.”

Hatan gave the evasive reply as he rose to his feet.

“I was working before I came. I’ll take my leave.”

And without hesitation, he walked out.

✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦ ✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦ ✦❘

“Caro.”

Back in his own study, Hatan called the moment he stepped inside, where Caro was handling his duties in his stead.

“Monghwan flower.”

“…Pardon?”

“Find me a physician who can prescribe it.”

Abrupt and without context—so typical of Hatan. He never bothered to explain his schemes in advance. Following his orders in silence was the only way to piece together his intent along the way.

“Yes, sir.”

Caro hastily gathered the papers he had been reviewing and left the room.

Leaning back into his chair, Hatan closed his eyes. Zakia had wasted enough of his time today, yet because of it, he had gained something entirely unexpected.

Monghwan flower. Its formal name was Karashuran.

This blossom carried the effect of powerfully rousing a man’s interest. Yet its side effects were severe enough that no one would take it unless in exceptional circumstances.

“Monghwan flower will do.”

That would be the key to opening the first door for Lisha. While the side effects were a concern, provided it was not taken for extended periods, there would be no issue. The most important thing was capturing the target’s attention at the beginning of the mission.

Exhausted, Hatan made the decision lightly.

✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦ ✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦ ✦❘

Although its use had declined, the Monghwan flower was still easy to find. News of it quickly reached Caro’s information network. He swiftly gathered information on its natural habitat and suppliers, preparing Lisha’s new mission with practized ease.

Lisha, of course, knew nothing of this. She simply carried out Hatan’s instructions diligently.

Do nothing. Wait quietly in her room for him.

Aside from occasionally venturing into the annex courtyard to catch some sunlight, she adhered to that order with a thoroughness bordering on foolishness.

And at last, a new command came.

“Let’s go.”

Startled by the voice, Lisha blinked in its direction. She let go of her newly shorn hair, still awkward to the touch, and lowered her hand before asking the one who had come to fetch her:

“Is Ahan coming with me?”

“Yes.”

If Lisha had any feelings about the change in her escort, she didn’t show them. She merely nodded once or twice and followed Ahan, who had already taken the lead.