‘Benefactor?’

Ahazan tried to fathom how Clodine, who had been away from the Empire for so long, could possibly be the benefactor of a servant living in the imperial palace, and demanded an explanation.

After her sobbing subsided, the servant steadied her breathing and spoke.

‘I lived for three years in the Rotermann royal palace as a mistress of King O’Neil Penelope. When it was discovered that I was with child, I nearly lost my life at the hands of the other mistresses. The one who secretly helped me escape was Her Majesty the Queen of Penelope.’

The moment those words left the servant’s mouth, Ahazan felt a blue-tinged killing intent veil his vision, as though his heart had frozen solid.

He usually dismissed such feelings as ‘anger.’

More precisely, it was a fury so intense that he wished to descend into hell at once and sever the neck of O’Neil Penelope, already long dead and reduced to a ghost, over and over again.

‘You bore O’Neil’s child?’

By then, Ahazan had already learned enough to know, to the point of frustration, that Clodine had once wasted herself on a pitiful and foolish love.

But that she had spent those years saving the life of a woman carrying the child of the man she loved, that was something he heard for the first time that day.

In the Rotermann royal palace, more than ten women had resided there besides Clodine. All were O’Neil’s mistresses. Among them, three had already borne his children.

And now he had just learned of one more.

From Ahazan’s perspective, it was nothing short of absurd.

‘I miscarried on the way to the Empire.’

Hearing her answer, Ahazan let out a cold, dry laugh, uncertain whether to call it misfortune or relief.

‘It may have been tragic for a subject of the Kingdom, but when I heard of the Empire’s occupation of Rotermann…’

At that point, the servant broke into tears once more and continued desperately.

‘No—when I heard that O’Neil had died at Your Majesty’s hands… I was truly glad.’

‘You did not love O’Neil?’

‘It was a forced marriage. I swear I never once held that filthy man in my heart. I was sincerely grateful to Your Majesty for delivering judgment upon him.’

Ahazan’s gaze fell dryly upon the servant’s fingers pressed against the floor, strained so tightly that her nails looked ready to snap.

‘But when I soon heard that Her Majesty the Queen had been taken prisoner to the imperial palace, it felt as though my heart collapsed… I am not a beast. After receiving such grace, I could not turn away while she faced hardship…’

The servant poured out her words without pause, then crawled forward on her knees and prostrated herself once more.

‘She was the spring of Rotermann… She always cared for the suffering people most closely and saved the lives of many women like me. For someone like her to meet the same fate as O’Neil, merely because she was Queen, is unbearably cruel, Your Majesty.’

Watching the servant spill out a story that required no prompting and could hardly be heard without tears, Ahazan began to think of something else entirely.

‘That aside.’

He bent his knees and crouched before her, looking down at her bowed head from close range.

‘I wonder whether you realize that what you are doing now is a grave insolence, one not easily forgiven.’

The servant, who had been weeping and pleading all this time, lifted her head at that moment and answered with resolve.

‘I was prepared to forfeit my life the moment I entered this room.’

Pleased by her courage, greater than that of many who had stood upon the battlefield, Ahazan let out a faint, satisfied laugh.

‘How long have you been in the Empire?’

The servant hesitated, perhaps thinking the question abrupt, before answering.

‘It has been four years this year.’

‘Do you think Clodine would remember your face?’

‘Her Majesty the Queen has never seen me up close. I only saw her from afar…’

Even if Clodine had remembered her face, he would have carried out what needed to be done. As it was, the circumstances were flawless.

As though no further words were necessary, Ahazan ended the exchange in a single sentence.

‘From this day forward, you belong to the Empress’s Palace.’

—

At that point, Ahazan ended his recollection and picked up the long goose quill resting upon his desk.

Oddly enough, thinking of something else had cleared his mind, and the solution to the matter that had been troubling him came easily.

As he wrote forcefully across the thick parchment, he asked Merian, who stood before him, a question entirely unrelated to state affairs.

“How fares your work in the Empress’s Palace?”

“It still does not feel real.”

“What is there to feel real about?”

“On the day Your Majesty appointed me a servant of the Empress’s Palace, the palace did not even exist. Yet within mere weeks, it has risen as if from nothing.”

“Not only did I spare your life, I placed an honorable post around your neck, yet your tone remains insolent.”

Merian spoke more frankly to Ahazan now than she had at first. Partly it was because of the many conversations they had shared, but more so because Ahazan had deliberately treated her without distance.

Unaware of how exceptional such treatment was, Merian spoke in her usual stiff voice, clearly stating what she had to say.

“I have no face to show Her Majesty the Empress, Your Majesty. How long must I continue reporting to you separately like this? Please, at least tell me that.”

“Do you think it is not embarrassing for me, an Emperor, to stand here every day asking favors of a subordinate?”

Ahazan and Merian’s secret alliance operated under its own refined set of rules.

For instance, Merian was obligated to report every detail concerning Clodine’s health and safety to Ahazan without omission. However, regarding all other matters, she followed the principle of selective disclosure. Thus, aside from issues directly related to Clodine’s well-being, Ahazan had no choice but to accept, without complaint, the scraps of information Merian chose to offer as though granting him a favor.

“Now that we’re speaking of it, haven’t you been rather stingy lately?”

Without lifting his head from the parchment, Ahazan raised only his eyes to look at Merian. Their alliance had never been about spying on Clodine but about ensuring her safety, so he held no real dissatisfaction. Still, these days Merian was excessively reserved, even about trivial matters, if they involved Clodine.

“You have not forgotten our agreement, I trust? I am not a spy of the Empress’s Palace.”

As she said this, Merian bowed respectfully, signaling that she would take her leave.

As usual, Ahazan gave a faint, knowing smile.

Just before turning away completely, Merian lightly set something down on the desk and left the study.

Ahazan picked up the object she had left behind.

It was a small glass vial containing a little pink, translucent liquid. Even without bringing it to his nose, he could catch the faint scent of roses.

A smile, as alluring as the fragrance itself, spread lightly across his face.

He placed the rose perfume, undoubtedly the one Clodine had used that day, beside the ink where his eyes would frequently fall upon it.

Merian, who was no spy, had made a deliberate gesture of goodwill. And that small favor brought him a quiet pleasure that afternoon.

***

The dining table was long enough to seat twenty adults comfortably, yet not a single seat was empty, filled as it was with noblewomen.

An array of dishes pleasing to the eye covered the table. Seated at the head, Clodine lifted a glass filled with pale golden, translucent wine.

“Shall we toast together, to the prosperity of the Empire and to our friendship?”

The very words ‘the prosperity of the Empire’ made her stomach churn, yet Clodine spoke with composed dignity, a gentle smile resting on her lips.

Princess Anna von Lernando and Lady Charlotte Langham, seated close to her, beamed and raised their glasses in unison. The others followed suit, picking up their glasses in imitation.

All except one.

The Duchess of Brighton.

Like the other women, Clodine turned her gaze toward her. The duchess, well past sixty, deliberately refused the toast, staring stubbornly at the food before her.

After a brief moment of deliberation, Clodine lightly tapped the rim of her glass with her fingernail. The small, clear sound drew everyone’s attention back to her.

“Let us toast.”

With that, she raised her glass higher, and everyone followed.

Clodine personally clinked glasses with the noblewomen seated on either side of her, marking the beginning of the banquet with utmost courtesy.

However, once the meal properly began, the atmosphere grew even more frigid.

Once again, it was because of the Duchess of Brighton.

Not content with refusing the toast, she now seemed intent on refusing the meal as well, sitting rigidly with both hands lowered beneath the table.

The noblewomen who had begun eating gradually lowered their cutlery, glancing cautiously at the duchess.

It was hardly surprising. The Duchess of Brighton was a respected elder in high society and the matriarch of a family that had overseen trade within the Empire for decades, a formidable figure in the business world. Many held the Brighton household in high regard.

As for Clodine, she had grown up receiving considerable affection from both the duke and duchess.

“Duchess of Brighton, does the food not suit your taste?”

Clodine asked as politely as possible, inquiring why she had not begun her meal.

Only then did the duchess roll her eyes toward Clodine. Because her head remained upright, the angle made her gaze appear almost like a glare.

“Since we are in the imperial palace, I suppose I cannot even offer empty criticism that the food is lacking.”

Hostility lingered not only in her eyes but in her voice.

Clodine silently set down her fork and knife upon her plate and took a measured sip of wine. The sweetness of it helped soothe the dampening heaviness creeping into her mood.

Maintaining her usual composure, she addressed the duchess.

“In a space occupied only by food and people, if the food is not the issue…”

Her gentle yet resolute gaze met the duchess’s sharp stare without wavering.

“Then it must be the people.”