That was precisely why the King favored Yenycarina so dearly.
Having discovered the King’s wrist trouble, Yenycarina would pester him to hand her any dish difficult to manage—like today’s—so that he would relent and let her feed it to him. It hid his ailment from prying eyes.
Of course there were times the King refused to let her feed him, no matter how beloved the dish, but if it happened always, rumors would fly. Pringprang jelly was Irugo’s traditional dessert, often served at tea or after meals. Every gesture of the King carried meaning.
When King Nephthel first exhibited symptoms, Irugo and Silvanus were at war. They could not risk revealing his ill health while undercover agents lurked. Nor would he wish to disturb the balance of succession. Though unspoken, the King’s bias for Tarkan was evident; that favor allowed Tarkan—despite his commoner birth—to stand above Hamir, the Queen’s son, forestalling any noble coup.
The wrist ailment was trivial to life, but a rumor of royal infirmity could tip the succession. Yenycarina seized on this for her full brother Hamir—yet she told no one, not even their mother, the Queen, nor Hamir himself. She simply pretended ignorance and coaxed her father, feeding him what he could not manage.
Thus Yenycarina became the most cherished princess in Irugo, gossip claimed, melting the King with her coquettish charms—the ruler of the vast plains doting on his favorite daughter. This bolstered Hamir politically and elevated Yenycarina’s standing abroad.
“Very well played—I’d almost applaud,” Aristine thought, smiling at Yenycarina. Though the younger princess returned the smile, it was taut, far different from their first meeting.
But one must not grow complacent in victory.
Having eaten all seven jellies and swirled tea through his lips to cleanse his palate, King Nephthel finally spoke.
“This match was my decision, yet it pleases me greatly.”
His murmur drew every ear—attendants included—to attention.
“Thanks to the princess, I’ve enjoyed a most entertaining tea. I too should return the favor.”
His approving gaze fell on Aristine.
“Rine, is there anything you desire?”
He addressed her by pet name, just as to his daughters. All were stunned—yet none more so than Aristine. Her dawn-sky eyes flashed brilliantly, like morning light blooming at the horizon. Seeing that, Yenycarina ground her teeth in frustration.
Why… why has it come to this?
Yenycarina had engineered this audience to embarrass Aristine before the King—an impossible feat, she’d thought. Rumors abounded, yes, but now Aristine had won the King’s favor instead.
At length, Aristine’s lips parted.
“Your Majesty, do you think I asked for something?”
At her plaintive tone, the King raised a brow.
“Were you not?”
“No.”
Aristine answered with quiet confidence.
“Quite the contrary. I do have a request.”
At that, the King’s blue eyes darkened with surprise. No one had ever said to him, “I serve you because I want something.” Not the Queen, nor favored consorts, nor blood offspring, nor trusted vassals. Who would dare admit it? Arrogant indeed—and irresistible.
“I’m curious—what is it?”
Surely a modest reward for his convivial tea? But if she asked for too much, she’d expose herself. Yet the King—perhaps confident she would not overreach—waited.
And Aristine said:
“To cleanse Irugo of its reputation as a land of savages.”
Her small stone cast ripples across the placid court. The circle across the surface swelled into waves as it reached the shore. No one had expected such words. Today, Aristine had shocked many, but this surpassed all.
Yes, I told you so.
Aristine savored the sight of Tarkan unsettled, gazing at her.
Before even sitting at the negotiation table, I’ve demonstrated my worth.
Having long lain in wait, she now stretched her wings.
I’m someone you would sign a contract without reading the fine print.
Aristine smiled lightly at Tarkan’s direct gaze. Her face, bathed in the afternoon sun, shone.
Chapter 4. My Lord—No, My Husband
As Aristine strode ahead, Tarkan stared at the crown of her silver hair.
Completely different from earlier.
In the tea room, she had glanced back at him repeatedly with a sparkle in her eyes, as though asking, Did I do well? Am I helpful? Will you join me now? Yet outside, on the path to his palace, she did not so much as look his way.
I see now what you want.
She hoped he would reach out first. That he—who prided himself on solving everything alone—would ask for her assistance. A crooked smile curved his lips. Under any other circumstances, he would never have detained her. Always self-reliant, he thrived without help.
“Wait.”
But Tarkan caught her arm.
“Let’s talk.”
Aristine looked up at him, her eyes languidly curved.
“I’m dreadfully busy.”
She meant: Make me fuss for it. Unable to help himself, Tarkan suppressed a grin.
“Just a moment.”
“Mmm.”
“Very little time.”
The violet eyes that met his flicked aside.
“If just a moment, I’ll make time despite my busyness.”
“That’s appreciated.”
And so a tea table was set for the two of them. Though it was her third cup in succession, Aristine showed no weariness. Her first cup had teased her palate; the second she had given entirely to the King while feeding him jelly. Now she looked forward to this quiet moment.
“I admit it,” said Tarkan as the attendants poured tea.
“Admit what?”
“That you can help me.”
“Oh my.”
Aristine laughed softly. Her hand covered her lips in mock surprise, twisting Tarkan’s expression.
“You could at least entertain me, watching my siblings’ clowning, as you did today.”
He was loath to give her the words she truly wanted.
“Surely there’s more?”
“I wonder. What else was there?”
Feigning innocence, Aristine’s mouth hardened.
“Did you not see my skill? I even heard you ask the King what I wanted—just today!”
“So where would I use that?”
“When you’re away on a beast hunt, I could stabilize affairs. Your absences cause unrest, do they not?”
“I can calm it when I return.”
“I could prevent other royals from undermining those beneath you.”
“They must endure that on their own.”
“I could block nobles from pushing policies in your absence.”
“Those can wait.”
Aristine’s face remained impassive, but her glare seemed to seethe. She was surely cursing him internally. Yet to his surprise, he found it amusing.
“That’s wasteful. You say my first duty upon returning is tidying up after others. I could reduce that waste.”
Aristine murmured her discontent. Tarkan watched her in silence. The sunlight had deepened in hue, and the breeze carried the garden’s heady scents.
Finally, Aristine paused and lifted her head—realizing she had said too much.
“So. Why did you summon me—when you think I’ll be of little help?”
At her pointed question, Tarkan paused and answered after thought.
“As you said, we are betrothed. We should get to know each other some before negotiations.”
“Ah. You’re curious why I arrived in such a dust-covered state.”
Aristine nodded and crossed her legs. Though her paraphrase slightly altered his meaning, it was not wrong, and Tarkan inclined his head.
Aristine sipped her tea and lowered her gaze to the table. Long lashes cast a refined shadow over her eyes. Her gaze settled on the plate of enticing raspberry compote and a lone scone. She longed for it—but there was only one. Calmly, she continued sipping her tea.
Should I tell him about my history?
The answer came swiftly: No. Though she had little firsthand human experience, she knew not to trust a man she had only just met—her visions through the Emperor’s Eye showed countless relationships.
How much does he know of me?
He surely learned of her treatment in the palace exile; the Silvanus Emperor’s disdain was public. Officially, she was said to be secluded due to illness—yet most court members knew the truth. Tarkan had certainly seen through her in council.
As she pondered what to share, Tarkan suddenly spoke.
“I thought you might weep.”
“Huh?”
“When you arrived. I expected tears after your treatment by the other royals…”
He stopped himself, turning his head with a soft curse.
“I’ve never comforted anyone. Never tended to the sorrowful.”
Yet why did he care enough now to say so? He felt awkward at his own concern. But the image of her lowering her eyes so quietly had struck him.
Aristine regarded him in disbelief. Over that? Reading her in his eyes, Tarkan frowned.
“You are a Silvanus princess—I imagine you’ve never experienced such.”
“I’m used to it,” she replied.
Her appearance had been so pitiful that she had braced for scorn. Still, she discreetly placed a spoonful of raspberry compote atop her scone. Tarkan said nothing; he seemed distracted by something else.
Emboldened, she cut the scone, spread clotted cream generously, and ate a bite.
Delicious!
She may have tasted such as a child, but she remembered none of it. A sip of tea to wash it down was sheer ecstasy. Aristine felt a thrill—could she truly indulge in such joy?
Should I offer him a taste?
But the scone was small—only a few bites remained. She truly wanted it all herself. She glanced at him; his expression was unreadable. Understandable—this was not her scone, but his.
My fault for eating it unbidden.
Yet she hesitated to offer it. Just then, she realized:
“Did you say you’re used to it?”
Her voice dropped, scraping at the floor like a blade.