“Of course, that goes without saying, but I’m hardly an idle man. Nor do I have a hobby of watching people sleep. I came to your chamber with a clear purpose.”
Aristine raised her brows.
“I thought you’d dispatched deputies to learn these details before meeting the King.”
“My apologies. I should have informed you earlier. It seems I came to the wrong door—”
Seeing Tarkan rise as if to leave, Aristine narrowed her eyes.
“Leaving so soon? Your errand was a pretext—you came to admire the angel asleep…”
She trailed off. Tarkan gulped his tea, the warm liquid burning like ice in his throat.
Aristine stepped off the bed and stood before him, smiling.
“So, which is it? Are you impressed by my ability, or by the sight of an angel…”
“I’m impressed by your ability.”
Tarkan ground out the words. Aristine’s eyes softened.
“Of course you are. I’m rather remarkable, after all.”
Her face, usually unreadable, held genuine sincerity. He exhaled and inclined his head.
“Let’s leave this blasted bedchamber of angelic repose. We need to eat.”
At this, Aristine’s eyes lit up. Dinner the previous night had been exquisite, and she looked forward to more.
Since waking, it was the first true emotion to cross her face. Tarkan turned away from her sparkling violet gaze.
‘A curious woman.’
Seeing her so, he found it hard to believe she’d bested so many royals before the King. Tonight’s welcome banquet would doubtless reveal more of her surprising nature.
‘…Why do I think that?’
He startled himself with the thought, but dismissed it: ‘Just a feeling, nothing more.’
“I want us to arrive just in time for the audience. Don’t go early.”
As they walked toward the dining hall, Aristine chatted merrily.
“Right. Going early only leads to awkward encounters.”
“Yes. But there’s another reason.”
When he looked at her, Aristine smiled mischievously.
“We agreed to do well together, didn’t we? As partners.”
Her violet eyes glowed playfully.
“We’ll discuss details over the meal. Oh, there is something I’d like you to prepare first…”
Chapter 6: A Pervert Who’s Too Shy
“What’s this, Lady Rosalyn?”
“Clinging to the princess now, are you?”
“They’re hilarious—she who tormented her most, now fawning like a dog.”
The maids puckered their lips as Rosalyn helped Aristine dress. Irritation surged at seeing her wagging her tail in service. Though born of fear, they refused to admit it.
Approaching with prim airs, they addressed Aristine.
“Your Highness, isn’t this… improper?”
They spoke boldly—but Aristine offered no response. They exhaled in frustrated disbelief at being ignored.
Rosalyn stepped forward.
“How dare you utter such insolence to Her Highness!”
“And what are you doing, Lady Rosalyn?!”
“As ladies-in-waiting, we should assist in preparing for the audience with the King—not tilt our heads insolently!”
Rosalyn’s emerald eyes slashed at them. The other maids wavered. Among them, she had been the fiercest tormentor of Aristine.
Yet one maid remained unbowed.
“It’s laughable that Lady Rosalyn speaks thus.”
“Brody!”
Brody thought the idea that Rosalyn—who knelt and barked like a dog—should now be feared was utterly absurd. Didn’t she herself suffer burns on her face because of the princess? Even now, her healing was slow for lack of priestly or magical treatment. Each glance in the mirror brought fresh revulsion. The burns were her own fault, yet that memory had long since faded.
“I think you misunderstand. We’re not chiding the princess—we’re offering counsel. Is that not our role?”
Brody said, roughly grabbing Aristine’s shoulder and pivoting her.
“We represent Silvanus before the King of Irugo. Yet you wear Irugo attire?”
Aristine indeed wore an Irugo-style gown. Having brought no proper clothes from Silvanus, she had worn what Irugo provided.
“A Silvanan envoy must don Silvanan garb!”
At Brody’s signal, the other maids retrieved Aristine’s gown—worn for over a fortnight, stained and rumpled.
“Here—the robe His Majesty the Emperor personally sent to celebrate your marriage. As his daughter and as his subject, you must wear it!”
Aristine did not react. She simply regarded Rosalyn with a still, watery gaze. Rosalyn recoiled at that look.
This would not stand.
Crack!
A sharp crack echoed in the chamber. Brody blinked in disbelief as a red welt blossomed on her left cheek.
‘Did she… slap me?’
Stunned, she smoothed her cheek with trembling fingers.
“To thrust such filthy clothes at Her Highness is an insult in itself! You must reflect on your actions!”
“Ha! Listen to yourself—lecturing us? Most of this gown’s ruin is your fault!”
Brody shouted, trembling with rage as she jabbed a finger at Rosalyn.
‘A dogfight.’
Aristine watched them as if they were a distant spectacle. Surely their animosity would turn inward now.
‘Fewer nuisances at least.’
Checking her watch, Aristine rose.
“Not the Second Princess, but the First has arrived?”
“I heard she came looking insane, a grotesque sight…”
Whispers among the nobles reached the queen. Aristine’s filthy arrival had spread like wildfire. Meanwhile, the tea with Nefter—and Aristine’s refined bearing—remained largely unmentioned. Such news benefited Tarkan’s position. Though many nobles backed Hamir, others stayed neutral knowing the King’s will favored peace.
Tarkan’s political flaw—his commoner mother—was mitigated by marrying a Silvanan princess. The Imperial family, oldest on the continent, possessed the rarest noble blood. The queen’s brow twitched.
‘To wed that wretch to a Silvanan princess…!’
A fire burned within her, but she dared not show it. This marriage could end the war; opposing it would seem to value her son’s claim over the realm’s peace.
Yet it unsettled her that positive news of Aristine and Tarkan spread. Deciding to quell the talk, she prepared to speak—when Nenycarina, Faelamien, Marten, and Stalina, forewarned, kept silent.
‘Still, the prejudice that she’s insane serves no one.’
Nenycarina had dismissed the princess as a fool, but privately worried otherwise. If Aristine proved politically adept, the stereotypes would transform into a surprising asset.
At that moment, the queen’s name was called. She turned with a smile.
“My queen.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“It seems seating is insufficient.”
“Pardon?”
Even the nobles were seated strictly by rank; no empty seats remained. Aristine and Tarkan had not yet entered. The meaning was clear. The queen’s face fell.
“It appears the palace steward erred. I shall—”
“Your Majesty, you did not confirm this?”
Impossible. She had ordered those seats removed herself—but she showed no reaction beyond solemnity.
“My negligence, sire. I was so caught in the excitement of peace that I failed to notice.”
Her deliberate words bought time. She could not let the arrangement be undone now.
‘Just a little longer.’
Moments later, a herald’s voice boomed.
“Prince Tarkan of Irugo and Her Highness Aristine of the Silvanus Empire have arrived with the delegation!”
At this, the royals and nobles steeled themselves for mockery. They anticipated Tarkan’s disgrace due to his bride’s supposed insanity.
The doors opened. Hand in hand, Tarkan and Aristine entered.
None dared speak. Eyes widened as they beheld Aristine’s graceful walk. Clad in a red silk gown and silver hair cascading like wisteria blooms, she seemed an ethereal vision.
“I greet the Sovereign of Irugo.”
Her clear, melodic voice rang through the hall. Everyone recovered as from a spell. Though silent, their minds buzzed with astonishment.
Over the hush, the King’s voice resounded.
“You have traveled far, Princess. Irugo welcomes you.”
“I thank Irugo for its gracious hospitality.”
Her pronunciation, her bearing, her gaze—nothing was amiss or excessive. She was calm beyond all expectations for a long-imprisoned princess.
‘She must have rehearsed her greeting countless times.’
‘They would have drilled her for the first audience.’
The nobles who’d dismissed her as a beggar forced themselves to accept this reality. It made no sense that she arrived in rags—but they would not think further.
“I understand the journey was arduous. You traveled by carriage, not portal, and we feared for your safety.”
The Queen addressed Aristine gently—yet laced with derision. The portal between their realms, closed for 270 years, was denied by Silvanus. Everyone knew the truth: the Emperor had forced her hardship.
‘She cannot even use our portal,’ the Queen’s unspoken meaning was clear.
Aristine’s lips curved in a polite arc.
“The journey to halt the bloodshed of war cannot be burdensome.”
Her words conveyed a sharp rebuke: “If you speak of peace, spare me your comments on hardship.”
The nobles who’d thought her a fool faltered. They’d expected tears or outrage—yet she responded with dignity.
Before they could regain composure, Aristine spoke again.
“Indeed, the portal is convenient. But I believed there was value in seeing Silvanus and Irugo with my own eyes, no matter the discomfort.”
Her calm voice carried power.
“War has ravaged the lives of our peoples. My heart ached for them. Physical toil was of no concern.”
As a leader, there was no finer answer. The Queen’s lips twitched.
‘It wasn’t distress—it was my husband’s decree!’
She dared not say so. On cue, the King chimed in with hearty laughter.
“Ah, the Emperor of Silvanus truly raised a wise daughter. She spurns comfort for purpose.”
With that declaration, the Queen’s eyes flew shut in astonishment—and pride.