Thus, their intent had been to disgrace Aristine thoroughly and to demonstrate clearly who held real power here. No matter how high-born the empire’s princess, in Irugo’s political salons she was at the very bottom. They meant to show this not only to the Princess herself but to every noble present.
‘Could it be that I’ve unwittingly given her cause for a counterattack?’
Given the political acumen Aristine had already displayed, it was an inescapable thought. And she was not the only one unsettled. Tarkan, too, felt a flicker of unease—though for an entirely different reason. He knew precisely how unpredictable his bride could be.
‘She wouldn’t start talking about perverts and such… would she?’
Seeing Aristine’s eyes spark with amusement, he worried she might. It was a remarkable talent: even surrounded by beasts, Tarkan had never before felt so unsettled so swiftly.
Before she could stir any scandal, he slipped an arm around her shoulders. Her slender form settled into his palm as he guided her attention away from the Queen Consort.
“The feast isn’t even begun,” he said, addressing the Queen. “Your Majesty, have you perhaps imbibed more than intended?”
“Imbibed?”
“If not, you wouldn’t bid the Princess to sit in the backmost seats.”
He meant: such words were not fit for a sober mind. As the Queen’s face stiffened, Tarkan drew Aristine a little closer.
“The Princess’s coming to Irugo is itself a symbol of peace. Yet you propose she occupy the lowest place…”
His golden eyes remained calm and leisurely.
“I trust, Your Majesty, that you do not intend to place peace beneath all else.”
The Queen’s lips trembled. Not only she, but all the royals and nobles—even King Nefter—were taken aback by Tarkan’s intervention.
‘Tarkan, stepping in to defend another? And with political rhetoric?’
It was a scene none had ever expected. True, Tarkan cared for those he claimed—yet always through sheer force of presence, not words. He had never before resorted to diplomatic speeches or courtly manners. That was why so many nobles had allied themselves with Hamir instead.
But now it was plain he had the will to speak—and to protect Aristine. Those who had dismissed him must have been disoriented.
‘Has he finally decided he cares for the throne? Or…’
Viscount Isara, who had maintained neutrality, watched with bright eyes. Though Tarkan had always proven himself through deeds, never words, this display startled everyone. More startling still was that the impetus came from Aristine.
Diona, seated among the nobility, looked bleak as ash. Her hands clenched in her lap until the veins bulged.
Undeterred by their reactions, Tarkan pressed on.
“Or is there some issue beyond sobriety, Your Majesty?”
“Are you mad?” the Queen snapped.
His meaning was plain. The Queen’s smile faltered.
“Of course, that was not my intent. I merely thought the Princess could not stand so long and sought a seat.”
“Then one can always make a seat.”
His gaze swept the dais where the royal line sat. Protocol demanded that Aristine and Tarkan occupy seats there.
“I trust all would make room for peace.”
His golden eyes, cool and commanding, pinned the royals. It was an unspoken threat: rise, or be shamed. One by one, they stiffened, as though strangled by an invisible noose. No one wished to endure that.
Prince Marten, who had drawn the most attention, finally rose.
“Haha, for our beautiful Princess, of course I shall yield my seat.”
The Queen shot Marten a sharp look; he pretended not to notice and grinned at Aristine.
“Thank you, Prince Marten.”
“My pleasure.”
At her gratitude, he beamed as though the entire affair delighted him.
‘He’s a fool for women,’ the Queen muttered.
“Iris, come—husbands and wives belong together.”
At that, Tarkan’s hand on Aristine’s shoulder twitched.
‘Did I say something odd?’
Aristine glanced up, puzzled, but Tarkan said nothing as he escorted her to the high seat.
‘Perhaps I imagined it.’
Clenching her fist, Aristine resolved she would secure her business partner’s place as firmly as he had protected her.
‘No one’s husband should sit on the floor!’
Stalina, whose wrath she’d drawn yesterday, jumped at their gaze. She fretted whether she ought to stand aside. The Princess did not frighten her—but Faeramien did. And Stalina was the weakest here. Yet Aristine’s eyes passed her by.
‘Seating has political meaning, but why pick a nobody?’
With Hamir absent, the most senior lineal royal present was obvious.
“Since we’ll soon marry, isn’t it best we sit together?”
Without hesitation, she spoke to Tarkan yet looked at Princess Yenycarina. Protocol placed Yenycarina and Tarkan on either side of Marten; with Tarkan already seated, Faeramien and Yenycarina occupied the seats.
Aristine smiled brightly at Yenycarina.
“Yenycarina, you said you were happy we were marrying, didn’t you?”
Now to act on those words. And remind her whose mother had contrived this. Her violet eyes gleamed predatorily. Already they resembled Tarkan’s own.
“Ah—Yenycarina…”
The Princess’s eyes darted about: nobles, her father—everyone watched her. Yenycarina prided herself on being charmingly innocent and loved such attention. Yet here she could not refuse. A truly innocent girl would stand and sweetly say, “Oh! Then I’ll give up my seat!” But retreating to the back risked whispers: “See how she was shamed by that viperish Princess.”
‘I absolutely refuse to yield my seat to that scarlet witch!’ Yenycarina seethed inwardly.
But the pressure of all those staring eyes wore on her. At that moment, a saving voice spoke:
“Yenycarina’s leg is aching—she should take the comfortable chair.”
‘Father!’ Yenycarina’s eyes glistened. She seized the lifeline.
“That’s right. Yenycarina would gladly yield for peace…”
Her voice trailed off as she shook her head.
“No, not just for peace—for my new sister-in-law. I really like Lady Rine.”
She forced a bright smile, then pouted.
“But my leg…I’m quite small compared to others.”
“They don’t have to know that,” her large eyes pleaded.
Against any other rival, this might have worked. But beside Aristine, Yenycarina looked frail. The plea faltered.
Aristine watched quietly, then spoke:
“Oh dear. I hadn’t realized you were unwell. Are you all right?”
“Even if I’m uncomfortable, I must stand to welcome Lady Rine.”
“How sweet.” Aristine’s lips lifted.
‘So the King will intervene after all.’
King Nefter, who had observed silently until now, spoke again—pleasantly:
“As Tarkan says, seats can always be made.” He signaled to the attendants.
“Bring chairs.”
They bowed and hurried to fetch them. But the Queen Consort, having spaced the dais tightly, made adding a chair awkward. To place one, all the royal chairs would need to be rearranged.
“There’s no need to trouble yourselves,” the King said, and motioned to the tier just below his own.
Gasps went up. That space was reserved for the Crown Prince and Princess—the heir.
“Y-Your Majesty!” the Queen Consort cried.
The King’s gaze drifted to her.
“What is it, Consort?”
His tone was warning enough, but the Queen could not relent. She must prevent Tarkan’s seating there. The Duke of Skierra also rose, agitated:
“That place is for the heir and his consort, Your Majesty! By precedence, Tarkan is second in line—”
“Indeed, Your Highness,” the Queen Consort added. “Surely you know the crown requires order and custom.”
The King chuckled.
“You all overthink it. It’s simply an empty spot to place a chair.”
If seats truly meant nothing, then seating her at the back would have been equally meaningless—and unremarkable.
‘When I protested from the back, you said nothing—now you forbid him from seating me here?’ the Queen fumed. Her eyes coiled with rage, but the King only smiled serenely.
“Well, mistakes happen in seating arrangements.”
The Queen recoiled. From the start, this had been her scheme—blamed on attendants, but known to all. The King’s dismissal left her no recourse. She gripped the armrest in fury, her plot undone.
Her wrath turned to the couple seated in the heir’s place. They sat as though that seat had belonged to them all along, radiating harmony.
Truly, a sight to behold.