The delegation greeted the King and presented their gifts—though in truth these were war reparations. Aristine had never seen such rare and luxurious items, yet her gaze was fixed on a single man.
By the time the presentation ended, she still stared at him.
“I have witnessed Silvanus’s goodwill,” declared the King. “I, too, welcome Princess Aristine and the delegation. That the end of a long war is sealed with the union of our two nations is a cause for celebration.”
He raised his cup.
“To the peace of Irugo and Silvanus.”
Everyone lifted their cups in salute and drank. Thus began the formal welcome banquet.
Dancers performed, and tantalizing dishes arrived, but Aristine’s mind remained elsewhere.
Tarkan frowned. Following her gaze, he spotted a man seated near the back where the Queen Consort had earlier suggested Aristine sit.
‘Could that be why her eyes lit up just now?’
Tarkan’s brow shot up. He did not like it. His golden gaze flitted over to Aristine, sending a sharp glance to her cheek. But she did not notice her betrothed’s glare—her full attention was on that man.
Unaware that Aristine was staring at him, the man diligently cut into his steak.
‘Oh, that steak looks delicious. Should I try some before it cools?’
Aristine’s appetite stirred at the sight, and she hurriedly helped herself to a piece.
‘It’s incredible…’ she thought, as it melted on her tongue. Several sauces offered different flavors to explore.
After devouring steak, her eyes fell on the roasted vegetables at the side. She started with the familiar potatoes. Her eyes widened.
‘Butter on potatoes tastes like this!’
She had eaten many potatoes but never realized they could taste so good. Whether a different variety or higher quality, each tender bite was subtly sweet, and the melted savory, salty butter on top…
‘I’m in heaven!’
Aristine ate voraciously, then, “Oh!” she snapped back to attention, refocusing on the man. Her violet eyes studied him keenly.
‘Yes, it is him.’
She recalled the scene she’d seen with the Emperor’s Eye—a vision from the water mirror on the journey from Silvanus to Irugo.
[Please accept me, Your Highness.] the man had asked Aristine within the mirrored reflection.
And Aristine herself had replied:
[Very well. You are mine now.] smiling brightly and nodding.
‘When I first saw it, I was stunned.’
To witness her future self interacting with another man on her way to marriage—she thought that even in a political marriage, this was too far. What could possibly lead to an adulterous romance? Aristine cared nothing for love, so it baffled her even more. Then her own words followed:
[You will become the finest smith on the continent.]
‘Completely different from a love confession.’
She’d felt relief. Yet in the mirror, the man reacted as if he’d received a declaration of love: his eyes darkened, his gaze trembled with joy, anticipation, excitement. But then he dropped his head in disappointment.
[Is that really possible? As you know… my hands are like this.]
The man in the vision had no right thumb. He could never wield a hammer that way. The large man’s drooping posture resembled a huge hound with its tail between its legs.
Aristine on tiptoe grasped his shoulder.
[It’s possible.]
He lifted his head and met her gaze.
[Because I will make it so. With you.]
And then the vision ended.
Regrettably, Aristine could not discern the details: how she and that man were destined to meet, what special skill he possessed, why she was so certain he’d be the greatest smith, or why she believed she could ensure it. Everything remained a mystery—except one fact:
‘I definitely need a skilled smith for my steelworks venture.’
So she had kept alert for their meeting.
‘The earlier I secure key personnel, the better!’
And here at the welcome banquet, she found him.
‘My money… err, my employee!’
Her gaze fell on him like someone who’d struck gold in barren earth. Tarkan, who’d been savoring his meal, glowered at Aristine’s bright-eyed stare. Then she turned to him and asked,
“Um, Tarkan. Who is that man?”
“A man?”
His tone, though a simple question, carried an edge.
“Why so prickly? I’m just asking.”
“At him?”
“That’s confidential business.”
Her venture promised great profits, so she could not blurt it out. When she’d first mentioned a private enterprise, Tarkan had not been pleased. It was better to reveal nothing until everything was ready—her ideas would remain safe.
Aristine pressed her lips together. Determined not to tell, and before Tarkan could fully process his discomfort, she turned away.
‘I’ll investigate later.’
She’d memorized his seat, face, attire. Tracking him would not be difficult.
‘I’d love to speak to him right away, but…’
Once the dancers finished, the hall would open, allowing free movement. She might approach him then, but tonight’s banquet was in her honor; all eyes were on her.
‘Someone will note whom I talk to and for how long.’
No—that would risk exposing her plans. Better to spend the rest of the evening quietly. If she seemed too boisterous, it would harm her cause.
‘I’ll focus on eating!’
Indeed, every bite demanded her full attention without effort. Aristine enjoyed a blissful dinner.
For dessert came—of all things—
‘Pringprang jelly!’
Her eyes sparkled. She could finally try it. Heart pounding, she pinched a plump, pale-yellow cube and popped it into her mouth.
‘Wow!’
It truly was like fireworks in her mouth—an intense blend of sour and sweet that made her salivate. Usually one piece sufficed, but she wished for more. She gazed at the empty bowl, only to discover…
In front of her sat a petite dessert dish containing another pringprang jelly. Aristine’s eyes widened. She looked up at Tarkan. Before she could speak, he said, almost apologetically,
“I don’t like these.”
“Really?”
For some reason he would not meet her eyes. Taking his silence as permission, Aristine asked again,
“Then may I have them?”
Her mouth already watering.
“Help yourself.”
His casual assent, though delivered without a glance, made her eyes gleam with joy.
“You know, Tarkan…”
“Yes?”
“You’re a bit shy and… perverted, but I think you’d make quite a good partner.”
“What?”
Tarkan finally turned to her, incredulous. Seeing the vertical line between his brows, Aristine repeated,
“I think you’d be a fine partner.”
“Before that… never mind.”
He shook his head. This was meant as praise, yet his expression asked why she’d said it. Surely there was no point in pressing further.
‘You’re just strange.’
Tarkan couldn’t help a small laugh.
With dessert ended, the banquet broke into mingling. Guests formed small clusters, chatting. Many Irugo nobles, intrigued by the rare Silvanus delegation, approached them. But the center of attention remained Aristine. Those backing Hamir stiffened as though refusing to acknowledge her, yet countless others—the likes of neutral Viscount Isara—sought her out. Some were simply curious about Silvanus’s princess.
“This cannot continue, Your Majesty,” said the Duke of Skierra. The Queen Consort nodded.
“I know.”
Her gaze fixed on Aristine, now seated as Crown Princess among the nobles, and on Tarkan beside her. He sat as though that seat belonged to him, his posture relaxed as he conversed with the guests.
“How dare they sit there—”
She ground her teeth.
“Calm yourself, Consort,” murmured the King’s voice, and the Queen’s expression softened.
“That Princess is no ordinary plaything. I thought Tarkan’s bride would be someone else.”
Despite many nobles’ opposition, it was common knowledge that Tarkan was the heir in the King’s eyes. Yet until now it had been viewed as impossible—such was the Queen’s power, and the high nobles wished no low-born ruler.
‘But if the princess of the oldest royal line becomes Tarkan’s staunch ally—’
Golden blood. Even the most conservative lords would shift their allegiance. Moreover, this princess possessed formidable political skill.
‘How did she acquire such poise and dignity after living in captivity and neglect?’
There was nothing in her upbringing to teach such finesse.
‘Her tongue is unrivaled.’
She embodied every trait the conservative nobility valued. It was a shame.
‘If only His Majesty had paired the princess with Hamir.’
Then none could stand in his way—and Tarkan would not matter. But the princess became Tarkan’s match, and they already collaborated.
‘She is a foe who must be removed.’
Turning from Aristine, the Queen whispered to the Duke of Skierra,
“I must send for Hamir at once.”
“I agree. Once His Highness returns, even the undecided nobles will know where their duty lies.”
While the Queen and Duke plotted, Aristine sensed their gazes and surveyed the room. Many eyes watched her, but she noticed chiefly the Silvanus delegation: their faces showed bewilderment, still unaccustomed to the Princess’s newfound confidence.
‘They’ll report back to the Emperor. Perhaps even tonight.’
But to no avail: she would remain in Irugo, under Tarkan’s protection.
‘I hope they return soon—they’re unpleasant to behold.’
Her Silvanus knights and maids would stay, but the delegation would return home. With one task complete, only one remained:
‘My wedding.’
Chapter 7. Soft and Cushiony
Tarkan’s palace brimmed with life at last. Its usual solemn stiffness had given way to festive warmth—befitting the imminent wedding of its master. Moreover, the bride herself was a delight to serve. Regal yet unpretentious, composed like an adult one moment and wide-eyed as a child the next.
Above all—
‘She’s beautiful!’
After all, what pleases the eyes nourishes the body. The court servants gathered more often around the Princess than around the fearsome King.
“Your Highness, your wedding is so soon.”
“It’s a once-in-a-lifetime event. Your wishes are paramount—anything you desire?”
“We will do our utmost to make your wedding perfect and splendid!”
The servants, now grown close to her, looked at Aristine expectantly.
“Something I want? Hmm… I only…”
Normally, only someone eager for marriage considered such questions. Aristine desired not marriage but a life of freedom—unconfined, able to go anywhere she pleased.
‘So marriage is… well, nice and all—ah.’
The thought flitted through her mind, and she spoke,
“There is one thing.”
“One? So few?” they exclaimed. “Even the smallest detail—we’ll accommodate anything!”
“What might it be?”
“Tell us, and we’ll prepare it!”
Their eyes shone with anticipation, but her reply was simply,
“Something soft.”
“Soft…?”
It made no sense. Yet from a bride, “soft” conjured exactly one thing.
‘Surely not.’
‘I must have misheard.’
“Pardon me—what was that?”
“Something soft.”
“Excuse me?”
“Don’t you know soft? I like soft things. The kind that feel good to lie on.”
“Pfft…!”
Even the veteran servants could not maintain their composure at her clarity.