“Oh my goodness, unbelievable…!”
“Ahem, I see.”
“Princess, you’re even… oh!”
The attendants glanced at Aristine and chuckled. For some reason, one even gave a thumbs-up.
“Yes—something soft. Understood.”
“Don’t worry—just trust us. We’ll prepare something that can absorb any shock, any movement!”
“That’s right. Unwavering comfort!”
Their strange laughter made Aristine narrow her eyes.
‘Why are they like this?’
Was it really so remarkable to prefer something soft and cozy? In any case, she was grateful for their enthusiasm—no one before had even asked her desires, let alone offered to fulfill them.
“Thank you all.”
“It’s our pleasure.”
“Hohoho, soft things aside—wouldn’t something wide be nice too?”
“Oh my!”
The attendants erupted in peals of laughter.
“I—wide isn’t really necessary… As long as it’s not too small. Wide just leaves too much empty space.”
At Aristine’s comment, the attendants’ eyes gleamed. Empty space…
‘They must want to lie very close together!’
“Exactly! Why need something wide? Pointless!”
“That’s right. Space for just one body is enough!”
“Suggesting something wide—it seems we were remiss. As expected, Your Highness is so perceptive.”
‘Do they even know what “perceptive” means?’
Aristine felt bemused, but seeing the attendants’ delight made her think this would do.
‘When those around me are happy, I’m happy too.’
She’d only just realized that.
“Well, we shall withdraw to find the perfect item.”
“We’ll return with something to astonish Your Highness—please look forward to it!”
“Even Prince Tarkan will be surprised!”
Their excitement resurfaced in more peals of laughter as they departed.
‘They really love their work.’
With such passionate staff, she’d like to recruit them for her venture.
‘If my business succeeds, maybe I can lure them with higher pay.’
Lost in thought, she watched them leave. They glanced back with mischievous, lascivious looks, chuckling under their breath—so much for discretion.
Startled by their lack of attention to their path, they only noticed the figure in the doorway at the last moment.
“P-Prince Tarkan!”
They hastily bowed and then scurried away before he could speak.
Tarkan, standing at a crooked angle, watched them go, then stepped gracefully into the room.
“Welcome back.”
Aristine waved cheerfully. With his return, tea would follow—and then dessert.
‘I wonder what tea and dessert await tonight.’
Her heart fluttered.
Tarkan seated himself opposite her. Seeing her delighted expression, he frowned. Weren’t they to be a strictly businesslike couple with no room for affection?
“I heard your conversation with the attendants.”
“Oh, you did.”
Contrary to his expectation, Aristine looked pleased.
“I told them I liked something soft.”
She even emphasized it again. Tarkan had no idea how to respond. Seeing his silence, Aristine frowned slightly.
“Right?”
She leaned forward, her long hair swaying, the drape of her sleeve revealing pale wrists and forearms. Sunlight made her violet eyes seem more mysterious than ever—so close, they gleamed like polished glass reflecting the world.
“You…”
With a grinding sound, Tarkan sprang from his chair.
“There will be no such thing between you and me.”
His low voice spat the words as he turned and strode out. His long strides were faster than usual.
Baffled, Aristine rested her arm on the table and tilted her head.
‘Why did he suddenly act like that?’
Today had been strange from start to finish—for both attendants and Tarkan.
“What did he mean by ‘no such thing’?”
She called after him as he reached the door. He halted briefly, then without answering, exited in even swifter steps. His earlobe peeked through his hair—twitching.
‘He won’t even answer me.’
Her irritation evaporated when she saw the refreshments the attendants had brought.
“Oh! The Prince has left? What about the tea?”
“We’ve gone to the trouble of bringing it—no need to refuse. Please, here.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
Aristine beamed at the elegant spread before her: tea and scones. Today’s jams were strawberry-pepper and apricot compote, naturally served with clotted cream.
She sipped the fragrant tea, then spread strawberry-pepper jam and clotted cream on a warm scone, already feeling blissful. The sweetness and richness gave way to deep buttery flavors, and the pepper’s spice added a thrilling note.
‘Perhaps it’s just me, but these scones taste even better than before.’
Forgetting Tarkan’s and the attendants’ odd behavior, Aristine happily finished her tea and scones.
“They say His Highness is truly marrying.”
“Why bring up what was decided months ago?”
“I suppose it’s finally sinking in.”
Warriors resting at the training grounds chatted about their lord’s upcoming marriage.
“But his bride is the Princess of Silvanus!”
A scarred warrior by his left eye exclaimed.
“Why hate that? I was wary when I heard Silvanus’s princess, but seeing her… she’s different from what I expected.”
“I was shocked at the welcome banquet.”
“Did you see the Queen Consort’s face at the Princess’s words? Hilarious.”
“And the Duke of Skierra—pathetic to witness.”
“If our swords had been swords that day, they’d have been drenched in blood.”
“I thought all Silvanans were cowards, but she’s remarkable.”
They snickered recalling the audience. Still, one man remained dissatisfied: the scarred warrior.
“A warrior? Her three-inch tongue is not the same as wielding a blade! Silvanans are all sweet-talkers.”
“Mukali, why do you dislike the Princess so much?”
Unable to bear it, Jacalen finally spoke.
“It’s strange to like a Silvanan whose schemes we know nothing of.”
“The Princess is not that sort,” began Jacalen, who had researched Aristine for Tarkan. He fell silent—though he enjoyed cleaving beasts in two, he was fundamentally kind and loathed gossip.
“Not that. Are you really defending her? Just because she’s pretty? Not Prince Marten.”
“You compared her to Marten?”
“That was harsh,” Marten’s critics chastised.
Mukali paused.
“Fine… I apologize.”
“A swift apology—accepted. Now buy us meat and ale.”
Mukali nodded gloomily. He admitted the Marten comparison was misplaced. Jacalen tapped his shoulder in camaraderie—simple, loyal friendship sometimes frustrated those around him.
‘Why defend the Princess?’ such sentiments were childish, yet grew from Mukali’s loyalty.
‘And I don’t mind that.’
Jacalen chuckled.
“I quite like the Princess.”
At first, from papers and reports, he pitied her, but her physical presence and character changed his mind. He admired her intelligence and believed she’d strengthen Tarkan—but more, he found her personally captivating.
“And the attendants adore her. Those near her every day must have reason to.”
Mukali snorted.
“That’s just because she’s petite and pretty. They gushed over her beauty at every chance.”
Next to large Irugans, the Princess resembled a delicate fairy—her pale silver hair contrasting their dark features. Serving her was inspiring.
“Well, there’s much to talk about with her, not just that.”
Aristine was no demanding mistress—she asked for nothing and lacked airs of nobility. For attendants cowed by Tarkan’s presence, she was a breath of fresh air.
“Indeed. I think she’ll suit Tarkan well as his bride.”
“Not bad.”
“Much better than I’d expected.”
“How so?”
Mukali snapped.
“Don’t give your heart away so easily.”
Had anyone else with Mukali’s fearsome visage said that, they’d have trembled in fear. But these men were different.
“Heart? What heart?”
“Wasn’t it satisfying to see the Duke of Skierra cowed?”
“It was… truly satisfying.”
Mukali admitted frankly—relief, even exhilaration.
“There, see? It’s fine.”
“I hope he does it again.”
“He and Tarkan make quite a pair.”
“I’ve never seen our lord do that before.”
Mukali frowned at their good-natured chatter—he felt protective.
‘We must watch for any Silvanan trickery.’
“But she is Silvanan. Surely there’s skullduggery afoot. We must protect our lord.”
“Of course, if there is. But does there seem to be?”
“Who knows? None of us has talked to her yet—just seen her passing.”
“Then ask someone who has. What do you think, Durante?”
The silent Durante, who had been cleaning his sword, looked up.
“Enough idle talk. Back to duty.”
He stood quietly, and the others clicked their tongues—no one liked ending the fun.
“Still some time left, though.”
They grumbled but rose for duties. Mukali too moved to marshal his subordinates.
“Oh dear, am I late?”
A voice called from behind. Mukali turned.
“Diona.”
She brushed back her navy hair and smiled.
“I brought sandwiches for your break—sorry I’m late.”
“No need to go to such trouble…”
“How could I not? You’re like an older brother to me.”
Seeing Diona’s smile, Mukali’s face showed pain, longing, pity, and guilt. He could not help it—Diona’s real brother and Mukali’s comrade, Chantra, had already died.
It was a brutal battle; half the warriors would have been lost to beasts if not for Tarkan’s plan—unexpectedly delaying before a maneuver that sacrificed allies. Chantra volunteered for that sacrifice. The battle was won but at the cost of his life. Mukali bore guilt for Chantra, and Diona sometimes projected it onto him.
“Thank you.”
“I tried to time it for your break, but I’m late… they’ve all left.”
“They’re just unlucky, but I’m fortunate. Here—have a sandwich. You have time.”
Durante’s organizing left them a moment’s grace. Mukali and Diona sat on a bench. As Mukali ate, Diona’s forced smile could not mask her sorrow.
“Diona, what’s wrong?”
“Huh? Oh—nothing.”
She flashed a quick smile, but the shadow remained. Mukali set aside his sandwich.
“You said I’m like a brother—tell me what’s on your mind.”
Diona hesitated, then spoke.
“It’s about the Princess… it’s not good news.”
Mukali’s eyes sharpened.
“The Princess?”
“They say she’s infatuated with some man and is investigating him.”