“Wow, it’s really clean!”
Aristine exclaimed as she stepped closer to inspect the sword, which stood as tall as she was.
“It’s like a mirror. The wave pattern is so clear.”
Rather than recoiling in fear, she leaned right in, even extending a hand toward the blade. But she hesitated just before touching it and glanced at Mukali.
“May I touch it?”
No warrior would welcome another person handling their blade. But Mukali nodded.
‘I have no choice if I’m to win the princess’s favor.’
“Just be careful not to hurt yourself.”
“Thank you.”
Aristine smiled and gently ran her fingers along the sword’s surface. The cool steel sent a shiver through her, a curious sensation.
“It’s amazing. I feel like it would slice just by brushing against it.”
“If it’s human skin, it’ll cut just by light contact.”
Mukali said proudly.
“Yes—what exceptional polishing. A beast’s hide is tough, so that level of sharpness is—”
Aristine murmured, nodding and trailing off. She withdrew her hand and looked Mukali squarely in the eye. He flinched. She was standing uncomfortably close, right before him. He suddenly wanted to cover the left side of his face, afraid she’d step back at the grotesque scar. But she neither retreated nor averted her gaze. She simply regarded him as one might any person—no hint of disgust or fear on her small face.
“How do you prevent it from rusting?”
She asked casually, seriously.
Mukali’s throat tightened. Rust prevention—he’d never expected a non-warrior to ask that.
‘She really seems interested in the sword.’
It wasn’t flattery.
“You just have to maintain it so it doesn’t rust. I do it every morning and evening.”
“That really takes a lot of work.”
“It’s a precious companion. It deserves proper care.”
Mukali flicked the blade with his thumb as he explained.
“With daily, diligent upkeep, it responds in kind. Despite its massive size, it has impressive resilience. The smith treated different sections with varying heat, which alters hardness. Hardness relates to carbon content—”
Aristine had no formal knowledge of metallurgy, but she followed along by inference. She found it fascinating that Mukali, a mere consumer rather than a craftsman, spoke of such complex principles. Even in Silvanus, the sciences were considered advanced scholarship.
‘He truly loves his sword.’
Mukali—having boasted like a dam breaking—snapped back to reality. Even fellow warriors scorned such technical detail as something for soft scholars, not bold fighters.
‘That’s why I usually don’t share it with others…’
He felt a twinge of embarrassment as he studied Aristine’s expression. She nodded thoughtfully.
“Thanks for explaining. That was really helpful.”
“I’m glad.”
Mukali subtly turned away. With the conversation paused, he felt awkward. He wondered what the princess would do next, but somehow found it hard to look back. He began committing the maintenance steps to memory, intending to speak at the third step if she remained silent. Not because he wanted to continue talking to her—but to gather more information for his scheme.
As he recalled the first step, an idea occurred:
‘…Should I break in at step two instead?’
Just as he decided, Aristine turned toward him—and screamed.
“Ah!”
Startled, Mukali’s eyes flew open and he gripped his sword. His massive form moved to shield her like a sturdy wall, his sharp gaze sweeping the room. But there was no danger.
‘What’s wrong?’
Mukali raised an eyebrow in puzzlement as a soft voice muttered from beneath his arms:
“The tea’s gone cold…”
He looked down to see Aristine staring as though the world had ended, clutching her teacup tightly.
“Strawberry cream tea… I really wanted to try it…”
She looked utterly dejected—more forlorn than anything. Mukali’s lips twitched, torn between disbelief, irritation, and something like amusement.
“Sigh, I must’ve been too absorbed in our conversation to remember something so important.”
Aristine set the cup on the table, but her gaze remained fixed on the red tea as though still mesmerized. She licked her lips in regret, then shrugged and looked up at Mukali with a gentle smile.
“But our chat was entertaining, so that’s fine.”
She smiled as if satisfied. Mukali stared at her for a moment.
‘Couldn’t I just ask the maids to brew fresh tea?’
He thought she had every right to ask. Yet she didn’t call for the maids again because—
‘Is it because of me?’
He recalled how the maids had looked at him as though he were some twenty-legged insect. Naturally, he didn’t want them back. Mukali sheathed his sword.
After he left, Aristine would surely summon the maids to bring fresh tea. Undoubtedly. But—
“How about coming to my home sometime?”
“Huh?”
“We have that tea at my place.”
Mukali cleared his throat for no particular reason. It was simply so he could keep a closer watch on the princess.
“Really?”
Aristine brightened. Being invited to someone’s home was unimaginable for her, having lived alone in confinement.
“In that case, I’ll bring scones.”
After speaking, she furrowed her brow.
‘Is it okay to bring scones? They say it’s rude to visit empty-handed…’
Even allied with Tarkan, she didn’t want to deplete his resources. She always ate only what was served.
‘It’s been more than I’ve seen lately, so I’m happy about it.’
Especially since Tarkan never touched dessert during tea time.
“Scones, you say?”
“They’re really delicious here. They’re good even when cold. Try one.”
Mukali eyed the scones on the table suspiciously.
‘My lord must’ve…’
He’d heard that at a meeting he didn’t attend, Tarkan ordered a pastry chef who could bake scones well. Everyone joked he was developing new battlefield rations.
Suddenly, a thought struck him and he shook his head vigorously.
‘No, that can’t be. I’ve served my lord for years. He’d never do that.’
‘He’ll bring new battlefield rations—scones! He’s testing the princess!’
Mukali sipped the scone Aristine offered.
It was delicious.
Chapter 8
“Hoho, Your Highness, how are you feeling?”
“I’m so excited my heart is fluttering. Hah.”
Irugo attendants hovered over Aristine, adjusting her garments with dreamy expressions.
“We set out from Silvanus more than a month ago intending marriage. There’s nothing surprising now.”
At her indifferent reply, the attendants chirped excitedly.
“Surprising? Today is the wedding!”
“No matter what, today feels different!”
“You’re even wearing a wedding dress! Just putting it on is thrilling!”
“But I’ve tried it on before…”
They’d fitted it so many times she’d lost count. The old Silvanus gown had become so tattered it couldn’t be worn again, so she’d commissioned a new dress.
“Trying it on isn’t the same as wearing it on the wedding day!”
“Exactly! How could they be the same?”
“Hmm…”
Murmuring, Aristine gazed at her reflection. The wedding dress was crafted in Irugo style using Silvanus silk. It was modeled on the attire she’d worn for her official audience—a perfect symbol of unity between the two nations. Royal weddings were always the talk of the court: bouquets, décor, gifts, scale, procession, invited guests. But the spotlight inevitably fell on the bride’s dress. A garment that fused both nations’ cultures would be a powerful symbol.
‘And with me wearing it, I’ll be etched in the people’s minds as the symbol of peace.’
Politics was image. The subconscious impression one made was vitally important.
‘And there’s a backstory, too.’
That it was her idea and first met with ridicule—if that became known, it would be quite amusing. ‘This will serve well in the battle for public opinion over the throne.’ Since she’d agreed to be Tarkan’s equal partner in his claim, she needed to commit fully. ‘Quickly make Tarkan king, then regain my freedom.’ Though first she needed to amass a fortune. ‘Money for a lifetime of doing as I please!’
As Aristine studied her dress, the attendants beamed with pride. They were glad the usually indifferent princess cared.
‘A new bride should feel this way.’
‘How excited she must be.’
‘It even makes my heart flutter.’
They never guessed that Aristine was considering political maneuvering, a struggle for the throne, even divorce. Sometimes ignorance is bliss.
While the attendants finished her styling, Aristine glanced at the Silvanus maids reflected in the mirror. On a day like this, they kept quiet, too wary to provoke her. A failed marriage would also embarrass Silvanus, which they wanted to avoid. Still, they’d dirtied her for the sake of mocking Irugo.
‘Because Irugo needed peace more desperately.’
Irugo, faced with constant beast attacks, wanted to end the war quickly and secure peace—even while winning. Thus they prized peace more than Silvanus.
‘My father is truly petty and cowardly.’
He’d invaded first, then, after losing ground, proposed a peace treaty—and sent his daughter off. Yet he schemed to betray them. That was pathetic. Yet the maids mocking her were perhaps no better than the Emperor.
At that moment, Rosalyn and the other maids began to quarrel.
‘They’re not ignoring me—they’re too busy snarling at each other.’
Apparently Rosalyn’s constant barbs had worn on them. Aristine watched with interest. Her wedding preparations had grown tedious; this was far more entertaining. Indeed, watching fights was the best pastime. Rosalyn was fiercest, but the others outnumbered her—an exhilarating match.
‘Oh, they might even pull hair!’
By the time the attendants and Aristine’s styling were done, they were too awestruck to speak. They stared at her in a haze—neither thinking her beautiful nor seeing her as anything but a floating vision. Truly, beautiful things enthrall one’s gaze until time slips away.
“Are you finished?” Aristine asked. The attendants snapped back to attention and hurriedly nodded.
“Yes, Your Highness, yes!”
“You are truly, truly beautiful!”
“Words cannot describe how beautiful you are!”
“It is an honor to have assisted Your Highness…”
Had this not been an Irugo dress, her own maids would have prepared her. The boisterous attendants’ praise made the quarreling Silvanus maids scowl.
“Who cares how pretty she is.”
“They’re making such a fuss.”
“A princess of Silvanus is common in appearance—typical Irugo entitled nonsense…”
They fell silent mid-insult, mouths snapping shut.
Husbandhood can wait; I’ll just make money.