[Prince Tarkan has distinguished himself in battle again.]
[Hmm.]
At his aide’s report, the King of Irugo made a thoughtful sound.
[You do not look very pleased.]
[Pleased? No—but I worry this will only earn more envy toward Tarkan.]
Not assassins sent from the enemy empire of Silvanus, but from Tarkan’s own homeland, would be dispatched.
[Will Your Majesty not intervene?]
[Why should I? He must handle this himself.]
As he spoke, the King lifted a wine bottle to pour himself a cup—but then, clatter! The bottle slipped from his grasp, rolling across the floor and spilling amber liquid onto the costly rug. Startled servants rushed forward, hastily clearing away the shards.
[I shall bring fresh wine, Your Majesty.]
The chamberlain offered, but the King shook his head.
[No matter. Everyone, withdraw.]
Silently, the chamberlain, aide, and all present left the royal study.
[You said he must manage on his own, yet you seem worried for Prince Tarkan.]
[Of course I am. He is my favorite child…]
[If only he had been born of noble blood.]
Outside, the rippling surface of water—the Emperor’s Eye vision—wavered and then faded. Aristine, recalling the image in her mind, shook her head.
They were wrong.
All those who had served the King closely for years had entirely misguessed his motive. His slipping the wine bottle was not due to clumsiness.
Just then, in the tea room:
“Your Majesty, this Pringprang jelly—Yenycarina adores it so much, but there’s enough for you…”
Yenycarina chirped at the King, offering him a spoonful of pale yellow, tantalizingly firm jelly.
“…?!”
At Aristine’s sudden movement, everyone gasped.
What on earth…?
What is happening?!
Even Tarkan, who had stood back and observed silently, now looked genuinely startled.
“Your Highness?”
The first to regain composure was the King. His gaze fell on the jelly before him—so much firmer and more refined than ordinary confection. He did not hold the fork—it was Aristine who had taken it.
“Your Majesty.”
At hearing his daughter call him “Your Majesty,” Yenycarina and the other royals froze.
“Y-Your Majesty?!”
To my father!
Yenycarina scolded Aristine.
“Yenycarina, do you not wish me to call him ‘Your Majesty?’”
“You said you wanted me as a sister!”
Under Aristine’s gaze, Yenycarina snapped her mouth shut.
“When I marry Tarkan, I too will call him ‘Your Majesty,’ for he becomes my family, my father.”
“…Indeed.”
“And if I begin sooner rather than later, what harm is there?”
Aristine spoke calmly, though her violet eyes trembled—hesitant, afraid of displeasing King Nephthel, afraid of rejection. The gaze of someone accustomed to being dismissed. Yet she had summoned courage again—willing to bear a cold refusal to bring change.
The King’s lips parted.
“There is no harm.”
At the King’s decree, Yenycarina looked as though she might faint. Aristine’s eyes flickered. It felt to him as though he had seen, for the first time, the genuine heart beneath her hard shell. Aristine’s cheeks warmed.
“I am glad.”
She murmured. Then, snapping out of it, she stiffened and stammered,
“Ah, but… Your Majesty knows my situation. I merely—”
For some reason, she truly felt joy at having a father again. In truth, she had only sought his permission to use the title. Yet she could not help but see in her mind’s eye the memory she had glimpsed through the Emperor’s Eye: her sister, feeding their father jelly on his lap. Aristine too wished to master court etiquette—feeding jelly and brimming with pride. So she had practiced with clumps of clay and her little fork.
“Pray tell, what is this? You mean to offer it to me?”
Interrupting her musing, the King asked. Aristine’s eyes widened.
“Yes!”
She answered briskly, extending the fork.
“Eat, Your Majesty.”
A chilling silence fell over the table, sharper than any pin.
She was perceptive—and yet failed to grasp his meaning?
Paelamien wished to tear her hair in frustration. The King’s question had not meant “If you intend to give it to me, then feed it to me,” but rather: “What is this? Do you truly intend to do such a thing? Remove it at once.” That was the sense Paelamien, Marten, and even Stalina had gleaned. After all, the King was the mighty ruler of the wild beast plains—who would dare to feed him a morsel of jelly, let alone urging him with “Eat, Your Majesty”? The very thought made their hearts seize. Only Aristine, oblivious, waited for his mouth to open.
“Eh?”
The King’s tone dripped incredulity: “What? You just asked me to say ‘Eat’?” Not polite compliance, but blunt bewilderment. His blue eyes were colder than ever. Paelamien prayed Aristine would recover her senses and apologize for her impudence. She had come lightly, at the Queen’s command—only to find herself in ever deeper peril.
Yet Aristine was not one to fulfill Paelamien’s hopes. Though she could read the room through the Emperor’s Eye, her personal experience with people was near zero. Dialogue with others was as foreign to her as television in a past life. Having relied on careful thought when tense, now caught up in joy, she took words at face value.
The King’s lips parted—and Aristine, reflexively, popped the jelly into his mouth. His mouth snapped shut.
“Tasty, is it not?”
She beamed. Everyone held their breath, bracing for his wrath.
Instead—
“Hmm…”
A vague, noncommittal sound. He did not look angry—no, not at all.
As the court reeled, crash! The tinkling of china cut through the hush.
Yenycarina, pale as bone, stared blankly as tea sloshed across the tablecloth, staining the white linen with a growing crimson patch—her trembling hand the culprit.
“What is it, Yenycarina?”
“Ah…”
Yenycarina blinked back into focus, managing a shaky smile.
“Problem? There’s no problem.”
Aristine’s gaze drifted to the messy table.
“This… cup must be flawed. It tipped on its own.”
On cue, she began berating the attendants.
“You should have inspected it properly! How dare you serve this before the King? Are you insane?”
Her tone, bereft of its usual sweetness, left the attendants mortified—but they could only obey.
Aristine watched, tilting her head.
Was it really so shocking?
She reflected on the King’s knocking over his wine bottle. It was due to pain in his right wrist. Usually minimal, but when stressed or when he needed fine control of his wrist muscles, tiny spasms occurred. Pringprang jelly, a local delicacy, had a firm, slippery surface—difficult to spear elegantly. Even Silvanus nobles practiced picking it up with finesse as part of etiquette training.
If one’s wrist struggles with subtle movements, one cannot feed oneself.
Thus, a simple causal chain: the King loved this jelly; his wrist pain made it hard to eat alone; and he wished to conceal the injury. The logical conclusion: Have someone else feed it to him.
Nothing clearer. Yet his reaction seemed odd…
Could he dislike being fed?
The Emperor’s Eye had not revealed such a detail. Perhaps he found it demeaning to be treated as a child.
“Do you find it… too much?”
“…It is delicious.”
At last, the King spoke in a low voice. His sharp blue gaze returned to the jelly.
He wants more.
Aristine picked up another piece and fed it to him. The ruler of a land of beasts accepted it quietly, though his expression remained sternly regal.
He eats more than I thought.
Like a mother bird feeding her chick, Aristine continued offering jelly.
Surely, one should savor, not devour.
Seven pieces had been served; he was on his fifth. Pringprang jelly was intensely flavored—strongly sour with equally intense sweetness—so most ate only one.
When his wrist was well, he once ate two or three at my request… perhaps he’s hungrier after so long.
Through the Emperor’s Eye, three was the maximum she had seen him eat. Aristine carefully skewered another, bringing the count to six.
He is injured, after all; such care is warranted.
And to the man she could now call “father,” she felt… a hint of joy. Only one remained. She hesitated—she, who had never tasted it.
I’d like to try, but…
Pringprang jelly—she had seen it so often through her visions, yet never tasted it herself. They say a single piece is like a party on the tongue. Moreover, this was the highest-grade jelly, fit for a king.
Ah, but no!
Today she was not here for jelly… but to prove herself to Tarkan. To achieve power, one must sacrifice lesser things. She swallowed her desire and offered the last piece to the King.
Of course, he ate it happily. Truly, he must love it—seven pieces in a row without pausing for tea.
Lucky man…
She mused, then heard a stunned breath beside her. Looking to Tarkan, she wondered what shocked him.
Aristine felt a surge of pride. She believed she had made a strong impression on Tarkan. Winning the favor of a powerful figure to secure one’s ambitions—surely a vital skill.
Yet Tarkan’s exasperated sigh…
His gaze seemed more fixed on the King than on her. But the King, after years without his favorite delicacy, was finally able to enjoy it—thanks to her. He must be satisfied.
And this will breed no suspicion.
Who would guess she had known of the King’s injury and acted accordingly? Such cunning seemed paranoid. Only two in the world knew this truth: the King’s personal physician—and Princess Yenycarina.
I’ll worry about a husband later; for now, I’ll make money.