The first thing that caught his eye was the vivid gold.
Eyes so firm they looked like someone had melted pure gold down as-is, without a single impurity.
Sasha’s gaze moved in order—handsome face, excellent build, black hair always trimmed neat as ever—and when he saw how naturally the other man wore his clothes, as if they had always belonged to him without a single awkward edge, Sasha swallowed a laugh.
See? Nothing’s changed at all.
Yeah. Edward was still Edward.
No—did he get even better-looking?
Maybe he’d lost weight. Or maybe he’d still had a bit of baby fat back then. His jawline had sharpened, his eyes had grown deeper. His frame looked a little bigger, too.
Sasha admired Edward, who overflowed with aristocratic grace even just sitting there.
Edward had never been someone you could treat casually, but now, even without trying to be conscious of it, he truly looked like an Emperor.
The protagonist stays the protagonist even after the novel ends.
Just then, he felt a prickling stare from the side. Probably because he’d been staring at Edward without greeting him.
It was a mistake.
He could see Rio Grenville’s murderous face as clear as day.
Sasha swallowed his embarrassment and offered his greeting.
“Your Majesty.”
It was a plain greeting—neither lowering himself too far nor inflating the other man too much.
By now, Sasha knew from experience that if you acted overly dramatic for no reason, people would brand it as sarcasm.
Even so, Rio looked extremely startled.
You warned me, so why are you reacting like that?
Back when Sasha had last met Edward, hadn’t he already made it painfully obvious he’d submitted?
“…Th-thank you for accepting such a sudden invitation.”
It looked like the other side was just as startled.
Or maybe speaking informally still wasn’t something he was used to.
Sasha stood there without saying a word. In his heart, he wanted to sprint to the table and grab a chicken leg, but he hadn’t been guided yet, so he couldn’t.
If I keep this up, I’m seriously going to make some pathetic stomach-growling noise.
His eyes kept drifting to the table already laden with food. But the other man seemed to interpret it differently.
“I know it violates etiquette, but for the sake of speaking comfortably, I ordered everything to be served at once.”
Why did he switch back to formal speech again?
But Sasha couldn’t exactly point out Edward’s mistake, so he just stayed standing straight.
Fortunately, he didn’t have to wait long before he could sit.
There was something unexpected, though.
“Then, Your Majesty. I’ll take my leave.”
Rio Grenville didn’t join the meal at all. He simply left the dining hall.
I thought he’d glue himself to Edward’s side.
Wasn’t this dereliction of duty? Watching every single one of Sasha’s actions with hawk eyes and making it obvious—that was Rio’s job. Was something urgent going on? Even if it was, then someone else should be stationed at Edward’s side in his place.
But as it was, in this large dining hall, there were no servants, no knights—only Sasha and Edward remained.
Is this… right?
Even if Sasha had zero physical offensive power, they were leaving a former traitor alone with the Emperor?
Sasha took a sip of water, pretending he was fine, and forced down the turmoil in his chest.
They have to be guarding from somewhere hidden.
That was what made sense.
“Eat.”
Conscious of any eyes that might be on him, Sasha didn’t move too hastily—but he did transfer food to his plate faster than usual.
The moment he bit into the chicken leg with skin roasted crisp, the thing his eyes had locked onto the instant he walked in, he almost cried.
It was warm, juices overflowing. It was ridiculously good.
And that chewy texture—what about that?
He wanted to shout for a beer. But now wasn’t the time for thoughts like that.
“…Me?”
He’d been so focused on eating that he hadn’t heard Edward’s question at all.
Sasha forced strength into his trembling pupils, closed his eyes once, then opened them.
What did he say?
If he didn’t answer fast, Edward would think he was being ignored.
Was it a greeting? But they’d already greeted. Then was he asking if the food tasted good? Was this the time for that?
As Sasha’s brain spun, Edward asked again.
“What is life like in your territory?”
But this time, it was a difficult question to answer.
Why are you asking me that?
Normally, in the original, when Sasha asked a question like that, it was a sneer—so you acted so high and mighty, but you ruined everything and now you’re living in some backwoods countryside, huh, how’s your housekeeping?
But Edward would never mean it like that.
Then was he literally asking, with no ulterior intent, whether Sasha was doing well in the territory?
That’s weird too, isn’t it?
Why would he ask Sasha that?
If Sasha said he was living well, that could be irritating in its own way. If he said he wasn’t, wouldn’t it sound like he was complaining—like I showed you mercy and you’re still unhappy?
Sasha’s head spun because he couldn’t find the right answer. He’d already missed a question once, and if he didn’t answer properly again, it would be all too easy to be misunderstood as throwing a tantrum.
In the end, Sasha had no choice but to give a slightly offbeat answer.
“The Ambrose territory is where I lived as a child.”
Would he get the gist and let it go?
Sasha had always answered like this when he was pressed—vague, evasive—and the nobles would interpret it appropriately on their own.
He added something a little more positive.
“It’s a place filled with my memories of my sister—Ophelia—so it has meaning to me as well.”
Would that be enough?
Anyone who knew Sasha knew his weakness was his dead family, and they also knew Sasha didn’t use his family to mock someone or say cruel things.
Of course, since it was known that Sasha’s reason for rebellion was Ophelia, it wasn’t like there was no room for concern.
“I see.”
Thankfully, Edward didn’t seem to take it badly.
Sasha was about to applaud his own quick thinking when an unbelievable line reached his ears.
“Then I’ll have the palace you’re staying in changed to the one His Majesty used before he passed.”
What?
“You’ll be staying here for a long time.”
Sasha stared at Edward, gripping his fork hard as it tried to slip from his fingers.
As if he’d just offered some ordinary pleasantry like Nice weather today, Edward’s expression was utterly calm.
For a moment Sasha wondered if he’d misheard—until that denial was cut off at the root.
“Viscount Ambrose. You’ll be living in the Imperial Palace for a while.”
In the end, Sasha had no choice but to set his utensils down.
His appetite dropped off a cliff. After hearing that, it would’ve been ridiculous to keep eating.
Edward, too, stopped his meal, following Sasha’s lead. And even though Sasha knew he shouldn’t, he asked bluntly.
“Why did you summon me to the capital?”
A question came back in response to his question.
“Viscount. How much do you know about what’s happening in the capital?”
How much did he know? He knew nothing.
But he absolutely couldn’t let that show right now.
This was the moment he needed to act like he knew everything—like he was sitting right on top of Edward’s head.
Idiot. Was his brain turning to stone because he was so shocked? Like hell he was going to be able to have a peaceful meal with Edward.
“Does it involve me?”
“That’s something we’ll see in time.”
Even if the novel had ended, there was still everything that had happened between them.
Meaning: he couldn’t afford to sink into nostalgia and let his guard down.
“Isn’t it enough that I stay shut away in my territory, like before?”
And for some reason, it felt unfair. How much had he contributed to making this happy ending? And this was the treatment he got?
So his sharp words slipped out without him even needing to dress them up.
“I’ve gotten fairly used to wasting time doing nothing.”
Even at Sasha’s refusal—his clear statement that he didn’t want to be in the capital—Edward didn’t back down.
“You are a viscount. Not a subject I should care for, but a noble who must support me and follow me.”
He even made this isn’t a suggestion, it’s an order sound elegant. Who taught him to speak like that?
Me, Sasha thought.
Directly or indirectly.
“Do you need even an empty shell that can barely breathe?”
“Yes. I need you, Sasha Ambrose.”
And when it mattered, not speaking in circles—blocking off every path of retreat.
Edward had become very skilled.
“I trust you won’t refuse.”
If this weren’t about him, Sasha would have been proud—warmly satisfied.
But the word I’m screwed refused to leave his head.
Still, contrary to his inner thoughts, Sasha smiled—sweet enough to melt.
“Of course, Your Majesty. If you want me.”
He propped his elbows on the table, leaned forward, and laughed from his throat like he was delighted beyond bearing.
“Sasha Theodore Ambrose belongs to Your Majesty.”
Long, pale fingers that had never known hardship slid—slowly—down the side of his neck.
“It’s the life you saved.”
If you don’t want to die, follow the order.
Yeah. He’d understood that perfectly.
“So what, exactly, do you want from me?”
Looking back on the past, Edward’s coercive attitude was natural—so why did it still feel like betrayal, and why had Sasha let his hurt show so plainly?
Sasha shot Edward a glare—then caught, in sequence, the jutting jawline and the large fist clenched tight.
He regained his reason at once.
Wow. I went too far.
Was he about to get hit?
If that fist landed on him, it wouldn’t be a blackout. It’d be death.
This damn mouth of his—it was a disaster.