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chapter 6
I don’t get along with this man.
The thought flashed through Erdene’s mind so suddenly that she couldn’t stop it. Just watching Arkan, still smiling without a care, made the nape of her neck tingle and her palms sweat. A sudden heat surged to her forehead, and a strange impulse to strike him came over her.
“Why is that?”
Only then did Arkan, puzzled, notice the change in her expression. But the moment he stepped closer, Erdene practically recoiled in alarm. She realized afterward that it had been an extremely rude reaction…
Smooth-talking, sly… these types always have at least ten snakes coiled in their guts. Absolutely detestable.
Even his silky inland accent irritated her; nothing about him appealed to her at all. The flush on her forehead refused to subside, and she unconsciously inhaled deeply, then exhaled.
“Thanks to your consideration, the journey was uneventful.”
Her tone was curt. She glanced at the stiffened atmosphere around them, then, still reluctant, added:
“I am grateful.”
“That’s good to hear.”
Arkan smiled faintly, and the brief moment of tension sank back into silence. Erdene understood that this young king of Betor felt as uneasy about this marriage as she did. Whether he actively opposed it, she still could not tell…
Suddenly, as if snapping out of his thoughts, Arkan uttered a small “Ah.”
“I will give you a tour of the castle.”
Erdene instinctively shook her head.
“No, I don’t think it’s necessary for you to go yourself.”
Her cold reply caused a ripple of murmurs among the onlookers. Some even cleared their throats awkwardly in response to her bluntness.
Why should I care? she scoffed inwardly. Everyone would assume she was just a princess sold off for marriage. But she refused to think of herself that way. She reminded herself that her fate was not tied to a mere handful of grain or fatty meat. Her pride wouldn’t allow it.
Arkan, staring at her with a slightly perplexed expression, said:
“Then I will assign someone to attend you.”
He called the Marchioness Fiddler over. At that moment, Erdene interjected.
“Viscountess Wikis would be better.”
Arkan looked at her.
“Is there a particular reason?”
Erdene’s expression turned sharp, and she stared straight at him. Her transparent, bright blue eyes met his. Arkan’s gaze narrowed slightly.
“Yes. I prefer a younger woman.”
Upon hearing her reply, an indescribable expression crossed Arkan’s face. He fell silent again—apparently his way of handling the absurd—then turned back toward Viscountess Wikis.
“You shall guide the princess, Viscountess.”
Poor Moer Wikis’ eyes went wide, and she barely nodded.
Arkan glanced at Erdene once more, then, his face strangely cold compared to their first meeting, turned and strode away without hesitation.
Erdene snorted audibly behind him. Some people glanced at her in surprise, then returned their eyes to Arkan, but he didn’t even flinch as he disappeared into the castle.
Marchioness Fiddler hurried after him, calling, “Your Majesty! Your Majesty!”
Her voice, almost out of breath, carried her down the hallway. Although she was middle-aged—on the verge of elderly—her speed was astonishing.
Arkan pretended not to hear her, only turning after rounding two corners near the royal chambers. By then, the Marchioness was utterly winded, her face flushed, as if she might collapse.
“Why are you running so, Marchioness? Consider your age.”
“Your Majesty… My voice… did you not hear it?”
I heard you, Arkan thought. He merely hadn’t wanted to respond immediately. He almost let the words slip but swallowed them with a smile.
“I suppose I was lost in thought. Come inside. You’ll collapse if you don’t have a glass of water.”
The attendants opened the door politely. Arkan entered the chamber’s main hall and instructed his steward and close secretary, Platt, to bring tea and water.
“Sit, Marchioness.”
“No, Your Majesty. I have urgent words to deliver, so I shall stand.”
“Whether you stand or sit doesn’t change the words. Do as you like. Now, what is it?”
The Marchioness’ cheek trembled. Her gaunt face, accentuated by deep wrinkles, made her look even more irritable.
“Your Majesty, you must reconsider.”
“Reconsider what?”
“How could you marry such an outrageously rude woman?”
Arkan almost nodded—not in agreement, but in acknowledgment of what she would say next. From the moment he heard her storming pursuit, he had expected as much.
Marchioness Fiddler continued her appeal, oblivious to his thoughts.
“Your Majesty, you are the pillar of not only Betor but the allied inland kingdoms. And yet, how can you make a woman with little learning and nothing to boast of but fists and blades your queen?”
As she spoke, the steward brought tea. Arkan inhaled the faint golden aroma, sipped lightly, and then looked at her again.
“Marchioness, she is a princess of the Empire. Had it not been for her brother, she might well have been the Empress by now. Even in the king’s chambers, many ears listen. It’s best to be discreet.”
The Marchioness looked shocked.
“Your Majesty—”
“And she doesn’t seem as violent as the rumors suggested. So perhaps your worries are overblown.”
Arkan spoke matter-of-factly, and the Marchioness’ face turned almost skeletal in paleness.
Of course, Arkan himself was not entirely untroubled. Who was Erdene Bad? Her reputation preceded her throughout the inland kingdoms. Parents used her name to discipline children:
“Behave, or Princess Erdene will come and put you in a sack!”
The Marchioness drew a deep breath. She was about to launch a full-scale—tears included—appeal.
“Not violent? You only say that because you haven’t witnessed it, Your Majesty. You should have seen it yourself!”
“See what, exactly?”
“You know as well as I do that Viscountess Wikis and I went to the border to greet that… princess.”
“Yes. And?”
The wrinkles around her eyes glistened with tears.
“The princess hurled unspeakable insults at me!”
At this, even the normally indifferent Arkan straightened slightly. The Marchioness, emboldened by his subtle reaction, almost forced out the tears, letting out stifled sobs.
Arkan raised a hand.
“Now, why are you crying? She insulted you? For what reason? What did she say?”
The Marchioness answered:
“Her Highness’ words toward the Betor Kingdom and Your Majesty were so frivolous that I, as her future subject, sought to correct her. But…”
“But?”
“She threatened to kill me if I ever spoke such words again! Your Majesty, how can this be? Is the Hirschsten Empire such a barbaric place that it eliminates all advisers? If so, there can be no proper officials there! Princess Erdene must have grown up hearing no correct counsel. And such a person…”
She paused, seeing Arkan raise his hand, clamping her lips shut, yet she remained ready to resume her tirade at any moment.
Arkan pinched the bridge of his nose and looked at her.
“First, Marchioness, let us leave the matters of the Hirschsten Empire aside. This is not the time to discuss them. Is it truly the case that Princess Erdene said these things to you?”
The Marchioness pursed her lips tightly.
“Every word is true, Your Majesty.”
