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chapter 10
“What did you just say?”
Arkan, who had been signing documents, looked up at Platt in utter disbelief, as if he couldn’t comprehend what he’d just heard.
“Platt, say it again. What exactly did you just report?”
Platt repeated his earlier words like a parrot.
“Liquor, Your Majesty. The Princess has requested that only alcohol be served for her dinner—no warmed milk, buttered bread, rich soups made from clams and lobsters, or veal. She requested nothing but strong spirits.”
Arkan put down his pen and let out a hollow laugh.
He was stunned at Erdene’s audacity, but couldn’t help but find it absurdly amusing.
“My word… unbelievable.”
“Your thoughts mirror mine, Sire. Also, Your Majesty—”
Arkan shot him a glance, annoyed at the interruption.
“The glass peony treasured by the late queen and the crystal vase listed in the Betor royal collection have both been broken.”
This time, Arkan couldn’t simply laugh it off.
He slammed his hands onto the desk, causing several documents to scatter across the floor.
Requests for aid to the war-torn Vinotin Kingdom, bureaucrats’ quarrels over taxes, and critical trade mediation papers fluttered like fallen leaves.
“What are you saying? Princess Erdene broke these?”
Platt nodded solemnly.
He expected Arkan to explode with anger and rush after Erdene, so he instinctively took a step back…
“Deliberately?”
Platt’s gaze drifted briefly into the air.
“According to the Princess herself… she says it was an accident.”
A brief silence followed. Arkan slumped into his chair, sighing, pressing a hand to his forehead.
Platt clicked his tongue quietly, drawing the attention of the young page standing stiffly in the doorway.
Nodding toward the scattered documents, Platt signaled the boy to quickly gather them from beneath the desk and return them carefully to their places before stepping back.
Platt spoke again.
“I stopped the Princess from personally apologizing to Your Majesty. You’re busy with official matters, and an overly long explanation would only complicate things.”
Arkan, deep in thought with his hands clasped over his sturdy frame, closed his eyes.
“Very well. If she claims it was a mistake, then it was a mistake. If I demanded apologies for everything, I’d spend my whole life collecting them from everyone.”
Platt looked at him, surprised.
“Your Majesty, do you truly believe that?”
“What choice do I have? Do you think she’s lying?”
Platt almost nodded at the memory of Erdene’s brazen responses and indifferent expression, but there was no concrete evidence she was lying…
Moreover, it seemed strange that if she had intended to break things deliberately, she’d only smash those particular items.
Arkan himself noted this:
“Logically, it makes more sense that it was an accident. She’s been in Betor for less than half a day; there’s no way she knew the history of each object and chose to destroy them. If she truly wanted to break something on purpose, it wouldn’t be a vase or a glass flower—it would be a structural pillar.”
“Your Majesty, is this really a matter you can remain so composed about?”
Arkan shrugged.
Even Platt, usually as calm as Arkan, could now empathize a little with Lady Fiddler’s frenzied worry.
“Forgive me, Sire, but perhaps you should reconsider this marriage once more.”
The sound of Platt’s pen dropping hit the silence sharply. He closed his mouth, chastened.
Arkan replied, “I did not particularly desire to marry her. But, as I said, much depends on this marriage—especially lives. Knowing that, what are you even suggesting? Lady Fiddler may be excitable, but you too, Platt? If so, I’d need to consider appointing a new aide.”
Platt thought, So politely threatening to fire me if I argue…
This stubbornness was part of Arkan’s charm, yet Platt worried—I doubt it would work with the Princess.
Platt, sighing, spoke again in a tone eerily reminiscent of Lady Fiddler’s, hoping to appeal:
“Your Majesty, couldn’t this alliance have been arranged without your personal involvement? That Tenek, now Emperor, seemed utterly indifferent to family.”
“I know of that. Why wouldn’t I? Tenek and Erdene are twins. Tenek is the elder brother.”
“Yes, Sire.”
“Yet the late Emperor favored the Princess. Everyone assumed she would inherit the next throne… If that were the case, inland allies would have fallen one by one, Platt. Hirschsten doesn’t wage war for sport; they want the fertile northern lands themselves.”
“I understand fully, Your Majesty. My family lost countless people supporting inland allies against Hirschsten. But what does that have to do with your marriage? If you persuaded Tenek to bring the heir Princess inland, why must it be Betor? Even if it were Betor, why must you personally marry her?”
Arkan no longer looked at his documents.
He pushed them aside, set down his seal and pen, and ran his hand along the smooth table surface, resting his chin on it.
“She is a Princess of the Empire, is she not? Then she must be matched with a fitting consort. My thoughts coincide with yours, Platt. Tenek might have offered even a minor noble from Betor’s remotest region, and I would have accepted without hesitation. But that’s improper. If you want a rare and valuable thing, you must pay its price. Even if there is a shortcut, it isn’t the proper path.”
Platt felt a twinge of frustration. He knew Arkan’s temperament, but… he worried nonetheless.
He believed a ruler who indulges a bit in caprice is better than one overly concerned with fairness.
Yet our Sire’s stubbornness could still get him in trouble…
Platt tugged at his cravat and sighed.
“Do not speak of His Majesty as though he were an object.”
Arkan was silent for a moment, then smiled—just enough to show his teeth.
It was the kind of charming smile that captivated everyone in the castle and kept them awake at night.
Yet the words behind it were unyielding:
“Platt, royalty are objects. To be bartered for food, soldiers, or secrets. Especially in the marriage market, they are prime commodities.”
“Your Majesty…”
The aging steward sighed, helpless.
Arkan stretched, massaging his stiff neck from continuous work.
“If she wants alcohol, bring her alcohol. Tell the chefs to prepare suitable drinks and dishes.”
Platt, stunned, asked, “Do you intend to dine with her?”
“Of course. Even though the marriage hasn’t occurred, I must be present as a guest. You should leave early today; it’s chaos enough.”
Platt only shook his head silently, thinking, Who else but her could cause this?
Arkan was a king from a historical chronicle—graceful, composed, considerate, and handsome. Yet Platt noticed one fatal flaw:
He shoulders far too much. At this rate, he might collapse. And if Lady Fiddler storms in… chaos will reign.
While Arkan debated the “prime commodity” marriage market with Platt, Erdene had dismissed the exhausted Marchioness Wikis and sat alone in the royal palace’s living room.
There were so many rooms and bedrooms that she had lost track of which living room this was or its name.
But it was quiet, sunny, and pleasant.
She especially liked the west-facing windows.
From here, she could watch the sunset, the landscape stretching far into the distance—different from the Empire, yet still beautiful.
Seated, she stared at a narrow, long tapestry on the wall.
Scenes of swords, horses, and fierce battles were intricately embroidered. Why this belonged in the queen’s palace was beyond her understanding.
The last war with Vinotin had indeed been strange.
Leaning back and closing her eyes, Erdene sank into thought.
