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Episode 8
Emilia was carefully picking up the shirt Clayden had thrown on the ground, brushing the dirt off.
She couldn’t bring herself to slap the emperor’s clothes with her palm, so she could only gently sweep at it with her hands, which was far less effective. That was why she couldn’t stand up quickly.
She was so focused on that task that she didn’t even realize the training ground was on the verge of exploding from silence.
The imperial guard knights exchanged stiff looks with one another, then desperately shot glances at their commander.
Please do something!
But the knight commander, his face flushed red, glared back at his subordinates.
What do you want me to do? Cut that woman’s head off?!
No one failed to recognize that the emperor’s sudden, unnecessary, flashy movements had been meant to show off to a woman.
Some knights were curious about who that maid receiving such attention was, while others worried she might faint from shock.
Even if the movements had been unnecessary, they were beautiful—something only someone who had reached a high level of swordsmanship could display.
And yet, instead of focusing on the emperor’s passion, she bent down, treating the clothes that had fallen to the ground as more precious.
Treason.
One knight, watching her indifferent hands brush off the dirt, thought of that word.
She had just assassinated the emperor’s mood.
The person who understood the situation the least in the training ground was, ironically, Emilia herself.
Standing up, now aware of the countless eyes on her, she folded the emperor’s clothes as neatly as she could.
And so as not to look directly at his bare upper body, she bowed her head deeply in respect.
Clayden should have said “Look properly,” not “I forgive you.”
Breaking through the awkward air, a loud, booming laugh rang out.
It was Emperor Clayden.
The knights, embarrassed, began laughing along.
Clayden planted his sword into the ground and spoke arrogantly to them.
“I’m satisfied with today’s sparring. It’s been a while since I’ve loosened up—this was enjoyable.”
Filled with spirit, the captain of the guard replied,
“It was our honor, Your Majesty!”
The knights greatly admired the emperor’s bold, unbothered demeanor. Whatever had just happened was already forgotten.
Clayden smiled proudly at their gazes and said,
“Emilia?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Are you finished?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Let’s go.”
Following Clayden’s long strides, Emilia hesitated, wondering if she should stop the emperor from walking around bare-chested.
But she didn’t know whether it was proper etiquette to make him put back on the clothes that had fallen onto the dirt, so she couldn’t bring herself to speak.
If the attendant assigned to the training ground had been here, they would have known something like this.
I wish the chief steward were here!
Biting her lip tightly, she hurried after him.
Meanwhile, Clayden, whose face had been stiff, glanced back at Emilia, following closely behind, and paused.
Her face was slightly red. She looked tense.
Lips clenched tight, holding back words she couldn’t say.
She was clearly losing her composure.
Suppressing a smile that was about to rise, Clayden thought,
What, so you were just hiding it? Or did you finally realize it?
The awe of seeing a perfect man’s body.
You don’t dare say it out loud, do you? I know.
It would have been nicer if she had reacted like that in front of the knights.
Surprisingly, Clayden wasn’t one to hold grudges.
Instead, he felt a deep, sincere pity for Emilia.
From then on, she would spend long sleepless nights haunted by the image of him.
No man would ever be enough for her again, and she would live a painful life because of it.
But rulers were sometimes cruel, and Clayden chose to be a cruel man to her.
Seeing Emilia lose her composure because of his charm gave him far more satisfaction than he had expected.
After days of not training, the refreshing feeling in his body was mixed with deep emotional satisfaction.
When he stopped in front of the study with a satisfied smile, Emilia stepped forward and bowed.
“Your Majesty.”
Looking down at her slightly flushed face, Clayden replied gently,
“Emilia.”
Emilia glanced around and spoke quietly, her voice trembling with tension.
“Please go to your bedchamber with me, Your Majesty.”
Clayden’s eyes widened in shock.
To think she would be this bold…
Bed… chamber?
As Clayden stood frozen in shock, Emilia stepped a little closer and spoke quickly and softly.
“You can’t conduct state affairs looking like this. It would be better to return to your bedchamber first and change your clothes. It would be more embarrassing if you went alone like this, so I will accompany you to your chambers.”
Embarrassing…?
Clayden felt as if cold water had been poured over him.
Only then did her shame finally reach him in full.
It felt similar to that time two winters ago, when he had been practicing swordsmanship in a cave at the edge of the North and had absentmindedly walked out into a snowstorm bare-chested.
Freezing wind and snow crashing into his sweat-soaked chest—a truly awful feeling.
Embarrassing.
Embarrassing.
What was embarrassing?
For a moment, Clayden couldn’t even understand the meaning of the word.
He had fallen into what later generations would call “semantic saturation” or “gestalt collapse.”
Meanwhile, sensing that something was wrong with the emperor, Emilia stepped closer, trying to read his expression.
At that, Clayden lifted the hand holding his scabbard heavily, stopping her.
Then, baring his teeth, he put on a perfect smile.
What if you touched an embarrassing chest?
He turned sharply and headed for his bedchamber.
It was clear from his gesture that she was not to follow, so Emilia decided to wait in the study.
Still worried, she watched him from the corridor until he disappeared.
The next day, Clayden came to the study at the same time as before.
“Good morning, Your Majesty.”
“Good morning, Emilia.”
Clayden returned the greeting with a calm expression.
Seeing him today, Emilia felt relieved.
The emperor wore a uniform that showed off his physique without restraint, while still carrying dignity. Just looking at him, one could feel his authority and strength.
She didn’t dwell long on the absurdly perfect body hidden beneath it.
After briefly feeling happy for whoever would one day become the future empress, she focused on her work.
To Emilia, yesterday’s incident was neatly categorized as proof that there was a clear reason the emperor always dressed so well—and that he was oddly lacking in common sense in some unexpected areas.
His swordsmanship, which had once made even the margrave marvel and had rendered the title of Sword Master laughable, was already well known and didn’t need reconsideration.
She was also relieved that the strange discomfort he had radiated yesterday was gone, and that he wasn’t wearing that unnecessary, perfect smile.
A perfect smile ceases to be perfect the moment it becomes unnecessary.
Whether the emperor had slept well last night became, naturally, an imperial secret—since no one truly knew.
In any case, she served the tea in good spirits.
But Clayden stared at the teacup and thought,
It’s obviously the perfect temperature. Not too hot, not too cold. Perfect. Delicious.
She asked politely,
“Is there anything else you require?”
“No. There’s nothing else.”
His reply sounded like he was grinding his teeth slightly, but Emilia withdrew with a calm face. Her attitude was flawless.
Ignoring the emotions quietly simmering inside him, the young emperor drank his tea with a stern expression, fixing his gaze on Emilia as she cleaned up.
He recalled what had happened at the training ground yesterday.
The kindness he had tried to offer her—the gesture of reconciliation—had failed most trivially.
But he was Clayden Locarso. Something so small could not damage his pride or dignity in the slightest.
What kept him awake last night was not embarrassment, but fighting spirit.
Emilia Valetta’s dismissive attitude toward his strengths proved how deep her hostility ran.
An ordinary woman, in such a situation, would be torn between anger at him and an irresistible attraction—suffering from conflicting emotions.
But she was calmly gazing out the window.
Ignoring him with that same serene face.
Ignoring his charm, his abilities, and even the peaceful and prosperous Locarso Empire he would build in the future.
Still, Clayden knew that “hostility” alone couldn’t fully explain her behavior.
She was from the North. When Northerners hated someone, they made it obvious.
They were generally honest inside and out—and because of that, often kept a quiet demeanor to avoid exposing themselves too much.
If she truly hated him enough to ignore his demonic charm, she wouldn’t be standing in front of him with such composure.
If she could hide her expressions that well, she would make an excellent assassin.
So there had to be something else in Emilia Valetta’s heart.
He would find it—and crush it.
He would make both Emilia and Margrave Filard Valetta his most loyal supporters.
His personal wish to one day reconcile with the margrave had turned into a contest.
Feeling Clayden’s piercing gaze, Emilia turned toward him in confusion.
Had she made another mistake she didn’t even realize?
Tense, she asked,
“Your Majesty, do you have an order?”
With a very faint, cool smile, Clayden asked,
“What were you just looking at?”
“I’m sorry, Your Majesty.”
Emilia thought her momentary distraction had clearly offended him.
Now that she thought about it, hadn’t she often looked out the window while he worked?
Had that irritated him?
She almost hoped that was the case—because that habit could be fixed easily.
But when she apologized, she noticed the emperor’s face stiffen slightly.
She couldn’t ignore the coldness hidden in that subtle smile.
Did I make another mistake again?
Emilia didn’t want to drag out this ambiguous situation any longer.
