#020. Then, May I Receive a Horse?
The girl before him now looked so adorably innocent, it was hard to believe she was the same one who had just made a dozen children cry.
“If you’re tired, I can bring you a tea with awakening effects.”
A very elegant way of saying, “Were you dozing with your eyes open?”
“I’m not talking nonsense, you know.”
Melchizedek calmly rebutted.
“The children I invited today were candidates to be my playmates. But none seemed capable of holding a proper conversation like you, so I rejected them all. Naturally, they were left quite displeased.”
Only now did Blanche understand the children’s excessive hostility.
Of course, being a duke’s playmate — especially if they were hostages from weak nations — was enough to stir resentment. But their aggression had seemed unusually intense, like moths drawn to flame. Turns out, there was a deeper grudge.
“So you wanted me to knock them down a peg?”
“Exactly. And you did it splendidly. — So you deserve a reward. What do you want?”
“It is a great honor if I was of help.”
She offered the customary modest response.
As expected of someone who’d initiated a deal the moment they met, the Duke seemed entirely uninterested in flattery.
Usually, one would let the question linger for a while before answering, but this was not the kind of man who liked delays. If she hesitated with someone who disliked dithering, she might lose everything.
“In that case, may I have a horse?”
“…A horse?”
Melchizedek’s gaze slowly scanned Blanche up and down.
“Yes.”
“Can you even ride a horse…?”
It was a fair question. Blanche was so small she wouldn’t be able to ride a donkey, let alone a horse.
“No, not for me. I’d like to give it to my nanny.”
Her answer only deepened the confusion. After all, it wasn’t common for a nanny to possess the noble training needed to ride a horse.
But Melchizedek didn’t seem interested in verifying the truth. With a slight shrug of his shoulders, he simply said:
“Alright, a horse it is. I’ll have it prepared.”
Apparently satisfied that all business was concluded, Melchizedek rose from his seat without hesitation. Since even Tula had already been dismissed, Blanche remained seated and simply bowed her head.
“Let’s meet again next time.”
With that, Melchizedek left the parlor. Blanche was left alone.
I loosened my tightly buttoned collar once I was alone. Normally, smiling for a few hours wouldn’t wear me out, but maybe because my body is still young, I felt unusually exhausted. I should get some rest.
“Is there anything you need?”
Tula entered, having likely seen the Duke leave. Unlike my slumped, tired figure, she still stood straight and composed.
“Tula.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“Let the children rest.”
Most of the servants here were sent by the Empress. In other words, they had neither the reason nor time to build any loyalty to me.
I’d worked them hard today, so I ought to give them some reprieve. Otherwise, trouble would erupt quickly.
“Yes, understood.”
Tula bowed politely and exited without turning her back to me. I leaned back in the chair and closed my eyes.
The fact that the Duke was pleased with the results was unexpected. From an objective perspective, it was a complete disaster — half the guests left the tea party crying.
Considering my usual performance, I wouldn’t have been surprised if the Duke were furious. But it was fortunate that our relationship hadn’t soured. Especially since I might really get that horse.
Now I’d need to start preparing Tula with horseback riding and self-defense lessons — this gift gave me the perfect excuse to do that.
“…Do we even have a stable here?”
I mean, we probably did. But whether it was still functioning was another matter. And if there were no horses, there surely wasn’t a stablemaster either.
Would the Duke arrange all of that too, or would I have to ask the Empress? As I mulled it over, my eyelids grew heavier.
I didn’t resist. I let my eyes close. I could think about all that tomorrow — for now, rest was enough.
When Tula returned after declaring rest time for the servants, she found Blanche fast asleep.
“Oh dear…”
Tula’s face, once hardened by the need to maintain a solemn expression, softened into a gentle smile. She quietly approached and scooped the sleeping princess into her arms.
“The moon and stars are asleep too. Though I’m sad to part, it’s time now to say goodbye…”
Humming a lullaby, Tula walked gently.
For the past two weeks, little Princess Blanche had run Jasper Palace’s staff ragged. She terrified the servants so much that even seasoned adults trembled before the lisping three-year-old.
And today, she’d made over a dozen noble children cry and flee.
Yet in Tula’s eyes, Blanche was always her precious little princess. The child she could lift effortlessly. The one whose hardened face would soften when soothed with lullabies and tucked into bed.
So, just this once, Tula cast aside the “dignity” the princess always spoke of, knelt beside the bed, and lovingly comforted her.
Until Her Highness’s short nap came to an end.
The tea party, which seemed to satisfy no one but the Duke and the host, quickly became infamous. Naturally so — the children either returned sniffling or locked themselves in their rooms to cry.
When noble families investigated, they discovered it hadn’t only happened to their child. And once that was known, whispers began to spread.
If one child cried, it was no big deal. If five cried, the host was questionable. But if every child cried?
“They say everyone’s gossiping about how wicked the princess must be. Some even claim Her Majesty the Empress introduced the Duke to a terrible girl.”
The whisperer was Marchioness Chase — a woman who once tried and failed to make her daughter the crown princess, and who now harbored deep resentment toward Empress Liana.
“I see.”
The listener was none other than the Dowager Empress, Rachia von Pendleton.
Rachia held no personal grudge against Liana. However, the Dowager Empress and the reigning Empress were naturally rivals — the former most revered woman of the empire, and the latter the current.
And unfortunately, there were two major reasons why Rachia and Liana’s relationship was strained.
First: The late emperor died far too early.
Second: Emperor Berken loved Liana too much.
Under normal circumstances, Rachia would still be reigning. She should have enjoyed power for another twenty years and only retired once it tired her out.
But the early death of the previous emperor forced her into retirement far too young. She became a “backroom dowager” long before she could truly savor power.
To make matters worse, the man who took her place — her son Berken — was hopelessly in love with Liana.
Now, ordinarily, that wouldn’t be a problem. What ruler wouldn’t want an emperor and empress who loved each other?
The issue lay in Liana’s condition.
Liana Enzen von Pendleton was infertile. She couldn’t bear children, couldn’t produce an heir. Under normal rules, no matter her talent or pedigree, she could never have become empress.
Even worse, this fact was discovered when Liana was just fifteen — while she was still the crown princess. The Kaibrahan family, loyal and upright, informed the palace of her infertility and even offered to voluntarily withdraw her from her position.
Sure, she couldn’t have children, but Liana was still a talented noblewoman from a prestigious family. Even if she stepped down, her future would have remained secure.
They did the right thing by being upfront and offering a solution. No reason to displease the royal family, and with her skills, Liana could have become the commander of the Imperial Knights if not the empress.
But everything went awry when Emperor Berken rejected that solution.
“I will not marry anyone but Liana.”
No one — not even Liana herself — supported this. Yet Berken defied all opposition out of pure affection for her.
Liana remained crown princess, and six years later, she became empress. Luckily, around the time Berken was convincing her to stay, the Dowager Empress gave birth to Melchizedek, solving the heir issue.
So it seemed all problems were resolved.
The Kaibrahan family, moved by the emperor’s loyalty and faith, pledged eternal devotion.
The Empire gained its finest knight as empress.
The emperor and empress shared a bond forged through hardship.
And with a healthy, intelligent crown prince, succession worries were gone.
But for Rachia, the Dowager Empress, it was impossible to forget that upheaval.
Even Liana herself had agreed to step down quietly — but Berken alone had fought tooth and nail, ready to throw away his claim to the throne for her.
Rachia had no resentment toward either of them.
But still — she could never forget that her son’s greatest rebellion had been over Liana.
And it is never a good thing for a ruler to have such an emotional weak spot. Even worse, everyone in the empire knew that weakness was the empress.
