#028. If this is the kind of child she is, then maybe showing favor isn’t such a bad idea.
The Sea Palace, traditionally the residence of the Empress Dowager, carried a dignified and subdued elegance that suited its occupant. Dark wooden furniture, simple yet noble tapestries, and refined wall reliefs added to its solemn atmosphere.
At its innermost and most luxurious guest chamber sat the palace’s mistress, Rachia, and her guest, Blanche.
Blanche was barely three years old, and even Rachia, who had just passed forty, didn’t quite suit this room. It was a space meant for those in the twilight of their lives. Both were far too young for such a setting.
Yet Rachia fit into it as though it had been made for her. Her deep red hair—darker than the fiery shades of her two sons—was like fallen leaves tinged with color, and her golden eyes were as delicately crafted as fine goldwork.
With those graceful and quiet eyes, the Empress Dowager surveyed the child before her. A face as delicate and pretty as a porcelain doll, tiny hands lifting a teacup, and downcast black eyes.
“So, you’re the girl called Blanche.”
Only then did Rachia form her first impression of her. The real Blanche was different from what she’d expected—yet exactly as Melchizedek had described.
“Thank you for inviting me.”
The child was calm and composed. Similar to Rachia’s second son, who never acted his age, yet even more polite.
“Do you like the tea?”
It was a question asked out of politeness. There was no way she would. Even her adult son detested how bitter this tea was.
But Blanche remained composed.
“Yes, it has a lovely aroma.”
A gentle smile played on her lips, as if she truly meant it. Rather than having a nature that drew affection, she seemed more like someone innately incapable of provoking dislike—nothing to fault her for.
“Well then. I heard you’ve become friends with my son, so I thought I’d meet you.”
Blanche smiled sweetly.
“Really, I should’ve been the one to visit His Grace first.”
It was a surprisingly firm response, contrary to what Melchizedek had implied. So much so that someone might find her too mature for a child.
But perhaps that’s why Melchizedek’s words rang true. Most adults might find a child like this disconcerting, but as Melchizedek’s mother, Rachia could find charm in even a precociously mature child.
Was she like this with everyone? Showing just the right face for each person? Was that how she won over both Liana and the finicky Melchizedek?
“You don’t need to be so modest. Would you like a pastry?”
Technically, as her son’s friend, Blanche should feel like a daughter—but maybe because Melchizedek was born late, to Rachia, Blanche felt more like the granddaughter she never had.
“Thank you very much.”
The hand that reached out was small and cute, like a delicately crafted doll’s. So tiny that even her fingernails seemed out of place.
Blanche placed the cookie on her plate and carefully broke it into bite-sized pieces. Watching her nibble it calmly, Rachia pondered her options.
She had two choices: suppress the girl, showing the nobles that even if she gained Liana’s favor, it meant little; or cherish her, reinforcing the idea that her rising status was not just the work of the Empress.
There was no need to stir conflict with Liana. If Blanche was a worthwhile child, the latter option was preferable. But if she wasn’t, then endorsing such a mediocre girl would harm the royal family’s dignity.
Yet now, seeing her in person, Rachia found her not bad at all. Polished manners, graceful demeanor, a calm and quiet presence beyond her years.
If this is the kind of child she is, then maybe showing favor isn’t such a bad idea. Especially since Melchizedek seems to like her.
“A friend of my son is like a daughter to me. Consider me your mother and visit often.”
If Blanche were thirteen, she would’ve never taken the words literally, and Rachia would’ve never said them so easily.
But Blanche was only three. Rachia spoke freely, knowing the child wouldn’t understand the weight behind such words.
Yet the child’s response was unexpected. Instead of reacting with awkwardness or joy, she said:
“I’m only sorry that Her Majesty the Empress Dowager must trouble herself with such trivial matters.”
To be told that after being invited to consider her as a mother?
If Blanche had been an ordinary child, and Rachia’s son an ordinary boy, Rachia would’ve brushed this off as a silly combination of borrowed expressions. But Rachia had raised Melchizedek—a boy who could hold political conversations with her at the age of five.
And he had described Blanche as someone naturally adept at pleasing adults. She’d already earned Liana’s favor.
Then perhaps…
With a hint of curiosity, Rachia lowered her voice.
“No need to concern yourself. I simply wish for everyone to know whose son Melchizedek is. —It’s not strange for a friend of my son to visit his mother, is it?”
If Blanche could understand this, she was Melchizedek’s equal. If not, she was just an ordinary child.
Which one was she? Rachia looked at her with anticipation.
Blanche slowly traced her tiny finger along the teacup. After a brief pause—perhaps to think or to buy time—her small lips parted.
“You don’t wish for me to turn my back on Her Majesty the Empress, do you?”
The confidence in her voice was clear. Rachia felt a rising sense of astonishment—but it was a pleasant one.
“…Yes. Many misunderstand, but I don’t wish to be at odds with Liana.”
It was a subtle and delicate issue.
Rachia did want power. But not in the way others believed—not by clashing with the Empress. Because that was a battle she would lose.
Rachia’s authority was still acceptable because the late Emperor had died too soon. If he had lived, she would still be the reigning Empress, with all the associated power. And since Liana didn’t seem greedy, it was acceptable for the Empress Dowager to act as the ruling power for now.
But in ten or twenty years? When Liana might finally assert her authority, supported by Emperor Berken—what reason would Rachia have to hold power then?
That’s why she didn’t want a direct confrontation. Her need to check Liana wasn’t about power—it was because the Empress was the Emperor’s only weakness.
There’s a big difference between opposing the Empress for power and checking her to protect the Emperor. In the former case, Rachia would have to directly confront Liana. In the latter, it didn’t matter who kept her in check—as long as someone did.
In fact, it was better if that person wasn’t Rachia. Directly opposing someone as formidable as Liana was dangerous, even for the Empress Dowager.
But others failed to distinguish between these two. Some didn’t even realize Rachia was keeping Liana in check, like Liana herself. Others divided the court into Empress and Dowager factions, creating unnecessary tension.
Outside her two sons, no one had understood Rachia’s complex thoughts—until now.
And now, this child had grasped it all in a single conversation?
She couldn’t help but be amazed. And pleased.
“Princess Blanche, if you can act as a bridge between me and the Empress, then I shall provide what Liana and Melchizedek cannot.”
There were only four direct royals at present. And Blanche would now enjoy the favor of three. At this point, her being a princess of a minor kingdom didn’t matter. Even if she were a beggar taken off the street, no one could say a word. With all three being so different, their affections would complement each other too.
“Your grace is already more than I deserve. Should you ever require my help, please do not hesitate to ask. I would be honored to serve.”
Such refined language—like earlier, when she mentioned “trivial matters.”
Even Melchizedek didn’t speak so archaically. Rachia wondered where the child had picked up such expressions.
But in the end, it wasn’t important. She let it pass.
