What was it again today?
Ah right. Just another ordinary day in the life on an old owman who had woken up as a little girl.
The thought made Ett sigh as she walked, her short legs carrying her across the stone paths of the palace grounds. No matter how many times she reminded herself that impatience achieved nothing, the feeling refused to fade.
"It's hard to wait for that day to come," she muttered under her breath. "Why does it feel like its taking a thousand years?"
Her voice was quiet, easily swallowed by the open air of the Imperial Garden. She had chosen this place deliberately, far from the bustle of court officials, distant from whispered and prying eyes. Here, at least, the air was clean, and the silence honest.
"Mm."
A breeze slipped past her cheeks, cool and gentle, lifting the hem of her sleeves and carrying with it a faint earthy scent. Ett slowed her steps, tilting her head slightly as she let herself feel it.
Such a pleasant wind.
So rare.
Beautiful.
The Imperial Garden spared before her in vast, deliberate expanse. Unlike other gardens filled with variety and color, this one was devoted a single bloom alone.
Black roses.
They stretched endlessly, row after row, until the land seemed swallowed by darkness, like a sea frozen mid-wave. This darkness was quieter, heavier, steeped in symbolism rather than salt.
Each rose was carefully cultivated, its petal thick and velvety, drinking in the light rather than reflecting it. The gardeners tended them very well. No weeds was permitted to grow among them. It was said that nowhere else in the Empire could such roses survive.
Only here.
Only under imperial care.
Or grounds full of imperial tombs from who knows where?
Heh.
"They're beautiful."
Ett murmured.
To the common people outside of Arganta, the black rose was a harbinger of death, of ill intent, of funerals. Many believed even standing too close is not good. But Ett never thought of that.
Although, her favorite color for roses were blue, black roses are cool too.
"Though…," she added lightly, her lips curving faintly, "I suppose I still prefer dandelions."
The voice came from behind her.
Ett stopped.
She turned slowly, a faint creases forming between her brows. She was certain of her surroundings, one maid walking at a respectful distance behind her, several knights far enough away to avoid intruding. None of them had spoken.
"Akan," she said flatly.
The man stepped forward into view, bowing with casual elegance.
"My apologies for disturbing you, Your Ladyship." She said. "I found myself with nothing of importance to attend to and wondered if I might accompany you for a time."
Not as though she needed him.
"Do as you please," Ett replied, already turning back toward the garden.
Oh?
Akan's gaze sharpened with interest. It seemed her ladyship was in a better mood today.
As they walked side by side, though a half-step behind her, as protocol demanded, Akan spoke again. "Dandelions can be rather troublesome, don't you think?"
Ett glance at him sidelong.
So. He was speaking more freely now.
Ohohoho. It seemed revealing his wolf's skin had emboldened him. Not that she minded. On the contrary she preferred people who showed their fangs openly. Hypocrisy exhausted her far more than hostility ever could
"Troublesome?" she echoed.
Ett considered the image, then shook her head.
"I don't think so. They're more like balloons." She lifted a small, fingers spreading. "You let them swell just enough, and then…"
She closed her fist.
"They're destroyed easily."
Akan fell silent.
The loveliest thing about dandelions, Ett thought, was how they scattered so quickly. One moment rooted in the soil, the next carried away by the wind, never to return, never to be trampled underfoot again.
Free.
"…Why are you here?" she asked abruptly.
Akan blinked, momentarily caught off guard.
As if she would believe he had truly come simply to admire flowers.
"Please don't look at me like that," he said lightly. "I did come to enjoy the scenery with you."
He leaned closer, lowering his voice until it brushed only her ears.
Freak! Ett moved away looking side to side. "Say it, no one will hear. My heart nearly burst out."
Goodness this person.
Akan twitched his lips, that's…quite a lively move. "Apologies Your Ladyship, it was not my intention I'll keep it in mind moving forward."
"Okay, spill."
"I took the liberty of gathering information about the young man you mentioned before."
Ett's gaze sharpend.
That old woman's son, the one who had crafted her disguise had gone to work at Count Shubert's estate.
"I see," then she turned away from the garden. "Let's return."
Akan smiled. They would need secrecy for this discussion and her ladyship needs to sit to listen. A study, perhaps. Somewhere sealed from idle ears, even if none appeared to be listening.
"Gladly."
***
Meanwhile, elsewhere in the palace.
Guren finished his swordsmanship training with a sharp exhale.
Lesson? Hardly. There was no one left who could teach him anything he did not already know. If anything, it was he who instructed others how to kill efficiently, without wasted movement, without hesitation.
A servant approached cautiously.
"Your Majesty, your handkerchief. And water."
Guren accepted them and seated himself, wiping the sweat from his brow. His muscles still hummed faintly from exertion.
These days, the nobles were restless.
Banquets. Balls. Appearances.
All awaited his decision on who would be permitted to use the Imperial Hall. The delay alone was enough to keep them anxious, guessing, maneuvering. Some had already begun speculating, drawing conclusions where none yet existed.
Those chosen would feel favored.
Those passed over would grow wary.
Political games.
He had learned them young, but they had never been his strength.
"…The boy," Guren said suddenly. "Where is he?"
Butler Xiwen paused.
"Young Master Lativ, you mean?"
"Yes."
Guren already knew the answer. Lativ had arrived three days prior. The Duke of Yushon had not resisted not foolish enough to challenge imperial will. Guren respected that.
"I taught him the basics of personal service," Xiwen replied. "He learns quickly. And he has an unexpected aptitude for the sword."
Guren nodded. Praise from Xiwen was rare.
"You didn't tell him about the Empress Dowager?"
Xiwen shook his head. "That decision rests with you."
"He'll meet her eventually," Guren said. "Let the servants know Lativ knows the Dowager as my sister."
"Understood."
"Bring him."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
Guren drank his water slowly, his gaze drifting to the weapons lining the walls. His mind was quiet empty, gray.
Footsteps approached.
Lativ entered, stiff and pale.
"G-Greetings—" He stopped, cleared his throat, and knelt. "Greetings to the Keeper of Adiand, the sun and moon of the people. This humble subject, Lativ, is honored to stand before His Majesty."
"The greeting is terrible," Guren said calmly.
Xiwen bowed. "My apologies."
Lativ wanted to disappear.
First impressions last.
I've ruined everything.
"I suppose," Guren continued, "your father wished to speak with me."
Lativ lowered his head.
It was true. Duke Garth had tried foolishly to push past protocol. Imperial Knights had stopped him. Any further would have meant annihilation.
"I apologize for my father's behavior," Lativ said. "It was unethical."
Guren snorted. "I'm not that petty."
He stood.
"Serving me is not that easy."
"…." Erm, what could he say as a subject? It's not like the Emperor is asking for acknowledgment. He…he is just voicing out the perception of the people around him.
"…Moving forth, you'll be in the tutelage of Xiwen."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"Don't wander too much."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
Silence followed.
Not the awkward kind. It pressed down measured, intentional. Guren did not dismiss him, nor did he speak. He stood still, gaze unfocused, as though weighing something unseen.
Lativ remained kneeling.
Seconds passed. Then more.
His knees began to ache, but he did not shift. The Emperor's silence carried more weight than anger.
"Look at me."
Lativ lifted his head at once.
Their eyes met.
Guren's gaze was stripped bare no warmth, no curiosity. The look of a man who had seen countless lives measured and spent.
"You are afraid," Guren said.
It was not a question.
Lativ nodded, "Yes, Your Majesty."
"Good."
The word landed flat, neither praise nor comfort.
"Fear keeps people alive," Guren continued. "Those without it grow careless."
He paused.
"Careless people die early."
Lativ swallowed and nodded.
"I will not protect you," Guren said.
The words struck harder than expected.
"You will not be indulged," he went on. "Your age will not excuse you. Your blood will not shield you."
His voice remained even, almost distant.
"If you survive," Guren said, "it will be because you learned quickly."
"…Yes, Your Majesty."
"You answer too fast."
Lativ stiffened. "My apologies—"
"Don't apologize unless you know why," Guren cut in. "It wastes breath."
Lativ closed his mouth and bowed his head.
Xiwen observed silently.
Guren turned away, walking toward the weapon racks lining the wall. His fingers brushed along cold steel, stopping short of grasping any blade.
"You will see many things in this palace," Guren said, his back to Lativ. "Some will confuse you."
A pause.
"Some will disgust you."
Another.
"Some will tempt you."
Lativ listened with everything he had.
"When that happens," Guren continued, "remember this."
He turned, meeting Lativ's gaze once more.
"No one here is innocent."
No one here is innocent. Who knew he would disregard this after some time.
The words were quiet. Absolute.
"…Yes, Your Majesty."
Guren studied him briefly then looked away, interest seemingly spent.
"Xiwen."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"Teach him restraint before obedience."
Xiwen inclined his head. "As you command."
Guren nodded once.
"You're dismissed."
Relief flooded Lativ so sharply his vision wavered.
"Thank you for your guidance, Your Majesty."
He bowed deeply and retreated, careful not to turn his back until protocol allowed.
Just as he reached the threshold—"Ah."
Lativ froze. Ah? What Ah? A silent cry kept slamming in his head.
"Yes, Your Majesty?"
Guren did not look at him.
"If you ever stop being afraid," he said, "leave this palace."
The doors closed softly behind Lativ.
Guren remained where he was, gaze resting on the weapons.
"…He is fragile," Xiwen said quietly.
"Yes," Guren replied.
After a pause, "Though, he might last."