Chapter 10 – From Golden Hair to Kiwi Real Quick!
(Yvaine's Point of View)
You know it's a bad idea when it starts with a government seal and ends with me whispering, "I think I need to touch it."
But let me rewind...
It began shortly after my best friend, Yanyan, somehow managed to fall in love at first sight with the Duke of the North—yes, the famously grim, aloof, brooding war tactician with jawlines blessed by winter and eyes colder than tax season. They locked eyes once in the drawing room I abandoned them in (you're welcome), and by the time I returned? He looked at her like she was a cinnamon bun and he'd been on a battlefield diet.
"Of course," I muttered. "Typical manhwa trope. Eyes meet. Souls speak. Future wedding with cherry blossom petals."
I turned to Eirian, who was calmly sorting scrolls like we weren't mid-socio-political matchmaking drama.
"Meanwhile, my assistant," I pointed at him with the disdain of a tax auditor, "is basically a walking mailbox. He receives every single one of my passionate proposals and lovelorn declarations—and just files them away."
He blinked. "I keep them color-coded."
"EXACTLY!" I flailed. "You color-coded my rejection arc!"
Then the butler arrived.
Mid-pouting, mid-rant, mid-imaginary wedding speech for Yanyan, a voice behind me cleared his throat.
"My lady, a letter has arrived... from the Eastern Empire."
I turned.
He held it like it was laced with judgment.
Gold-trimmed. Heavy seal. Crisp parchment. The kind of envelope that whispered, You're about to be in trouble—but diplomatically.
"What does it say?" I asked, squinting, readying my entire being, but as long as it's about sold for gold, then I'm here for it!
"An official invitation from His Imperial Majesty… the Emperor of the East." Eirian froze.
I, however, was already calculating how many outfits I could stuff into a flour sack and whether their carpets were soft enough to perform a dignified fake faint.
The Emperor of the East was known across the continent for his power, neutrality, and...
His complete and shining baldness your highness. Well, it rhymes.
Like—legendary. Shimmering. Reflective enough to blind an enemy at high noon.
And you already know what happened.
"Do you think if I gently tap it, it makes a soft boop sound?"
"Yvaine—no."
"Do you think it's fuzzy? Like... kiwi fruit fuzz?"
"Please stop." Rolling his eyes like he's not used to her unbelievable banters from this brand genius named Me.
"Wait. That's it." With smiles and giggles as I tried my best to bottle the laughter and absurd thinking I had in mind. Well, since he knows me very well, I just happen to be truest to myself when I'm with him. It is as if he has choices to begin with.
I stood, eyes glowing.
"Baldozer Booze. I'm naming my next drink after this revelation. Aged in diplomacy, touched by curiosity, brewed from intrusive victory."
We needed to leave. Immediately.
I turned to my personal maid, who was already halfway into a nervous breakdown.
"Get my backpack," I said, pointing to the large satchel labeled 'Emergency Elopement Supplies'.
"Also get Eirian's. If you succeed within the next 3 minutes, I'll throw in a delivery fee. In raisins. Or liquor coupons."
They vanished with military-grade urgency.
"We are not eloping," Eirian muttered beside me.
"We are if I say it loud enough." He closed his eyes, composing himself and making sure to still keep the last thread of his patience that's vastly more than our liquor empire.
Just then, I heard voices echoing from the 4th-floor drawing room. My brother. Still here. Still brooding. Still Bunny.
I marched halfway up the stairs and screamed with the full force of my divine lung capacity:
"BROTHER! I WILL BE OUT FOR A WHILE WITH MY ELOPE BUDDY! I'LL BE BACK AFTER I DYED HIS HAIR IN GOLD FROM THE EAST, BROTHER BUNNY!"
There was a beat of silence.
Then—
"...She called me WHAT?" My brother's voice, unamused.
His wife's voice, wheezing with laughter: "Let her go. Let her be weird. It suits her."
We reached the manor gates.
Our horses were already prepared. Probably by the same poor stable boy who witnessed my attempted swan dive into a barrel last week.
I swung up into the saddle with grace. (Well, grace adjacent.)
Eirian hesitated beside his horse. "This is a terrible idea."
"So was letting me near registry clerks, I can't even remember who we registered it to. Just don't spoil the fun and let the time unfold the prank golder than my gold vault."
As we rode off, the wind whipping through my hair, I shouted one last time toward the estate—
"I'LL BRING HOME A TREATY! OR A BOTTLED MEMORY! OR A KIWI-SCENTED DIPLOMATIC INCIDENT!"
My brother's parting words?
Echoing behind us like a divine threat,
"BETTER READY YOUR DEAD ASS FOR ICU-LEVEL TRAINING WHEN YOU'RE BACK WITH THAT CURTAIN-BANGS ASSISTANT OF YOURS!"
I smiled.
Lifted my beer mug.
Not with beer, but with Bro's Elbow Brew.
Brewed in barracks. Best served with trauma.
Side effects include flashbacks and enhanced upper body strength.
"To diplomacy," I whispered. "And to bald heads that changed history with metaphors or descriptions from Kiwi!"
End of Chapter 10
Yvaine: unfiltered.
Eirian: resigned.
The East: not ready.