The air inside the Bedchamber seemed to freeze solid in that instant. Only the few magic candle flames continued their faint, restless dance, casting the moon-white of Sophia's silk sleeping gown and the near-translucent gossamer draped across the Leighton Princess in a mutually luminous play of light and shadow.
The fingers clutching the edge of the blanket whitened slightly at the knuckles. Sophia did not react with any sudden violence. She simply looked down from above at the girl kneeling before her — fragile and tempting as exquisite porcelain — and said nothing.
A carousel of possibilities spun through Sophia's mind.
Wrong room? Impossible. The guards on the Mason Palace were not particularly numerous, but her Bedchamber always had female soldiers on rotation outside. Without someone deliberately waving her through — or an inside-outside conspiracy — a princess who couldn't fight her way out of a paper bag had no business quietly slipping into her covers.
An assassin?
Sophia looked at those hazy, cornflower-blue eyes written all over with panic and embarrassment, and at the lush, trembling curves that shook with every nervous breath.
If assassins this dangerous existed in the world, they were probably only deployed to assassinate 'rational thought.'
"Y-Your Majesty..."
The Leighton Princess, seeing Sophia make no move and simply fix her with those pale golden pupils — deep and still as a frozen lake — felt her unease crest toward its absolute limit.
She summoned her nerve and called out again. Her voice came out soft and yielding as near-melted toffee, carrying with it the particular damp warmth of a Leighton accent.
She even worked up the courage to release the hands she had been holding protectively over her chest — letting that breathtaking arc fully reveal itself before Sophia's eyes, an offering of 'sincerity.'
"Explain yourself."
Sophia spoke. Her voice rang out clear and cool as jade struck against jade, without a single trace of being swayed by beauty — if anything, carrying an authority that made the temperature in the room plunge.
She did not sit on the edge of the bed. Instead she stepped back half a pace. That deliberate increase of distance pressed upon the Leighton Princess like the tip of a blade held to her throat.
"Who sent you?"
Sophia fixed her gaze on the princess's palm-sized pretty face, her tone so measured it was terrifying.
"The King of Leighton? Your mother the Queen? Or was this a... gift, jointly deliberated upon by the entire Royal House of Leighton?"
She truly had not imagined that the Leighton family had dragged their entire household here with this scheme in mind.
The Leighton Princess flinched as though struck by those icy words, her small body shuddering violently, her chest heaving in the aftermath.
She bit her lower lip. Tears circled in her eyes. Her voice trembled so badly it barely held together.
"It... it is Father's and Mother's wish.
"They said — Your Majesty is the only kingdom on the Northern border with any true future. Standing against Mason leads nowhere good.
"Leighton wishes to follow the Black Rose flag forever, and mere livestock and ore will not be enough. Very soon Mason will have even more powerful allies, and by that point Leighton will have no value left to offer.
"They hope... they hope I can serve at Your Majesty's side."
Hearing this entirely expected answer, Sophia let the corner of her mouth curl into a self-deprecating arc.
That crafty old King of Leighton — he certainly moves fast.
He's figured out I have no intention of swallowing Leighton at the moment, so he's rushing to plant a bedside emissary as a talisman.
As long as his daughter can get into my bed — even without any title, even just as a nameless lady's maid — in the outside world's eyes, Leighton becomes related by marriage to Mason. This 'bed-warming diplomacy' is quite fashionable among the old nobility in the Imperial Capital, but it has absolutely no place here.
"The King of Leighton has certainly made some clever calculations," Sophia said.
She turned her back to the princess and walked to the table, pouring herself a cup of milk that had long since gone cold, fingertips tapping lightly against the side of the cup.
He thinks sending his own daughter will buy him next year's potato and chili seeds from me? Permanent tax exemption for Leighton from Mason? Or does Leighton want more than I'm imagining?
The King of Leighton has already witnessed what the City Lord of Qubi chose to do. Presumably the entire family has no desire to vacate the throne, which is why they cooked up this scheme.
The Leighton Princess, seeing Sophia's back turned to her, assumed she had been utterly and completely despised. Despair crashed through her in a wave.
She climbed down from the bed entirely and knelt on the soft carpet, her small body folding inward, that seaweed-dark hair tumbling forward over the generous curves of her chest.
"Your Majesty! It is not entirely Father's idea — this one is also, also willing of her own accord!"
She was crying as she grabbed at the hem of Sophia's sleeping gown.
"That evening at the banquet, watching Your Majesty's magnificent bearing as you invested your ministers — in that moment, this one knew there is no one on the Northern border more worthy of following than you.
"Please do not send me away. Even if it is only as the lowest scullery maid sweeping your Bedchamber..."
"You are a princess, not my consort."
'This one'? Sophia felt as though her head had split into two separate aching heads.
How does this woman dare refer to herself that way off the bat?
Mason had already taken in two princesses before this. One had since gone off to serve as a City Lord, and the other had become Mason's Saint. She had barely gotten their mental health sorted out to any reasonable degree, and now here was another princess who appeared to have significantly more severe psychological issues than either of them.
Sophia let out a long, long sigh.
This is a legitimate country. Not a home for troubled young women.
The magic candle flames in the study flickered unsteadily. Sophia stared into the milk in the cup, long since cold. The soft sound of muffled weeping drifted from behind her, and she felt the throbbing in her temples grow cheerfully more vigorous.
"Get dressed and go back."
Sophia did not turn around. Her voice was as flat and measured as still water, betraying neither pleasure nor anger.
"Tell your father the King and your mother the Queen — even if This Queen harbors ambitions toward the Northern border, I have no particular fondness for killing innocents.
"As long as Leighton keeps its nose clean, the Black Rose battle flag of Mason will not plant itself on Leighton's grasslands without cause.
"He does not need to purchase This Queen's promises with methods like this."
The words landed with considerable weight, carrying the disdain of a superior for the petty opportunism of those weaker than her.
And yet the Leighton Princess, kneeling on the floor, did not rise with relief and leave.
The chill of the deep night crept through the floorboards into the thin fabric against her skin. She curled into herself, her small shoulders trembling violently.
"No. I'm not going back."
The Leighton Princess lifted that palm-sized pretty face. Her light-brown eyes were filled with absolute resolve.
"Now that I have already entered this room, I had no intention of returning to Leighton.
"Father and Mother may have their own calculations, but for Leighton — if we are not accepted by Your Majesty, we will forever be lost souls drifting outside the Mason order.
"Whatever Your Majesty's inclination, even if it means being locked in a cage — please, please let me stay."
Sophia let out another long sigh.
When she had been a student in the Imperial Capital, she had seen no shortage of noble girls sacrificed for their families' gain. But one with such an outrageously developed constitution and such a completely single-minded character — that was a first.
With a resigned helplessness, she turned and reached out to the nearby rosewood stand, pulling free a thick velvet blanket.
With an easy toss, the great blanket sailed through the air and landed with precision over the Leighton Princess's slightly shivering shoulders, thoroughly concealing the breathtaking curves that were giving Sophia a headache.
"Wrap up. All the way."
Sophia looked down at her from above, eyes cool and clear.
"Don't say things like 'accept me' going forward.
"You need to understand — you are a living human being, with your own consciousness and your own dignity. You are not a gift that can be packaged up and shipped from one party to the next.
"This Queen has indeed taken in quite a few people, but every one of them is either a general who commands armies, or an inventor who changes the world. Not one of them exists as a gift."
For the Leighton Princess — raised in this era, educated from birth that she must be ready to sacrifice herself at any moment for the glory of her family — those words were nothing less than a thunderclap in the deepest part of her soul.
She had assumed that tonight would bring one of two outcomes: violent possession, or humiliating expulsion.
She had even mentally prepared herself to be treated as a 'plaything' or a 'hostage.'
And yet what had Her Majesty Sophia said?
She had said she was a person.
She had said she was not a gift.
The Leighton Princess gripped the velvet blanket tightly against herself — the one that still carried Sophia's warmth — and felt the solid, steadying weight of it.
She lifted her head. The look in her eyes as she gazed at Sophia shifted completely in that single instant.
If her earlier seduction had still contained some trace of compulsion, then now — what poured from those eyes was something close to sacred: a worship that wanted to offer up everything.
"Your Majesty..."
She choked on the words, her small body trembling forward with the force of her emotion, white fingertips digging into the blanket's edge.
"Since Your Majesty sees me as a person — then please allow, allow this person, to remain at Your Majesty's side. Even as the humblest follower.
"I do not want to return to Leighton. I want to stay somewhere I can hear your voice!"
Sophia looked at this princess who, rather than calming down after being covered with a blanket, had only grown bolder in her declarations — and sank into a profound, all-encompassing speechlessness.
She really did almost never encounter someone this impossible to handle.
Have her dragged out and executed?
Sophia's gaze settled on the Leighton Princess kneeling on the floor wrapped in her blanket, eyes brimming with tears.
Who could actually bring themselves to do that.
Just as Sophia was on the verge of a headache explosion facing this 'can't-be-hit, won't-be-shouted-away' Leighton Princess, three rhythmically measured light knocks sounded against the heavy rosewood door.
"Your Majesty, I have prepared wild berry juice to help regulate your constitution — the temperature is just right at the moment."
Before Sophia could even respond, the door was nudged open in a neat, graceful arc.
Willow entered, carrying a flawlessly clear glass cup, her steps elegant and measured.
However, the moment this Chief Steward of the Palace took in the scene before her — the Queen seated in her chair with imperial authority, and a foreign princess kneeling at her feet in disheveled dress, face flushed with embarrassment, tear-tracks still visible at the corners of her eyes — her footsteps snapped to a dead halt.
In Willow's eyes, which were normally as unruffled as still water, there blazed in an instant something that could only be described as the roaring inferno of gossip. Even the polished, professional curve at the corner of her mouth began tilting upward at an alarming angle.
"Oh my..."
Willow quickly dropped her gaze. Her voice sounded appropriately flustered, but the excitement practically overflowed with every syllable.
"Your Majesty, this servant — this servant appears to have entered at an extraordinarily inopportune moment. This wild berry juice will be left at the door for now — Your Majesty, please do not let this servant interrupt."
As she said this, Willow made as if to back out of the room entirely — and before leaving, she did not forget to give Sophia one last look: a gaze of full, unabashed reverence that said, Your Majesty, you absolute legend.
"Willow! Get back here!"
Sophia pressed her fingertips to her temple, her voice heavy with exhaustion.
"Clear out whatever nonsense is running through your head. She is the Princess of Leighton."
Willow stopped. The expression on her face was restored to perfect compliance — but inwardly, she was riding a tidal wave.
I know perfectly well she's the Leighton Princess!
Those two old schemers of Leighton — spent the whole day showing off their potatoes in the banquet hall, and then spent the evening stuffing their prettiest daughter into Her Majesty's bedding? That was fast.
Though given the look of things — did Her Majesty already... sample? Or is this still the interrogation phase?
Look at that little princess, crying like a weeping pear blossom... tsk tsk, Her Majesty's authority over her subordinates really is reaching an art form.
Who knew Her Majesty had a taste for this type.
If those two old foxes dare use this as leverage against Her Majesty later, that's absolutely not something that can be allowed! The princess is already Her Majesty's person — and Leighton will sooner or later be Mason's anyway.
"Please rest assured, Your Majesty."
Willow looked at Sophia with an expression of absolute solemnity, even pressing a hand over her own chest.
"This servant saw nothing, and will not breathe a single word of it. Should there be any unusual movements from the Leighton side, this servant will personally see to it that everything is cleaned up."
Sophia looked at Willow's expression — the one that said if Your Majesty likes her, we can just take her — and felt her headache worsen by several degrees.
"Take her away."
Sophia pointed at the princess curled up on the floor, her tone utterly detached.
"Find her a clean change of clothes and have her settle in the guest rooms.
"First thing tomorrow morning, send her back with the Leighton delegation. And send the King and Queen of Leighton packing as well."
"I'm not going!"
The Leighton Princess, who had been sniffling quietly, heard the words 'send her back' and immediately jettisoned all remaining dignity.
She seized the hem of Sophia's sleeping gown with both hands and stared up at Sophia with those light-brown eyes, every inch of her face written with a near-fanatical stubbornness:
"Your Majesty said I am a person!
"If I am a person, then I have the right to choose whose side I stand beside!
"Please — any title at all, any standing — just let me stay in the Palace!"
Willow, watching from the sidelines, was treating herself to a running internal commentary of pure, wide-eyed delight.
This is direct. This is very, very direct.
Lord Irene used to just bury herself in experiments and hope to attract attention. Lord Delilah only ever hugged her sword and played it cool. The Saint Daphne was forever just endlessly delivering things.
If any of them had even half this princess's boldness, our Mason Queen's inner circle would have filled up a long time ago.
This little princess's full-send energy is genuinely to Her Majesty's taste. Her Majesty looks annoyed — but she is quite clearly not immune to this pure, blazing offensive.
Sophia looked at the two of them — one manic with devotion, one radiant with glee — and ran completely out of patience.
"Willow, take her.
"Bring her to the side hall for now. Don't let her freeze to death on my carpet."
Sophia waved a hand and turned away, leaving both of them nothing but a weary back.
"As for whether she stays or goes — we'll discuss it after I sleep on it.
"Right now, I am going to sleep. Alone. Do we understand each other?"
The Leighton Princess was obviously still preparing to argue her case one last time.
"Should this Leighton Princess continue to chatter..."
Sophia reclined against the chair back, her slender fingertips resting lightly against her temple, her tone as indifferent as though she were discussing tomorrow's breakfast.
"Willow, go fetch Delilah and have her drag the princess outside and cut her down. It'll save This Queen the headache."
"Delilah..."
The Leighton Princess's previously flushed cheeks drained to a deathly white in an instant.
Her mind conjured up with perfect clarity the image from that afternoon: the Grand General in dark-silver light armor, ruby longsword at her hip, eyes cold as a shura deity come to earth.
Against an existence like that, her own 'petite and delicate' physique would probably not survive even a single stroke of that blade.
She retracted her neck and, in a belated rush of understanding, finally registered that this seemingly languid and mild-mannered Queen was in truth the most iron-blooded sovereign on the Northern border.
She obediently pulled the blanket tighter around herself, and like a small kitten being carried by the scruff of its neck, lowered her head and shuffled meekly out of the Bedchamber behind Willow.
As the door clicked softly shut, Sophia tilted her head back and let herself fall — with considerable feeling — into the vast velvet bed that had finally been vacated.
Silence. At last.
I used to think Delilah was too intimidating. Now I realize — a little intimidation is truly the finest cure for stubborn barnacles.
Sleep. And please — when I open my eyes tomorrow, may there not be yet another peculiar princess that has somehow sprouted inside my covers.
---
In the side hall, Willow had people bring in folding screens and retrieved a set of plain, elegant long gowns — standard issue for Mason's female officials — and passed them around the screen.
"Change into this, Your Highness."
Willow settled herself gracefully in the nearby armchair, the still-warm glass cup resting in her hands, regarding the beguiling silhouette cast against the screen with an expression of undisguised amusement.
The gauze gown was beautiful, yes — but on a Mason winter night, survival took precedence over aesthetics.
The Leighton Princess changed behind the screen, the faint rustling of fabric filling the quiet room. Even through that thin wooden partition she could feel the unfathomable pressure radiating from this Chief Steward of the Palace.
Somehow, this female official felt entirely different from how she had seemed inside Her Majesty's Bedchamber.
"Tell me," Willow said lightly, swirling the wild berry juice in her cup with idle ease.
"The Close Guards stationed outside Her Majesty's Bedchamber had just rotated shifts, but they're hardly pushovers. How did you manage to slip into the royal bed without anyone noticing?"
There was a brief silence from behind the screen, followed by the princess's slightly young, slightly halting voice:
"I... I had my personal maid bring fruit wine from Leighton as a bribe for the patrol guard at the end of the corridor, claiming we wanted to bring Her Majesty a special Leighton skincare balm.
"Then, when we were close to the Bedchamber, I slipped in while the soldier was drawn away by a commotion further down.
"I handed off the heavy fur coat to my maid to take away, and hid inside Her Majesty's covers."
Willow raised an eyebrow, fingertip tapping idly against the table.
Bribe a guard. Create a distraction. Strip off the fur coat to make entry quieter.
It sounds riddled with holes — and yet, in the current atmosphere of city-wide celebration with security running slightly looser than usual, this suicidal infiltration had actually worked.
It seems the King of Leighton didn't just send his daughter — he also ran a side-test on Mason's security systems at the same time.
Though, to be fair — this little princess is genuinely ruthless. To strip off her fur coat and cross that kind of wind in nothing but a single layer of gauze, willing to risk her life for a shot at advancing her position... that's not the behavior of a sheltered, delicate princess.
"The princess truly has exceptional courage," Willow said with a faint laugh — its tone unreadable, neither quite complimentary nor quite mocking.
"Chief Steward Willow..."
The Leighton Princess emerged from behind the screen, now properly dressed. She bit her lip and walked quickly to stand before Willow, even going so far as to clutch at Willow's sleeve with a slightly desperate, supplicating tug:
"You are the person Her Majesty trusts most... please, teach me — is there any way, any way at all, to make Her Majesty agree to let me stay?"
She glanced at Willow, then added in urgent haste:
"As long as you can help me remain in Mason, once it is done I can see to it personally — a generous reward for Chief Steward Willow."
Willow looked at this princess who was still attempting to operate via 'Imperial Capital-style interest exchange,' and a flicker of something like pity passed through her gaze.
A reward?
There had been a time when gold and influence had seemed important to Willow. But ever since she had started following Her Majesty, she had come to understand that such things were no more than sand slipping through Her Majesty's fingertips.
Willow rose from the chair. Slender fingers drifted lightly across the Black Rose pattern embossed in shadow on the folding screen beside her. Her tone was unhurried — but each word landed like the edge of a blade.
"Little princess — look across the entire Northern border. Who has more to offer than Her Majesty now?
"You think Her Majesty — who controls grain and ore — would lack for whatever reward you're imagining?"
Willow turned her head, her gaze fixing with quiet depth on the Leighton Princess's trembling eyes.
"You need to understand — in this Royal City of Mason, falling for Her Majesty is the most natural instinct in existence.
"It isn't just the female officials in this Palace. Even the women beyond these walls — which of them doesn't worship Her Majesty as something divine?
"And yet — why is it that only a handful of us stand at Her Majesty's side?"
Willow stepped closer. That aura of quiet refinement — permanently steeped in official documents and fine incense — pressed itself toward the princess like a held breath.
"Because Her Majesty has never cared for hollow flattery. She cannot be moved by any underhanded trick, no matter how cleverly devised.
"To be allowed to stay — you need ability.
"The kind of ability that is Lord Delilah's sword. Lord Irene's gears. Lord Daphne's Holy Light.
"So tell me — do you have something that will make an impression on Her Majesty? Something she cannot forget?"
---
The Leighton Princess walked the stone corridor back toward the guest rooms like a ghost drifting through its haunted ground.
The deep night cold cut through the plain official gown she was wearing, yet it left her feeling a desolation she had never known before.
She tilted her head back instinctively, looking up at the cold moon hanging over Mason Royal City.
Her Majesty is just like that moon, she thought, a sour ache filling her chest.
Before she had ever laid eyes on Sophia, she had assumed this was merely a political game — that she herself was just an expensive weight on one side of a scale.
But after seeing those pale golden eyes. After hearing those words — you are a person — she had found herself sinking without the possibility of return.
This desire to draw near, to be touched by that cold and luminous light — it grew at the roots of her heart like a poisoned vine, tangling and spreading with terrifying speed.
And yet reality was ice cold.
If she failed and returned to Leighton, what awaited her was her father's and mother's disappointment and contempt. In the eyes of those two calculating elders, a daughter who had failed to climb into Sophia's bed would depreciate in an instant — reduced to a trading piece in some distant marriage alliance.
I refuse to live that kind of life.
The Leighton Princess clutched the front of her collar with white-knuckled fingers.
But having now seen the people at Sophia's side, she felt despair settle deep into her bones.
What am I, exactly?
I cannot fight like Delilah. I cannot even lift a sword of any real weight.
I don't have Irene's mind. Those complex technical blueprints look like pure chaos to me.
I certainly don't have Daphne's pure magic... and honestly, what manner of extraordinary people has Her Majesty gathered around her?
Turn it over whichever way she liked, the Leighton Princess could find no strength in herself beyond her looks and her figure.
But even in those respects — every one of the women at Sophia's side was beautiful and well-built and uniquely talented. Next to them, she became ordinary once again.
She lay on the bed, turning it over and over, turning it over and over — and then, quite suddenly, something flared to life in the Leighton Princess's mind.
She had it.
She had thought of something. Something that might make Her Majesty see her as having genuine value.
____
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