Sophia sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the rumpled covers, and let out a long, slow sigh.
The troublesome girl had been led away by Willow, but the security gap tonight had exposed had lodged itself like a thorn in Sophia's already-taut nerves.
What if the person who had slipped into her room hadn't been a princess offering herself freely, but an assassin with a poison-tipped blade?
Even knowing it hadn't been an assassin, the visual impact alone had been... considerable.
This world was not particularly prudish — in the heat of summer, people thought nothing of dressing lightly. But it was rare indeed to encounter someone who dressed quite that sparsely.
The image of the Leighton Princess refused to leave Sophia's mind.
"Someone go and summon General Delilah."
Less than a quarter of an hour later, hurried, heavy footsteps sounded outside the Bedchamber.
Delilah had practically jogged the entire way.
She wasn't wearing her dark-silver light armor. Instead she was in a trim, form-fitting black casual outfit, her long hair pulled back simply behind her head, which only made the sharp, cold beauty of her well-defined features more striking.
"Your Majesty!"
Delilah pushed through the door without completing a full salute, her crimson eyes written all over with anxiety and tension.
She had clearly been dragged out of bed.
But there was not a trace of resentment or complaint in her — only worry.
"A summons this deep in the night — has something gone wrong? Could it be that one of the foreign envoys has—"
Her hand moved instinctively to her hip, though she wasn't carrying her sword at that moment. Even so, the killing intent that radiated from her — almost solid enough to touch — dropped the temperature in the room by several degrees.
"Sit down," Sophia said, gesturing to the chair across from her, her tone even.
"Nothing catastrophic. Willow has already taken care of the person. But I need you to give me an explanation. Why was the patrol soldier on duty tonight so easily lured away that someone who shouldn't have been here was able to walk right into my Bedchamber and sit on my bed?"
"Bang!"
Delilah's eyes flew wide. Fury and terror blazed simultaneously in those flame-red irises.
"What? Someone breached Your Majesty's Bedchamber — and actually sat on Your Majesty's bed?!"
Delilah looked as though she had been struck by lightning.
This was something she had never once imagined could happen.
As the Grand General commanding Mason's entire military force, her most fundamental duty was to guarantee Sophia's absolute safety. In the past, she had never allowed herself to be more than five steps from Sophia's side during daylight hours.
But since Mason had begun expanding, she had spent every day drilling the new recruits absorbed from the City of Qubi, preparing for everything that was to come. She had assumed the Palace interior was already a layered fortress of sentries, patrols, and Willow's meticulous management — airtight and ironclad.
She had never expected the rear to be breached.
"This minister deserves death!"
Delilah dropped to one knee, her voice trembling with extreme shame and fury.
She despised herself for this negligence. How had anyone been permitted inside?
"This minister failed in her duty! I had believed the Palace defenses were settled, and yet these useless fools apparently forgot every military order for the price of a small bribe! Your Majesty, please punish this minister — I'll have those idiots guarding the corridor thrown into the black water dungeon right now!"
Sophia looked at Delilah's expression — the one that screamed she was prepared to disembowel herself on the spot — and felt most of her irritation dissipate.
She understood. Delilah had arranged light-footed female soldiers to patrol directly outside the Bedchamber doors, male soldiers patrolling the outer perimeter, with attendants moving in and out to clean and deliver things at regular intervals. Under that arrangement, nothing should have gone wrong.
Sophia raised a hand to dismiss the self-recrimination.
"Get up. You are a commander now — you cannot stand guard at my door every hour of every day. Have those soldiers who abandoned their posts dealt with according to military law, and redraw the patrol rotation. I don't want to see a second instance of someone slipping into my room without announcement."
"Yes!"
Delilah straightened her spine, but the cold dread continued to surge through her like a tide.
Delilah, you've grown far too complacent.
Just a few days away from the Queen's side, and this happened.
If that person had been carrying a weapon—
Her Majesty has the blessing of the Holy Light, but if she had been startled or harmed even in the slightest, ten thousand deaths would not be enough to atone for it.
Those Qubi soldiers are clearly still undertrained. This kind of rotten discipline must be rebuilt from iron and blood. Starting tomorrow, even the Palace attendants moving in and out will require my personal verification.
And the person who got in... who exactly was it?
After confirming that Sophia was unharmed — and that her mental state appeared only tired rather than shaken — curiosity got the better of Delilah, and she couldn't help asking one more question.
"Your Majesty, who was the one who infiltrated? This minister needs to know their identity in order to determine whether this was a deliberate probe against Mason. Was it deathsworn from Leighton? Or—"
The hand Sophia was using to hold her cup stiffened slightly.
The deeply problematic image of the Leighton Princess surfaced uninvited in her mind.
How exactly was she supposed to explain this? The King of Leighton delivered a human-shaped body pillow, and it nearly—
"No need to investigate further."
Sophia averted her gaze, fingertip tracing the rim of the glass cup. An extraordinarily complex expression crossed her face — one that carried a distinct shade of embarrassed resignation.
"It was just a nuisance from Leighton. Willow has already handled it. You only need to tighten security and make sure no one slips through again."
Delilah caught that expression.
Something lurched in her chest. That look wasn't disgust, and it wasn't anger. It looked more like... being at a loss?
Delilah's instincts were sharp. She instantly understood that whatever lay behind this incident operated on a level outside the purely military. Connecting the dots — the obsequious performance of the entire Leighton royal family all evening, and the way Sophia was now struggling to articulate herself — a hazy hypothesis began to take shape in Delilah's mind, and her fist tightened.
---
When Delilah walked out of Sophia's Bedchamber, the night wind was frigid.
She drew a deep breath. Cold air flooded her lungs, feeling like a chest full of crushed ice — yet not even that chill could press down the fury roiling beneath her ribs.
A nuisance. From Leighton.
She did not return to her room. Instead, she walked directly to the guardroom in the wing.
The sound of her boot heels striking the marble floors rang through the silent deep-night air like the drumbeat of an executioner.
On the cold floor of the guardroom, the three squad leaders who had been on patrol duty in the Bedchamber corridor the previous night were already kneeling in a neat row, their longswords removed from their belts.
They hadn't attempted to flee.
The moment Willow had walked the Leighton Princess out of the Bedchamber, they had understood exactly what manner of capital offense they had committed.
"Grand General..."
The leading guard's voice was hoarse. His forehead struck the floor with a heavy, hollow thud.
"We... know we deserve ten thousand deaths. Please, Grand General, grant us death to wash away the shame of having disturbed Her Majesty!"
Delilah said nothing. She simply stood before them.
The weight of her presence — nearly tangible in its density — made breathing difficult. Cold sweat ran in rivulets down their spines, yet not one of them dared let so much as a fingertip tremble.
"Death?"
Delilah finally spoke, her voice low and rumbling as thunder rolling through bedrock.
"Do you honestly believe your cheap little lives are worth even one hair's breadth of Her Majesty's safety? When you accepted those bribes, did it not occur to you — if the person who walked in last night had been holding a poison blade, would this entire Royal City not already be draped in mourning white?"
"Bang!"
Delilah's boot crashed into the heavy wooden table beside her. Wood chips flew, one slicing across a guard's cheek — but he didn't flinch, and then he began to weep.
"That is Her Majesty!" Delilah crouched down and drove her gaze like blades into each of their eyes, her red irises blazing with a terrifying, near-manic ferocity. "That is Queen Sophia — the one who gave you your dignity, gave you your land, healed your sick! And you sold access to her Bedchamber for something worthless!"
"We... are unworthy!"
All three soldiers were weeping freely now, guilt gnawing at them like a venomous snake. In Mason, a failure of duty of this magnitude was more shameful to them than death.
"Her Majesty's heart is merciful — she has personally ordered this minister not to take your lives."
Delilah issued a cold snort. The killing intent in her eyes dulled fractionally at the mention of "Her Majesty."
"But Mason's military law shows no leniency."
She stood straight and delivered the sentence in a hard, cold voice.
"Effective immediately, your titles as Palace Close Guards are stripped. You are demoted to the lowest rank of penal soldiers in the labor corps. You may not wear the Black Rose medal again until you have earned enough merit to wash away this disgrace."
"Pass the order — all three are to be fitted with the thorn back-yoke, then brought outside the city to receive one hundred lashes before the unfinished defensive fortifications. This is for the entire army to witness. And for you to remember."
"After the punishment, you are not permitted to bandage your wounds. You will carry stone blocks to reinforce the city walls until every brick on that wall has been stained with the blood of your repentance. With every step you take, I want you thinking of the catastrophe that your dereliction of duty could have caused last night."
"Th-thank... thank you for Her Majesty's grace! Thank you, Grand General, for sparing our lives!"
The soldiers kowtowed with frantic desperation.
For them, being spared by Sophia was the heaviest punishment of all. The impossible complexity of being personally forgiven by the one they revered as divine — while feeling entirely undeserving of that forgiveness — reduced these iron-boned soldiers to wrenching, gut-deep sobs.
"Get out!"
Delilah turned her back to them, pressing her palm hard against the stone pillar. Deep finger-marks were left in the hard surface.
Her Majesty is still too gentle.
If it had been my call, those heads would already be hanging from the city gates.
Listen well, you fools. Her Majesty has given you your lives. If you cannot fill that gap with your blood going forward, then I, Delilah, will grind your bones to dust and scatter them to the wind — even if it means defying a Royal Decree to do it.
---
The sky had barely begun to lighten. A faint, pale glimmer touched the distant horizon.
On the vast Drill Ground of Mason Palace, torches crackled and spat.
Every guard member who wasn't currently on active patrol or changing shifts — including that recently absorbed batch from the City of Qubi, who still carried a trace of their former lax habits — was standing at attention in the bitter wind, shivering.
Delilah had changed back into her dark-silver light armor, the ruby-pommel longsword slung at her hip. She stood on the commanding platform, her back to the pale rising light, looking for all the world like a murderous deity carved from stone.
"This General will say this once."
Delilah's voice wasn't loud, yet it carried a metallic, scraping coldness that reached every corner of the Drill Ground.
"Last night, someone slipped into Her Majesty's palace right under your noses. If that person had been carrying a poisoned blade, this Royal City would already be draped in white mourning banners."
The soldiers below gave a collective, involuntary shudder.
"Discipline is not words on a page. It is instinct carved into your bones!"
Delilah wrenched her ruby longsword from its sheath, the blade leveling at the horizon.
"All units — thirty jin weighted load, twenty full circuits of the city walls! Anyone who falls behind gets sent to the coal mines in the City of Qubi. Mason does not feed deadweight!"
At Delilah's command, the entire guard force surged into motion.
Delilah did not sit on the platform and watch. She ran at the head of the formation herself.
Her armor caught the first pale light of dawn, flickering with a dangerous gleam. Each footfall on the bluestone slabs sent a dull, resonant thud through the ground — like the beat of a war drum.
"Faster! Keep up!"
"Those from Qubi — did you not eat? At this pace, you couldn't even catch a pig!"
Delilah's shouts ricocheted down the long streets. The soldiers being drilled to the point of near-collapse looked at that red-haired silhouette ahead of them — the one who hadn't so much as broken her breathing rhythm — and watched as the terror in their eyes gradually transformed into something closer to fanatical awe.
This is Mason's Grand General. This is the absolute ceiling of martial force — the one who can split a city gate open with her bare hands.
---
By the time the training run reached its fifteenth circuit, the procession happened to pass the guest lodge where the King of Leighton was staying.
The King of Leighton had just crawled out of his warm bed and was being helped into his clothes by attendants, a self-satisfied little smile playing at his lips.
My daughter wasn't thrown out last night. There wasn't any screaming. There's a good chance it worked. Soon, we'll be practically family with Queen Sophia...
"BOOM——!"
A thunderous crash shattered his daydream, and the entire lodge seemed to shake with the impact.
The King of Leighton jolted so hard his hand slipped, and his belt nearly fell to the floor. He scrambled to push open the window and look outside.
Mason's Grand General Delilah was standing directly outside his door. And those two white marble stone lions — symbols of the Leighton royal family's prestige, specially transported all the way from Leighton — had been reduced to a fine, scattered powder at her feet.
Delilah sheathed her sword without haste. She didn't so much as glance up at the King in the window. She simply snarled at the passing soldiers in her cold voice:
"What are you all staring at? Decorative obstructions like this create dead angles in the defensive perimeter. Not just here — anything that blocks the sight lines gets cut down."
Watching Delilah's murderous silhouette receding below the window, the King of Leighton felt his face drain from ruddy pink to bloodless white. Cold sweat poured down his spine.
It's over. It's all over.
Queen Sophia must know what I was thinking. She had Delilah pulverize those stone lions — that isn't 'reinforcing the defenses.' That is a warning. A warning that if I dare entertain those scheming thoughts, the Royal House of Leighton's heads will crumble exactly like those two lions did.
Terrifying...
The King of Leighton had been scared out of his wits, but he retained just enough kingly self-discipline to hold himself together until the soldiers had all passed. Only then did he slump against the door in profound relief.
"My Queen — do you think last night succeeded?"
"Almost certainly not."
"How does Mason have so many monsters? That stone lion should have shattered the sword. How did she cut clean through it?"
The King of Leighton and the Queen of Leighton both recalled the scene outside the window, and felt a bone-deep chill settle over them.
If she could cut through a stone lion that smoothly... if she were cutting off their heads, wouldn't it be as easy as slicing through a head of cabbage?
They looked at each other, and each saw the same fear staring back.
---
Sophia had only just opened her eyes, her vision still hazy, when she noticed a slender, elegant purple figure standing quietly by the bedside.
The moment Willow saw that Sophia was awake, she stepped forward at once.
In her hands she carried a basin of warm water at precisely the right temperature, a soft white cloth draped over her wrist, her violet-like eyes brimming with a quiet, gentle smile.
"Your Majesty, you're awake."
Willow knelt gracefully on the bedside step and, with unhurried care, wrung out the warm cloth and laid it gently over Sophia's slightly tired face.
"Willow, This Queen appointed you Chief Steward of the Palace to oversee that mountain of government documents and coordinate all of Mason's domestic affairs."
Sophia accepted the pleasant warmth against her face and let out a muffled sigh.
"Trivial tasks like washing and fetching water — leave those to the attendants."
"Those cold documents do need this servant's attention, Your Majesty. But before that, I need to confirm that Mason's true heartbeat is steady and sound."
Willow carefully patted the moisture from the hair at Sophia's temples, her fingertips skimming briefly across silver strands like threads of moonlight.
"Attending to Your Majesty is the only solace I have in this tedious world. Please allow me to keep this privilege."
Sophia pressed her lips together, looking at Willow's gentle expression — the one that said if you take this from me, I will quietly break your heart — and ultimately said nothing more.
She understood. The loyalty of these people had by now evolved into something close to obsessive competition.
"What's going on out there? The chanting is rattling the windows."
Sophia sat up, allowing Willow to dress her in that trim, dark gothic hunting outfit.
"General Delilah is reorganizing the army. The three squad leaders from last night's patrol have already been demoted to penal soldiers and are currently reinforcing the city walls outside the city. Irene personally supervised the cement and gravel work — it will be solid, and it won't look unsightly once it dries."
Willow tied the silk sash at Sophia's waist and mentioned it with casual composure.
"Incidentally, she felt the two stone lions outside the King of Leighton's door were obstructing the soldiers' line of sight during training runs and cut them both to powder."
Sophia's hand paused slightly while pulling on her boot, the corner of her mouth twitching.
Willow lifted the specially prepared magic-infused wild berry juice and brought it to Sophia's lips, her gaze drifting to the distant, pale-blue plain beyond the window.
"Your Majesty, the Leighton royal family's behavior last night crossed a line. Shall we have Delilah bring the Close Guard and pay a visit to Leighton's grasslands to... have a conversation?"
Sophia accepted the glass cup. The sweet-sour juice slid down her throat and carried away the last trace of irritation.
She walked to the window and pushed open the heavy wooden shutters.
Outside, melting snowmelt dripped from the eaves, each drop tapping against the stone steps below with a clean, crisp sound. The air no longer carried the bone-cutting bite of deep winter — it held instead a faint, earthy scent, the first breath of a returning spring.
"Wait."
Sophia looked at the distant horizon, her tone as unhurried as if she were deciding what to have for lunch.
"One more month, and the weather will be warm."
She tilted her head just slightly. Her pale golden pupils caught the morning light and refracted a trembling, sovereign authority.
"Once spring comes, we plant first — wheat, potatoes, and chili. Once that green covers Mason's farmland from end to end... we'll go ahead and absorb Leighton at the same time."
At the same time.
Sophia spoke those words with perfect naturalness — as though Leighton, that nation with its sweeping grasslands and fine cattle ranching, were nothing more than a chess piece she could flip over at her leisure.
Willow's hand trembled the smallest fraction, enough to make the tray in it sway.
She felt something she had never felt before — the overwhelming scale of a vision without horizon.
At the same time...
What Her Majesty is thinking about has never been mere territorial expansion. It is the survival logic of an entire civilization.
She wants the spring planting first — to use grain to stabilize the foundations of Mason and the City of Qubi. Because she knows: the most unshakeable rule is not built on the sword. It is built on the stomach.
The way Her Majesty looks at Leighton is exactly how a farmer looks at the lambs in their own backyard.
This absolute mastery — this perfect control over the tempo of war — and yet the King of Leighton actually thought he could corrupt her with beauty? How utterly foolish.
Her Majesty's clear and cold silhouette has already reached beyond this small Northern border. Her true target must be the Imperial Capital — the heart of the Empire itself.
"This minister... understands."
Willow bowed her head deeply, the admiration in her eyes growing brighter than ever.
"This minister will spend this one month preparing to receive all of Leighton's administrative documentation in full. Nothing as crude as pasture business will be allowed to disturb Your Majesty's spring planting."
---
Inside the lodge where the King of Leighton was staying, the air was so heavy it felt like it could be wrung out.
The King of Leighton was pacing the room like a headless fly, his once-magnificent silk sleeping robe askew from all the agitated pulling at it. The Queen of Leighton sat on the edge of the bed, wringing a handkerchief between both hands, her complexion three shades whiter than the remnant snow outside the window.
"Why isn't she here yet? What is that girl dawdling at?"
The King kept his voice low as he raged, eyes darting in terror toward the window every few seconds.
Every time he closed his eyes, he could still hear the thunderous crack of Delilah's sword splitting that stone lion.
In his mind, that hadn't been a stone being cut. That had been Queen Sophia's executioner's block already pressed against his throat.
"My Queen, quickly — go and bring that useless girl back!"
The King wiped a shaking hand across his forehead.
"If she really managed to infuriate that Queen last night, none of us are leaving Mason's city gates today!"
At last, after agonizing minutes of waiting, the Leighton Princess pushed open the door and entered.
She was nothing like the panicked, flustered girl of last night. She moved with her head down and her expression blank, wearing a long dress, her entire person radiating a strange, hollow stillness.
"Did it work?"
The Queen lurched forward and asked in a hushed, urgent voice.
The Princess said nothing. She only slowly shook her head.
The King's heart clenched violently. His legs went soft.
"It didn't work? If it didn't work, then why did the Grand General blow up like that? It's finished — we're leaving! We leave now! If we stay any longer, our whole family is going to become fertilizer for Mason's city walls!"
---
At the lodge entrance, Willow stood waiting with a squad of attendants, as though she had anticipated this exact moment all along.
The King of Leighton and Queen of Leighton came out at nearly a run, the crestfallen Princess trailing behind.
The instant the King saw Willow, his chubby face contorted into the most pitifully ingratiating smile imaginable. Without a single moment's hesitation, he reached into his robes and produced a thick stack of land deeds. Then, as if that weren't enough, he yanked the Queen's pearl necklace from her throat and pulled the gemstone ring from his own finger and dumped it all into the tray held by Willow's attendant.
"Chief Steward Willow, Leighton... Leighton has suddenly had an urgent matter come up at home. We truly dare not impose upon Her Majesty's royal presence any longer, and will be setting out immediately."
The King of Leighton's voice was trembling as he spoke, watching Willow's expression — that smile that couldn't quite be read — and feeling his heart hammering like a war drum.
"This is a small token of goodwill from Leighton — just something to add to Her Majesty's tea expenses. Please, Chief Steward, be sure to put in a good word for us with Her Majesty. Leighton will absolutely, unquestionably keep its head down and stay out of trouble!"
Willow looked at the treasures in the tray — still carrying the warmth of being worn on someone's person — and the smile at the corner of her mouth grew more pronounced. It was the kind of elegant, unhurried smile that made the King of Leighton's skin crawl.
"Since the King is so eager to return, Her Majesty would naturally never force him to stay."
Willow's fingertip drifted lightly across the land deeds, and the cold of her touch seemed to transmit right through the paper.
"However — Her Majesty did leave a message. Since Leighton wishes to participate in Mason's 'Black Rose' product network, the entry fee must be delivered on schedule. Should this minister still find no sign of Leighton's sincerity by the time the spring seeds are being planted..."
Willow paused. A flicker of razor-edged chill passed through her eyes.
"Then I'm afraid it would be necessary to trouble Her Majesty herself to come to Leighton's grasslands — with General Delilah in tow — to collect it personally."
"Of course! It will be delivered in full, without fail!"
The King of Leighton bolted for his carriage as though he'd just been granted a royal pardon. At the crack of the whip, the enormous Leighton delegation charged toward the city gates at a speed no one had witnessed before — as though demons were chasing them from behind.
---
In the study, Sophia was staring absently at a plate of freshly roasted potato and beef bites when Willow returned with her report. Sophia's eyebrow lifted slightly.
"They've left?"
"Indeed, Your Majesty, and at remarkable speed. The King of Leighton even left behind his personal gemstones, saying they were to compensate for the disturbance caused by a certain someone last night."
Willow stood behind Sophia and gently pressed her temples.
"How considerate," Sophia murmured, taking a bite of potato. "And that nuisance of a princess — she didn't make a scene demanding to stay?"
Willow's fingers paused slightly, a faint furrow crossing her brows.
"That, in fact, is what this servant finds peculiar. The Leighton Princess left without a single word — remarkably docile, following the carriage without complaint. Before she left, she didn't even turn to look back at the Bedchamber once. That expression she wore... it didn't look like someone who had given up. It looked like a far deeper, more deliberate form of patience."
Sophia swallowed her potato and didn't give it much thought.
"Perhaps Delilah's sword swing finally knocked some sense into her. She's realized this isn't a place where she can throw tantrums, and she's going home to quietly be a princess. Better for everyone."
"Your Majesty..."
Willow's voice dropped very low, carrying something soft as a feather grazing a heartstring.
"This servant ventures to ask — do you truly feel not even the slightest stir toward that Leighton Princess? She may be shallow in her scheming, but in terms of her appearance and that remarkable figure of hers... even across the whole Northern border, she is genuinely a rare specimen."
Sophia closed her eyes, feeling the warmth transmitted through Willow's fingertips, her nostrils registering a faint familiar scent.
"What are you trying to say?"
"This servant was only thinking..."
Willow stopped her massage and drifted quietly around to Sophia's side, her lashes lowering, concealing the surging emotions beneath.
"By the custom of this continent — whether the Imperial Capital's hegemon or the monarchs of these kingdoms — the first order of business after consolidating territory has always been filling the inner court. For diplomatic alliances, for heirs, or simply for the pleasure of it."
"And yet Your Majesty..."
Willow paused, a complexity that defied easy naming entering her tone.
"You are now master of three cities. Your name shakes the Northern border. And yet your side remains... cold and quiet. Aside from the few of us who revolve around you constantly, there isn't even a single formal companion. Even if you aren't in a hurry to name a Queen Consort, surely having someone at your side to ease the pressure wouldn't—"
Sophia slowly opened her eyes.
In those pale golden pupils, for once, there was a flicker of genuine surprise.
A lover? Does Willow have some serious misunderstanding about the circumstances I'm currently in?
Just managing the city wall reinforcements, rationing grain, running trade, keeping the territories fed, and dealing with the endless avalanche of government work is already consuming every last brain cell I have left in this lifetime. In a situation where even grain hasn't yet reached every corner of the territory — and the threat of the Imperial Capital hangs over our heads like a sword — she wants me to manage a troublesome girl who might burst into tears in my bed at any moment?
Am I tired of living, or just not losing hair fast enough?
"Not yet time."
Sophia sat up straighter and flipped through the documents on the desk with a casual hand, her tone as flat and still as a deep pool.
"Mason right now is like a seedling that has only just broken through the soil. It looks full of vitality — but the roots are not yet settled. Speaking of romantic entanglements or an inner court at a time like this serves no purpose other than scattering This Queen's focus and giving those old foxes reason to believe there is an opening to exploit."
Behind the bookshelf where he had been quietly organizing the Leighton land deeds, Victor's quill pen nearly snapped clean in his grip.
This is Her Majesty's breadth of vision!
A mediocre monarch expands their territory and immediately sinks into carnal indulgence. But Her Majesty's words — 'not yet time' — are the most merciless rebuke imaginable to ordinary human thinking.
Her Majesty's heart holds the stars and the sea. It holds ten thousand acres of fertile farmland. It holds the spine of an entire civilization!
She has not abandoned desire — she has transformed it. Every longing for beauty has been converted into a responsibility toward an entire empire.
In Her Majesty's eyes, that Leighton Princess's breathtaking beauty is nothing but powder over bone. Only Mason's ascendancy is her eternal love!
Your Majesty — your solitude is the very medal of your divinity!
This minister must record this. Permanently.
Willow listened to Sophia's answer — rational to the point of coldness — and froze for a moment. Then a smile bloomed across her face, radiant and deeply satisfied.
"This servant was shallow," Willow said.
She reached out once more, and this time her movements were more natural, more certain.
"Your Majesty's will stands above all else. Since you feel the time has not come, this servant will guard the last lock on this Palace gate — and not allow any common, frivolous distraction to disturb your peace."
Her Majesty is different.
One must never measure Her Majesty's thoughts against the ordinary.
That Leighton Princess may possess a figure many would envy, but before Her Majesty's grand vision for civilization, she is nothing but a mote of dust.
Her Majesty does not take her now because there is no one in this world yet truly worthy of standing at her side.
If that is so, then I will become stronger. As long as I can manage all the affairs of state, as long as I can become the shadow Her Majesty cannot do without — even if it means following her like this for the rest of my life, I am content.
The place beside that throne — even empty — belongs forever to Her Majesty's will alone, and not to any passing guest who rose on the strength of a pretty face.
Of course — should Her Majesty ever change her mind in the future, Willow would be very, very happy.
____
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