Chapter 19: The Request That Could Change Everything

At the word “Yonanna” leaving Fria’s lips, even the maids’ hands came to a halt. The countess, clearly flustered, fanned herself noisily and avoided his gaze.

“What do you mean? You must have misheard.”

“Didn’t you just say Yonanna?”

“Me? Surely not. Oh ho ho ho.”

As the exaggerated laughter faded, the atmosphere only grew more awkward. At this point, the duchess, clearly the leader among them by both age and rank, stepped in to smooth things over.

“Fria, have you perhaps heard of His Highness the late Crown Prince, father of His Majesty?”

“The late Crown Prince?”

“Yes, Fria. The person the countess mentioned was once his beloved concubine. She died in a riding accident during a hunt. The Crown Prince, unable to bear the grief, took his own life. The former Emperor was so enraged that he forbade anyone from ever speaking her name again.”

Fria, who had been entertaining a mischievous curiosity—wondering if she had been the Emperor’s first love, fell silent at the unexpected tragedy.

“So I would advise you as well, Fria, not to speak that name. Especially not in front of His Majesty.”

If that story were true, then Yonanna could be considered the one who drove the Emperor’s father to his death. Was that sigh-like tone from earlier filled with resentment toward the one who had taken his father away?

As Fria fell into thought, the countess and marchioness, misreading his expression as something serious, hurried to brighten the mood.

“The earrings suit you perfectly. No matter how beautiful the gemstone, it can hardly compare to the color of your eyes.”

“And your skin, how is it so flawless? His Majesty truly has exquisite taste.”

“It’s as though you were born to wear this dress. Oh ho ho ho.”

To Fria, a man, those compliments felt more like mockery, but the ladies were desperate not to lose such a valuable patron.

Compared to the late Emperor, who indulged freely in women and showered even fleeting companions with jewels and dresses, the current imperial market had shrunk drastically.

The only lady of the palace, Princess Lindgart, had refused adornment and chosen seclusion, and consecutive periods of mourning had halted all banquets.

In such circumstances, the only hope lay in the Emperor’s new concubines. Though the influx of new faces had briefly revived the fashion world, it quickly hit its limits.

Noble ladies spent lavishly, but the one whose gaze they sought remained unmoved. Trends were born from the Emperor’s favorite, but there had yet to be one.

After such a long wait, the emergence of a potential favorite filled the artisans with anticipation. That he was a man was a trivial flaw. If he possessed beauty comparable to Yonanna’s, what did it matter? As long as he could open the Emperor’s treasury, nothing else mattered.

“A noble must never neglect investing in themselves, no matter the situation. It is a duty.”

“Indeed. Demand creates supply, and commerce strengthens the empire’s economy.”

“We don’t say this for our own benefit, you understand. You cannot imagine how many people will be saved from hunger because of what you wear today.”

“Everything you wear will become the trend. Young ladies will rush to imitate your style.”

“In the end, it will create jobs, alleviate poverty, and bring peace and prosperity to the empire.”

In short: ask the Emperor to buy everything.

Fria shuddered at the thought of himself being brainwashed into whining for clothes and jewels. It was a terrifying image. Noble ladies, like the chamberlain, were clearly a dangerously persuasive group.

****

“Your Majesty… has arrived.”

Owen, seated at the head of a long table reviewing documents, lifted his head at the attendant’s report. He hadn’t caught the name of the guest. Assuming it to be a dinner with envoys or relatives, he paid little mind.

Someone entered the dimly lit banquet hall. A figure in a dress moved through the candlelight and took the seat opposite him.

The “lady” had long golden hair, half braided and half flowing over the shoulders, and wore a pale blue dress that highlighted fair skin. Recognizing who it was, Owen’s expression shifted in surprise.

“Didn’t you return to the concubine quarters? I clearly said to wash you and send you back…”

“Yes, Your Majesty. We did wash him and send him,” the chamberlain nodded from the entrance, satisfied.

Realizing the misunderstanding, Owen frowned.

‘Dining with a male concubine, absurd.’

Course after course filled the table: fruits, bread, meats, stews, pies. Grapes, peaches, and cherries sat among roasted chicken, seasoned veal, and game birds. Smoked pork was served with vegetables. With seafood scarce, river fish like trout and carp took their place.

A steaming meat pie, rich with beef, was topped with goat cheese. Then came cakes and puddings made with eggs, sugar, and milk, an abundant feast.

‘Can someone who was bedridden yesterday even eat this much?’

Fria glanced at Owen, then quickly lowered his gaze under the weight of his presence. From head to toe, he felt ridiculous, dressed like this. He had been forced into it, but asking for more like a coquettish concubine? Absolutely not.

“Why aren’t you eating? If it doesn’t suit your taste, I’ll have something else prepared.”

Fria quickly shook his head and began cutting his food. A blue gemstone gleamed on his finger, one Owen recognized. It had been part of Lindgart’s engagement set, chosen with his brother. The memory of her smile stirred bitterness as Owen lifted his glass.

“…Your Majesty.”

“Speak.”

Without meeting his gaze, Fria spoke carefully.

“You’ve only just recovered. It might be better to refrain from drinking.”

He didn’t particularly care whether the Emperor drank or collapsed, but after all the effort he’d gone through the night before, it felt wasteful to see it undone.

“Last night,” Owen said, draining his glass anyway, “I heard you were of help.”

His gaze drifted over Fria’s shoulder.

“If there’s something you want-”

It lowered.

“Clothes.”

To his hand.

“Jewels.”

Then rose again, locking eyes.

“Or wealth. I’ll grant you as much as you desire.”

This should have been the moment a concubine would rejoice. But for Fria, it only reinforced the absurdity of his position. This young Emperor truly believed he coveted such things.

Mistaking Fria’s silence for deliberation, Owen reached casually for a peach and bit into it. Juice ran down his lips, and he licked it away absentmindedly.

Fria’s eyes flickered, recalling the kiss from the night before, those lips had been anything but gentle.

“I…” Fria began.

“I…”

“I have one request, Your Majesty.”

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