Chapter 54: The Emperor’s Locket

“I wanted a portrait of Your Majesty!”

Remembering the words he himself had blurted out just the day before, Fria let out a silent groan.

He could have come up with an excuse when the chamberlain offered to bring him enormous official portraits. But this situation? There was no escaping it. Never in a million years had he expected a locket.

“…I need it. I need it very much! I absolutely do!”

Despite having looked half-dead only moments ago, Fria sprang up energetically, throwing aside the blankets and climbing out of bed.

“I shall treasure it. Truly treasure it. Since it is a gift from Your Majesty, I’ll put it safely in my personal belongings chest immediately-”

Owen caught hold of the locket chain and turned Fria back around before he could flee.

Staring directly into Fria’s wavering eyes, the emperor spoke.

“Surely you don’t mean to tell me you don’t know how to use it. Or is this an item that doesn’t exist in Alphenia?”

“Huh?”

As if there could be a country without lockets.

They were common everywhere, a keepsake exchanged between lovers, or something family members separated by distance carried close to their hearts while longing for one another.

Taking the locket from Fria’s hand, Owen lifted the chain.

The gold strand slipped down over Fria’s head and settled around his pale neck.

“I didn’t bring it so you could lock it away in a box.”

The locket came to rest between Fria’s collarbones.

Watching it settle there, Owen curled one corner of his mouth upward.

Those soft little lips could pretend affection all they wanted. It was useless. The man wore every emotion plainly on his face; his thoughts were practically transparent.

Why the chamberlain insisted on calling it lovesickness, Owen had no idea.

Still, he decided to play along and tease the irritating concubine.

“Ah… well… it seemed too precious. I was worried I might lose it…”

Lying so blatantly made the words stick in Fria’s throat.

His real plan had been to hide it away under the excuse of cherishing it too much to use.

That strategy had failed spectacularly.

Whether this was a gesture of goodwill or simply another form of torment from the emperor, Fria figured he would have to wear it for at least a few days before finding an opportunity to remove it.

“My grandfather commissioned cases like these for the concubines he favored. When he died, no one remained to pay the craftsmen. I settled the bill.”

Owen glanced at the locket.

“I chose the most expensive one.”

The late emperor had been notorious for his numerous lovers and consorts. Every year he commissioned luxurious trinkets and jewelry from the imperial workshops.

Many pieces had remained unfinished when he died, leaving Owen to deal with the aftermath upon his accession.

The locket bearing Owen’s portrait had been completed months ago.

Since there was no one to receive it, it had languished in storage ever since.

Wanting to see Fria’s reaction, Owen had selected the most elaborate and eye-catching one available and brought it to the room himself.

Among the late emperor’s abandoned commissions had been necklaces made from hundreds of diamonds. But those seemed excessive for a concubine who spent half his life asleep.

Compared to those, the locket was modest.

It could be worn with almost any outfit, suited both men and women, and although an imperial locket was itself a work of art, it was still practical enough for daily use.

“…Wow. I’m really happy. Thank you, Your Majesty.”

What an honor.

The imperial crest emblazoned prominently across its surface ensured that anyone who saw it would immediately recognize it as a gift from the emperor.

Fria stared at the masterpiece of craftsmanship with a dubious expression before forcing a smile.

“Is that all? My grandfather’s concubines reacted rather differently.”

“What sort of reaction did they have?”

Fria’s expression grew uneasy.

Was there some required etiquette for receiving an imperial locket?

Owen answered matter-of-factly.

“They cried first.”

“Cried…? Why?”

“And then, overwhelmed with emotion, they opened the locket and kissed the portrait inside.”

Fria froze halfway through opening it.

Kissed it?

People were expected to go that far?

Being a concubine truly was not a profession for ordinary mortals.

“…”

The emperor nodded calmly at the horrified look Fria gave him.

His gaze dropped to the miniature portrait inside the locket.

“You don’t have to cry.”

Was he really expected to do this?

That question practically screamed from Fria’s eyes.

After a long hesitation, his lips slowly touched Owen’s painted likeness.

The late emperor’s concubines had wept dramatically and showered the portraits with kisses.

Owen decided not to demand quite that much.

“And then they would say: ‘Whether asleep or awake, I shall never let it leave my side. When I die, bury it with me so I may carry it into the grave.’”

He paused.

“You may remove it while sleeping. It would probably be uncomfortable.”

Speaking with all the benevolence of a saintly ruler, Owen sounded so shameless that Fria nearly choked.

Instead of a gentle kiss, he pressed his lips firmly against the portrait as if trying to flatten it.

Unfortunately, the emperor was watching.

Otherwise, he might have bitten it.

“You should take it off while bathing as well. And if you happen to lose it, don’t worry.”

Owen’s smile deepened.

“There are spares.”

In other words, throwing it away would accomplish nothing.

If one vanished, another would immediately appear.

At least it wasn’t a giant portrait.

Fria supposed he should be grateful for that.

Digging his fingernail repeatedly against the smooth enamel surface, he glowered at the miniature image.

He had been given a locket.

Yet somehow he felt less like a favored consort and more like a dog that had just been fitted with a personalized collar.

Suddenly, Owen’s hand reached toward his forehead.

Startled, Fria froze.

The emperor pressed one palm against Fria’s brow while placing the other against his own, comparing temperatures.

“You don’t seem feverish. Then why is your face so red?”

You really have to ask?

“Because it’s hot. Why have you turned the room into a furnace?”

Was this some new method of harassment?

Fria shot a resentful look toward the still-roaring fireplace.

“Because the physician said you needed to stay warm.”

“Are you unwell?”

The emperor certainly didn’t look sick.

Unlike Fria, who was drenched in sweat, Owen appeared perfectly composed.

Did people of the Empire possess some supernatural resistance to heat?

“Not me. You.”

Owen looked at him steadily.

“The physician said you’ve always had a weak constitution. Is that true?”

“I was rather sickly as a child. The physician examined me?”

Fria’s illness was not something visible on the surface.

According to Gir, ordinary healers would never notice it.

The medicine he had taken earlier was highly toxic, and it had likely lowered his body temperature significantly.

Gir had always claimed that only someone who had observed him for years could detect the abnormalities.

Fria trusted those words.

Yet anxiety still crept into his chest.

“He said you’re suffering from a rather peculiar disease.”

“A peculiar disease?”

Had the imperial physician somehow discovered something?

Fria waited nervously for the answer.

“The same disease Byron spends half the year suffering from.”

“Byron?”

“He storms into my office every other week claiming he’s dying. As far as I know, he’s still afflicted with it.”

So Byron had a chronic illness?

Fria had never guessed.

Looking genuinely concerned, he turned the matter over in his mind.

“That disease should really be resolved by the patient himself.”

Naturally.

Fria had every intention of handling it alone.

Byron looked perfectly healthy, but appearances could be deceiving.

Even if Fria shared his own medicine, there was no guarantee it would help.

More likely, it would poison him.

Perhaps he should ask Gir to examine Byron someday.

With that thought, Fria lowered his gaze sadly.

Why is he accepting this so easily?

This was not the reaction Owen had expected.

He had assumed Fria would immediately deny any accusation of lovesickness.

Instead, the man seemed to be taking the diagnosis seriously.

“Of course I’ll deal with it myself. I have no intention of troubling Your Majesty. It won’t take long to resolve.”

A moment later, Fria spoke with determined conviction.

“You’ll resolve it yourself?”

What kind of response was that?

“The imperial physician is remarkable. To identify it after only one examination…”

Fria’s admiration was entirely sincere.

Come to think of it, Gir was the only healer he had ever truly known.

Gir himself had admitted that he was largely self-taught despite his extensive medical knowledge.

Perhaps others in the Empire suffered from similar symptoms.

Maybe that was why Byron showed such interest in medical texts.

The memory of jokingly calling himself Byron’s physician now filled Fria with guilt.

How was he supposed to apologize?

Meanwhile, Owen stared at him.

Was this another performance?

The man had never convincingly acted lovestruck.

Yet somehow his resignation looked completely genuine.

A strange impulse took hold of Owen.

He reached out and tilted Fria’s chin upward.

With only the slightest pressure, those questioning eyes were forced to meet his.

“Your Majesty?”

“If it really is that disease…”

Perhaps this would provide the answer.

Owen’s lips descended and captured Fria’s.

The heat from the fireplace had warmed them both.

Fria’s mouth was softer, and warmer, than usual.

As the concubine yielded without resistance, Owen explored leisurely, setting aside his thoughts and surrendering instead to the sensation unfolding between them.

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