Chapter 8. Perhaps Because My Heart Was Troubled, I Dreamed That Night
“Your Highness, here’s an invitation addressed to you. What would you like to do?”
I thought seriously for a moment. At this rate, wouldn’t it look incompetent not to have taken over the Emerald Palace already?
The Empress’s favor was astonishing. All I had done was sit beside her during the tea party and help maintain a harmonious atmosphere, yet those who attended were now rushing to send me invitations.
Of course. Except for a few, most of the people gathered here are like scapegoats who were ousted from power in their home countries. To them, I must look like a lifeline sent from the heavens. It made perfect sense.
“Haginaebo-kke. Tadeul.” (“I’ll take a look. Brew me some tea.”)
“Yeeees.”
Tula, already used to both my pronunciation and my overly mature vocabulary for a three-year-old, understood me well enough and went off to prepare the tea.
Although I was just a princess of a minor country, I still had a few court attendants. Tula, being my nanny, didn’t need to brew tea herself. She simply understood that I wanted her to leave the room.
“Tamtakan aiya.” (“Such a good child.”)
Still, she’s far too soft-hearted to survive in this ruthless battlefield. It only made it clearer—I had no choice but to stand strong.
Resolving myself, I tore open the envelope and took out the invitation. At three years old, I was still too clumsy to use something like a letter opener, so I had to make do.
As expected, the contents of the invitations were all more or less the same. Elegantly phrased, subtly arrogant.
Were they letting their guards down because I was only three? Or did they assume only subordinates would read it and thus took a high-handed tone? Either way, it was an inappropriate attitude toward someone they saw as a lifeline.
More than half of them had absurdly short notice.
Did they think it was acceptable just because the Empress had given such short notice herself? That kind of treatment should only be barely acceptable from someone like the Empress to political hostages.
First, I filtered out all invitations with less than a week’s notice. That alone removed one-third of the pile.
“Taewo.” (“Burn them.”)
I pointed firmly at the pile of rejected invitations as Tula returned with the tea. She blinked in surprise, then quietly answered:
“Yes.”
Again, she didn’t need to handle that herself, but she understood it meant to remove the letters and left the room with them. I sat quietly, contemplating the remaining letters.
Exactly how much of my ability should I reveal without overstepping?
Yesterday, I had only been flustered. But in hindsight, the Empress’s favor had come too suddenly, and too excessively. Aside from the formal audience, it had been our first meeting—far too generous a treatment.
After the tea party, the Empress had even made a show of having one of her knights escort me back. For a mere political hostage to be personally accompanied by a royal guard—an honor beyond excessive.
Yesterday, I was too focused on not appearing arrogant to think clearly, but now it was obvious.
The Emperor seemed intent on not tolerating any excuse that I lacked means or resources.
What else could explain this situation? There’s no way the Empress would genuinely adore me at first meeting.
“Eonraeneun sumgyeogo haenneungdae.” *(“I was originally going to keep it hidden…”) *
I hadn’t planned to reveal all my capabilities. I’m only three years old, a princess of a weak nation, and this isn’t even my own country. I had plenty of excuses to lean on.
Originally, just coaxing the three key nobles into a negotiation table would’ve been more than enough. For a three-year-old, that alone would be seen as extraordinary.
But now that the Empress had set her sights on me, I could summon those three to me without any underhanded means. And that meant, if I wanted to appear truly competent—I had to do more.
“Neomu gahaetteo…” *(“I went too far…”) *
I hadn’t planned on standing out this much. How did I end up catching the Emperor’s attention like this?
Suppressing the existential dread rising in me, I rummaged through the remaining invitations. I needed to recalculate the talents I could safely showcase—the level of achievement I could offer the Emperor.
That night, perhaps because of my inner turmoil, I had a dream.
A dream of a time I missed dearly.
“Please, Your Majesty, withdraw this command.”
I was kneeling on the ground, pleading. Somehow, I knew the Emperor was before me, though it was a dream.
“You don’t like the gift I gave you?”
His voice, laced with amusement, dropped from above. If it were anyone but the Emperor, I would have looked up and snapped back.
Grinding my teeth, I pleaded:
“How could this unworthy servant dare reject the benevolence of Heaven? It is only that the honor is too great for someone as unworthy as I.”
“So what you’re really saying is, you don’t want it because you don’t need it, and other officials will make a fuss about it?”
Sometimes, having such a perceptive monarch was a double-edged sword.
Sure, that’s exactly what I had been thinking—but did he have to say it so plainly? I had gone through the trouble of using polite tone and carefully chosen words!
“Your Majesty.”
“I get scared every time your voice drops like that.”
My heart sank.
This wasn’t the first time. We’d first met as children—before he became Emperor, before I became his retainer. Even now, he’d sometimes speak in an informal tone when we were alone.
And yet, no matter how often it happened, it still frightened me. I didn’t even know what I was afraid of. I had never feared even the battlefield.
So I pushed back with defiance.
“Is this what a scary person does?”
A bold remark, one a servant should never make. We were alone, sure, but that made it worse.
And yet the Emperor looked… delighted.
“I am scary. I’m just holding back.”
I knew continuing to grovel would be useless, so I straightened my back with a sigh.
“Is there truly a reason for this? The reward is far too great.”
“I want to. Isn’t that enough of a reason?”
Too much of one, in fact.
Still, I couldn’t help but protest.
“I understand Your Majesty’s desire to motivate the officials through proper rewards, but this is excessive. What you’ve already given me is more than—”
“A reward?”
He chuckled.
“Is that what you think this is?”
It wasn’t a genuine question. But I had no choice but to answer honestly.
“If not, then there’s no explanation. It’s still too much.”
His favor had always been excessive. I had received more imperial gifts than I could count. He had even granted me the rare privilege of editing his letters and sending them without further review.
If I hadn’t earned that level of merit, the court officials would’ve lined up to protest already.
Even with my accomplishments, this latest gift was far beyond what any servant should receive.
“Sometimes,”
He sighed deeply.
“I wonder if you really don’t know, or if you just pretend not to.”
That was terribly unfair. While I might have pretended at times, I genuinely had no idea why he was doing this.
“I must be too slow-witted…”
“Well, whatever. It doesn’t matter if you don’t know.”
Just as I tried to finish my humble excuse, he lifted his hands, smiled gently.
“If you don’t know, then I’ll just keep giving until you do.”
As he opened his palms, shimmering treasures began to fall through them.
His gifts.
Inkstones carved from jade, hairpins with emerald dragon mouths, intricately crafted ivory ornaments, and all kinds of jewels.
Silks embroidered with phoenixes, golden tortoises, imperial seals. Royal edicts bestowing titles and lands exempt from tax.
All the affections I had returned, wrapped in silk, before I died.
Gifts that left no trace.
Even after being reborn, I still had no answer.
As gold and jewels flowed endlessly, I closed my eyes. It was time to wake up.
When I regained consciousness, a crushing fatigue left me unable to even open my eyes. My body was drenched in cold sweat, like I had just woken from a nightmare.
Strange. It wasn’t a bad dream.
I tried wiping the sweat from my forehead but failed—my arms were too short.
“Daetta…” *(“Forget it…”) *
Giving up, I sprawled out and waited for the sweat to dry. Feeling a bit cold from the dampness, I pulled the blanket up to my chin. It wasn’t very thick, but better than nothing.
“…Geudae. Geudaeboda-neun natti.” (“Yes. Better than back then.”)
Thinking about it made me laugh. Had my mind grown younger along with my body? Even if I lived a hundred lives, I’d never meet a harder challenge than that Emperor. So what was I even worried about?
He had been a difficult man to serve—brilliant, unpredictable, and dangerously charismatic.
That was the problem—the last part. He had genuine charm. It made you want to serve him out of pure loyalty, not gain.
So I gave him everything, knowing no favor lasts forever. When he discarded me, I didn’t resist.
And when given a choice, I chose death over betrayal. Because I could never raise a blade against him.
Compared to that, what I had with the Emperor of Lerta was at least a transaction. I held no loyalty, and he held no affection. That meant, no matter the result, I might be able to act without regret.
“Gyeolsimhaetda.” (“I’ve decided.”)
Once I let go of temptation, resolve followed easily. I had finally decided on my goal, my methods, and my limits.
Yes. Let’s build a social circle.
