After the woman in the dirt-covered skirt was led out by a servant, the emperor kept the officer behind in the office.
Standing alone before the Great Sun of the Empire, Alejandro mentally retraced his recent experiences.
The female pirate he had encountered off the coast of Rosada. The amethyst necklace she wore—belonging to the Marquess de Armela, the emperor himself. His return to the capital for the social season. The girl he caught as she almost fell from the bell tower.
That same girl had called him “Buttstock,” then introduced herself as the daughter of del Fonto, and suddenly offered her hand for a kiss.
Alejandro had been confused, but he wasn’t one to show emotions outwardly. He bowed his head slightly before the emperor, lost in thought. His sharp mind quickly made sense of the situation.
“If she’s Sir del Fonto’s daughter, it wouldn’t be strange for her to be playing pirate at sea. And if she’s his daughter, it makes sense the Emperor would favor her.”
Alejandro raised his head. The emperor was watching him with his usual gentle yet piercing gaze—likely having waited patiently for him to finish organizing his thoughts.
“It’s been a while, Alejandro.”
“I’ve been remiss in paying my respects.”
As their eyes met, the emperor offered a small, warm smile.
“I joked in front of the girl earlier,” he said, his pleasant voice filling the office, “but I truly am glad you saved her life off the coast of Rosada.”
The emperor’s expression, recalling his wild colt, was unusually tender.
Alejandro didn’t know how to respond, so he simply bowed slightly with his eyes lowered.
“Today’s efforts were commendable as well. Do you wish to be rewarded?”
“That would be presumptuous. I only fulfilled my duty as your soldier, Your Majesty.”
The emperor looked satisfied with the response. If anyone else had said it, he might have suspected ulterior motives, but the second son of Marquess de Galicion was known to be a man whose words and thoughts aligned—a kind the emperor favored.
“Is that so? Still, I want to reward you. What should I do?”
“…As Your Majesty sees fit.”
“Very well, then let’s do this.”
The emperor called a servant to bring a small slip of paper.
As the decorated feather at the end of the pen swayed with the emperor’s writing hand, he scribbled something on the paper, signed it, and sealed it.
“When you wish to accomplish something—anything—I shall help you. Just once.”
“That is far too generous.”
The emperor paid no heed to the protest.
He waved the paper lightly to let the ink dry, then passed it to Alejandro through the attendant.
[Wish Token]
That’s what it said on the small card. Alejandro couldn’t help but let a slight smile slip from his previously tense face.
“You’re finally smiling. Doesn’t it bring back memories?”
“It’s an honor, Your Majesty.”
“Give my regards to Hernando—no, your father. It’s so hard to see him these days.”
The emperor waved him off gently, indicating he could leave.
Alejandro tucked the card carefully into the inner pocket of his jacket, bowed, and exited with deliberate steps.
Rosana was standing stiffly outside the emperor’s office. She had once stood before His Majesty during her knighthood ceremony, but never alone like this.
She recalled the pitiful eyes of the young lady being pushed off to the inner palace by the attendant. That gaze had silently pleaded, Help me, but Rosana felt the girl needed a stern lesson from Madam de Vasquez.
“The lady will get scolded, but me? I failed my mission…”
As she anxiously waited, the navy officer stepped out of the office. Rosana gave a polite curtsy. Judging from the situation, he was likely the one who had safely returned the young lady to the palace.
The officer glanced at her, nodded slightly in greeting, and left.
A moment later, a servant ushered Rosana into the emperor’s office.
“I greet the Sun of the Empire.”
“Mm.”
The emperor looked through some documents while Rosana stood before him. Other than the ticking of a small clock on the desk, the room was silent. Rosana felt like her body would stiffen from the tension.
After what felt like forever, the emperor finally spoke.
“Sir Felix. Sorry to keep you waiting.”
“Not at all, Your Majesty.”
“I called you here to ask a favor.”
“Command me, sire.”
Rosana felt relief at the word favor, rather than punishment. Having more duties might be tiring, but it was far better than being reprimanded for letting the lady escape.
She quietly exhaled.
“How about teaching Sasha swordsmanship?”
“…Pardon?”
The emperor’s next words were completely unexpected.
Wouldn’t giving that troublemaker a sword only make things worse? Rosana hesitated, unable to answer immediately.
“If we wear her out during the day, she might be too tired to cause trouble,” the emperor added with a mildly annoyed expression.
Rosana quickly nodded in agreement.
“Ah… Such insight, Your Majesty!”
“Teach her not just swordsmanship, but everything you know. She’s physically gifted. Even if she never becomes a knight, she could become an excellent… something.”
“I shall obey.”
The emperor’s assessment was accurate. Rosana had also noticed that while Astrid lacked in refinement—well, a lot—her physical abilities, stamina, and reflexes were extraordinary.
She wasn’t large, yet had the strength to lift a man bigger than herself. A body-born genius, not a head-born one.
Rosana bowed to leave the office. But just as she turned, the emperor called out again.
“Exclude horseback riding. I’ve no desire to unleash cavalry across the Empire.”
Rosana understood the emperor’s concerns deeply.
“As you wish, sire.”
A few days later, Rosana dug her training clothes out from the bottom of her luggage. She hadn’t expected to wear them again so soon. It was thanks to—and because of—the young lady.
She shed her dress and apron and changed into the familiar training gear. The feeling of snug-fitting trousers was genuinely welcome.
She pulled off her hair net, tied her brown hair into a tight ponytail, and finally saw her old self in the mirror again.
Rosana sent a message to Astrid, asking her to meet in the rear garden. Unlike the manicured front garden, the back was more barren with patches of exposed dirt—perfect for private training.
“Rosana!”
Astrid’s chirpy voice rang out.
Sometimes Rosana wished the lady’s behavior were as lovely as her voice. But from today on, she had to encourage the opposite.
“Those clothes suit you well.”
“All thanks to you, milady.”
Astrid circled Rosana, eyeing her outfit with amusement before poking her playfully.
“I had a feeling you weren’t always just a maid, but a knight?”
“Oh? I’m not a knight today. I’m your swordsmanship instructor.”
Rosana, feeling a little awkward, straightened her shoulders proudly.
“Well then, since this is our first lesson, let’s see where your level’s at.”
The young instructor cleared her throat and handed Astrid a dagger.
“You’re good with this, aren’t you?”
“News travels fast.”
Astrid drew the training dagger from its sheath. It was blunted for sparring.
With a grin, she tossed it lightly in the air and caught it midair.
Rosana drew her own sabre.
Meanwhile…
Florian’s father was back to his matchmaking schemes.
Florian knew his own value on the El Cantador marriage market well.
“When will he wake up from that silly dream?”
He looked at his reflection in the window—fine golden hair, violet eyes. The same traits as his father, but his face held a level of artistic perfection as if the gods had taken a second pass at sculpting it.
But what good is being handsome? He was, at the end of the day, a freedman.
Noblewomen who approached Florian of their own accord usually did so out of fleeting curiosity. A beautiful man to play with, never someone to marry…
Maybe that’s why his father only chased after noble families in financial ruin.
The Ortez merchant group had connections all over the Empire. With their information network, they knew who had suddenly lost purchasing power or was delaying payments. No need to mingle in high society to know who was struggling.
His father sometimes succeeded in “hunts” using that intel.
But Florian could always see the same emptiness in those women’s eyes—women being sold off for the sake of their family.
Now, his father was trying to sell him to a woman who had attacked their merchant company—and taken his son as a hostage.
“Del Fonto, huh? Not an ancient house, but famous. And not too noble to feel out of reach.”
Florian thought dryly.
Trying to understand his father, and to think from his perspective, was a survival skill Florian had developed. Without that understanding, he wouldn’t know what use he had to his father.
From outside, the coachman tapped the carriage.
Florian stepped out. Workers were already unloading cargo from the wagon behind them.
He looked up at the large gates.
Above the iron doors, two columns supported sculptures of sirens staring down at him. They couldn’t really see him, of course—but Florian still felt mocked.
This was his second visit to the Del Fonto estate.
