Among the nobility lately, a rumor was making the rounds: across the Emperor’s table, the D’Albret family’s second son and the Emperor’s consort were locked in a fiery rivalry. Some even claimed the consort had invited the era’s finest dance instructor, Baroness Dampierre, which meant he’d truly set his mind to it.
Of course, the D’Albret faction scoffed that such a vulgar consort didn’t even know how to dance and that’s why he’d done it.
Either way, all public attention was fixed on the two. In the end, who would remain at the Emperor’s side—the consort, or the second son of House D’Albret?
One of them, D’Albret’s second son Michel, sat contemplating the garden, the sumptuous dishes before him making him think of his rival, Lev.
“This is a tenderloin steak prepared only from the softest cut. I hope it suits your palate.”
At the deferential voice, Michel turned his head as if nothing were amiss. While he’d been briefly distracted, a plate bearing a sizable steak had been set before him.
Only then did Michel remember he was seated for a luncheon with the Emperor. Affecting nonchalance, he lifted his knife, cut the steak, and took a bite.
“Excellent. The sauce suits me perfectly as well. Thank you.”
“Much appreciated, Sir Michel.”
The imperial chef who’d received the praise bowed with a satisfied smile. At the same time, he gauged the Emperor’s expression across from them.
The visiting Michel D’Albret was important, but the one he had to heed above all was the Emperor. Yet His Majesty ate without a word of either approval or complaint. Was he merely being polite, displeased with the meal?
The head chef, his spirits briefly lifted, slumped his shoulders and withdrew.
“You seem very interested in gardens.”
As he returned his gaze to the window, Michel turned toward the Emperor. Guien’s eyes were on the same view.
“Yes. I’ve been fond of plants since I was young.”
“I see. So whenever you came to the palace, you would take a stroll in the gardens before leaving.”
“There are so many beautiful places that I couldn’t just pass them by.”
Michel flinched very slightly, then answered composedly. In truth, each time he had walked the palace gardens hoping he might run into Lev.
But since their last encounter, they hadn’t crossed paths. He’d begun to think he would have to wait for the birthday celebration.
“Is that so. Any place you’re particularly fond of?”
Michel recalled the many gardens he had visited at the palace. They were all superb, lovingly tended. But one, in particular, had captured his heart.
“Yes. There’s a small, quiet garden. I’ve gone there a few times.”
“Ah?”
For some reason the Emperor showed interest. Though they had met several times, they had never conversed so proactively.
A little surprised, Michel spoke about the garden he’d visited. Listening, the Emperor suddenly smiled.
“You must mean the Water-Lily Garden.”
“The Water-Lily Garden?”
“Yes. It’s a spot I frequent from time to time. One I’m rather fond of.”
“I see.”
“Perfect. Shall we go there now and take tea?”
The Emperor, easily proposing their next engagement, glanced at the chief attendant.
“His practice should be over by now. Go tell him to return to his room and rest.”
“As you command.”
The chief attendant immediately understood the seemingly random order. He signaled to an attendant standing by. Receiving the silent instruction, the attendant quietly left the dining room.
His destination was the room where the Emperor’s consort, who had been feverishly busy with preparations for the upcoming ball, was currently found.
The Emperor’s consort was diligently practicing in a ground-floor room.
“It seems the time invested hasn’t been wasted.”
Baroness Dampierre offered a compliment that hardly sounded like one. Lev only gave a wry smile. As the instructor had said, with that much effort, even this much result was something.
“Thank you for your hard work.”
“Of course. Sir Lev, if you continue to put in this kind of effort, I’ll see you tomorrow for the final lesson.”
At the words announcing their last session, Lev’s smile stiffened slightly. Which meant the big day was truly just around the corner.
Having escorted Baroness Dampierre to the door, Lev looked to Marco. While Lev was dancing earlier, he’d noticed the Emperor’s attendant approach Marco and speak to him, and he’d been wondering ever since what it was about.
“His Majesty won’t be able to come today. You must be tired, Sir Lev. Shall we go up and rest?”
“Really? Good.”
Lev, whose fatigue had doubled under today’s especially intense training, nodded readily. Beyond simple weariness, he’d sweated enough to dampen his clothes and wanted to wash.
Leaving the practice hall, Lev moved to climb the stairs to the second floor, then hesitated.
His gaze shifted down the opposite corridor—toward the dining room the Emperor commonly used when eating with guests.
“Sir Lev?”
The Emperor, unable to come inspect his dancing due to another engagement, was presently dining there with Michel D’Albret.
“No. Let’s go.”
Lev, pushing at Marco’s back, turned away. It wasn’t like he didn’t know it was intentional.
He shook his head as if to fling off the thoughts that tried to surface and quickened his step. After his shower, with nothing in particular to do, Lev thought it over and coaxed Marco.
“Want to go have tea in the Water-Lily Garden?”
Usually when Lev proposed something like that, Marco accepted immediately without refusal.
“How about resting in the room today, Sir Lev?”
But today was different.
“Hm?”
“You’ve been overdoing it lately. A nap might do you good.”
Marco even offered an excuse, unlike his usual self. When a person acts out of character, it shows; and that’s exactly how Marco seemed now.
Quietly observing Marco, who was pretending to be busy and avoiding Lev’s eyes, Lev thought back over what might have happened before they’d returned to the room.
He recalled the Emperor’s attendant coming at the tail end of his lesson. He had assumed it was just to say the Emperor couldn’t make it—but was it not?
“His Majesty must be busy.”
Marco’s hands, fidgeting about, gave a little start.
“Yes. It seems there’s much on his plate with the birthday celebration approaching.”
“True enough. I’ve noticed more guests visiting the palace already. I wonder if the D’Albret second son he lunched with has already left.”
No sooner had Lev finished speaking than Marco, who had been feigning a distraction, jerked his head up.
“It just crossed my mind.”
Lev kept his tone even. Doubt flickered through Marco’s gentle eyes, then passed. He seemed nearly persuaded. As expected, he made up his mind and said firmly:
“Right. You’re the one His Majesty cherishes! No reason to avoid anything. Let’s go!”
“Go where?”
“The Water-Lily Garden!”
Ah. Lev understood the situation easily from Marco’s words. However, even after hearing what he supposedly wanted to hear, he wavered.
“No, there’s no need to go that far…”
He hadn’t meant he had to go there. But with his mind made up, Marco dashed out of the room before Lev could stop him.
While Lev was still stunned, Marco sprinted to the dressing room and came back with several outfits in his arms, recent bespoke pieces from the tailor.
“I don’t think that one’s it.”
Lev’s eyes flickered rapidly as he took in the clothes in Marco’s hands. Where did he even find such colors?
The justaucorps, bright scarlet silk embroidered with elaborate patterns, looked like something a gigolo might wear to seduce a lady. And the breeches were white—white that would show a speck of dust.
“What about the one next to it?”
Lev’s finger pointed faintly at the black suit beside the scarlet jacket. It was very subdued, very simple.
“No! Something this dark? Absolutely not.”
Marco gave Lev’s face a quick once-over.
“Why not?”
“…It’s nothing.”
Lev didn’t understand and asked. But Marco wouldn’t answer and he only let out a deep sigh.
‘What’s with that sketchy face.’
Lev was about to protest further when Marco stepped in and seized his arm first.
“Gah! Marco, this really isn’t it.”
Lev tried any way he could to escape, to no avail. For someone shorter than him, the kid had surprising strength and technique; in a flash Marco had slid the jacket onto Lev’s arms.
“It looks wonderful on you, Sir Lev! You won’t lose to anyone!”
Marco’s eyes sparkled as he gave Lev a once-over. Lev couldn’t bring himself to look straight at the mirror.
Well, it certainly stood out. Wrapped in such a bright, vivid red, how could it not?
“Maybe… I should just rest in the room?”
With the snug, almost skinny breeches clinging to his legs, he looked ready to hit a club.
In truth, Lev had only ever been to such places when delivering food supplies. He asked, face clouded:
“After dressing so nicely? You can’t not go! Come on!”
And so, inevitably, Lev failed to resist Marco and shuffled out of the room.
Normally his steps there were light, but today his feet felt unaccountably heavy.
Even with all his hesitating, Lev eventually reached the entrance to the Water-Lily Garden.
Unlike before, the approach was free of weeds, with a small path laid to make it feel like entering a secret place.
Today, though, the entrance looked cramped, lined with several knights and attendants.
‘As expected.’
His guess was right. The Emperor seemed to be spending time in the Water-Lily Garden with his invited guest.
That guest was very likely Michel D’Albret. Lev paused, deliberating.
‘Should I just turn back? Or… go to another entrance and sneak a peek?’
In going to and from the Water-Lily Garden a few times, Lev had learned there were two other entrances besides this one.
The eastern side, where flowering trees ringed the garden, was the entrance Lev usually used; there were also small entrances to the southwest and north. They were so out of the way and rarely used that the vines had grown over them, leaving them almost invisible.
The place where the Emperor had appeared the first time Lev came here was the northern entrance, a bit closer to the east side.
If he went there, since it hadn’t been cleared yet, he might be able to peek in unnoticed. But… no, that seemed a bit much.
“Sir Lev, what brings you here!”
While Lev wavered, wondering what to do, Ivan, standing at the garden entrance, knitted his brow. His eyes said clearly: Why have you come here?
“I came to take a stroll.”
Ivan’s face said, Do you expect me to believe that? His eyes took on an even deeper shade of contempt.
‘What should I do…’
Lev studied the attendant, who not only failed to welcome him but openly showed his dislike, and pondered a moment more.
“Please, go on in.”
Ivan stepped aside, eyes gleaming with meaning. Even the crooked curl of his lip spoke of ill intent.
‘Having come this far, I can’t just leave.’
Especially not with an attendant standing there as if to see what he would do. Lev passed Ivan and approached the Water-Lily Garden. As he drew closer, he could make out the murmur of voices.
Past the hedge, a neat little pond came into view, and a pavilion. And there, across a stone table, sat the Emperor and Michel D’Albret.
Michel had his back to Lev, so it was hard to see his expression. The Emperor, facing forward, was another story.
‘What… he’s smiling.’
The corners of the Emperor’s mouth had softened upward. Not the usual sneer, the mischievous twist, or the look that suggested some scheme. This was a different smile.
Lev, not quite able to tear his eyes away, watched with a displeased look, at which point the Emperor’s gaze struck him, as if sensing it.
The pleasant line of his mouth froze at once.
‘Why that face?’
It had been fine when he’d only seen one side of him because he had thought that was all there was. But having discovered another face of the Emperor, Lev felt a peculiar bitterness.
Annoyed at himself, he rubbed absently at his chest. The Emperor’s lips parted as if to speak sharply; his brows rose slightly.
“Lev. What brings you here?”
His voice sounded as cool as his mouth looked.
“I thought Your Majesty might be here and stopped by.”
Lev answered in a flat tone. At the sound of a familiar name and voice, Michel turned belatedly, eyes going wide.
“Sir Lev?”
No sooner had Michel spoken Lev’s name than the Emperor’s expression changed again, this time even more displeased. Lev’s heart gave a wayward thump.
‘What is wrong with me?’
Lev, tapping the oddly reactive spot near his heart, offered Michel, who looked genuinely glad to see him, a slight smile.
“Well, well.”
The Emperor let out a laugh that all but said, Look at you. He seemed to have noticed Lev’s deliberate smile in Michel’s direction. The curl of his mouth had turned impish again.
“Since you’re here, shall we exchange introductions? This is my consort, Lev.”
Guien jerked his chin at Lev as he spoke, in a tone far too offhand for an emperor.
“Pardon?”
But Michel didn’t even notice that. Worse, he seemed to forget that one does not lightly question the Emperor.
“Lev, this is Michel of House D’Albret. Say hello.”
Michel D’Albret only looked confused for a heartbeat. When the Emperor followed up by identifying Lev, he could not hide his discomposure.
Lev was equally so. He had been trying to approach without revealing he was the Emperor’s consort and build a rapport, but that had now gone up in smoke.
More than that, though, Michel’s fluster bothered him.
“So you are Sir Michel.”
Cursing the Emperor inwardly, Lev feigned calm and addressed Michel.
“Sir Lev…”
Michel’s eyes were now shaking violently. If he hadn’t misheard, the Lev before him was the Emperor’s consort.
Michel paid little heed to gossip and had little interest in it, but even he knew about the Emperor’s consort.
How could he not, when it had been the very topic Marquis D’Albret most often brought up of late?
“Are you truly…?”
Even so, Michel found it hard to believe. Lev smiled bitterly, and Guien’s eyes took on a subtle cast.
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