Tarek sighed once more, squared his shoulders, and slowly entered the reception room.

“Shirak.”

“I greet Prince Tarek.”

The maidens who had been chatting with Shirak quickly rose, knelt, and paid their respects.

Shirak lightly nodded his head and offered a casual salute while smiling and looking straight at Tarek.

Shirak, with his slightly light brown hair, was a bit smaller than Tarek but was unique among Rashid’s sons for his cheerful disposition and wit.

“All right, you may leave.”

“See you next time, darlings.”

When Tarek gestured for the maidens to leave, Shirak waved lightly at them.

As the maidens laughed, Tarek sat on a sofa with a black oxhide upholstery and a round handle carved out of blueblack ebony, frowning.

“My Ignis, my brother Tarek!”

Shirak seemed genuinely delighted as he came over to the seat next to Tarek and began feeling his biceps.

“Look at this. I heard you hurt your shoulder, but it’s still nicely balanced. You can see the stretched and solid spirit of a desert man, right? Here, here, does this side seem a little bigger?”

“Are you insane?! Who said you could touch someone’s body?”

As Shirak’s hand slid toward Tarek’s waist, Tarek angrily pushed him away.

“It’s too harsh to treat a longlost brother like this. I’m a man of business. There’s hardly anyone worthwhile in the Grand Bazaar!”

Shirak pouted but his hand was too large and masculine for such a gesture.

“I feel sick.”

“Tarek, you’re always so tense. My god, what’s with this drab black robe? Ah, Bestis, goddess of clothing! Please save his aesthetic sense. Please don’t dress like this!”

Shirak slapped Tarek’s robe as if it were something filthy.
Tarek’s robe was made of premium silk, woven intricately with fine threads and sequins, but it still fell short in Shirak’s eyes.

“A man only needs his clothes to cover him.”

“If that’s the case, live on gruel and water. Why eat meat? Even animals possess a sense of aesthetics.”

Shirak fumed in frustration.

Tarek took deep breaths, resisting the urge to punch Shirak’s face.

Shirak had a strong artistic sense, perhaps inherited from his ancestors, who were fabric merchants in the Makali Company. He was currently making a name for himself as a senior artisan at the Makali Atypisium.

From childhood, he had quite liked Tarek, mainly because Tarek was strong and masculine—apparently the best mannequin in the country.

“We are here to talk business.”

Upon hearing this, Shirak straightened up and sat attentively.

In Grand Bazaar, trade was sacred, so he observed due formality.

“Ah, good, business. I have a rough idea. You don’t want to give Luhan an opportunity, right?”

“Did you hear it from Mother?”

“Iota’s been bothering me so much I’m almost crazy.”

Tarek rubbed his temples in irritation.

“You also want to deal with Hades’ Frau, don’t you? What I heard from Iota was that you’d be wearing my precious creations for the Mercatus event. Is that true?”

“…Yes.”

Tarek sighed in response.

He had no choice but to agree when his mother, Iota, had insisted.

“Excellent! If you wear my designs, what can’t I do? There’s a lack of influential figures these days.”

In Mercatus, where desert tribes and foreigners flocked, it was a given that sales would increase if the Prince of the Grand Bazaar wore items from the Makali Company.

Tarek began to elaborate the details of the transaction.

“During the monthlong grace period given by the Sultan, neither Hades, Luhan, nor their associates are to be contacted. Makali Company should also refrain from any trade with Hades. He’s not influential in the fabric market anyway.”

“Sure, sure. My grandfather never liked Hades in the first place, so it’s no problem. Shall I prepare the contract? This deal is a steal; I almost feel guilty.”

Shirak casually pulled out a beautiful quill mixed with blue and green from his belongings.

“Tch. Regular men use eagle or owl feathers.”

Ignoring Shirak, Tarek began to write the contract with his own large eagle feather quill.

“Ah, those don’t align with my aesthetic sense.”

In the middle of drafting the contract, Shirak seemed to remember something.

“Speaking of the mad Frau, didn’t she enter as Asti’s doll? She doesn’t know anything but to gain weight. She will require ten yards of fabric for her dresses! Hahaha!”

Shirak laughed heartily, clutching his stomach, while Tarek just focused on writing the contract.

“She is your sister, after all.”

“Asti, yes. Claims to be on a yogurt diet, but she adds five spoons of sugar! Ahahaha! Hades was right, she’s like a black pig.”

“…”

“Annoying our father, saying she’ll create a prettier dress than mine for the Mercatus event? That’s hilarious! Ahaha!”

Shirak’s laughter echoed beyond the arches of the royal palace.