Countess Lacey Fiddlers had three peculiar habits.

One of them was unconsciously pinching her side when she saw something she really liked, but couldn’t have – like when it belonged to someone she dared not covet.

Amusingly, in that moment she wasn’t even aware she was abusing her own body.

Only her desire for that ‘something’ overflowed… Later, when time had passed and she felt pain in her side, she would find a dark bruise had already formed.

The second was ridiculously flaring her tiny nostrils when hearing something very unpleasant or conversely very pleasant to her face.

Her second daughter once burst out laughing at the sight, making her aware of this habit. That day, she was so angry she locked herself in her room and lay down for half a day.

It was shocking that no one had ever told her about it before! Her blood ran cold like falling into a frozen river at the thought of how many people must have laughed at her behind her back.

While Arkan didn’t know about these two habits – he wouldn’t have paid that much attention to the Countess in the first place – he did know the last one.

Arkan knew the most important of her habits.

Namely, that she unconsciously pursed her lips when lying…

‘Like a piping bag…’

Arkan cleared his throat, feeling slightly disgusted by the image he conjured of squeezing out whipped cream by firmly pressing the side of Countess Fiddlers’ shrunken lips.

“I see,” Arkan said in a deliberately solemn voice, causing the Countess’s lips to pucker even more tightly.

They were on the verge of disappearing entirely. If that had happened, Arkan would have been able to greet a much more pleasant morning starting tomorrow.

Unfortunately, such a thing did not occur.

“Yes, Your Majesty. It is the absolute truth, without even a shred of falsehood. How could you take such a frivolous person as queen? Your Majesty, you must reconsider this matter. By no means…”

“Perhaps she’s just sensitive due to the unfamiliar environment.”

Countess Fiddlers’ words were cut off once again.

Though she despised having her words interrupted more than anything in the world, she couldn’t even show her displeasure since the other party was the king, and Arkan at that.

What could she do but stomp her feet?

“Your Majesty, I sincerely…”

“I’m well aware of your sincerity. But aren’t you the elder compared to the Imperial Princess? So be understanding and let it go just this once. I’ll find an opportunity to convey your hurt feelings to the Imperial Princess.”

Of course, Arkan would never actually relay the Countess’s words to Erdene.

However, it was also clear that the Countess would never exercise magnanimity as the elder, so he felt no particular sense of debt.

“Your Majesty…”

“That’s enough, you may leave now. You look tired, it would be good to return to your mansion and rest. If there’s anything to discuss, send a letter and you don’t need to enter the palace for a few days.”

As the conversation flowed in this direction, even the stubborn and rigid Countess had no choice but to withdraw.

She bowed to Arkan with a posture so perfect it gave goosebumps, then left the king’s chambers with slightly slumped shoulders.

“Good heavens. What possessed her to pick a fight with Countess Fiddlers as soon as she arrived? Don’t you think so too, Platt?”

Platt, who had been cleverly concealing his presence without even making a sound while the two were conversing, glanced sideways at the direction the Countess had left and shrugged both shoulders.

“Wasn’t it somewhat expected, Your Majesty?”

“If so, you could have at least said a word to me. So I could prepare myself mentally.”

Arkan’s palm landed on his forehead with a thud.

As soon as the Countess’s figure disappeared, he sprawled out on the sofa in a relaxed posture and let out a long sigh with his eyes closed.

Expected, huh.

Arkan chuckled as he mulled over Platt’s nonchalant answer. Well, it was true.

He never expected that notorious Imperial Princess to come here all dejected and overwhelmed with sorrow…

‘I even sent Belen in disguise as the coachman in case she might kill him and run away midway. Unexpectedly, she didn’t do that.’

Though Erdene knew nothing about it, in fact, the coachman of the large carriage that brought her to the Betor border was a man named Belen Wizard, the top knight commander of Betor and the captain of Arkan’s closest guard.

In the inland allied countries that were often pushed around by Hirschstein, they practically worshipped Belen as a god of war for the sake of their pride.

It was due to the firm belief that his martial arts skills would be more than enough to subdue Erdene Bard, the Imperial Princess, but Belen’s own opinion was the exact opposite.

[What? You’re telling me to bring Erdene Bard, the Imperial Princess? You’re asking me to go because she might cut off the coachman’s head and run away, Your Majesty. My neck isn’t made of iron either, you know.]

So Arkan had no choice but to pull out his trump card to persuade him.

[Alright, Belen. If you, the finest warrior in all the inland kingdoms including Betor, refuse… Well, I guess there’s no helping it. I’ll entrust this crucial mission to the innocent Bert, who knows no weapon other than the kitchen knife used for slaughtering chickens. Ah, don’t worry. Bert has no family. If he dies, I’ll take responsibility and hold a grand funeral…] [Ah, I’ll go! I’ll go! But, will you hold a funeral for me too?]

Bert was the oldest among the coachmen employed at Betor Royal Palace.

Far from dealing with the Imperial Princess who might draw her sword and run away at any moment, he might have a heart attack even if a passing deer just swung its antlers…

Arkan sighed once more as he was lost in these trivial thoughts.

“Platt, have you confirmed the food and support policies going to the Empire?”

Platt nodded once with his hands behind his back.

“I’ve confirmed it precisely, Your Majesty.”

“I’m worried whether they will keep their promise.”

The ‘they’ Arkan was referring to was, of course, the Hirschstein Empire.

Especially the newly enthroned Emperor Tenek.

The previous emperor, though bellicose and waging wars as if it were a daily meal, was still a person with some political acumen.

In other words, he was someone who knew when to strike and when to retreat.

‘But his son doesn’t seem to be like that at all…’

Sensing Arkan’s concern, Platt spoke indifferently.

“Even if an unexpected situation occurs, we already have the Imperial Princess on our side.”

Arkan frowned slightly and admonished Platt.

“We didn’t bring the Imperial Princess here as a hostage.”

“Your words are correct, Your Majesty, but I spoke assuming the worst-case scenario. To ease your worries.”

Far from easing his worries, it only added to them, but Platt had no way of knowing that. He probably really thought of Erdene as just a hostage for contingencies…

It’s not impossible for it to turn out that way. Arkan thought.

If Emperor Tenek doesn’t keep his promise, Betor’s officials might suggest using Erdene as leverage to suppress them.

Though whether she would allow herself to be used as a hostage was questionable.

Arkan tried to recall Erdene’s face in his mind as he sat in front of a cooling cup of tea.

Although he had received her portrait from Emperor Tenek in advance, portraits are typically painted with utmost beautification, aren’t they?

The Erdene in the painting looked unbelievably fierce.

She had features that could be called beautiful if one were to say so, but looking at those eyes painted a piercing blue somehow gave one chills.

It made one wonder if the painter had managed to keep his life after completing the portrait.

[I’ve never seen a portrait with such an expression before. I think she probably ate the painter.]

When Erdene Bard’s portrait arrived from the Empire, one of the officials who viewed the painting with Arkan clicked his tongue in disgust.

That’s why Arkan had already lowered his expectations or illusions about Erdene early on.

But the Erdene he actually saw was a completely different woman from what he had imagined.

She had startlingly pale blue eyes, mysterious eyes that only those with the strongest ancestral blood among the Hirschstein imperial family were said to possess.

Her snow-white skin typical of northerners – how on earth did she maintain it when she supposedly spent all her time on battlefields? – and jet-black hair fluttering in the wind were enough to leave one speechless for a moment.

Of course, when she uttered her first words, and when he met her glaring gaze directed at himself, he was left speechless for a different reason.

That hostile gaze. He wouldn’t have been surprised if she had tried to stab him with a dagger.

‘Hmm, that painter who drew the portrait must be dead.’

Arkan thought indifferently.

At that moment, Platt asked.

“Forgive my impertinence, but how did Your Majesty view the Imperial Princess, or rather, Her Imperial Highness?”

“How did I view her?”

“I was wondering if she was close to Your Majesty’s ideal type. Even before your ascension to the throne, when you were younger, you showed no interest in such matters.”

Ideal type, huh. Arkan pondered Erdene’s face once again.

If one were to say that the first meeting taught him that a person could make such a fiercely angry expression, it could be considered an educational encounter in its own way.

But ideal type…

“I’m not the kind of person who falls in love with a woman fabricated from fantasies, Platt. I thought you knew that much, but I’m disappointed.”

Translation complete. 100% of original text translated.