Sharing the Bed (2)
“Young master, wh-what do you mean by sharing a bed?”
Asella was visibly flustered by my declaration. I got where she was coming from. Sleeping alone is the most comfortable, after all. Having someone snoring or grinding their teeth next to you is just annoying. But right now, she needed a strong prescription. If she was going to keep hiding her abdominal pain forever, I'd have to get tough.
“You won't tell me about your abdominal attacks, so what choice do I have? Your personal physician has to check on you every night himself.”
“Does that even make sense?”
“What if something really goes wrong with you? That wouldn't make sense.”
“No.”
It was perfect logic, even by my standards. The great Asella couldn't counter it and just opened and closed her mouth like a fish. So, who was getting punished now?
In truth, I wouldn't mind sleeping in Asella's room every night. Her room was as vast as a sports field, plenty of space to crash. I could just drag in a sleeping bag and call it a day. With my experience in the hero party, I could sleep on a stone floor no problem. And I'd be sensitive enough to her every groan to wake up instantly.
“Are you serious, young master?”
“Have you ever seen me joke about work?”
Asella puffed out her cheeks at my response, grabbed a pillow, and started whacking my shoulder with it.
“Get out.”
“Hold on. You need to give me a clear answer. None of this is resolved...”
“Get out!”
In the end, I was forcibly kicked out of Asella's room. She always did things her way. As I smoothed out my robe, crumpled from her rubbing her face on it all night, I noticed a crowd in the hallway. Not just Bruno on night duty, but Tanya, the head maid, and even Asella's guard knights—all out there. They'd probably been waiting all night, worried since she'd been in such bad shape.
But why were they smirking like that?
“Welcome back, young master.”
Tanya greeted me first. Why "young master" again?
***
Heavenly Palace.
The grandest and most opulent red building at the heart of the Imperial Palace. Only a select few nobles and foreign envoys, after months of waiting, earned the right to enter. To pay audience to the emperor, ruler of the empire, naturally.
“Cough, cough. Hm!”
As the emperor's cough deepened from his throne, his three personal physicians sprang into action. They checked his condition, then held out their palms to the noble he'd been meeting.
“That's all for today.”
“B-but...”
They hadn't even used the full allotted time. He hadn't conveyed all his territorial matters. But there was no helping it. The noble withdrew, and the emperor headed to his office. One physician chanted healing spells nonstop, but the coughing persisted.
“Please rest for today, Your Majesty.”
“There's quite a backlog of work, isn't there? Bring the documents.”
At the emperor's command, the secretary presented stacks of pending files for approval. Imperial budgets, provincial nobles' mobilization permits, diplomatic papers. The empire had ballooned enormously from the conquests of his youth. No single person could manage it all, yet he entrusted no key affairs to others. Only his children were truly trustworthy subordinates.
Delegating vital matters to outsiders always led to deviations or betrayal. So even after the wars ended and the empire expanded, he handled the core duties himself—a habit persisting into his frail old age.
'At least it's better now.'
He'd delegated some regional governance to aging Kwunter and Heike. Georg, Rauga, and Asella were still young, inexperienced. But soon they'd each shoulder a pillar. His burdens would lighten bit by bit.
One day, if the other heirs faltered entirely, that weight would fall on one alone. Just as it had on him once.
Having never known failure, the emperor saw his path as the only truth and imposed it on the next generation.
“Cough, cough!”
“Your Majesty.”
The physicians fretted deeply. The emperor sensed his life was nearing its end. He at least wanted to witness his children unleashing their full potential in a clash of blades. Perhaps this retreat would awaken Georg, making him a superior ruler to Kwunter or Heike. Dying without seeing their growth would leave him a pathetic emperor who failed to name a proper heir.
He refused any blemish on his legacy. Even controlling the magic he'd wielded in war stemmed from that. Magic was too prone to mishaps. Especially Camilla. That witch's greed knew no bounds. He shouldn't have taken her in, tempted by her powerful magic weaponry.
'But Asella's turning out better than expected.'
He'd viewed her merely as the imperial weapon, but post-Camilla's departure, Moonlight Palace showed changing tides. At her young age, Asella displayed extraordinary wit and administrative talent. Assigning each heir a palace was precisely to test their capabilities, as now.
'The knights at the tournament were impressive, her economic sense sharp. She draws talent too.'
Flipping reports, his eyes landed on one from Moonlight Palace.
“Gotberg.”
An intriguing youth. He'd penned the report. Turning the page revealed recent volunteer efforts: tidy statistics on treated patients. Especially clear were the cough syrup's effects—over 90% improvement, no side effects even in the elderly.
“Hm.”
He didn't recall every word from the duel trial, but trusted Gotberg kept promises and proved himself.
“Ambrosia.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
He summoned his first physician with a command.
“I'll try the medicine Gotberg brought.”
“The medicine... Understood.”
She hesitated slightly, but imperial orders superseded. She judged Gotberg's Imperial Medical Office activities posed no threat. She promptly presented the medicine.
The emperor popped the black bean-like cough syrup with water.
“Mm.”
Moments later, the coughing ceased, his chest clearing—a sensation long missed.
“Ho.”
The emperor's lips curved.
He addressed his first physician.
“Ambrosia, go to Gotberg and relay this.”
***
“His Majesty requests additional medicine as tribute?”
“Indeed. Seems your cough syrup pleased him greatly.”
Ambrosia, the emperor's first physician, delivered the decree personally. Hearing it demanded the same reverence as facing the emperor himself, so I knelt abruptly in my office. But facing a girl Neria's age made it hard to stay solemn. Ambrosia wasn't truly a child—merely stunted growth as the price of her healer talents. Distant kin to a former saintess, apparently. Probably related to me too. Did all saintesses pay with stunted growth?
“I shall uphold the decree.”
I bowed and rose.
“Great...! Production, production...”
“If there's any collaboration needed, just say the word.”
Chloe and Hugo were eager too.
“Ahem, fine opportunity. Expand your foothold in the Imperial Medical Office.”
I wanted to grow the faction more. But with this cramped office, it wasn't easy. Ambrosia's aid would help—her word could smooth things immensely. Time to charm her a bit.
“Thank you for the advice. But the factions here are tightly knit.”
“I know well. With the Second Prince's faction crumbling, Palkenhain's influence waned, letting Bishop Alverich strut as the dual powers faded.”
“Haha, isn't the greatest influence in the office yours truly, Lady Ambrosia?”
“Ahem. You know your hierarchy. Precisely.”
Ambrosia straightened her diminutive frame proudly.
“Bishop Alverich and Lord Palkenhain seem to forget the emperor's physician watches over them. If I willed it, none could utter a peep.”
As the emperor's physician, she needed no faction—but could dominate effortlessly if desired.
“Of course. With your supreme faith and divine power, who else?”
“Heh, no silver tongue will snag imperial rights for the Third Princess's faction.”
She pretended disdain, but plainly relished the flattery.
“No flattery— to me, you're the greatest giant among physicians.”
“...My heart is rather vast.”
A chuckle escaped her lips. Nailed it. Neria in ten years had a complex about her stunted height too—praising "greatness" or "size" always won her over.
“Ahem. Physician Gotberg, any preparations needed to fulfill the decree?”
Hook, line, and sinker.
“I'd like to craft the tribute with extra care. This setup raises quality concerns.”
“Mm... Valid point.”
She surveyed the cluttered office and nodded.
“Any spare offices on the first floor? Ideally 200 pyeong.”
“That much?”
“Warehouse, workshop, OR—multiple uses.”
“Space exists. Georg's faction's practically dormant. Talk to Palkenhain. Bring agreement, and I'll push it through.”
“Haha, thank you. As expected, such magnanimity.”
“Magnanimous... Heh, I suppose so.”
Ambrosia puffed up further at the praise. As she left, Chloe whispered,
“Not really, though?”
“Shh.”
Tanya, having overheard, shrugged with mild dissatisfaction.
“So, you're finally moving offices, teacher.”
“Heh. You thought I'd climb these four flights forever?”
“You need to build stamina.”
“I exercise. I just hate being forced to. Get it?”
“No.”
Tanya shook her head pityingly. Harsh. I popped a candy and went to see Palkenhain.
'Chance for the empire's head to taste my medicine.'
Medicine, still spreading by word-of-mouth, could explode across the empire. Time to seize it aggressively.
***
Exhausted after work, I prepared for bed. Changing into sleepwear and spreading the covers—click. The door opened without a knock. Bruno again? No, an unexpected guest.
“Princess?”
Asella, in pink pajamas, stared sullenly, hugging a large pillow. The dim night-lamp light made her half-hidden face flicker in the shadows.
“...What're you doing.”
“Shouldn't I ask you that?”
Asella fidgeted with her lips for a long moment. Her hand fumbled the doorknob clumsily, then—thud—she shut it and leaned back against the door.
In a tiny, barely audible voice, she murmured,
“...You said to sleep together.”