Amber White's Dilemma
My name is Amber White, a knight who dedicates both my sword and my heart to the great Empire.
Until recently, I served on the Empire's southern front lines, assisting Her Imperial Highness Victoria. Now that the war is over, I've returned peacefully to the capital, tasked with escorting and surveilling Ian, the prince we captured from the south.
At first, it was a grueling assignment—five days a week, sunrise to sunset, no weekends off, watching the prince like a hawk. But then the noble imperial family started taking an interest in him, and my workload halved.
The First Princess, the Second Princess, the Second Prince, and—most unexpectedly—His Imperial Majesty the Emperor himself.
Thanks to them, my days off expanded to four a week, weekends included. Same pay, half the work.
I'm pretty happy about it these days, but honestly, I prefer going to work.
Ian is just fun to be around.
He's gorgeous, great at starting conversations, and knows exactly how to handle women.
He's twenty this year... such a shame.
To be blunt, he's too young for me. If I were just three or four years younger, I'd have snatched him up ages ago. A second prince from a defeated kingdom and a high-ranking imperial knight? That's not a bad match in terms of status, right?
Ahem, anyway... yeah, I'll put those personal feelings aside.
Today is one of those sweet, official days off that's come around after a while. On days like this, you gotta hustle. It's drinking day.
(Anyone asking if I skip drinking on unofficial days off will be branded a traitor.)
I've swapped my armor for comfy civilian clothes and am heading to Her Highness Victoria's annex, a bottle of strong imperial whiskey dangling from one hand.
Her Highness and I are tight enough that showing up with a single bottle is no big deal. How'd we get that close? It's a long story...
It's been exactly sixteen years since I enlisted in the military.
At sixteen, from a dirt-poor family where putting food on the table was a struggle, I lied about my age—said I was eighteen—to lighten the load by one mouth. That was the start.
A commoner with nothing to her name, all I could do was grit my teeth and endure. Starting as a lowly spearman, I bounced through the Empire's brutal conquest wars like a madwoman.
Rolling in the mud, covered in blood and guts, watching comrades I'd trained and marched with die one by one—I clenched my jaw and survived.
After a few years of racking up merits and promotions, by twenty I'd made sergeant major. Then, in a fierce battle, I luckily saved a high noble's life. For that, I was exceptionally recommended for officer training as a commoner.
After grueling effort, I commissioned as an officer and finally earned my knighthood. I felt like I owned the world.
And in the year I turned twenty-six—
"Nice to meet you! You're the adjutant assigned to me for this war, right? I'm Victoria von Arzenheim, the Emperor's eldest daughter! Looking forward to working with you!"
—I finally met the liege I'd serve for life.
I was assigned to assist Her Imperial Highness Victoria, who at just eighteen was stepping onto her first battlefield. Since it was an imperial's debut campaign, I didn't expect much.
We marched on a desert kingdom in the continent's southwest, a meat grinder of a war. I figured she'd accomplish nothing. As royalty, just spectating from the rear would be a win.
But my expectations shattered in the first battle.
"Is that the infamous General Abdullah?"
"Yes, Your Highness. The 'Desert Butcher' who's slaughtered countless imperial troops."
"Perfect. No better first opponent!"
"Y-Your Highness, no!"
The eighteen-year-old princess charged alone at Abdullah, the desert kingdom's strongest warrior who'd terrorized our armies.
"Hey, you mustache freak! You the famous Abdullah? Come out and face my blade!"
"...What's this little girl?"
"I'm Victoria von Arzenheim! Eldest daughter of His Imperial Majesty, and the Empire's sword come to cut you down!"
"Hahaha! Go home to mommy, fledgling princess! Battlefields aren't for brats li—Gyaaah!"
"How dare you mock me! Next, I'll take your head!"
"That whelp dares— I'll kill you!"
In fewer than five exchanges, the fearsome General Abdullah's head rolled under Her Highness's sword.
Covered in blood, laughing arrogantly—that overwhelming presence captivated me instantly.
Returning with his severed head, laughing like the world was hers, she proved beyond doubt she'd inherited the blood of the great conqueror Uzarat.
From that day, we crossed countless death lines together, forging a bond thicker than blood.
Knights swear loyalty to the Empire and His Majesty upon commissioning. And I know full well that with an outstanding eldest son, Her Highness can never become the next emperor.
Even so, I chose Victoria as the liege in my heart.
...But lately, my great liege has been acting strange.
Or rather, very strange.
"Your Highness, it's Amber. Came for a drink on my day off..."
"......"
I stepped into the annex's training grounds, whiskey bottle in hand, but trailed off mid-sentence.
Her Highness Victoria stood in the center, wooden sword in grip, staring blankly at empty air.
Normally, the straw dummies would be pulverized by now—dozens of them. But only three or four were wrecked, and she was giggling at nothing like a spaced-out fool.
"...Your Highness?"
"Oh, ah! You're here!"
That wasn't the only odd sign.
"Your Highness, I don't know much about makeup, but that's not how it's done. Cosmetics aren't camouflage cream..."
A few days ago, she'd botched her makeup something awful.
"Oh, new combat rations? Perfectly hardtack-like."
"...It's my cake."
"This is? Urk."
"'This'?!?!"
Last week, she invaded the imperial kitchen and produced rock-hard lumps that could crack skulls. Not edible, of course.
Recalling all that, I deliberately stomped loudly as I approached the training grounds.
"Your Highness!!!!"
"Eek! Amber, can't you call out quietly? What, does it hurt you?"
"I did, quietly, a few times. No answer."
"...Really? Sorry."
"Kidding. That was just the second."
"You wanna get hit...? No, never mind."
"Drink first?"
"Yeah, gimme."
Spotting the bottle, she cleared her throat and set down her wooden sword.
Plopping onto the training bench, she chugged a swig, sighed deeply, and buried her head between her knees.
"...How the hell did Arthur pull it off?"
Context chopped, but obvious who.
"...Amber."
"Yes, Your Highness."
"Can I get some relationship advice from you?"
"From a thirty-two-year-old spinster?"
"...Shut up."
"Hah, now I'm pissed. Gimme some booze."
She downed half the bottle in one go, and I gave the most sensible advice I could.
"Start by spending more time together. One tea time a week won't build attachment. Out of sight, out of mind—that's human nature."
"True, but... Ian's busier than me these days. Dance practice with Chloe, playtime with Arthur, and once social season ends, big brother will drag him off for work. How do I squeeze in more time?"
"Ahh, don't chug it all— what am I supposed to drink?"
Snatching the bottle, Victoria polished off the rest, pouting in complaint.
"You're so hopeless, Your Highness. Why do you think Second Prince meets Ian twice a week?"
"'Cause... he uses training as an excuse."
"Bingo. Copy him."
"...Arthur? No way."
"Then stay stuck forever."
"...Ugh, hate that. Fine, say I do. What do I teach?"
"Think about your strongest suit, Your Highness."
"What I'm best at..."
After a moment's thought, Victoria sprang up like a coiled spring.
"Sword! Right, swordsmanship! The Empire's greatest swordswoman teaching my techniques to Ian myself!"
"Exactly. Go say it just like that."