If the Taciturn Knight Says That, This Girl Doesn't Know What to Do With Herself
The morning of the Imperial Palace appeared utterly peaceful on the surface. The marble floors gleamed like mirrors, and sunlight streaming through the tall windows bathed the Audience Chamber in liquid gold. Servants glided about without a sound, while a faint, elegant scent of agarwood drifted from the incense burners. It was the very image of a thousand-year empire’s majesty… or at least, that’s what any guidebook would claim.
I stood in one corner of that picturesque scene, planted beside the throne like a decorative suit of armor. Kyle Lowenheim, second-rank Imperial Guard. My duty was to protect His Majesty’s sacred person. In plain terms, a bodyguard. Except this wasn’t the twenty-first-century version with sunglasses and earpieces. No, this was the classical kind—full plate armor, sword at the hip, standing at perfect attention for hours on end.
…Honestly, it was harder labor than it looked. My legs were already cramping.
“Hahaha! So what happened next?”
The Emperor on the throne burst into hearty laughter. An elderly man with suspiciously gullible ears—the textbook image of a monarch whose head would soon roll. In the original story, this man’s neck is severed by his own daughter. Quite pathetically, too.
And that very daughter was standing before the throne right now, smiling as brightly as a spring flower.
“Father, that envoy was so unbearably arrogant. So this girl gave him a single piece of advice: ‘It seems your country has no teachers to instruct you in proper etiquette.’”
“Haha, that audacity is exactly like our Victoria!”
Victoria von Roseria. At this moment she was performing the role of the world’s most adorable youngest daughter. Skirts swaying gently, seated beside the Emperor’s knee, chattering in a voice laced with coquettish charm. Her blood-red eyes curved into perfect crescents, and an innocent smile graced her lips. Anyone watching would have believed it without question: Ah, what a pure and devoted child. How she adores her father.
…The problem was that I knew it was all an act.
I knew that those gently curved eyes would soon issue the order to sever her father’s head. I knew that the small, pale hand now resting on the Emperor’s knee would one day lift the crown and place it on her own. I knew that those pouting lips would one day declare—
Goosebumps crawled slowly up my spine. The surface was a sunlit garden, but beneath it lay a field of cold blue blades—and I seemed to be the only one who could see them. The suffocating terror of knowing the truth yet being unable to shout “It’s dangerous!”—or rather, of being labeled insane if I did. It felt like sitting alone in a theater, the only audience member who already knew how the play would end.
“Lord Lowenheim.”
…Wait. What?
“Do you not agree? Where else could one find a princess as wise as our Victoria?”
The Emperor had suddenly addressed me. I nearly flinched—no, I absolutely could not show that I flinched. Imperial Guards did not waver. I kept my face as steadfast and loyal as a stone statue and answered with crisp precision.
“Indeed, Your Majesty. Her Highness the Princess’s wisdom is… a great blessing to the empire.”
Wisdom? Great blessing?
…Ha. What nonsense had I just spouted? That woman is going to take your head in a few days, Your Majesty.
“Haha, exactly! Did you hear that, Victoria? Even the taciturn Lord Lowenheim is praising you.”
“…Oh my.”
Victoria turned her head. Those blood-red eyes, for the first time, fixed directly on me. In that instant the golden air of the Audience Chamber seemed to drop several degrees. It probably hadn’t actually grown colder, yet my body temperature definitely plunged below freezing. Because the gaze she gave me was nothing like the coquettish look she had offered her father.
For the briefest flicker—truly only a split second—a pale, predatory gleam flashed in her eyes, like a beast that had spotted prey.
Did I… really just see that?
The next moment it was gone, replaced by the same innocent crescent-moon smile as if nothing had happened.
“Since the taciturn knight says so, this girl doesn’t know what to do with herself.”
Her voice dripped with honey. The Emperor nodded in satisfaction.
…I let out a long, silent breath. My stomach burned. It felt like my insides were shriveling. To think a former Michelin-star chef would develop stress-induced gastritis. It seemed my old occupational disease had reincarnated right along with me.
That’s right. Snap out of it, Kyle. That woman will soon drown this palace in blood. And the first stain will be me. This was no time to be standing at attention in the Audience Chamber. I had to escape. Before this insane masquerade reached its finale, I needed to leap off the stage.
Last night’s attempt to flee through the rear gate had failed. But there were other methods. Supply wagons, sewers, slipping into a hunting party… Plenty of paths. So next time, I would definitely… escape…!
“Then this girl shall take her leave, Father.”
Victoria rose from her seat. She gracefully smoothed her skirts, offered the Emperor a respectful curtsy, then turned. Toward the door of the Audience Chamber—which meant straight toward me, standing like a decoration beside the throne.
Click. Click.
The sound of her heels drew nearer. I kept my gaze fixed forward, playing the part of the perfectly loyal statue.
Just keep walking. Just walk past. Please, for the love of—
But contrary to my desperate hopes, the exact moment she passed in front of me—while her back was turned to the Emperor and only I could see her face—she moved her lips without making a sound.
If.
You.
Run.
Away.
YOU DIE.
Then she smiled sweetly.
Ice-cold sweat poured down my back. The inside of my armor grew slick in seconds. This woman knew. She knew I was planning to run again. She knew I had no intention of stopping after last night. She knew I was already plotting my next attempt.
She knew everything.
Come to think of it, last night hadn’t even been the first time. Six days ago, when I had slipped into the stables under the pretense of coincidence—she had been waiting. Four days ago, when I visited the warehouse to prepare an excuse to hide in a supply wagon—she had been there too. And then last night at the rear gate. Three separate attempts. At every single escape route I chose, Victoria had been standing there with the most perfectly coincidental expression in the world, as though she had known from the very beginning.
How the hell—?!
While I spiraled in panic, the Emperor’s voice drifted from behind me.
“Lord Lowenheim?”
“What is the matter? Your complexion… looks rather poor.”
Only then did I realize what my face must look like. Drained of color, cold sweat running, eyes probably wide as a startled rabbit’s. An Imperial Guard making such an expression in the Audience Chamber was, in itself, a serious problem.
Victoria was already walking elegantly toward the door, pretending nothing had happened. Her retreating figure looked every bit the pure, refined princess. As if she hadn’t just threatened a man’s life with nothing but lip movements.
…That woman was terrifying.
I swallowed hard and pulled my inner mask back into place. Forcing my voice steady, I answered as casually as I could manage.
“…It is nothing, Your Majesty.”
“Hmm? Are you quite certain?”
“Yes. It seems… the fatigue from last night’s patrol lingers. Please forgive me.”
The lie slid out effortlessly. The same soulless customer-service skill I had used in my previous life—“I’m terribly sorry, I’ll prepare a fresh one immediately”—had apparently reincarnated with me.
“Hoho, I see. It will not do for the captain of the guard to overwork himself. Retire early today and rest.”
“…Your benevolence is immeasurable, Your Majesty.”
Just as the heavy doors of the Audience Chamber were about to close, Victoria glanced back at me one final time through the narrowing gap. Those red eyes curved beautifully. There were no lip movements this time. She simply smiled.
Yet I understood the meaning of that smile with perfect clarity.
The doors shut. I remained rooted to the spot, unable to move for a long time.
…Hey, Kyle Lowenheim. This situation seems… far, far more screwed than I thought.
When the heavy doors of the Audience Chamber closed behind her, Victoria von Roseria walked down the corridor with flawless poise. Her back remained straight, her chin elegantly lifted, and the hem of her dress flowed like water with every step. Servants bowed hastily as she passed; she acknowledged them only absently, eyes fixed forward.
…Yet beneath that silk dress, her heart was pounding violently.
Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.
It felt ready to shatter her ribs and burst free. The rhythm was so loud she feared the maid walking beside her might hear it.
…How ridiculous.
Victoria laughed at herself inwardly. This body that had forced an entire continent to its knees. This body that had never once flinched before tens of thousands of enemy troops. To think it would race like this from nothing more than the sight of one man’s face.
Victoria knew exactly what this trembling meant. Not even on the final day of the conquest, when the last enemy capital’s gates opened and the entire continent knelt while chanting her name, had her heart beaten this wildly. Not when she placed the crown on her own head. Not when she was praised as the victorious princess. Not even when she was carved into history as the Rose Empress.
No moment of glory could compare to this single instant.
The moment that man standing like a decoration beside the throne had awkwardly called her “wise.”
Kyle.
Just thinking his name brought an involuntary smile to her lips. This time it was not an act. It was neither the fake coquettishness she displayed before the Emperor nor the chilling smile of a predator ensnaring prey. It was simply the smile of a woman in love.
Kyle Lowenheim.
Ah, Kyle. I have waited… only for you, all this time. How long has it been? What an endlessly long wait it was…
Victoria remembered every event of the future. Every moment that had already passed, which the fools of the present could never know. The day she soaked the throne in blood. The endless battlefields where she severed her father’s neck, placed the crown on her head, and burned the continent to ash. The cold nights when those who once stood beside her turned their backs one by one—or fell by her own hand. And finally, the long, long winter of sitting alone on an empty throne after claiming the entire world, feeling nothing at all.
All that glory had been nothing but ashes. It burned brilliantly, consumed everything around it, and in the end charred even herself pitch black. As the Empress who possessed everything, she had never once felt warmth.
…Not until she met that one person.
As Victoria continued walking, she quietly recalled the day they first met.