A Tyrant?
A tyrant?
Knock, knock.
"Chief Chamberlain, I'm here."
"...Come in."
A curt voice answered from within. The moment permission was granted, I opened the door and stepped inside.
The Chief Chamberlain had been working through a stack of documents. He glanced up at me once, then shook his head.
"I did tell you to arrive by eleven, and yet you are the first servant I have ever seen walk in at eleven on the dot."
There was no admiration in his voice. Only mockery.
"Haha. You flatter me."
"That was not a compliment."
"...Yes, sir."
What's got this old goat so sour today? He was several times pickier than usual. Watching him, I clicked my tongue inwardly.
"Your duty is one thing only. Become Her Highness the Crown Princess's shadow, and carry out her every command."
"I see. But, Chief Chamberlain."
I put on the most innocent face I could manage and asked the truly important question.
"Might I ask what time we usually get off?"
The instant the question left my mouth, the Chief Chamberlain's face flushed scarlet.
"You insolent wretch! On your very first day as personal attendant to Her Highness the First Crown Princess, you dare speak of quitting time? That head of yours holds not a single thought of work—only schemes for idling and stuffing your face!"
The roar was loud enough to make the desk ring.
"Hehe. Even so, isn't quitting time the most vital matter in a working man's life?"
"You—!"
The Chief Chamberlain clutched the back of his neck, looking one breath short of collapsing.
"What in the world was the Chancellor thinking... bringing a wastrel like this into the Imperial Palace..."
He was treating me like a hopeless washout. Perfect. The act was landing exactly as intended.
There was a reason I was playing the incompetent on purpose. When the day came to bow out with a meek I don't think this work suits me, I wanted everyone nodding along as if they'd seen it coming all along. Call it groundwork. Of course, I still had to stay well clear of offending the princess.
After a long stretch of huffing, the Chief Chamberlain finally swallowed his anger on a deep sigh.
"Her Highness is in her office at present. A maid is waiting outside. Follow her, and she will guide you. Do not entertain so much as a thought of stepping out of line."
"Yes. I'll work hard, just as you've taught me."
"Mark this well. Her Highness's dignity matters a thousand times—no, ten thousand times—more than your worthless life. Any act that stains Her Highness's honor is absolutely—"
The lecture dragged on for another thirty miserable minutes after that.
Damn old goat. A little seniority and he thinks he can work a man to death. Part of me wanted to forget rank and talk back, but that would have been my neck flying first. In the end, all I could do in front of a fossil like him was flatter him just enough—or, as I was doing now, play the complete washout and get under his skin.
Swallowing my resentment, I stepped outside. A maid waiting in the corridor bowed her head.
"I will guide you to Her Highness."
"Please do."
Out of habit I lifted the corner of my mouth into a small smile, and at once her cheeks flushed the color of a ripe peach.
"...Y-yes!"
Startled, she dropped her gaze to the floor, spun on her heel, and set off at a brisk walk. It was rather cute.
Did they staff the entire Imperial Palace with fairies? Every last one of them is beautiful.
Come to think of it, Count Garen Valmore had said as much once. Those who worked in the palace were chosen first for house and background, but looks mattered nearly as much—for the dignity of the imperial house, or so the story went. The strange part was that the male attendants didn't look particularly handsome to me.
Every one of them is the rugged, manly type. Maybe this world's idea of handsome was simply looking like a proper man. Then again, when I recalled the greasy young noblemen I sometimes spotted around the palace, that theory fell apart too. I couldn't pin down the standard of beauty at all.
Not that it's any of my business. I was going to sit at the top of this world's looks ranking anyway. Other men's faces could be whatever they liked.
There was only one thing I needed to watch for here.
Just stay out of romantic messes.
Catfights between women were the last thing I wanted. Get pulled into one, and my entire plan for a peaceful life could go up in smoke. Romance, handled with the utmost care. Anyone with real power, kept at the utmost distance. I repeated the vow like a spell.
At last I arrived before the enormous doors of the office where the princess conducted her daily business.
Knock, knock.
I swallowed dryly, rapped on the door, and spoke in the most respectful voice I could muster.
"Your Highness, Ethan, attendant of the Imperial Palace. May I come in?"
After a brief silence, a voice came from beyond the door.
"...Enter."
"Yes."
With a groan, the heavy door opened, and I stepped inside.
The first thing to greet me was a fragrance—not merely incense, but the aroma of freshly steeped tea, the smell of old parchment, and a faint floral note, all woven together into something quietly intellectual. Massive oil paintings of heroic sagas hung along the walls in gilded frames, and sunlight through the windows gleamed across luxurious furniture so polished that not a speck of dust remained.
At the center of it all were two women. One was Christina de Erzsebet, the guard knight, standing firm in her uniform. The other, buried under a mountain of documents and driving her pen without pause, was the Crown Princess, Evangeline de Babel.
...This is the Iron-Blooded Empress?
She looked nothing like the bloodless, tearless tyrant the original story had described. To my eyes she was only a pitiful girl, crushed by work far too heavy for an age when she ought to have been out playing. Granted, it was a burden she had brought on herself out of ambition for the imperial throne.
Then Evangeline set down her pen and rose. Unable to hide her exhaustion, she walked to the sofa and dropped into it.
"Sit."
She jerked her chin toward the sofa opposite.
Was I actually allowed to sit? They weren't going to take my head for insolence, were they? A thousand thoughts flashed through me in that brief instant, but refusing a crown princess's order was the surest way to lose one's head. I approached quietly and lowered myself onto the sofa with care.
And then my eyes met Evangeline's head-on.
"...!"
In that moment, the red eyes that had always been cold and rational wavered, ever so slightly. Lips that were always firmly shut parted a fraction, as if of their own accord. As though trying to hide her fluster, Evangeline hurriedly dropped her gaze. Her usual icy composure was nowhere to be found. A faint blush bloomed across her snow-white cheeks.
I couldn't make sense of the scene unfolding in front of me.
What kind of reaction is this?
Nowhere in the original novel was there a description like this. The Iron-Blooded Empress was a woman of ice, unshaken before any man. Evangeline, flustered? Embarrassed? Impossible. I couldn't tell what she was thinking, or what she might do next. I couldn't predict a thing.
Just then a maid entered with a tray and set teacups down before us. Fragrant black tea, a deep reddish hue.
It was Evangeline who broke the silence.
"Drink."
She still couldn't quite meet my eyes. Her voice was small.
"Yes."
I lifted the cup with a trembling hand and took a sip.
The aroma... it's incredibly rich. I wasn't much of a tea drinker, but this was different. Not a trace of bitterness—a swallow as smooth as velvet, followed by a delicate floral note that was nothing short of exquisite.
Then Evangeline carefully raised her head and met my eyes.
"...Is it to your taste?"
"Huh? Ah—yes. It's the best."
The answer slipped out before I could think, and a faint smile touched her lips.
"Hehe. I'm glad. I was a little worried it might not suit you."
......Huh?
Something was going very, very wrong here.
Worried? That Evangeline—the Iron-Blooded Empress—worried over a single attendant? In the original she was ruthless, a woman who wouldn't spare a subordinate's well-being so much as a speck of dust. A tyrant who wouldn't hesitate to take a head on the spot if someone displeased her.
Is it different because this is the past? Maybe we simply hadn't reached the point in the original story yet. A person's character can change as much as it likes with time. The Evangeline before me might still be unfinished—a tyrant whose tyrant's face had yet to take shape.
"Your name... was Ethan, was it not?"
"Yes, Your Highness."
"Very well, Ethan. You may treat me with ease. We are to see each other every day from now on, are we not?"
"Even so, how could I dare, before Your Highness..."
"It is an order."
Her voice was firm. And yet, more than pressure, there was something shy mixed into it.
I stared blankly at Evangeline. No matter how I looked, this was not the Evangeline I knew. Kind, considerate, and even prone to blushing. What in the world was going on?
My mind was bleaching white when she broke the silence and asked, carefully.
"Where did you come from? Have you been in the capital long?"
Personal details, out of nowhere? Didn't she already know all of this? Or maybe she just wanted the conversation to continue, and was tossing out whatever came to mind. Might as well play along.
"It's been a little over a month since I came to the capital. Before that, I drifted through various regions."
"Drifted... Then your family..."
"My parents died of an epidemic when I was young. I've been alone ever since."
I recited the orphan backstory I had prepared in advance, as calmly as I could. Most nobles, hearing an answer like that, lost interest and cut the conversation short. They might pity you, but they wouldn't involve themselves any deeper.
Her reaction shattered my expectations once again.
"You must have suffered a great deal."
There wasn't a shred of pretense or calculation in her voice. Only pure sympathy, and comfort. For a moment I had nothing to say.
...This isn't an act.
Then only one possibility remained. The major events of the original hadn't broken yet. This was her before the betrayals and the secret struggles twisted her out of shape. Yes. The Evangeline in front of me was simply a gentle crown princess.
I'll think of it that way. It's much easier on the heart.
I forced myself to a conclusion. For now, the best course was to go along with what was in front of me.
"I'm all right, Your Highness. It's all in the past."
When I managed a smile, she looked at me with pity for a moment, then nodded.
"Yes... From now on, live comfortably here. If you need anything, say so at any time."
"Your grace is boundless, Your Highness."
After that, an unbelievably peaceful routine set in.
My main duty was to drink tea with Evangeline once a day and talk. The rest of the time, I sat on the office sofa and blankly watched her wrestle a mountain of documents. That was the whole of my life in the Imperial Palace.
If one called it comfortable, it was comfortable beyond words. But sitting there doing nothing, staring into space, left me feeling as if I were perched on a cushion of thorns, my whole body aching.
What drove me especially mad was her gaze.
Scratch, scratch.
Now and then, mid-stroke of her pen, Evangeline would lift her head and steal a glance at me. The moment it seemed our eyes might meet, she startled and dropped her gaze back to the papers. By this point, even someone as slow on the uptake as me had no choice but to reach a single conclusion.
Don't tell me... has Evangeline fallen for me?
The instant the thought landed, a chill crawled up my spine.
I knew the Evangeline of the original novel—her cruelty, her ruthlessness. Maybe that was why I had been looking at her only through the filter of tyrant. But the moment I plugged in the assumption that she had fallen for me, every question until now came undone. Treatment on a completely different level from the other attendants. Excessive consideration aimed at me, and those awkward glances she couldn't quite hide. Every action made sense.
An ordinary man would be leaping for joy. The empire's crown princess, fallen for him—what a dream that would be. But I was not an ordinary man.
Fuck. A commoner catches a royal's eye, and then what am I supposed to do with it?
Young noblemen might be another story. They had the status for it; they could court a royal, or even marry one. I was a commoner. Nothing more than a servant. Even if Evangeline truly liked me, the people around her would never leave me alone. Assassination threats from nobles blinded by jealousy. Pressure from old men droning on about the authority of the imperial house. Every one of those arrows would end up pointed at the weakest target: me.
No. Get a grip.
I shook my head and drove the delusion off.
For now, I move exactly according to the original plan.
Nine months left. A hundred gold a month, a thousand gold in all, and then I leave quietly. That was my only way of surviving this lethally dangerous Imperial Palace.
...Of course, whether things would actually go the way I wanted was another matter entirely.