The Empire's Flower Arrives
Of course we had to receive her properly. As the Third Princess disembarked, people began pouring out of the cars behind hers in droves. Knights in golden uniforms that looked like the Imperial Guard, terrified servants, and high-ranking officials from the capital.
“L-Lord Lut Ja-sak of the Deriman family greets Your Highness, the Empire's Flower! This humble and modest territory is under my rule as lord of Ron Manir... It is the greatest honor to meet you, Your Highness...!”
The lord bowed almost to the ground in perfect etiquette, and the Third Princess subtly shifted her gaze.
Soon enough, an odd vibe flickered in her eyes. Did she hate bald guys?
It wasn't a random suspicion—genuine irritation flashed briefly in those amber eyes.
“Rahaspel Grand Duke, allow me to greet you formally.”
At that moment, an elderly man who had followed the princess down stepped up beside her.
“I am Bardovan Sernt, Count and Captain of the Imperial Guard currently attending Her Highness. For you to come out to greet us personally... Her Highness deeply appreciates Your Grace's unwavering loyalty to the Empire. We are truly grateful, Your Grace.”
He offered a proper bow as well, but the implications of his words were entirely different. This was noble-speak in action.
Unwavering loyalty to the Empire... They knew damn well I'd spent most of my life stuck on the Northern Frontline.
I placed my hand on the sword at my waist to return the greeting to the Third Princess, but she waved it off dismissively, as if to stop me.
“Ah, enough. You don't need to bother with formalities like that, Grand Duke. The situation's what it is, right? Besides, I'm not one to fuss over that stuff anyway. Just be comfortable.”
“Is that so.”
The princess nodded.
“It means you can speak freely. Well, not too freely... Don't get too close or anything. I've had enough of that to last a lifetime. Sigh, anyway, this is exhausting. I'm not even in the mood to chat.”
Her face soured, as if unpleasant memories had resurfaced. Even so, her porcelain skin remained stunningly beautiful.
I remembered now. Why all those male leads fell for the Third Princess.
In high-society circles obsessed with propriety, her straightforward, easygoing nature stood out. It was pretty refreshing, as I recalled—charming all those mysterious, noble heroes with her sharp tongue.
Not just her tongue, though. Looking at that flawless, ethereal face...
I nodded and spoke.
“I've heard news that the capital has fallen.”
“……!”
In an instant, a chilling silence formed, heavy enough to feel on my skin.
I continued without a care.
“His Imperial Majesty's safety is of grave concern. Is His Majesty unharmed?”
The princess stared at me, her face twisted as if speechless. The Guard Captain did the same.
But she'd told me to speak freely, so I did.
They'd fled here themselves—denying the capital's fall outright would be impossible. Admitting it, though, would shatter the imperial family's symbolic weight. It was like asking the chairman's daughter, “Hey, didn't the head office go bankrupt?” after the main company tanked.
“Your Grace.”
I answered the Guard Captain immediately.
“What is it?”
“…….”
At my prompt reply, he couldn't continue. Or rather, he wouldn't.
Murmurs swelled from behind. Court nobles, counts, ladies—all famous figures from the capital, from a quick glance.
“Excuse me, Rahaspel Grand Duke.”
One of them approached. A noblewoman in a black dress, skirt fluttering. Her heels clicked sharply. Clutching her hem to keep it from dragging, she hurried toward me.
She might have looked frantic, but her poise was impeccable.
Overall, an elegant, refined beauty. The faint lines of age on her face couldn't be hidden, though.
“I am the widow of Duke Valua. Belliche de Fon Valua. We've met a few times, haven't we? I was quite close with the previous family head.”
Dowager Duchess Valua.
The iron lady who dominated high society even after losing her husband young. I'd heard of her, and spotted her occasionally in the capital.
“What is it?”
“Her Highness has endured a long flight and horrific tragedy; her mind and body are not fully recovered. Your Grace, please arrange accommodations for Her Highness and us nobles at once.”
“Accommodations?”
“Yes. Surely. You've defended the Northern Frontline admirably all these years; I trust you know the proper protocols without instruction.”
“Hmm, accommodations.”
“Yes, of course... That's a given, isn't it...?”
“Hold on.”
I cut her off deliberately.
“Vice-Captain.”
Simple reason. The 7th Knight Division's vice-captain was standing right beside me.
With the captain getting emergency treatment, it was time for next steps.
“Take them to Ron Manir's hospital. Or the monastery if it's closer.”
“Understood, Your Grace.”
Only then did I glance alternately at the princess and the duchess, recalling their words—
Accommodations. She'd demanded accommodations? For those worn out from the long flight and horrors?
“That doesn't seem like something for you to press, Madam.”
“Wh-what? Your Grace...!”
The nobles watching from behind gasped in unison. As the duchess bristled, I ignored her and turned to the princess.
Her bold demeanor from earlier was gone, replaced by a glare. Her lips trembled too.
She seemed about to speak, but I cut in first.
“Accommodations are prepared at the Grand Duke's Residence. It's a short carriage ride.”
Providing shelter to legitimize her claim.
It was the obvious procedure, unspoken.
The nobles apparently didn't see my near-treasonous rudeness that way...
“Please follow me.”
At my order, the 7th Knight Division smoothly took positions beside the Imperial Guard, escorting the nobles. The princess's widening eyes met mine briefly before I turned and walked away.
With the capital's fall, what happened to the surviving imperial family? The emperor's whereabouts, unknown even to scouts? And the First Prince, unmentioned in the exile talks?
No matter that troops had been exiled north for over a decade, the capital was the capital. What were its garrison forces doing now? How were nearby territories responding? Ultimately, what of the Apostles of the Evil God's identities and whereabouts?
By the time we reached the Grand Duke's Residence together in the carriage, a dozen questions ping-ponged in my head like pinballs.
Of course, I couldn't pry right away.
First, I needed to gauge the princess and her nobles' intentions. Whether the capital's stray dogs would follow northern laws—or not.
From the platform fiasco, I leaned toward no.
Especially the Guard Captain and knights—they'd surely realized their disadvantageous position.
Ironically, the biggest threat right now wasn't devils or the imperial family.
It was our 20,000 knights.
If those 20,000 knights splintered or turned on each other over the princess as a focal point, it'd be better to just let the devils wipe us out. She was a timed bomb, potentially dragging in massive variables.
Whether she really could... that's debatable.
After arriving at the residence, I had servants serve the princess a meal first.
Note: not a banquet.
Recalling details precisely, her easygoing personality came to mind.
So, yeah, it was probably a scene like that.
...This is all the north has to offer—pitiful fare. Your Highness, just return to the palace. This is no ploy.
Whatever. As long as it's edible, who cares? It's not poisoned.
...Such recklessness.
I said enough. It's good, actually. Decent enough. So eat up, Grand Duke. It's really tasty to me.
What an annoying woman. A royal with no decorum...
Something like that from the northern duke's narration, for sure.
“...Is this all the food?”
The princess scanned the table disdainfully.
Was novel and reality different after all? Hmm. I nodded and replied.
“The most nutritious fare the north has to offer. It doesn't suit Your Highness's tastes, I see. I'll order something else.”
“No need.”
She cut me off with clear contempt, then hesitantly picked up her fork.
“Just like the rumors.”
“Pardon?”
“Murder ghost. The north's heartless beast. No betrothals thanks to that temperament.”
She bit into a steak slice and glared up at me.
“Not as hideous-faced as imagined, though. Last I saw was years ago? Whatever, not important now.”
Of course. And if she truly grasped that reality, she wouldn't have said it.
I narrowed my eyes, watching her eat absently.
One lingering doubt: Was this composure high-level political acting, or her genuine self?
If the former, things would get tricky. Even I couldn't read her yet—that alone was a variable.
“Still, ignorant is ignorant. I may not fuss over etiquette, but the capital's fall... ha, you think that's the first thing to say to the person who lived it?”
She chewed, then scolded me mid-bite.
“Do you even know how long the train to the north takes, Grand Duke? Over a week... no, five days... anyway, we did it in three.”
“I only asked for His Majesty's sake.”
“…….”
She swallowed her steak, awkwardly licking greasy lips. She drank water to wash it down.
“That... thanks. Loyalty to my father.”
She sighed.
“Still, wrong is wrong. We all broke through that nightmare. Everyone's exhausted, hurting. Me too. Basic human decency before etiquette.”
Reliving the horror, she vented bluntly. Lips twisted, jaw quivering faintly.
I let silence drag deliberately.
“Not answering?”
“…….”
“Answer me. Rahaspel Grand Duke. Sigh, a grown man so clueless...”
From her words, it clicked faintly.
Her true self.
Unbound by formality, direct, commanding unlike other ladies—the heroine's personality that delivered catharsis in a pink romance fantasy choked with political bullshit, backed by her imperial status and stunning beauty.
In other words, not some ploy to seize northern reins under imperial orders.
The proof was clear.
If I'd misread, she wouldn't bare her emotions like this. Wouldn't demand answers to my baffling silence.
Maybe I'd overlooked the romance-fantasy backdrop too much.
Her background was the imperial family. An imperial scion, the Empire's Flower.
Everyone cowered or yielded before her—that was the norm.
Finally, light dawned in my head.
I thought briefly, then offered an apology.
“If it came off that way, I'm sorry. I apologize, Your Highness.”
I dipped my head slightly, and she hummed thoughtfully. Surprised by my straightforward contrition, probably.
Her delicate white fingers gripped her skirt, then she let out a disbelieving laugh, almost relieved. Like reclaiming her fragile authority.
“...Finally got it, huh. Quick on the uptake.”
She readjusted her fork.
“Don't do it again. At least while I'm around. This is a warning. The Empire's shield... so rigid.”
Transparent as a greenhouse flower.
I lifted my head, glancing at the Guard Captain's paling face. The capital's old wolf had grasped my apology's intent quick enough, wheels turning fast.
In truth, any scramble for northern interests would pit me against that crafty captain, not the princess.
But that wouldn't happen.
“Guard Captain, my apologies to you too. Sorry for the rudeness earlier.”
“…….”
No reply from him. The princess answered instead.
“Enough, Rahaspel Grand Duke. Let it go. I said I get it. I just want to eat in peace.”
Yeah, eat quietly.
I'll use you after all.
Rofan’s over, you bastard.