Beneath the Desk
Morning sunlight streamed through the windows. The office was quiet. Rubia sat at her desk, turning over documents. The faint scrape of a pen gliding across paper. The occasional rustle of a page. Nothing else.
Estelle stood near the window. She still wasn’t entirely sure what an exclusive knight was supposed to do in this position. It felt like the right place to be, so she remained there. If something happened, she would deal with it then.
She could see Rubia’s feet. The toes rested loosely against the floor with less tension than yesterday.
Not a bad state.
She had begun using the condition of those feet as a gauge only since yesterday. When she slipped under the desk, Rubia’s feet were at eye level. There had been no particular intention behind it. They were simply what she could see.
Tension means anxiety. Relaxation means improvement. Simple enough.
This scene wasn’t described in detail in volume one. Seeing it in person gave her a clearer sense of the reality. Throughout the paperwork, the tension in the toes shifted constantly. Today was better than yesterday.
Well, I don’t need to dwell on it.
The sound of turning pages continued. The pen paused, moved again, paused once more. In the distance, birds called from the garden. The morning flowed forward like any ordinary morning.
She glanced outside. Dew clung to the roses in the garden. A breeze stirred the petals, then everything stilled. It was a meticulously tended space. She looked away after a single glance.
That was when the door opened. No knock.
Estelle turned her gaze toward it. A close aide hurried in after the visitor, voice lowered in haste.
“Your Highness, Viscount Terence—”
It was already too late. The door stood wide open. Viscount Terence was stepping into the office. Two attendants followed close behind. High-collared formal attire. Shoes polished to a mirror shine. His expression remained impeccably courteous.
Estelle studied that face.
Ah. This man.
He was the noble who had pressured Rubia throughout volume one. Viscount Terence. A member of the 1st Prince’s faction. The type who dismantled opponents with words rather than direct force.
When she had read about him in the novel, he had simply seemed like a functional antagonist. Seeing him in person brought no particular feeling.
Rubia’s pen stopped. Only for a brief instant. Her eyes flicked toward Estelle—face, then desk. The desk. That single glance said everything.
The knight appointment should have been registered by now. The thought flashed through her mind. There was no time to ask questions. Rubia wanted her to hide, so she would hide.
Estelle dropped to her knees and slipped beneath the desk. The movement coincided almost perfectly with Viscount Terence fully entering the room.
One attendant’s polished shoe stopped directly beside her.
Estelle stared at it.
Impeccably timed.
It was dark and quiet under the desk. She drew her knees up and sat. The thick wooden surface pressed overhead like a lid. When she tilted her head back, she saw the smooth underside of the paneling. Wider than expected. It muted sound surprisingly well.
No different from yesterday. Nothing about it felt strange. From this position, all she could see were Rubia’s feet. That was the entirety of her world here.
Rubia’s feet appeared at eye level. Tension was already gathering in the toes.
“Your Highness the Princess, I apologize for this unannounced visit so early in the morning.” The voice was low and refined. “An urgent matter left me no choice but to call on you first. I beg your generous understanding.”
While the smooth words continued, Estelle watched the feet. The speed of the rising tension was accelerating.
“Sit.” Rubia’s reply was curt. Completely emotionless.
Terence’s shoes moved toward the chair. The attendants took positions by the door. Estelle counted the visible feet. Four pairs—Terence, two attendants, Rubia.
“The reason I came is to inquire about Your Highness’s thoughts on the upcoming assembly agenda.” Terence continued smoothly. “Specifically, the proposal to reexamine the clause concerning imperial succession order.”
Imperial succession order. Not a direct strike. A legal lever instead. The language stayed polite, yet the intent was unmistakable.
Rubia’s toes lifted from the floor. Muscles in the ankle tightened.
“His Highness the First Prince’s faction has requested review of the clause in the interest of imperial harmony. Naturally, Your Highness understands better than anyone that adhering to law and precedent is the duty of the imperial family.”
The toes rose higher. Estelle reached out without thinking. Her hand moved first. She wrapped her fingers gently around Rubia’s ankle. No pressure. Just contact.
Rubia’s foot froze, then slowly lowered. The toes brushed the floor once. The tension that had been building began to ebb.
Estelle observed it closely.
It works.
She had no idea why. She had simply reached out. Above the desk, the conversation about imperial succession continued. Beneath it, Estelle sat holding Rubia’s ankle.
This is bizarre. Still, if it was effective, that was enough. Rubia’s ankle no longer lifted.
She studied Terence’s shoes. The viscount appeared completely unaware.
“I wished to understand Your Highness’s position on the matter beforehand.”
“Assembly agendas are to be discussed in the assembly.” Rubia cut him off cleanly. Short. Precise.
Terence paused for half a breath, then resumed. “Of course, that is correct. However, would it not benefit both sides to gauge Your Highness’s intentions prior to the official session? Unexpected clashes would only result in unnecessary exhaustion for everyone involved—”
“I will convey my intentions at the assembly.” She cut him off a second time.
Silence fell. Estelle watched Rubia’s feet. Tension rose, eased slightly, then returned. The ankle continued its quiet cycle of strain against her palm.
“Your Highness the Princess, rumors have begun circulating recently regarding certain members of your staff at the imperial banquet.” Terence changed direction.
When direct pressure fails, he circles around the side.
“Rumors?”
“Indeed. Whispers suggest that some of Your Highness’s close aides have been less than transparent in financial matters. Naturally, I prefer to believe these are groundless. Yet if such talk spreads within the imperial court, it could complicate Your Highness’s position considerably.”
Rubia’s ankle tensed sharply. Estelle pressed her thumb lightly against the bone. The foot stilled, then gradually relaxed again.
Estelle mentally catalogued Terence’s attacks: imperial succession clause, close aides, financial handling. The angle shifted each time, yet every strike targeted Rubia’s immediate surroundings.
He’s testing the perimeter first. How annoying.
Not a direct attempt to topple her, but a methodical shaking of everything around her. Estelle studied the viscount’s motionless shoes. He stood with perfect composure.
“I am certain Your Highness would prefer these rumors not spread. If both sides could cooperate on this issue, we might discover a mutually beneficial path forward—”
“Viscount Terence.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“What is the purpose of your visit today?”
“As I have already explained—”
“I will ask once more. What is the purpose of your visit today?”
The same question, yet the weight had changed.
A brief silence. Then Terence laughed—audible only in the soft exhale.
“I came merely to confirm Your Highness’s well-being. Nothing more.”
Estelle heard the words. Not a single tremor in his voice.
The sound of Terence rising from his chair followed. “I will take my leave for today. I pray for Your Highness’s continued good health.”
Footsteps retreated. The attendants followed. The door closed. The office fell silent once more.
Estelle released her grip. She crawled out from beneath the desk, brushed off her knees, and stood.
Rubia looked down at her. Estelle looked up. Neither spoke.
Estelle broke the silence first. “The registration wasn’t incomplete, was it?”
Rubia regarded her for a moment. “The cards Terence already knows cannot be played.”
That was all. Rubia offered no further explanation, and none seemed necessary. The fact that Estelle had just been hiding beneath the desk was answer enough. The issue wasn’t registration. The moment Terence realized Estelle stood at Rubia’s side, she would become another piece on the board. Rubia had simply delayed that recognition.
Rubia glanced at her once more, then returned her attention to the documents.
In the novel, Rubia had been portrayed as a cold and formidable princess. That description still fit. Yet the feeling Estelle had sensed through her ankle didn’t match the word “cold.” There was something else there—something she couldn’t quite name.
I can think about it later.
Estelle looked down at her own hand. The hand that had touched Rubia’s ankle. Warmth still lingered on her skin.
She had reached out before her mind could form a reason. It hadn’t been intentional. It had simply happened.
Strange.
She didn’t know what felt strange about it. Estelle looked away.
Rubia picked up another document and lifted her pen. Her toes rested loosely against the floor again.
Estelle turned to return to her place by the window but paused.
That noble changes his angle of attack every time. The points differed, yet the target remained the same—everything surrounding Rubia. If she could identify the common thread, she might predict where he would strike next. She filed the observation away.
He’ll come again.
Terence had gained nothing tangible today. Yet he had left looking satisfied. That detail lingered uncomfortably.
Rubia had cut him off both times. Nothing had worked. Still, Terence had smiled as he withdrew. His voice never wavered.
If the goal was to test reactions, today was a success. He had learned how Rubia responded to certain points, where she paused, where she cut in. The next visit would be far more precise.
What a bothersome man.
She felt no real fear. Only irritation.
The sound of Rubia’s pen gliding across paper resumed. Estelle returned to her spot by the window—the same place as before. Morning light now bathed the rose garden. The dew had already dried.
She clenched and unclenched her fist. The warmth remained. The sensation should have faded by now. Yet it lingered in her memory with strange persistence.
Outside, a gardener entered the garden carrying shears. He lifted them, snipped one branch. The stem fell to the ground. He never glanced at it. The shears moved immediately to the next branch.
Estelle watched.
She wasn’t thinking of anything in particular.
…I don’t know.
The thought ended there.
A voice came from beyond the door.
“Your Highness. Viscount Terence’s side has proposed another visit. They say additional attendees will be present this time.”
Rubia’s pen stopped. Estelle heard it too. Attendees.