His Majesty Can Wait

No sooner had Ian and I agreed to the marriage, and I set foot in the Tyrone ducal house, than an imperial edict arrived ordering me to present myself at the palace at once.

To someone who had only just risen from her first night's sleep under that roof, it was a bolt from the blue.

"……What? I'm to enter the palace?"

"Yes. His Majesty the Emperor is waiting."

Even so, as if the place were his own—which, of course, it was—Ian stood before me in nothing but a shirt, his golden hair still in disarray. Damp and glistening, it shone a deep, pure gold.

He's handsome with his hair down, too.

If the version of him with every strand swept impeccably back was as striking as Ares, god of war, then this one, curls left loose and tousled, had the fresh, youthful charm of Eros, god of love.

Oh—now is hardly the time to admire that face.

I patted my cheeks with my palms and looked at him again. As though it were the most natural thing in the world, he sat down at the table in the middle of my room, and the maid who had followed him in began lifting plates from the tray one by one and setting them out.

Don't tell me this is breakfast.

An imperial edict had come down from the palace, and he meant to eat as if nothing were amiss?

When I stared at him in sheer disbelief, Ian only shrugged.

"We're to be married now. Shouldn't we at least take breakfast together?"

"I don't mind that part, but……."

His character seemed even more shameless than I had thought.

Before I quite knew what I was doing, I sat down across from him. It was a simple, ordinary breakfast: a properly cooked eggs Benedict and a little salad.

Perhaps because I was tense, I felt no hunger at all. I gazed blankly at my plate, then spoke as Ian leisurely took up his fork and knife.

"Didn't you say His Majesty is waiting?"

There was a reason I kept mentioning the Emperor, no matter how many times Ian assured me it was fine.

He was a frightening man.

By the time I had firmly established myself as a duchess, the throne had already passed to the crown prince, Statis. Not because the emperor had died.

He handed over the throne early and watched over her until imperial authority was secured beyond challenge.

There were, surprisingly, a great many fools in the world who thought her easy prey merely because the emperor was a woman.

The present emperor, having seen that future clearly, had not only carried out a bloody purge. He had made himself the Former Emperor and, from behind the scenes, personally undertaken every task certain to earn him curses.

Which is why Romeo was forever whining that he was being bullied.

But how many people in the world could raise their voices at me over the hardships of living among in-laws? One cool glare from me, and Romeo's complaining had shrunk away at once.

Thinking of the emperor brought my friend Romeo naturally to mind—the man who had become the emperor's son-in-law and, in doing so, secured my own position.

Still, I was lucky to have Romeo. Then, and now.

That I could sit at leisure over a breakfast tray in the Tyrone house at all was entirely thanks to Romeo spreading the rumors exactly as I had asked.

My friendship with Romeo had been fodder for loose tongues even in the past. That we had been able to go on sharing it all the same was thanks to a public declaration from Emperor Statis.

"My husband and the Duchess of Parnel are truly nothing more than friends. Let there be no further mention of the matter."

His Majesty was an extraordinary person, too.

Even as a duchess overseeing a single house I was this exhausted—how did one manage an entire nation? In my heart, I quietly paid Emperor Statis my respects.

It was Ian who dragged me back to the present.

"What are you thinking about?"

"Ah……."

I lifted my head sluggishly. Ian was staring straight through me with those clear, sky-bright eyes of his. I traced a slow circle along the rim of my plate with my fork as I answered.

"I was wondering what I ought to say to His Majesty."

"Say it the way you did in front of me. You spoke well enough. You weren't even nervous."

"Haha."

I laughed without a shred of soul in it. I had been able to speak so freely to Ian because I knew his character, at least to some degree. The Emperor could not help but be different.

When I went on stabbing at salad leaves without actually eating, Ian propped his chin on his hand and asked in a languid voice.

"What were you planning to do if you couldn't marry me?"

"What do you mean?"

I raised my head and met his eyes again. He folded his fingers one by one as he made himself clearer.

"You stood before all those people and, at the top of your voice, announced the two of us as if it were already settled. What were you going to do if, in the end, you couldn't marry me?"

What could I have done? I shrugged.

"Then the mothers-in-law would have driven me out on their own."

I might not have left with all my limbs intact. That ignorant menace of ours would probably have thrown a flowerpot, thrown a bag, and beaten me black and blue on the way out the door.

Picturing the scene soured my appetite all over again, and I frowned. It was no impossible fancy. In my previous life, that same ignorant menace really had packed my belongings and flung them out the door.

But Ian took my words the wrong way. He tapped the table with a finger and asked.

"The Florence family's debts are all settled, so you'll go back?"

"As if."

Viscount Florence. Our father, who had lost every last coin to the pharmaceutical trade and then gone into business selling his own daughters.

The seat of Duchess of Parnel glittered brightly, but it was also a place the high nobility shunned. Should the duke die on the battlefield, a woman became a widow without ever having seen her husband's face.

The man who had succeeded in that daughter-trade while demanding a fortune for her was none other than our father.

"Even with a knife at my throat, I will not set foot in that house of my own accord. And don't you go showing any interest in them just because they're your in-laws. They're not worth so much as a glance."

"Hm."

I was not speaking for effect. Even if our father dropped dead far from home, I had no intention of so much as looking his way.

At my rather cynical answer, Ian knit his brows and muttered.

"The more you talk, the less I can make sense of you. It seems you've lived a terribly unhappy life……."

Those glass-blue, glittering eyes turned on me.

Seems, and then what.

I folded my arms.

"Why did you stop halfway?"

"It's nothing."

I had been waiting to hear what sort of insult was coming, but Ian turned the subject aside with perfect smoothness.

"Please, eat. The potato soup is getting a skin."

I looked down at the bowl again. Just as he said, a thin film was forming on the surface. But what was I supposed to do about it? I still had no appetite.

I had picked up the spoon, only to set it down again as I asked.

"No, I'm truly worried. His Majesty is waiting, and we're sitting here leisurely eating breakfast? Shouldn't we be running there this instant?"

"He's probably beside himself with amusement by now. What harm is a little delay? Even the waiting will be a pleasure for him."

"I see."

So he was dying of entertainment. Having taken the Emperor's measure, I let out a sigh.

Still, if he can talk like that, it really must be all right.

Then I might as well just eat.

Only then did I take a spoonful, and the soup tasted so utterly different from anything I had eaten at the Parnel ducal house that I felt, all over again, that I had stepped onto another path in life.

I had thought we would leave for the palace the moment the meal was done, but it was one mountain after another. No sooner had we finished eating than I found myself facing a thin, cantankerous-looking old woman who had come to call.

"Good day, my lady. I am Romanna, head maid, acting in charge of all the domestic affairs of this house."

Already my lady?

When I shot Ian a reluctant glance, he was calmly drinking his tea.

He doesn't look it, but he has a quiet drive.

Already my lady. In any case, it seemed to be a form of address he had permitted, so I nodded and accepted the greeting as if it were perfectly natural.

"A pleasure, madam."

But I could not stay composed at what came next.

"The tailor is waiting for you, my lady. This way, please."

"The tailor?"

What on earth was this? I whirled toward Ian. He answered with perfect ease.

"You must see His Majesty, and all of your clothes are still at House Parnel, are they not?"

"But he's waiting……."

Make the emperor wait while I had clothes fitted? And when would those clothes even be finished so I could wear them there?

I doubt they'd be done even by tomorrow.

Dumbfounded, I looked at Ian. He, however, could not have been calmer. I sighed through my nose.

Fine. I give up.

If he could be this brazen, it really must be all right. I rose and jerked my chin at the head maid.

"All right. Lead the way."

The moment we started to walk, Ian set down his teacup and followed after us.

Does he mean to watch even the fitting?

It seemed the Duke of Tyrone had nothing better to do. Then again, James had always seemed to have more time on his hands than I did.

Even so, James never trailed after me for fittings and the like.

Had we even taken breakfast together? I couldn't remember. I let out a deep sigh.

We really did nothing together but sleep.

Thinking of it that way, this side seemed far better. Nodding to myself over the rightness of my choice, I followed the head maid.

The place she led me to was the very drawing room where, only yesterday, I had debated whether I would sleep at all. Several kinds of fabric were already spread out there, along with a few sample dresses brought as examples.

A tailor wearing a monocle, a pencil tucked behind his ear, bowed his head.

"Good day."

He offered the greeting and nothing after it. He clearly had no idea how he ought to address me. I held my chin high and answered.

"You may call me Lady Florence."

"Good day, Lady Florence."

Strictly speaking, we were not married yet. Ian sat down on the drawing-room sofa as if it were only natural. The tailor held out a dress of a blue so vivid it stung the eyes, and a purple one besides.

Even at a glance, they were not designs chosen with me in mind. I shook my head.

"Please select something in the wine family. Salmon pink would do just as well."

"Are you matching it to the color of your eyes, my lady? But His Grace……."

The tailor glanced openly at Ian, taking his measure. I asked, loudly enough to be heard on purpose.

"We're not even married yet. Is there any need to match?"

At the bold remark, the tailor flinched. Ian, however, leaning back against the sofa, answered in a tone that suggested the matter was of no importance at all.

"Do as you please."

"You heard him?"

When I gave the man a look, he finally bowed his head and withdrew. I named the styles and colors I liked without the slightest hesitation.

And all the while, Ian was gazing steadily at me.