Episode 10
When Kirta handed the papers back, Lentia accepted them with as calm an expression as she could muster, desperately hiding the turmoil within—her pounding heart, the churning in her stomach, and the swelling tightness in her chest.
“Please understand that I drafted this agreement solely in the Imperial language. I’ve not yet had the opportunity to learn your country’s tongue. However, I hope to study it when formal diplomatic relations are established between our nations,” she said.
“Then I suppose I could teach you myself,” Kirta replied with a gentle smile.
Lentia, believing it to be a mere pleasantry, responded courteously,
“I would be honored if you would.”
For a while, the two focused solely on the agreement. Lentia patiently explained complex terms in simple language, while Kirta, his expression serious, asked questions whenever needed.
The process took over an hour. By the time they finished, the tea had cooled, and the cookies had dried out, but neither had
noticed. At that moment, they were not individuals sharing a room but leaders, each focused on the needs of their respective nations.
“The draft seems satisfactory with these revisions. Based on today’s discussion, I’ll prepare a revised version for your review. Once you approve it, we can finalize the document. The final version will be written in both the Imperial language and your own,” Lentia said.
“Excellent,” Kirta replied.
“Following the agreement’s announcement, a memorial service will be held. I would ask that you and your people attend. During the service, I will again apologize for the Imperial soldiers’ actions in killing your delegation and take full responsibility for the conflict’s cause. I would also ask that you prepare a eulogy for the Imperial soldiers.”
Lentia’s voice was steady as she continued, her gaze unwavering.
“I am not asking you to apologize. If you believe the actions you and your people took were justified, you need not deny that. But I ask that you show sorrow for the Imperial lives that were lost. Acknowledge that they, too, were living, breathing people like yourselves. Only by doing so can we hope to build a genuine friendship in the future.”
Kirta’s expression softened, and he gave a solemn nod.
“I understand. I promise to truly mourn for the fallen soldiers of Lekeon.”
As a man raised as a warrior, Kirta deeply understood the weight of life and death. Though he did not regret the bloodshed, the sorrow for the lives lost was real.
Lentia, seeing the sincerity in his clear, earnest eyes, decided to trust him.
“Thank you, Kirta,” she said, bowing her head in gratitude. He returned the gesture with equal respect.
With most of the crucial matters settled, Kirta had one lingering question.
“By the way, Your Majesty the Empress,” he began.
“Yes, lord Kirta?”
“When will His Majesty the Emperor return?”
Though his tone was casual, there was a trace of sarcasm in his words. Despite his admiration for the Empire’s culture and the
empress’s wisdom, Kirta held little respect for the emperor, whom he saw as a coward.
Lentia’s reaction, however, was peculiar. For the first time, her composed demeanor faltered, and her face turned pale.
Kirta, sharp-eyed as ever, immediately noticed.
“Is something amiss?” he pressed.
Lentia quickly masked her discomfort.
“His Majesty sustained minor injuries during the evacuation. He is currently recovering in a private residence and will return to the palace once fully healed.”
“Minor injuries?” Kirta asked softly, his tone laced with skepticism.
Lentia’s answer had come so smoothly that it seemed rehearsed, which only heightened his suspicion.
“Are you sure? Or is there something you’re not telling me?” Kirta added bluntly.
Raised as a warrior and a hunter, Kirta had no patience for the diplomatic subtleties of court. He preferred directness.
“Perhaps his injuries aren’t minor. Could it be that he’s on the verge of death? Or…” Kirta paused, his piercing gaze fixed on her, “has he already passed away?”
Lentia froze, caught off guard by his unexpected line of questioning. She was used to the roundabout ways of the Empire’s nobles, not this kind of straightforward probing.
Her silence was an answer enough.
Finally, she spoke, her voice low. “It’s difficult to say for certain.”
She sighed, realizing it was futile to hide the truth any longer.
“His Majesty is missing. The carriage he was riding in fell off a cliff. While no body has been found, the bloodstains at the scene suggest survival was unlikely. For now, we’re keeping this information private to prevent unnecessary panic.”
Kirta nodded thoughtfully. “I see. I understand your caution.”
“Thank you for your understanding,” Lentia said. “But I must insist that what we’ve discussed here not leave this room.”
“You have my word. I will keep it to myself.”
As Kirta studied Lentia, his expression grew more contemplative.
“What are your plans for the future? As far as I know, there is no crown prince in Lekeon.”
Lentia struggled to maintain her composure. The reminder of the lack of an heir stung more than she cared to admit.
“That’s true. However, I can act as regent for the time being. There are collateral royal family members who can continue the bloodline if needed. It will be fine,” she declared, her tone being firm.
“Is there no possibility of Your Majesty remarrying and allowing your new husband to ascend the throne?” Kirta asked, his voice gentle but probing.
“That is not entirely out of the question. There are historical precedents,” Lentia replied, keeping her tone neutral.
In Lekeon’s distant past, there had been a similar situation. When a king died without an heir, his queen had remarried, and her second husband had been crowned.
But that was a different time, Lentia reflected—a time when royal power was weaker, and the line between nobility and royalty was less defined. Would such a solution be feasible now?
These thoughts swirled in Lentia’s mind as she studied Kirta.
Would history repeat itself? Or was the weight of tradition too great to overcome it?
