Episode 9
Perhaps the man’s sinister subconscious had already imagined digging through the bush, running his fingers over the plump pink pearls and soft flesh, and feeling the sticky hole swallowing him.
But Kirta was a man of honor.
The hypocritical authors of Lekeon might ridicule the nomads of the northeast as barbarians, but the warriors of the steppes were by no means uncivilized or inferior.
At the very least, Kirta understood how rude it was to indulge in such lewd fantasies about a woman who was neither his wife nor his lover.
Resolutely, he shook off the deep desire spreading like ink through his mind.
Now is not the time for this, he thought.
He admitted that the Empress of Lekeon was a fascinating person, but that had no bearing on his current purpose. Just as the Lekeon side had political goals to achieve, Kirta and his people also needed to negotiate with the Empire for their own benefit.
Now was the time to focus on diplomacy, not to wallow in reckless daydreams like a sullen adolescent boy.
—
The next day, Kirta took only one of his closest warriors, Asaka, and headed to the castle gate at the appointed time. As the frightened attendant had promised, another man in identical attire was waiting for them.
The road to the palace was now familiar.
As he rode through the city on horseback, his face hidden by his cloak, Kirta thought seriously about the situation.
It is true that Lekeon’s cultural achievements far surpass ours. Their architecture, water systems, markets, and transportation are all highly advanced. Their monetary economy and farming methods are also things we should emulate.
Of course, Kirta understood that fundamental differences in climate and soil limited what the northeastern grasslands could adopt from the Empire. The barren lands of the steppes were ill-suited for the farming methods invented and perfected in Lekeon.
Still, Kirta saw much that his people could learn from the Empire.
If the two nations maintained friendly relations in the future, he envisioned northeastern nomads migrating south to enjoy Lekeon’s culture and technology.
Dreaming of such a future, Kirta had left his homeland to journey the south. It was a pity, however, that the path had been paved with the blood of countless imperial citizens.
—
Meanwhile, the Empress’s attendant led Kirta and Asaka to the Empress’s Palace.
It was Kirta’s first time here. Three days ago, he and Lentia had met in the Imperial Palace conference room.
The atmosphere here is quite different.
Unlike the Emperor’s Palace, which exuded dignified and magnificent majesty, the Empress’s Palace had an elegant, almost whimsical charm.
Kirta couldn’t tell whether this charm reflected Lentia’s personal taste or the preferences of generations of Lekeon empresses. There was little point in asking.
Passing through the carefully tended flower garden and sunlit corridor, Kirta and Asaka finally arrived at the reception room.
The attendant knocked on the door nervously and waited. Soon, a soft bell rang, and the door opened.
“Please come in. Her Majesty the Empress is waiting,” the attendant said with a deep bow.
Kirta stepped inside, Asaka following silently.
“Welcome, Kirta,” Lentia greeted him, rising from her seat. She moved gracefully, her every gesture was elegant and precise.
Kirta was unfamiliar with the Empire’s customs. He could not recognize just how impeccable her etiquette was. Yet even without knowing, one thing was clear:
Her fluid, butterfly-like movements gave an ineffable sense of fulfillment simply by watching.
“Thank you for your hospitality, Your Majesty,” Kirta replied politely.
He smiled, but Lentia did not return it. Her face remained smooth and expressionless, like a finely sculpted porcelain doll.
Today, she wore a refreshing lavender dress in place of the black mourning gown she had worn previously. The airy fabric evoked the violets of late spring.
“You look brighter today,” Kirta remarked gently.
Lentia inclined her head slightly. “Today is a time for friendship. Mourning colors would not be appropriate for such an occasion.”
Both the violet dress she wore now and the black dress she had worn before had been a deliberate choices.
As Lentia explained, the last meeting had been one of mourning. She had grieved for both the slain nomadic delegation and the imperial citizens who had died during the invasion.
But today, as the Empress of Lekeon, she was here to discuss a hopeful future. Her attire reflected that.
“Is this also part of your hospitality?” Kirta gestured toward the dining table, where a teapot, cups, and a platter of sweets sat.
“In Lekeon, it is considered extremely rude not to prepare refreshments for a friend. I don’t know if these will suit your taste, as they are imperial dishes, but I’ve kept the offerings simple. I would hate for you to feel unwelcome.”
Lentia’s explanation was measured, her voice calm. Kirta smiled warmly.
“Thank you for your thoughtfulness. In my homeland, too, it is unthinkable not to offer tea to a distinguished guest or a close friend. It seems there are some similarities between our cultures.”
“Wherever people live, there are commonalities,” Lentia agreed.
“Please, take a seat.”
“Thank you.”
The two sat across from each other. Behind them, Asaka and Lentia’s knight escort, Verita, stood by watching them.
Asaka observed Verita with curiosity that bordered on suspicion. Verita, for her part, stared back with a blank expression, mirroring her mistress.
“All the nobles currently in the capital have agreed to establish diplomatic relations with your people,” Lentia began. “We have not yet secured the consent of those who fled, but more than half have already approved, so there should be no legal issues.”
“That is an excellent news. I appreciate your swift efforts.”
“We now need to finalize the specific terms. I’ve prepared a draft proposal outlining the Empire’s stance. Please review it, and let us know if there are any additions or changes you would like.”
Lentia placed a neatly tied stack of papers on the table.
As Kirta reached for the document, Lentia added, “One more thing: everything we discuss here must remain confidential until the agreement is finalized. Please remember this.”
“I understand. My subordinates and I are discreet. You have my word.”
Kirta picked up the document. It was thicker than he expected, and the elegant handwriting immediately caught his eye.
“Who wrote this draft?”
“I did,” Lentia replied evenly.
Kirta smiled faintly, impressed. The handwriting, precise and flowing, seemed to mirror Lentia herself.
Lentia, however, felt a flicker of discomfort. His quiet smile and apparent curiosity about her work made her uneasy. Not displeased—just unsettled.
Am I reading too much into it? she wondered. Why am I thinking about that dream again?
She watched Kirta as he read. Occasionally, he would silently mouth a word, his fingers gliding across the page.
The sight of his hands stirred an unwelcome memory. She recalled the dream in which those strong, calloused fingers explored her body with intoxicating intimacy.
The heat rising in her chest and the tingling in her abdomen made her tighten her posture.
“Your Majesty, could you explain the meaning of this word?”
“Pardon?” Lentia’s voice faltered as Kirta’s question jolted her back to the present.
“I’m not yet fluent in your language. Could you clarify this term?”
“Yes, of course,” Lentia replied, regaining her composure.
