"Have a seat."
Here stood a pavilion facing the Imperial Garden's man-made lake. Rumor said a huge amount of money, labor, and materials had gone into building this lake. Supposedly, they carefully surveyed the flow of the dragon veins, hoping to draw on that energy to strengthen the palace's spiritual aura—basically turning the palace into a training haven. Whether that was true or not, only the people in charge of building the lake and the royal family at the time knew for sure.
Inside the pavilion stood a plain stone table and stone stools. Anyone would expect the palace furniture to look exquisite, but these were merely rough shapes of a table and stools with barely any smoothing. When Kenji sat down, he felt a chilly sensation spreading under him.
Pluvia sat, and her expression changed slightly. She stood back up just a bit and then settled down again, and Kenji noticed this right away.
He quickly fished out a handkerchief from his robes. Known as the mirror cloth, it was part of an official's attire. Initially, officials used it to straighten themselves up before meeting the emperor—wiping away stains or blood from their clothes or face, often alongside a small mirror. Over time, as life in the empire stabilized, it became more of a decorative item, like a piece of jade a scholar might wear at his waist.
Kenji spread the cloth out and offered it to Pluvia. "Your Majesty, if you don't mind using this."
As the cloth's ceremonial status rose, its materials grew finer. In the early days, officials' handkerchiefs were all kinds of fabrics—cotton, animal skins, even leaves. Eventually, they standardized them into silk or brocade. It was soft and worked nicely as a cushion.
Pluvia looked at the cloth, then at Kenji. She gave a smile that didn't hide her distaste at all, but her tone sounded polite enough. "It's fine. Thank you. You...do seem to know everything."
She set the cloth on the stone stool and sat down. Kenji wondered why she said he "knew everything." He was just following common sense—after all, women often avoided sitting on cold surfaces in his old world. Whatever. That wasn't the main point right now.
On the stone table sat a pot of tea and two delicate cups. Each cup showed a mythical black bird drawn with gold ink. Pluvia picked up the teapot. Kenji was about to pour for her, but she didn't let him. Instead, she poured him a cup herself.
"Duke Kenji, is it all right if I just call you by your name?"
She looked at the lovely scenery around them and dropped all the formal titles between ruler and subject.
"Your Majesty can call me however you wish."
"There's no need to be so stiff. Don't forget, you are my foster brother," she said in a resigned voice. Still, Kenji felt more awkward over that title than she did.
Truth be told, Kenji didn't want this foster brother status. It was basically an honorary title they'd given him since he couldn't rise any higher. But it meant he had enormous power, and he was dealing with a woman who was already on edge. He didn't want to provoke her further.
"In that case, Your Majesty, I'll try to relax a bit."
"Sure, do as you please."
They sat quietly for a while, with only the sound of wind rustling the leaves.
"I know what you want, Kenji," Pluvia said in a sober tone. "I know you have your own ideas, that maybe I—the one on the throne—don't match your expectations. Maybe I'm not good enough, or maybe you see too far beyond me. Bottom line, I'm aware of what you're aiming for."
No, you're not, Your Majesty, Kenji thought. All he really wanted was to protect himself, his sister, and Lina and live in peace. Saying that out loud wouldn't help—no one would believe him anyway.
"Your Majesty, I have no hidden agenda. I just feel—"
"You just feel that I handle many things poorly, that I'm too hesitant, too focused on the infighting...right?" She smiled in a tired way.
"But Kenji, you're the subject and I'm the monarch. You've never stood where I stand, so you don't know what weighs on a ruler's shoulders. You talk a lot, but it always comes back to the same point: as a monarch, I'm not doing well enough. So, Kenji, today I'm going to snap at you as if you really were my brother—do you think you could handle everything better if you sat on this throne?"
Her gaze looked deep and calm. She didn't seem worried that a powerful official might resent her or start plotting something else. She just stared at him.
"I can't."
"There you go again, playing the loyal servant," she said, pulling back her gaze and waving her hand as if making a joke. "We're just chatting here. You're carrying frustrations, I know. You can be irritated with me. You can be irritated with the officials in court. You can even be irritated with yourself. But you can't be irritated with Camelot's future."
"Kenji, I only came to drink tea with you for two reasons. One is to help you cool off—I heard from your sister that you've been so hot-tempered lately your mouth broke out in sores. This high-quality chilled tea should help with that. The other reason is that I want to ask you, as a friend: in the end, what are you really trying to do?"
"If I tell you, would you believe me?" Kenji asked, cutting straight to the heart of the matter.
"Whether I believe you or not is my choice. Whether you speak is yours," she replied.
"Then forgive my bluntness: all I want is for my family to stay safe and live out our days in peace."
Kenji answered. Pluvia lifted her tea cup, and the gentle aroma drifted around her. She smiled, but he couldn't tell if she was pleased or just laughing in anger.
When she finished that sip, she nodded. "I believe that, but I also don't. Everyone wants their family to be safe. Wanting to stay alive is the most basic human desire. But what about beyond that?"
"I'm guessing that you, Grand Marshal, didn't do all of this just so you could pass your days quietly, right?"