SBTMK Chapter 4

"Hmm, the rudeness you have shown Us is by no means light. No one knows this better than you yourself. That even were We to have your limbs torn apart and you executed this very instant, you would have nothing to say. However, as Our magnanimity is broader than the sea and higher than the sky, We shall forgive you this once."

The Emperor chuckled his way through an Imperial impression.

Ah. How was it possible to be so completely, thoroughly devoid of dignity.

"Alright, let's move first. Ow, my leg hurts."

The impression had apparently gotten boring. He groaned. Flora, having concluded that remaining here was untenable, moved to support him.

"Ouch."

"..."

"Ow ow ow."

Just between herself and her thoughts: she felt genuine killing intent toward the Emperor the entire walk to the hideout.

His injured leg did not appear to bother him much. Yet he performed suffering to an annoying degree, and used it as justification to lean on Flora almost to the point of hanging from her entirely.

"Is this your house?"

Having finally arrived at the hideout amid much groaning, the Emperor stood perfectly upright—as if he had never leaned on her at all—and swept his gaze around inside the cave.

The corners of Flora's eyes twitched without her permission.

"Yes. Your Majesty."

Flora suppressed what was rising in her and managed to produce the words.

This place had already been discovered by Ayden; she'd have to leave it soon regardless.

But it was safer than the middle of the forest. That was the only reason she'd brought him here.

"Surprisingly, you've managed to get everything you need in a place like this. But what's with the stiff tone? Speak like you were before. You're not my knight or a subject of the Empire anyway."

"I know how to show proper courtesy to the Sun of the Empire."

Flora led the Emperor to the bed and seated him, then dropped her gaze.

She had been extensively trained to operate as a spy or assassin across various countries. Etiquette was a required course. The people Flora had been assigned to handle weren't only petty criminals—they included nobles and royalty.

"My name is Simen Izenerus. Call me Simen from now on."

Simen Izenerus.

Flora glanced briefly at the man sitting on the shabby bed.

His black hair was swept neatly up, not a strand displaced. His face was the way a god might shape something when given unlimited time and no mistakes—graceful in the way a completed thing is graceful. Dark brows. Long lashes that fanned with each blink. And those luminous orange pupils.

The cave let in little light. She felt the man radiating it anyway.

'A real Emperor...'

Even having seen the demonic servant's mark, it still didn't feel real. She wasn't doubting his identity—it was the situation itself that felt like a dream.

She was somewhere else entirely until the orange pupils scanning the cave interior turned and found her.

"Does it displease you?"

Being called by his name. Was he saying that since she wasn't a subject of the Empire, she didn't even qualify to address him as Emperor?

It didn't matter either way. It wasn't a difficult thing.

"No. Simen."

"What do I call you?"

"As you wish."

"Do you have no name?"

Flora did not answer. Her name didn't much matter.

Flora wasn't her real name anyway. The traces of Meryn Castle—she wanted to erase all of them, if she could.

"You have the rude habit of going quiet when a question is difficult to answer."

"..."

"Then I'll just call you whatever I want?"

Flora nodded, gathered the herbs she'd already prepared, and moved toward the far end of the cave.

Simen's gaze followed her the entire way. She could feel it.

"Pretty One."

She stopped.

Did she just hear something alarming. What did he just say.

Flora's hand slipped on the herbs she was grinding.

"Not to your liking? Then—Sweetpea?"

Good god. Flora's face crumpled in a way that was not attractive.

Goosebumps from sheer cringe rather than killing intent—that was a first.

"Which of the two is better?"

Both were awful. The meat she'd eaten this morning was threatening to make a reappearance.

"Flora."

"Hmm?"

"Not... Pretty One or whatever—Flora. Call me Flora."

Being called Pretty One or Sweetpea was worse than giving him her actual name. Better for her mental health to take the loss.

She'd never see this person again after leaving here. But she couldn't endure a strange nickname even for a moment.

She'd escaped the mad Ayden, only to run directly into another kind of scoundrel. She had an ominous feeling about that.

Her ominous feelings had never once been wrong.

"Flora? Beautiful name. Though actually, Pretty One is more—"

"Your leg. Show me."

Flora suppressed the impulse to cover his mouth and gathered the crushed herbs.

She sat down directly in front of him. The eyes that had been sparkling with amusement at her reactions wavered.

"The ground will be cold if you just sit."

Simen pulled a cloth from the bed and held it out to her.

"At least spread this under you."

She hadn't thought of it.

The small consideration was enough to throw her off balance again. She hadn't thought of it, and he had.

"Thank you."

The ground was cold. She could feel it creeping up from below. Refusing felt too awkward—she was fine, she would have said, but the words didn't come. She reluctantly spread the cloth and sat.

Some odd mood settled in for no reason she could name. She pressed her lips shut and focused on applying the herbs.

An awkward silence turned in the air between them. Simen watched her work and blinked several times. He swallowed once, drily, and then opened his mouth.

"Flora. This is something I'm asking just to be sure..."

"Yes."

"Just to be sure, I mean."

What was so difficult about it that he needed to circle around it like this. Flora paused briefly and looked at him.

"Please speak. Simen."

"You're not wearing anything under the robe, are you? It's dark in here and I might be seeing it wrong?"

Only then did Flora register what she'd done—hunted down Cenkan knights having barely thrown on a robe after being woken from sleep.

"Ah. Yes."

Looking down from above, he must have glimpsed inside the robe. That's why I was cold, she thought, and that was the full extent of the thought.

Long years of experiments had taken the capacity for embarrassment away a long time ago. Simen's perspective did not factor in at all.

"Wh—what? Yes?"

"Is there a problem?"

Flora glanced at her own clothing, face entirely neutral, and gave a single nod.

Simen stared at her, blinked several times, and produced a dry cough.

"It is a problem. I'm a man of vigorous blood. Getting to this point already is a little—"

Nonsense.

The rumors about the new Emperor hadn't been flattering about much beyond his face.

Among many things: that he neglected politics in favor of women and wine.

Snap judgment from brief observation was premature. But it was confirmed he was the type who could not read the room.

Not even looking far for evidence—the fact that he was acting this way in a situation where his life could plausibly end at any moment said enough.

Instead of answering, Flora pressed the crushed herbs firmly against his thigh.

"Ow, OW! That hurts!"

"Endure it."

"...Gentler."

The voice was small and meek. Flora's resolve softened despite itself, and she eased the pressure.

Simen grew cooperative.

"When I've finished applying the medicine, take your retainers and go down the mountain. It's dangerous here."

"This isn't a poisonous herb, right? You know your plants well."

"It's not poisonous."

He hadn't heard a word of her warning. Not one.

If not for his rank, she'd have knocked him on the head. The frustration lurched up and she pushed it back down.

The self-reproach that had taken up residence in her chest grew heavier—if something happened to him, it would be her fault. The more that thought repeated, the more anxious she became, the sharper her nerves.

It had been comparatively peaceful until now. That could change without warning.

This attack had been months in coming. Judging from the number of knights Ayden had sent, he'd prepared it for a long time.

This was not the end of it. The Emperor needed to leave. She wanted to show this man—playing pranks like a child—what the situation actually was, and get him off this mountain.

"Simen. Did you truly come all this way just to hunt? Or is there another reason?"

"..."

"This mountain is far from the capital, as I understand it. Hunting grounds are plentiful—why specifically come all the way here?"

"The game here tastes good."

"I'm not joking. Whatever the reason, please go back."

At Flora's blunt words, Simen's brow furrowed at one corner.

"Go back?"

"Yes. Go to a different hunting ground instead."

He was quiet for a moment, watching her. Then he answered.

"Right. As you say, hunting grounds are plentiful."

He had come out to hunt. Strictly speaking, human hunting—but hunting all the same.

"But I enjoyed hunting on this mountain before ascending the throne and after. I've held hunting competitions with nobles here. I've come with retainers just to enjoy the day. Today I came for much the same reasons. Is there anywhere in my own Empire I am not permitted to go?"

The voice was nothing like the one that had played lecherous or performed pain. The playfulness had been stripped from it entirely.

What remained carried weight.

"It's quite remarkable—being lectured on why I came here by an illicit infiltrator, fugitive, no less. There would be more reason for me to be interrogating you."

"..."

"And even if I did come here for other reasons, I have no obligation to tell you. Nor any reason to return to the castle on the orders of someone who has stripped away all context."

She hadn't known the Emperor used this mountain as a hunting ground. During her time here, not a person had appeared—she'd simply assumed it was an outlying area where few people came.

Every word he said was correct. She'd been irritated entirely because he'd had the bad timing to appear in front of her. That was all.

He wasn't just anyone—Simen was the Sun of this Empire. The burden already on her own shoulders was more than enough. She wanted no more added to it.

She knew this wasn't something to take out on Simen. She knew it wasn't something to fuss at him about. But the words had kept coming, driven by worry she couldn't stop, and now she'd overstepped. She'd even been curious about the Emperor when she first met him. And now here she was.

She'd crossed a line, and it had unsettled his mood, if only slightly. She understood. An unfamiliar stranger who offered nothing and then spoke rudely—he'd find that infuriating.

Flora backed down immediately.

"...I said something presumptuous. But the remnants may still be out there. I became anxious worrying that Simen might be in danger too. Honestly—it's Your Majesty's life. No, Simen's life. It seems too careless."

In short: doesn't your life mean anything to you.

Simen looked down at her with cold eyes. Then his gaze shifted away, and he exhaled.

"In your eyes do I look like a child? Well, I am a bit young-looking and reasonably handsome, but... I'm not so weak that I can't look after myself. I'm a Master, after all."

'Master?'

Flora's head snapped up.