<Episode 8>
This time, Floretta looked curious.
“What’s this?”
“It’s Emperor Irane’s autobiography. I figured it’d be a lot more credible than those trashy, unverified books, so I brought it.”
“We should have historians, archivists, and royal scribes examine it after our meal.”
Luxor carefully received the book.
Iraneira watched him with a pleased expression as he meticulously skimmed the contents.
“Have them examine it while we eat.”
Then she gestured to the chief attendant.
“Bring everyone needed for the appraisal. And the jewel appraiser too.”
The order was so natural that the chief attendant instinctively bowed and left.
Seeing his back, Iraneira frowned slightly.
“Tsk, tsk. The chief attendant should have asked His Majesty’s permission first.”
“You’re the one who told him to go.”
Ponent was dumbfounded.
But Iraneira paid him no mind and flicked her fingers for the servants to bring the food.
She lifted a cup to drink water but, upon noticing a chipped rim, simply set it down.
“Does he just obey anyone who gives an order? The King is right here! A proper servant should know discernment.”
Annoying as she was, Ponent couldn’t argue—she wasn’t wrong.
Soon, soup was served, and silence settled over the table.
Iraneira scooped it up a few times with a displeased face, then pushed the bowl aside.
Kinesia quietly ate, observing her youngest sister’s every move.
“By the way, how did you find out about the Emperor’s treasury?”
“I read it in the royal records.”
Without batting an eye, Iraneira smoothly concealed the truth.
Everyone still looked dazed, as if unable to believe the sudden fortune that had appeared out of nowhere.
Iraneira, meanwhile, wore a faint, smug smile. But when she sensed a gaze on her, she looked up.
Two pairs of golden eyes, so alike, met in the air.
Iraneira mouthed silently to Kinesia:
“What are you looking at?”
It was something she would’ve done as a mischievous child.
While Kinesia struggled to adjust to how much her once-adorable sister had changed, the chief attendant returned to the dining hall—
followed by a long line of scholars, historians, and archivists, all trailing behind him like freshly made sausages.
Iraneira didn’t recognize most of them, but they were well-known names within Epiphanes.
The moment non-family members entered, Luxor quickly straightened up and smiled kindly.
“I know this was sudden, but thank you for coming. There’s something I’d like you to appraise, though perhaps after we’ve eaten…”
He meant to continue politely, but stopped when Iraneira suddenly stood, stepped forward, and held out the book to the scholars.
“The autobiography found in Emperor Irane’s treasury—”
She paused briefly and glanced at Luxor.
She didn’t want to speak formally, but since the King had, she couldn’t exactly use casual speech.
“—This book. There’s a letter written in the Emperor’s own hand in the library. If you compare the handwriting, you’ll see it’s authentic. So it shouldn’t take long, right?”
“There are a few more factors to check, but yes.”
Iraneira nodded, satisfied.
Just then, a servant placed down the main dish. She returned to her seat.
It was a humble chicken dish, unbefitting of royal splendor—but it smelled heavenly. Someone audibly swallowed their saliva as she raised her knife.
Iraneira deliberately sliced a piece of chicken, placed it in her mouth, savored it, then swallowed and swept her gaze over the scholars’ faces.
They all looked hungry.
Perfect.
“Once the appraisal is done, see that they’re served a proper meal,” she told the chief attendant.
The scholars, reminded of their purpose, shook the thought of roasted chicken from their heads.
“Then, if we may, we’ll move to the study…”
They glanced between Iraneira and Luxor, unsure whose permission to seek.
Iraneira motioned for Luxor to answer and resumed eating. Finally, Luxor smiled pleasantly and nodded.
“Use the study as you wish. And if you get hungry, you can always—”
“Oops, my hand slipped.”
Iraneira feigned surprise as she flicked her finger, tipping her cup.
A wave of cold water splashed directly onto Luxor.
Startled, he leapt up mid-sentence. A servant rushed over to clean and dry him off.
Iraneira forced a tight smile, shaking her head slightly at Luxor.
He looked puzzled by the gesture. And while he hesitated, the historians quietly took their leave, regret written across their faces.
By the time Luxor realized and tried to stop them, it was too late.
“Ria.”
“What?”
“When you invite guests, it’s polite to treat them well first.”
Iraneira let out a small sigh.
Her gaze toward Luxor was almost irreverent—like one holding back harsh words for someone too kind. It wasn’t the look a daughter should give her father.
“Your Majesty.”
“There you go again, calling me—”
“You didn’t summon them just for pleasantries. If you give them what they want first, that’s not a reward—it’s a bribe.”
At that, an odd heat flickered in Kinesia’s eyes as she watched Iraneira.
Iraneira turned her head slightly.
Across the long table, their gazes met again.
“A ruler must maintain authority. But one who bribes others cannot protect that authority.”
Kinesia recalled a piece of history at those words.
When Paradon invaded Epiphanes, the then-king, Alie Belloas, had been terrified.
He offered up the territory Lethunia had long coveted in exchange for their aid as an ally.
Then, the high nobles and neighboring nations, who had grown rich and powerful, subtly began to reveal their own desires.
King Alie yielded to their demands to gain their cooperation.
Paradon eventually withdrew—but Epiphanes was left crippled. Its lands shrank, half its taxes vanished as lords declared independence, and decline soon followed.
Was she warning me? Telling me not to repeat the same mistake?
Kinesia dismissed the thought.
Iraneira had claimed she read it in the royal records—but those were bare chronicles, without commentary.
To draw such conclusions, she would have needed real insight.
But she was only ten years old.
It must just be coincidence.
Still, Kinesia quietly etched her sister’s warning into memory.
Luxor, on the other hand, didn’t seem to agree with Iraneira’s reasoning.
“But Ria, even so—hurting people’s feelings just to protect one’s authority isn’t right.”
Iraneira gave a rare, crooked smile.
“I knew you’d say that.”
She picked up her utensils again, and Luxor urged the rest of the family to resume eating.
For a while, only the clinking of dishes filled the air.
Iraneira was the first to finish, neatly dabbing her lips with a napkin.
A servant, startled from his daze, hurried off to fetch dessert—
but the scholars returned first, footsteps brimming with excitement.
Seeing their expressions, Iraneira’s own face brightened.
And they gave her exactly what she wanted to hear.
“This is indeed Emperor Irane’s handwriting. The comparison leaves no doubt.”
Iraneira’s lips twitched.
Of course! I wrote it myself, after all.
She had half-expected these so-called scholars to be completely incompetent, but maybe not all of them were fools.
Just as she was thinking of subtly steering the conversation toward “correcting history,” one of the scholars spoke again.
“However, we cannot recognize it as an official record.”
What are these idiots babbling about now?!
Her satisfied expression instantly hardened.
“Why not? You said the handwriting’s genuine.”
Any pretense of politeness vanished.
“There are a few suspicious elements…”
“Explain.”
Her sharp gaze landed squarely on the lead scholar’s head.
If he didn’t give a proper answer, she looked ready to rip out his curly hair and snap his glasses in half.
Her round eyes still somehow managed to look ghostly—like he was staring into the face of a demon.
He nervously adjusted his hair and glasses, then stepped back—and shoved someone else forward.
The poor court scribe stumbled forward, then backpedaled. The others followed suit, retreating in sync.
After several rounds of this, Iraneira and the group had drifted far apart.
If I wait a little longer, they’ll back straight out of the palace at this rate.
Unable to take it anymore, Iraneira hopped down from her chair and stood before them.
Seeing the short girl, their fear subsided slightly. The court scribe cleared his throat.
“Ahem! Well, first of all, there are no historical records supporting Emperor Irane’s claims.”
“Then ask the other nations.”
History was interconnected—events in one country inevitably left traces in another.
So naturally, there should have been corresponding mentions in neighboring nations’ chronicles.
Sure, The Empress of Passion dealt mostly with personal affairs and character, so other nations might not have recorded that.
But her autobiography detailed her conquests, her laws, her alliances—
I added some bragging, but it was all true.
So if they just checked with other countries, they’d easily confirm it.
So why are they jumping to conclusions without even verifying?
That frustration was plain on her face. The historian stammered out an excuse.
“The nation we exchanged with most, Lethunia, erased all records of Emperor Irane. It seems King Lembros Vamelmach II intentionally deleted them.”
And then, Iraneira suddenly remembered the last words he’d spoken while holding her hand before his death—
‘I will forget you.’
So that’s what he meant?!
