Chapter 26
The cold atmosphere did not end there.
At the Crown Prince’s command, Edith was practically dragged into a solemn meeting hall.
It was the State Council—the empire’s highest decision-making body.
In a space as wide as an auditorium stood layers of high-ranking ministers, cabinet officials, and prominent members of the imperial family. Having already attended several times before, Edith took her place at the very end of the attendants’ line.
Only Clyde sat in a chair. Everyone else stood while reporting and exchanging opinions, making the atmosphere exceedingly grave.
The topic under heated debate today was the standing army.
Members of the aristocratic faction, advocating for military reduction, passionately raised the issue of costs.
“Your Highness, there is no immediate threat of war, yet the number of soldiers is excessive. What use is an army encircling the capital? It is nothing but expense and waste.”
Officials from the bureaucratic faction immediately fired back.
“The military is synonymous with His Majesty’s authority. If the Emperor, ruler of this empire, were to command a force no stronger than a noble’s private troops, that would be far more unreasonable. A standing army is not merely soldiers holding guns—it is a tool of governance—”
As the speech threatened to drag on like a full-blown address, Clyde lightly raised his fingertips. Both sides, locked in heated argument, fell silent at once.
He had entered the council still carrying the heavy emotions from the gloomy conversation in his office. He had no generosity left to tolerate the sharp tensions filling the hall.
With lightning-bright golden eyes, he slowly swept his gaze across the ranks of nobles and officials flanking the imperial seat.
The instant the Crown Prince’s eyes narrowed, those who felt his chill flinched.
His ill-tempered expression was infamous even among senior ministers. When he tilted his head slightly and stared like that, someone almost always ended up suffering the consequences.
His stern fingers beckoned toward the chief attendant.
“You brought the report I specifically ordered, didn’t you?”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“Read it in my stead. Skip the current status and recite the evaluation section.”
The chief attendant—also known as the steward-minister—was the one supporting the Crown Prince’s policies on the front lines. Carrying a bag stuffed with documents, he quickly found the requested report.
After clearing his throat, he began reading in a measured voice.
“Duke Allen’s private forces number five hundred. Count Smith maintains four hundred. Other houses likewise field over one hundred each. These are not insignificant numbers. Meanwhile, the Emperor’s standing army numbers two thousand—significantly fewer than the combined total of noble private troops.”
Edith’s eyes widened in shock.
What was being read aloud was the opinion paper she herself had written.
She had scribbled it hastily, barely formatted—almost like a diary. When had it been cleaned up and stamped with the Crown Prince’s seal? She vividly remembered nodding off, head nearly hitting the desk as she wrote it.
At that moment, Duke Allen suddenly stepped forward.
“That is false! Our house maintains no more than a few dozen guards!”
Ignoring the objection, the chief attendant continued reading.
“The closer a noble’s territory lies to the capital, the greater the threat to the imperial family. Under the pretext of maintaining local security, foreign mercenaries are hired to form private armies.”
Voices erupted all around, people speaking up without even being granted the floor, each insisting on their harmlessness.
“Therefore, the current standing army must be increased by at least 1.5 times. To ensure safety against rebellion, a doubling would be required.”
They even kept the word rebellion intact. That was a harsh term.
Edith’s flustered gaze swept across the meeting hall as it descended into chaos.
She had never imagined her opinions would be used like this.
She had assumed Clyde was merely consulting her work privately while reviewing the vast trove of materials stored in the annex. She hadn’t been asked to format it properly, and the submitted report had been nothing more than a crude stack of loose pages.
Clyde had always emphasized that content mattered more than form. He demanded fair judgment and proper use of materials—never caring if the handwriting was barely legible or smudged with ink.
Title. Body. Edith’s attached opinion at the end.
It was nowhere near a polished official document. And yet he had boldly lifted just that single opinion sheet and read it aloud in the State Council.
It was embarrassing—but more than that, Clyde’s intention was unexpected.
Surely documents produced by the Imperial Affairs Department already reflected the Crown Prince’s will. Then why center the discussion on a report so heavily infused with Edith’s analysis?
Does he think my perspective is objective?
She couldn’t begin to guess what went on in Clyde’s mind.
As the hall teetered on the brink of an all-out brawl between officials and nobles—like a street fight in a market—Clyde raised his hand, silencing everyone.
“The next agenda item is…”
After throwing the room into this state, he calmly changed the subject.
“The pillars of this empire have labored greatly. Perhaps it’s time the imperial family hosted an event in recognition.”
“An event…?” the chief attendant asked, clearly hearing this for the first time.
Clyde’s brows were tightly drawn together.
Resting his chin on the armrest of the imperial seat, he cast a cold glance toward Edith standing at the back of the attendants’ line.
He was still clearly irritated.
Calling it petty would be unfair—the conversation they’d shared earlier had been sensitive. Very sensitive.
“It should be something both ministers and nobles can enjoy.”
“Then…” the chief attendant’s voice trembled slightly.
“Are you finally holding a banquet?”
The sudden shift stunned both factions. The hall fell silent, and some faces even lit up with emotion.
It was no wonder—since Clyde began serving as regent, not a single banquet had been held. No imperial events at all. The excuse had always been the Emperor’s illness—how could they dare celebrate?
Still visibly cold, Clyde replied flatly.
“I didn’t say anything about dancing in a hall.”
“Then…?”
“I’m considering hosting a marksmanship tournament to cultivate skilled riflemen.”
The nobles’ faces shifted through shades of red and blue, but none dared oppose it outright. The debate had revolved around private troops and the standing army—one wrong word now could tie them to accusations of rebellion.
Some were disappointed it wasn’t a social banquet, but many still held hope for an imperial-hosted event.
A faint excitement drifted through the room.
A quick-witted count cautiously flattered him.
“A wise decision. The entire empire will rejoice at an event long awaited.”
“And one more thing.”
Everyone stiffened, watching Clyde for the next bombshell.
“I will be directly involved in this tournament.”
The room stirred.
No one had expected the Crown Prince to merely receive reports, but announcing his involvement publicly raised questions about how deeply he intended to intervene.
“Your Highness, may I ask how you plan to conduct the tournament?”
“For now, follow precedent. I only wish to inform you in advance—there may be developments that exceed your expectations.”
The officials and nobles lining the hall exchanged wary glances.
Even the chief attendant—Clyde’s own right hand—looked taken aback, adding to the tension. It was clear this was not simply meant to be a cheerful festival.
“As for the banquet you so dearly want… I’ll think on it. The tournament will take priority. Depending on how things progress, I’ll decide whether to hold a banquet as well.”
Clyde granted the banquet halfway, speaking as though yielding reluctantly to their desires.
“We accept your command, Your Highness.”
Those present bowed obediently, yet unease lingered—they could not grasp the Crown Prince’s true intentions.
Guided by a palace attendant, Edith was led into an unfamiliar area.
She rarely wandered the vast Crown Prince’s palace, so her usual routes were limited. Yet now she was taken somewhere far removed from the annex chambers.
Potted plants lined the corridor, ivy climbing vibrantly through open windows. A small gallery where sheer curtains fluttered softly felt like another world.
It was nothing like the relentless grind of the office, where days turned endlessly like clockwork gears.
Paintings of various landscapes hung on the walls, and the open central space echoed with every step.
“Welcome, Edith.”
Only one person greeted her.
“Your Highness. Why have you brought me here?”
With the chandeliers and wall sconces unlit in the daytime, the deeper interior was dim.
Click.
The palace attendant closed the door from outside.
Clyde, broad-shouldered and shrouded in shadow, approached her quietly.
“Wh—why…?”
She stammered, backing away.
A low chuckle escaped him.
“So now you’re dropping formal speech altogether. Fine. Then go ahead—call me by name.”
“No, that’s not what I meant.”
“Clyde.”
“Huh?”
“Try it. Clyde.”
She’d cursed him countless times in her mind, but saying his name aloud was impossible. This might be a novel’s world, but Clyde was still the Crown Prince.
“I was just startled. I had no intention of treating you improperly, Your Highness.”
“Improper… is fine too.”
Murmuring with faint regret, he stepped closer. His foot caught the hem of her skirt.
Summoned straight from grueling work in the annex, Edith was a mess.
Her dress was simple and neat—no corsets or petticoats. Writing reports was no small task, and she’d tugged at her hair in frustration, losing all her accessories.
Their shoe tips collided.
A large hand naturally wrapped around her lower back.
It was wrong—but her body remembered his touch.
Edith was being drawn into his gleaming golden eyes.
Without realizing when, she placed her hand atop his other outstretched hand. She didn’t understand why she felt no resistance as she was pulled along by him.
“When you make that kind of face… it’s hard for me to endure.”
Suddenly, he yanked her closer.
“Ah—”
At her short gasp, Clyde flinched in response.
