“Is the work manageable?”
“Yes.”
Lant’s confident reply brought a proud smile to Bee’s lips.
After five years of travel, Lant had returned a striking man, one who’d turn heads anywhere. The boyish traces of his youth were gone, replaced by a mature presence. Bee felt both pride and a pang of bittersweet longing.
“I’m glad to hear that,” she said, lifting her teacup to mask the wistfulness creeping in.
He was an adult now—no longer a child. Seeing the fully grown man before her, Bee smiled warmly again.
“No difficulties?”
“Father prepared everything, so there haven’t been any real challenges.”
“I see.”
Upon Lant’s return, Marquis Elient had immediately begun grooming him as his successor, acting as if he’d hand over the title any day. Many expressed concern over this haste.
Lant’s youth was an issue, but the bigger problem was his blemished origins and the five-year gap in his absence. Those who assumed he’d wandered aimlessly during that time doubted his capabilities, questioning his lack of experience and formal education.
Yet, Lant proved them wrong, absorbing the Marquis’s teachings like a sponge. Even the famously critical Marquis was astounded by his quick learning.
Originally planning a three-year training period, the Marquis revised his timeline to a single year, intending to pass on the title within that time.
Enamored with his only granddaughter’s antics, the Marquis was savoring joys he’d missed with Bee’s childhood. But as a workaholic, he had little time for her.
To carve out more moments with Sasha, he planned to relinquish not only the marquisate but also his role as chancellor, now spending his days scouting a worthy successor.
“You’ve barely been back, and you’re already working hard,” Bee remarked.
“It’s something I had to do eventually,” Lant replied.
His journey had been to gain the strength to protect Bee, the center of his world. Inheriting the title held the same purpose.
For Bee to stand strong as Empress, the Elient Marquisate—her family—needed to be a solid pillar behind her. Lant was determined to fulfill that role as its head.
That’s why I went on the journey.
Over five years, he’d traveled far beyond the West. After studying the Inayari’s habits and patterns, he roamed the East, North, and South—wherever his feet led him.
The money Bee had given him ran out quickly, stolen by those who saw him as a naive noble.
Sheltered under Bee’s protection, Lant had been ignorant of the world’s harshness. His travels taught him how privileged his life had been and how extraordinary Bee was.
He also learned that human malice could surpass even the Inayari’s ferocity, yet hope could still bloom in the harshest conditions.
Surviving near-death experiences, Lant grew stronger.
“I trust you’ll do well,” Bee said, her gentle smile met with one from Lant.
Until now, he’d prepared to protect that smile. Now, it was time to guard it by her side.
“Speaking of which, the founding festival is just days away,” Lant noted.
The palace, usually quiet except for Sasha’s escapades, buzzed with preparations for the festival.
This year’s event, marking the empire’s 1,000th anniversary, would host not only domestic nobles but also foreign dignitaries, making the palace’s hustle inevitable.
“It’s the thousandth festival, so it ought to be grander than usual,” Bee replied, sipping her tea.
Gone was the healthy plumpness she’d gained during Sasha’s pregnancy; she was now thinner than before childbirth.
She’s so different from Lady Retan, Lant thought, recalling the robust figure of Marquis Retan’s wife, Levina. He felt a pang of sorrow, as if the Empress’s throne was draining Bee.
During his time in the West, Lant had relied heavily on Marquis Retan’s help, growing especially close to Kassan, a subordinate he treated like a brother. Levina, Bee’s dear friend and the Marquis’s wife, became a trusted ally as well.
Levina, who’d suffered severe morning sickness and lost weight during pregnancy, had gained a round, healthy figure after childbirth, as if making up for it.
Marquis Retan was delighted by her fuller form, partly due to the Western preference for plump beauty, but mostly because his love for her blinded him to appearances. A fuller figure simply made her more comforting to hold.
Sys, seeing Levina’s growing curves at annual New Year’s parties, seemed to take it as a challenge. He was determined not to lose in his devotion to Bee.
Having seen Bee at her prettiest with a bit of healthy weight, Sys was obsessed with helping her regain it. He sourced every nourishing food he could find, and to lighten her workload, he filled the Empress’s Palace with capable staff.
He even consulted the physician about whether their intimate moments were excessive, worried it might affect her health.
Unaware of Sys’s efforts, Lant simply resented him, seeing Bee’s thinness compared to Levina’s fullness.
But Bee’s slimness wasn’t due to overwork or poor diet—it was simply her high metabolism, making weight gain difficult.
Oblivious to this, both men fretted over how to help her gain weight.
“Oh?”
The door swung open without Bee’s permission.
“Uncle Lant!”
Sasha, who needed no permission to enter anywhere, beamed at the sight of him.
Lant rose from the sofa, smiling back. Sasha, clinging to Evan’s neck like a cicada on a tree, stretched her arms toward him.
“Have you been well?”
“Yes!”
Lant lifted her, kissing her cheek. Sasha giggled, tickled by the sensation.
“Uncle, you’re scratchy!”
She rubbed his jaw, her small hands brushing against his stubbly beard.
“Oops,” Lant said, embarrassed. He’d tried to groom himself, but old habits from five years of rough travel lingered.
Unfazed, Sasha giggled again, amused by the prickly sensation.
“Papa’s scratchy too,” she said.
Due to Sys’s dislike for formal titles, Sasha called her parents “Papa” and “Mama” instead of the imperial “Father” and “Mother.”
Bee, believing children should be free, didn’t confine Sasha to rigid etiquette. Combined with her spirited nature, this upbringing let Sasha grow unburdened by convention.
“Is he?”
“Yes, he teases me every night, rubbing his face on mine. It stings here,” she said, touching her cheeks.
Even with daily grooming, Sys’s stubble grew thick by night. He loved rubbing it against Sasha’s cheeks before bed, her squealing laughter melting his heart.
“Uncle’s scratchy too!”
As Lant pressed his cheek to hers, Sasha burst into laughter again.
Having left for his journey right after her birth, Lant was a stranger to Sasha. But through Bee and Evan’s stories, delivered via the Pison Company’s network, she knew of her uncle.
Perhaps because of this, despite her usual shyness, Sasha warmed to Lant quickly. To Lant, his niece—eerily like young Bee—was utterly adorable.
“Shalwhina Arne Bian Freeston.”
Sasha flinched in Lant’s arms at Bee’s voice calling her full name, a sign of reprimand.
Though lenient, Bee was strict about certain things.
“I told you Madame Miela was coming today, didn’t I?”
Promises were one such matter.
Integrity was vital, especially for those in high positions. Words spoken must be kept, particularly promises made to her.
Bee taught Sasha that promises were sacred.
Trying to dodge her mother’s stern gaze, Sasha burrowed into Lant’s arms. She knew breaking promises was wrong, but time with Madame Miela was unbearable.
Looking up at Lant with hopeful green eyes, she silently pleaded for rescue.
Cold sweat beaded on Lant’s forehead. He knew firsthand how torturous Madame Miela’s fittings were—days spent with her for his coming-of-age ceremony rivaled the hardships of his travels.
He couldn’t defy Bee, but neither could he refuse his adorable niece.
“Sister, I…”
“Oh, speaking of which, you don’t have clothes for the festival either,” Bee interrupted, as if just remembering.
Lant had returned only two months ago. Aside from visiting Bee and Sasha, he’d been cloistered in the estate for successor training, leaving no time to prepare formal attire.
His childhood clothes were too small, and after five years, they were hopelessly outdated.
Clapping her hands, Bee said, “This is perfect. You should get fitted with Sasha.”
“But I…”
“You, go fetch Madame Miela,” Bee ordered a maid before Lant could protest.
The maid hurried off, and Lant stared after her helplessly.
“Uncle…”
Sasha looked at him with anxious eyes. Shaking his head, Lant signaled he was powerless too.
