Inside the bathroom the steam gradually dissipated, the cool fragrance of body wash still lingering upon her skin.
Irene wiped herself thoroughly dry with a soft cotton towel and changed into a carefully chosen pink silk nightgown.
The pink hem draped a little loosely above her knees, baring a stretch of fair, plump calf.
She stood before the mirror, patting her still-flushed face with a guilty-as-a-thief air, then quietly twisted open the brass door handle and poked out a fuzzy little pink head, peeking outside like a sneak-thief.
Not far off, the ice blocks within the Bedchamber were still slowly giving off their coolness.
In an atmosphere as cool and crisp as autumn, Sophia still sat quietly behind the long desk.
An oil lamp emitting a faint yellow halo burned silently, the warm amber lamplight spilling down and outlining the silver-haired girl's flawless, exquisite profile until it resembled a sculpture of a deity.
That head of silver hair, like pure moonlight, was likewise dyed with a soft golden trim beneath the dim glow, swaying gently upon her slender shoulders with the occasional movement of her turning a page.
Even at this hour, this sixteen-year-old Queen still maintained that immovable, cold, deadpan expression, her pair of pale-golden dead-fish eyes flowing steadily across the lines of words on the pages.
Watching this scene, Irene gently pursed her somewhat dry lips. Now that the girl had been awakened to such feelings, her maiden's thoughts grew like wild grass running rampant in spring—impossible to suppress no matter what.
Hmph hmph, Her Majesty looks really lovely right now.
Tonight, the right to use Her Majesty's bed—This Inventor is just going to claim it directly!
Irene, baring a pair of fair, slender little calves and pale little feet, stepped onto the thick, soft white-fox-fur carpet.
Because the carpet was so excessively fragrant and soft, her ordinarily brisk, fiery footsteps made not the slightest sound this time.
Under the cover of night and the faint yellow lamplight, the pink-haired girl looked exactly like a little rabbit creeping over the grass-tips in the dead of night.
In one swift dash she hurried straight to the edge of the bed, and without even a sliver of extra hesitation, with thunderbolt-swift speed, whoosh—she burrowed into Sophia's broad, comfortable blankets.
"Rustle..."
The crisp, cold herbal fragrance of Black Rose unique to Her Majesty, together with the faint remaining warmth within the covers, instantly rushed over her, wrapping Irene's entire body up seamlessly.
After the hem beneath the quilt rose and folded in a flurry, a small bump soon swelled up under the soft fox-fur covers.
Irene clutched the edge of the quilt tightly with a pair of fair little hands, her whole body curled into the warm, fragrant air, leaving only a fuzzy pink little head outside.
Those big, sapphire-like eyes sparkled brightly, fixed motionlessly upon the Sophia who was right within arm's reach, the depths of her eyes filled with the smugness and delight of a Chief Inventor determined to have her way.
Beneath the amber lamplight, Sophia's fingertips—pale as porcelain—pinched a page and gently produced an exceedingly crisp page-turning sound.
Her pair of pale-golden eyes did not even shift away from the intricate military census roster of surrendered troops, yet as though gifted with foreknowledge, without so much as a sidelong glance, she asked lightly in that cold, ripple-free voice:
"Your eyes are rolling about—what wicked little scheme are you cooking up now?"
Inside the covers, Irene—who showed only a fuzzy pink little head—hearing this, displayed not the slightest fluster at being caught. Instead she pulled the soft quilt up a little higher, revealing a pair of bright, sparkling sapphire eyes, and gave a heh heh laugh:
"Heh heh, I'm not telling Your Majesty!"
Hearing this exceedingly brash yet faintly tsundere crisp little voice, Sophia's deadpan face still wore the same detached look of one who saw through everything.
With a touch of disdain she dabbed her quill pen at the edge of the inkstone, continued sketching upon the official document, and replied coldly:
"It seems our Miss Inventor truly has grown up. Now she's even learning to keep secrets from This Queen."
"I-I'm not keeping anything secret!"
The moment she heard those three words, "grown up," Irene's round little face instantly flushed hot again, as if steamed by hot vapor, reddening at an extremely brisk pace.
At the thought of all that knowledge about admiration Victoria had imparted to her, and the grand conquest plan she was about to carry out shortly, the pink-haired girl bashfully buried her whole little face into the soft quilt that gave off the cold fragrance of Black Rose, and through the thick fox-fur covers, hummed sullenly:
"In any case... in any case, Your Majesty will know everything in a little while!"
Hearing that muffled, coquettish whine drift up from the covers, the fingers Sophia used to turn her quill pen paused ever so slightly.
She tilted her head a fraction, looking at the curled-up pink bundle on the bed—even its twin ponytails quivering faintly—and the corner of those ever-emotionless thin lips once again, imperceptibly, curved up just the tiniest bit.
This little girl—most likely she's hammered out some new process for a novel padded-cotton armor on the workshop assembly line today, or fiddled out some strange handicraft idea again, and that's why she's run over here to This Queen to claim credit and play coy.
Never mind. For the sake of her working high-intensity overtime in the East side hall every single day, helping This Queen midwife the most solid iron walls of the new Order, tonight This Queen will indulge that little bit of smugness of hers.
Deep in her heart Sophia issued an exceedingly comfortable salted-fish calculation, then once more reined in her thoughts and steadily went on processing the great account of military-registry renaming for those seventeen downgraded cities in her hands.
The night deepened further. Reinforced by magic, the ice blocks within the Bedchamber continuously released cool air, sealing out the summer night's swelter so utterly that not a single wisp could penetrate.
Another roughly half-hour passed, and Sophia slowly set down the quill pen in her hand.
The aching soreness from days of tallying the main warehouse's targets turned in this moment into a fine, dense fatigue, pressing heavily upon her eyelids.
The silver-haired girl rubbed her somewhat sore knuckles, rose to her full slender, willowy height, and with neat, elegant steps strode quite naturally toward that separate, private bathroom.
After all, having picked up no small amount of dust in the stone courtyard and flower house during the day, on a deep night like this when she could sleep until she woke naturally, only by taking a comfortable hot bath could this Queen—forever facing crisis—reclaim a few sparse moments of peace.
"Splash, splash... splash, splash..."
From the direction of the bath soon came an exceedingly regular, crisp, rhythmic sound of running water.
Waves of the Black Rose calming herbal scent that Saint Daphne had blended drifted out, and beneath the blowing of the cool air, spread soundlessly through the empty Bedchamber.
And at this moment, Irene—who had originally been lying on the bed feigning sleep with her eyes closed—the very instant she heard the running water start, secretly opened that pair of bright, sparkling sapphire eyes.
Listening to that ceaseless splashing of water beyond the wooden door, the pink-haired girl beneath the covers felt her little palms break out all at once in a fine, dense layer of fragrant sweat.
Thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump!!
A heartbeat even more violent, even more out-of-control than hammering rivets in the workshop pounded madly and with utter clarity within her chest.
Irene clutched the pink silk nightgown on her body for dear life, her whole self so nervous within the warm, soft fox-fur covers that even her body trembled faintly.
Eep——!!
What do I do, what do I do?! Her Majesty's already gone to bathe!!
When Her Majesty comes out all fragrant in a little while and lifts the hem to lie down, what kind of pose should This Inventor use to snuggle up to her?!
Conquest—let me think about how everyone in those novels, anime, or movies I've seen before went about conquering the person they liked.
In the pleasantly cool Bedchamber, the little pink rabbit feigning sleep listened to the water sounds in the bath while sinking, upon the fragrant, soft bed, into an unprecedented extreme of nervousness and boundless anticipation.
"Click."
As the heavy wooden door of the private bath gave a soft sound, the continuous water vapor within the bathroom gradually dispersed, and carrying the cold, crisp fragrance unique to Black Rose essential oil, spread soundlessly through the Bedchamber.
Sophia had finished her hot bath.
She had changed into a somewhat loose, plain-white silk nightgown, her head of silver hair—dazzling like pure moonlight—draped casually now over her slender shoulders with a broad cotton towel, the very tips still carrying a few crystalline traces of moisture.
Upon that exquisite, flawless deadpan face, the pair of pale-golden dead-fish eyes remained as still as an ancient well, sweeping lightly over the fox-fur soft bed not far off, where a pink bundle bulged.
It seemed this little pink rabbit had, after all, been unable to hold off her drowsiness and had already conked out fast asleep.
The deep night in the Temporary Palace was too cold; quite naturally she sat down on the edge of the bed, lifted a corner of the quilt, and steadily lay into the cool, fragrant, soft covers, ready to enjoy this perfect sleep schedule of sleeping until she woke naturally.
And yet, before this sixteen-year-old Queen had even finished pulling the fox-fur covers up over herself—
"Whoosh——!"
That pink bundle inside the covers—originally disguised so seamlessly that even its breathing had been deliberately kept exceedingly regular—actually, in the span of one second, with no warning at all, completely detonated open!
The now-awakened Chief Inventor displayed the terrifying execution power belonging to a top-tier Transmigrator.
Irene was exactly like a pink lop-eared rabbit that had locked onto its core target in the dead of night. With a whoosh she flipped herself up, and borrowing the momentum from beneath the quilt, exceedingly naturally yet domineeringly flung herself solidly, squarely, into Sophia's cold-fragranced embrace—
A warm, soft sensation rushed over her in an instant. Upon Sophia's porcelain-pale deadpan face there surfaced, extremely rarely and extremely faintly, a trace of bewilderment.
Without warning, a fragrant, warm, fuzzy pink little head had appeared in her arms, and that pair of bare, garmentless little hands, still carrying a scalding warmth, clutched tightly at the corner of her plain-white nightgown.
Sophia's pair of pale-golden dead-fish eyes drooped slightly, lowering to look at this little rabbit in her arms who played by no logic at all. In the end she did not reach out to forcibly push her away, only opening her lips lightly, her voice cold as ever:
"This Queen had thought you were already completely asleep."
Yet how could the Irene in her arms dare to raise her head right now and meet that pair of supreme pupils that saw through everything?
"Thump-thump, thump-thump!!"
Feeling Her Majesty's warm body heat so close at hand, Irene felt her heart pounding even more out of control than a hundred forging hammers striking rivets in the East side hall.
The knowledge about admiration and possessiveness that Victoria had just imparted in the office turned in this moment into mountain-toppling, sea-overturning shame and anticipation, almost neutralizing her reason entirely.
Whatever!
Since she'd already taken the first step of conquering Her Majesty, she absolutely could not declare a massive output reduction on the very first process!
Irene squeezed her pair of sapphire-like big eyes shut, said not a word, and simply carried the play-deaf-and-dumb straight-ball route through to the very end.
She buried her flushed-crimson round face deep against Sophia's exquisite collarbone and the hollow of her neck, like a little milk-kitten who had suffered the greatest injustice, rubbing clingily and heedlessly against Sophia's porcelain-fine skin.
That faintly ticklish, warm pressure kept transmitting over, making the Sophia lying steadily on the bed slightly knit her lovely brows.
In her survival-calculation model, although Irene was usually clingy, she had never once before displayed such an almost reason-losing, fervent act.
Could it be that this little girl, staring all day in the workshop at those few hundred farm-women rushing out armor, had worked such high-intensity overtime that she'd developed some mental ailment?
Or while checking the wheat-seed quotas of seventeen cities in the main warehouse just now, had she gotten into some administrative conflict with Daphne and suffered some grievance?
At this thought, the originally somewhat drowsy deadpan Queen revealed, exceedingly covertly in her innermost depths, a faint trace of concern, and asked lightly:
"What's wrong?
Did you run into some bad debt you couldn't resolve in the workshop, or did you suffer some grievance there?"
Listening to Her Majesty's familiar voice—cold, yet ever so covertly carrying a strand of that unique indulgence—Irene felt the pool of sweet-and-sour spring water belonging to a maiden's first awakening of love within her heart utterly burst its banks in this instant.
So... so the reason she had always felt out of favor and flustered whenever she saw Her Majesty being good to others was all because she wanted to monopolize this tenderness for herself!
Irene still did not answer.
The pink-haired girl even stretched out a pair of fair little hands beneath the warm, soft fox-fur quilt, crying out in shame yet with exceeding boldness and clear purpose, groping straight over and clamping, tightly and without reserve, around Sophia's slender, soft, can't-fill-a-single-grip waist!
With this, the temperature inside the covers completely went out of control.
Sophia's exquisite deadpan face froze dead-still in an exceedingly bizarre way for one second.
Something's off—this little girl's state tonight is simply far too off!
Back when she snatched half the bed to sleep in the Royal City, at most she'd hug This Queen's arm to use as a pillow. But today, with this posture of hands and feet groping all over, even directly hugging and locking down This Queen's waist—why does it faintly carry a few shades of that peerless scoundrel, the City Lord of Leighton, Liliana, who's outside the door?!
At this thought, Sophia's porcelain-white little hand exceedingly nimbly reached down and, with unerring precision, seized Irene's somewhat scalding fair little hand that was groping all over her waist, pressing it firmly in place.
A flash of earnest light glinted across the silver-haired girl's pair of pale-golden dead-fish eyes, her voice cold as the wilds of the Northern border, yet so pleasant it turned one's bones to mush:
"Irene.
If you keep playing deaf and dumb, with your hands and feet so restless, This Queen will immediately call in Delilah from outside, greatsword in hand, and toss you onto the cold stone floor of the corridor to keep her company."
The moment she heard that Sophia actually intended to employ the most heartless physical means to expel her, Irene—who had still been frantically imagining all sorts of things—at last could not hold up under the extreme shame and panic.
"Wuu... don't call anyone! Your Majesty, please absolutely don't call Delilah in!!"
Only then did the pink-haired girl, her entire gorgeous little face flushed crimson and nearly dripping, slowly, somewhat timidly yet brightly, lift her head out of Sophia's fragrant embrace.
Her pair of sapphire-like big eyes now welled with a layer of crystalline mist, and even the pair of pink twin ponytails atop her head quivered faintly with unease.
Irene, somewhat flustered, clutched the edge of the white fox-fur covers with her fair fingers, sniffled her sore little nose, looked at the Queen so close at hand, and clingily yet with utter honesty mumbled in a small voice:
"I-I just... I just suddenly figured out one enormous thing in the workshop tonight!"
Watching Irene's flushed, hot little face as she now timidly clutched the fox-fur covers, Sophia could not help but issue, deep in her innermost heart, an exceedingly comfortable and knowing sigh.
Just as This Queen expected—this girl working high-intensity overtime tinkering with the armor assembly line in the East side hall every single day, she must have something pent up in her heart.
Most likely, today, in order to rush out that batch of new-model fine-iron padded-cotton armor's rivet-fixing process, she got into some dispute about the main warehouse's target calculations with those strong farm-women or with Saint Daphne in the workshop.
Or perhaps some Black powder ratio went slightly awry, and feeling wronged at heart, she ran over in the dead of night to crawl into This Queen's covers, seeking a bit of psychological account-balancing and divine commendation from Mason's Supreme Emperor.
Since it's This Queen's core Chief Inventor running into a worry over administrative targets, then on this deep night when one can sleep until waking naturally, This Queen doesn't mind taking the trouble to hear out her report about the assembly line for a bit.
After all, the new-Order iron walls of the entire Northern border all depend on those little hands of hers, caked with raw-iron powder, to bring forth.
The salted-fish Queen's pair of pale-golden dead-fish eyes covertly revealed a subtle, faint relief, her voice cold and utterly free of worldly emotional swings, yet, exceedingly rarely, carrying a barely perceptible strand of that unique indulgence:
"Speak.
So long as it's not about another serious explosion in the workshop causing a major shortfall in the assembly line's output, This Queen will take the trouble tonight to hear what enormous grievance our Chief Inventor has suffered in the East side hall."
Listening to Her Majesty's familiar voice—cold, yet ever so covertly carrying a strand of that unique indulgence—Irene felt the pool of sweet-and-sour spring water belonging to a maiden's first awakening of love within her heart utterly burst its banks in this instant.
The thump-thump, thump-thump of her heartbeat was, at this very moment, simply more out of control than the din of dozens of forging hammers striking fine-iron padded-cotton armor in the East side hall.
The knowledge about admiration, possessiveness, and loving someone that Victoria had just imparted in the office was, like layer upon layer of utterly disorderly, terrifying powder fuse-cords, madly declaring detonation across her mind.
Since Her Majesty has asked, and since This Inventor has already fully understood her own feelings beneath the banner of the Black Rose, then This Lady absolutely cannot, on this deep night, declare a massive output reduction on the very first process of the straight-ball conquest!
Even though her cheeks were practically about to melt entirely into Her Majesty's cold-fragranced nightgown, Irene still gritted her teeth and once again, exceedingly improperly and exceedingly boldly, stretched out her scalding little hand beneath the fragrant, soft fox-fur quilt.
Tightly, without reserve, she hugged around Sophia's slender, soft, can't-fill-a-single-grip waist!
The pink-haired girl was so bashful that her whole body trembled faintly within the warm, soft fox-fur covers, even the pair of disheveled pink twin ponytails atop her head quivering faintly with unease.
With an exceedingly brisk yet shame-and-resolve-soaked earnest voice, she tried—quite unsuccessfully—to bury her blood-crimson little face entirely into the hollow of Her Majesty's porcelain-fine neck.
Within Sophia's pair of pale-golden pupils, clingily yet with utter honesty, before the deep-night Bedchamber corridor, before the minister's office inside the main door, she slowly declared:
"Your Majesty is wise!
But This Inventor... I've figured it out.
The reason I always used to madly work high-intensity overtime in the East side hall, rushing deadlines all day with those cold fine-iron armors and assembly-line processes, so hard-working, so full of drive—it wasn't because I love invention and creation so much..."
Irene exceedingly bashfully swallowed her somewhat dry saliva, fiercely inhaled that strand of Black Rose herbal cold-fragrance unique to Her Majesty, and her voice grew thin as a mosquito's yet abnormally clear:
"It's because... it's because This Inventor likes Your Majesty!
I want to earn Your Majesty's praise, I want to bring the things This Lady creates right up to Your Majesty's white-fox-fur soft chair, I want Your Majesty's lovely eyes to always fall upon me—
I want to monopolize this hot-spring tenderness of Your Majesty's!!"
This whole brash, shameful yet incomparably earnest and resolute grand conquest plan of Irene's was slowly declared and settled within the pleasantly cool Bedchamber.
Sophia, lying steadily on the bed, did not have a single superfluous twitch of her facial muscles; that exquisite deadpan face, like the handiwork of a deity, remained still as an ancient well.
Within the Bedchamber drifted the faint coolness of melting ice, yet beneath the thick fox-fur long covers, the atmosphere in this instant completely lost control, so scalding it nearly set the air alight.
Sophia's exquisite deadpan face still wore a calm, unrippled look, her pair of pale-golden dead-fish eyes quietly watching this flushed-through little pink rabbit in her arms.
Seeing that Her Majesty had given no response for so long—that gaze even looking as though she were listening to some emotionless mid-year workshop report—Irene grew anxious in an instant.
Her heartbeat, already out of control from excessive nervousness, slammed even more violently in this moment.
I'm done for! Her Majesty must think This Lady is just acting cute as usual, or finding some new way to wheedle for a workshop reward!
This won't do! What This Inventor brought over tonight is the most genuine, bona fide straight-ball confession!
"Your Majesty! I-I'm not joking!!"
The pink-haired girl gritted her teeth, and as if finally making some kind of resolve, somewhat unwilling to concede, propped up a stretch of fair, white body within the warm covers.
The thin pink silk nightgown and the plain-white long dress on Sophia pressed against each other over a large area amid the fox-fur, and with her movements the fine fabrics rubbed against one another, giving off a rustle that softened the roots of one's ears.
Irene brashly cupped Sophia's porcelain-fine cheeks, her pair of bright, sparkling sapphire eyes filled with shame yet scalding earnestness:
"I really do like Your Majesty!
It's admiration!
It's the kind of liking where I want to stick to Your Majesty for a whole lifetime and chase away all the other little vixens!
It's-it's not the kind of yearning toward a deity like Daphne's, nor simple worship—it's the most, the most intimate kind of admiration between one girl and another girl!!"
This string of rapid-fire confession completely emptied out the whole of Irene's sense of shame.
For a moment the Bedchamber was so quiet that only the pink-haired girl's rapid, warm breathing could be heard.
Looking at that still-cold deadpan face so close at hand, Irene's whole body trembled with nervousness upon the soft bed.
Whatever!
In anime and those clingy novels it's all played out this way—at this turning-point juncture of the great tide, one ought to use the most forceful process to lock the favorability down completely!
Irene squeezed her pair of sapphire-like big eyes tightly shut, even the pair of disheveled twin ponytails atop her head pulled bolt-straight.
She somewhat clumsily pursed her rosy, moist lips, and borrowing that surge of post-awakening mad drive in her mind, suddenly kissed toward Sophia's perfect face!!
"Mn..."
However, because her eyes were shut and she truly was far too nervous, this Chief Inventor, in the end, still made a slip on the most crucial operating procedure.
This kiss not only failed to land precisely—it ended up bluntly kissing crooked.
Her warm, soft lips merely, ever so lightly and flusteredly, grazed the somewhat cool corner of Sophia's mouth, then froze there in the most awkward way.
Aaaah——!! How could this happen?!
This Inventor can handle those precise Black powder fuse-cords in the workshop without the slightest error—so why is it that exactly when conquering Her Majesty, I can't even land a kiss properly?!
Now it's all blown!
Extreme shame and frustration surged up at her heart in an instant; Irene's whole round face flushed so red it nearly melted entirely.
She gave a whimper, her two little hands somewhat flusteredly releasing Sophia's cheeks, her body going limp, and she made to retreat backward along the fox-fur covers in utter mortification, wishing she could simply claw open a crack in the white fox-fur carpet and burrow inside.
Yet before this little pink rabbit who'd done wrong and wanted to flee could shift back even half an inch—
A pale, slender hand carrying a faintly cool warmth reached out from the covers exceedingly abruptly yet exceedingly domineeringly, and with utter precision clasped onto that stretch of Irene's soft, can't-fill-a-single-grip waist.
That force was not heavy, yet it carried a supreme majesty that brooked no refusal, bluntly dragging that retreating pink body wholly back into the warm embrace that gave off the cold fragrance of Black Rose.
The thin silk nightgown clung tightly together in an instant from the pull. Irene, somewhat dazed, opened her big eyes, and before she could let out a cry of surprise, the next second, Sophia's pair of pale-golden dead-fish eyes abruptly drew near in her vision.
Upon that ever cold-as-frost, scheme-perfect deadpan face, at this very moment, the corners of that pair of lovely thin lips actually, exceedingly rarely and truly genuinely, curved up just the tiniest bit.
It was an arc of warmth soaked in boundless indulgence and doting.
Sophia lowered her long lashes slightly, and within the air as cool and crisp as autumn, facing Irene's panic-stricken gaze, she actively tilted her head.
Exceedingly certain yet incomparably tender, she covered her own rosy lips directly over Irene's slightly parted, still-scalding soft lips.
"Mn...!!"
It was a supreme moment a thousand, a hundred times more perfect than the crooked contact just now.
The crisp, cold herbal fragrance unique to Her Majesty, wrapped in a dizzying warm sweetness, instantly engulfed Irene completely like a rising tide.
Sophia's kiss was exceedingly light, exceedingly slow, yet carried a supreme deity's most secret deep-night account-balancing and commendation toward her own core Inventor.
Tender lips pressed and rubbed exceedingly clingily within the fox-fur covers, and the breaths of the two of them, uncontrollably, became utterly entangled.
Irene felt her brain in this instant as though set wholly alight by a sky-filling spread of Black powder, her whole self flushing through until she lost all capacity for thought.
She could only, somewhat limply, let Her Majesty's hand wrap tightly around her waist, kneading their two bodies seamlessly together into the depths of this fragrant, soft white-fox-fur bed.
For a long while, until this deep-night, warm, tangerine-flavored storm gradually subsided, Sophia finally pulled away a sliver of distance.
Long silver threads of hair interwove and tangled at the shoulders of them both. Sophia, looking down from above at this little pink rabbit in her arms—eyes nearly gone utterly vacant, round face flushed beyond reason—had her pair of pale-golden pupils brimming over with tenderness.
Somewhat amused, she stretched out a pale fingertip and, exceedingly lightly and intimately, stroked once over Irene's somewhat red and swollen, still faintly trembling moist lips.
Then, with that voice so pleasant it turned one's bones to mush, soaked in boundless doting, she murmured low beside Irene's ear:
"It seems... our little Inventor really has grown up tonight."
Irene lifted her head, that pair of clear sapphire big eyes now veiled with a layer of mist, brimming with an almost clingy admiration and attachment toward Sophia.
In all her years alive, she had never known a kiss tasted like this.
She'd thought it was merely a simple pressing of lips against lips, yet until that very moment just now, she discovered that every inch of skin all over her body awakened along with it.
A heat-current spreading from deep in her lower belly shot straight to her fingertips, leaving her whole self tingling and numb.
Her body trembled faintly and unceasingly beneath the warm fox-fur covers, her pair of fair little calves going somewhat weak, yet driven by the instinct to draw closer, unconsciously wanting to press even nearer to Sophia.
The thin, soft silk fabric rubbed amid the bed, stirring up a warm sensation that sent the heart pounding out of control.
Looking at this little pink rabbit in her arms—even her breathing gone fine and dense, her cheeks scalding to an alarming degree—a flash of mirth crossed the depths of Sophia's eyes.
She lifted that slender, pale hand, fingertips carrying a faintly cool warmth, and exceedingly gently caressed Irene's jade-smooth, warm cheek.
Then, this ever cold-as-frost Queen lowered her head a fraction, as though she had finally found some interesting toy, and with that pleasant cold voice, carrying a few shades of deliberate teasing, said in a low tone:
"Is it this kind of liking?"
Irene at this moment was nearly melting from shyness, and could only honestly redden within the covers, gently nodding her head.
The arc at the corner of Sophia's mouth hooked deeper. Her fingertip stroked, ever so faintly, over Irene's plump little chin, continuing her wicked-hearted teasing:
"Then now that you're content and satisfied, Miss Inventor, shouldn't you go back to your own room to sleep?"
"Eh?"
Irene's whole self went dazed and blank, staring blankly at the silver-haired girl so close at hand.
She could never have imagined that Her Majesty, at a moment like this when she'd been bullied until her reason had nearly scattered, would suddenly spit out such a thoroughly mood-killing expulsion order!
But the instant she caught sight of the trace of mockery hidden within Sophia's pair of pale-golden dead-fish eyes, the clever pink-haired girl reacted within a ten-thousandth of a second—Her Majesty was clearly making fun of her on purpose, teasing her for sport!
"Your Majesty is wicked-hearted... always loves to bully people like this!"
Irene, somewhat bashfully, bit her red and swollen moist lips, puffed out her cheeks in a huff, and her pair of little hands relentlessly pinched Sophia's slender waist lightly, muttering complaints under her breath—yet her body clung in Sophia's embrace and absolutely refused to budge half an inch.
Seeing this rabbit, angry and shy yet refusing no matter what to let go, the line of defense that Sophia's aloofness had built up within her gaze softened completely in this instant.
Her pair of pale-golden eyes grew gentle, welling up with a layer of watery light, her palm sliding quietly down along Irene's warm cheek.
Her slender fingertips brushed past that somewhat uneasy, graceful neck, sliding all the way down along Irene's plump little shoulder.
In the depths of the covers, the thin pink silk nightgown had long since folded somewhat loosely up top from the two of them tangling, and Sophia's palm slid down against Irene's fine, delicate waistline.
Following that stretch of fair, white, utterly unobstructed slippery skin all the way down, it finally caressed from Irene's side-waist down to below her thigh, gently hooking the somewhat loose boundary line of her nightgown.
The legs beneath the covers in this moment unknowingly tangled completely together, the warmth belonging to each other merging without reserve within the fox-fur covers, the sensation of skin pressed against skin slippery and heart-stoppingly thrilling.
"Mn..."
Before Irene could even recover from that almost-paralyzing tingling numbness transmitting up from her thigh, Sophia had already once more lowered that noble silver-haired head.
Those rosy lips, carrying the crisp, cold Black Rose herbal scent, without the slightest hesitation pressed fiercely yet incomparably tenderly once again upon Irene's somewhat red and swollen lips.
The long silver strands of hair scattered open beneath the amber lamplight, concealing the faces of them both entirely within the depths of an ambiguous, scalding shadow.
Irene's two hands hugged obediently around Sophia's waist, feeling Sophia's fingers, her tone trembling faintly: "It tickles, Your Majesty..."
Sophia's slender finger-bones went pale; she drew a deep breath: "Hold on a little."
Irene was about to say something, but her lips were stoppered up once more, and even speaking, she could only let out a muffled whimper.
In truth she very much liked those hands of Sophia's.
The first time she met her, when Sophia stood before the prison and waved for someone to open the cell door, Irene had thought: these hands, in the modern world, would surely be very well suited to playing piano.
But now, Irene rather regretted it.
Though Her Majesty was very thin, Her Majesty's fingers were far too slender.
Her Majesty did not like to keep long nails. Unlike ordinary noble ladies, Her Majesty's nails were clean and neat, carrying only a lustrous white and the natural pink of her fingers.
"No..."
Tears appeared at the girl's eye-corners at some unknown moment. Irene opened and closed her mouth, wanting to say something.
But she only managed a single note; all the rest of the sound was swallowed up.
The temperature of the Bedchamber gradually grew warm.
Yet the heat on her skin and the heat inside seemed somehow not quite the same.
Irene instinctively twisted her waist, wanting to escape, but the moment she dodged backward she was immediately caught back by that hand at her waist.
Getting to the root of it.
"What? Is it 'no'?"
Sophia's voice at this moment was low. Irene felt foggy and dazed, as if Her Majesty were very far away from her—or rather, because she was too dazed, she had grown somewhat unable to tell.
"No, it's not 'no'..."
Her Majesty's hands were beautiful.
"Your Majesty, Your Majesty..."
"Mn."
The hand bracing against Sophia's waist had already lost all its strength.
In the end Irene drifted off into sleep.
In a muddled haze, she felt as though she had been picked up and covered with the quilt, and someone planted a kiss upon her neck.
And then, she knew nothing at all.
Golden morning light streamed through the Temporary Palace's tall glazed-tile vaulted dome, spilling without obstruction across the marble floor.
Last night's ice blocks, reinforced by Daphne with magic, had long since mostly melted, turning into clear flowing water in the white-porcelain ice buckets, yet still keeping this luxurious Bedchamber as cool and crisp as an autumn day.
When Irene muddledly opened that pair of sapphire-like big eyes, the daylight outside had long since brightened.
She blinked somewhat blankly, and just as she went to raise her arm to prop up her body, an indescribable soreness and tingling numbness came sweeping over her from every limb and joint, so that she gasped in a breath of cold air.
The pink-haired girl instinctively turned her head, looking toward her side.
The other side of that broad bed laden with soft white fox-fur was already empty by now, even the creases smoothed seamlessly away—only a faint strand of the Black Rose herbal cold-fragrance unique to Her Majesty Sophia still lingered upon the somewhat chilly pillow-tip.
Her Majesty... was already not here.
Only belatedly realizing it, the Chief Inventor, upon seeing the empty pillowside clearly, had last night's absurd, warm, blush-inducing ridiculous scenes burst open in her mind all at once, like floodwaters bursting a dike!
"Oh heavens, oh heavens!! What on earth did This Inventor do last night?!
Not only did I make a straight-ball confession to Her Majesty, I even bluntly hugged Her Majesty's waist and refused to let go for dear life...
And even, even...
This Lady actually went and fainted asleep from shyness right in Her Majesty's arms—this, this is just too pathetically useless!!"
At the thought of those clingy, ridiculous goings-on, Irene's whole self grew so ashamed she was practically about to smoke on the spot.
She yanked over the thick fox-fur covers and buried her whole flushed-through round face deep into the very depths of the covers, like a startled little hedgehog, rolling back and forth several times on the bed in some frenzy, letting out fine, fragmented, shame-flustered whimpers.
Just as Irene was inside the covers waging a mad battle with her own sense of shame, tangled up to the point where even the pair of twin ponytails atop her head were nearly twisted into braids—
"Click."
That heavy carved door of the Bedchamber was suddenly pushed open exceedingly nimbly from outside.
The abrupt commotion startled the pink fuzzy hairs on Irene's body until they all stood bolt upright in an instant.
How could she dare let an outsider see her in such a state?
The pink-haired girl was exactly like a little hamster that had encountered its natural predator. With a whoosh she pulled back even the pair of little feet poking out, her whole self curling into a round, trembling pink bundle beneath the white fox-fur covers, holding her breath for dear life.
"Rustle, rustle..."
An exceedingly light, orderly set of footsteps trod over the soft carpet, slowly drawing nearer from afar.
Those steps were neat and elegant, carrying not the slightest scraping rumble of armor—clearly not that red-haired great general Delilah who had stood guard outside all night with a ruby greatsword in hand.
Listening to those footsteps finally come to a halt, neither too far nor too near, right beside her bed-curtain, Irene, hiding in the dark covers, clutched her silk nightgown for dear life with both hands.
Her pair of big eyes rolled about nervously, her heart thumping up and down in uncertainty, as she wavered over whether to quietly lift open a slit and sneak a peek at the newcomer.
Yet before this Chief Inventor could put it into action, from outside the thick fox-fur soft covers there already came a familiar voice carrying a touch of playfulness and tenderness.
"Miss Irene, the sun's already shining on the Temporary Palace's stone steps—how are you still on the bed being a lazy cat that won't get up?"
The Administrative Officer Willow, standing guard outside, stood quietly by the bedside.
This top-tier civil official still wore an impeccably tidy pure-white long dress today, and upon that face which usually bore an ordinary expression with a standard tender smile, her long lashes quivered ever so faintly in the morning light.
Looking at that pink bundle in the covers—motionless from nervousness yet clearly trembling faintly—a most subtle, peculiar something slipped quietly through the depths of Willow's eyes.
As the steward who attended to Her Majesty's dressing every single morning, when she pushed open the door early today, she had glimpsed Her Majesty standing before the window rubbing her somewhat sore knuckles, while upon the bed slept this utterly defenseless little pink rabbit.
Though she still maintained that flawless, elegant bearing, showing not the slightest emotion on her face, deep in her heart there nonetheless welled up, more or less, a strand of that faint sourness and envy unique to a civil official.
Still, watching Irene's comical, guilty-as-a-thief appearance, the standard smile at the corner of Willow's mouth in the end grew a few shades thicker, and carrying an irrepressible leisurely mirth, she teased softly through the covers:
"On such a fine morning, in a little while the seventeen cities of the new Order will still have countless armor orders waiting for the workshop to tally.
Hurry and get up. It's nearly noon already.
Her Majesty, seeing you sleeping so soundly, specially ordered this morning that no one was allowed to come disturb you. By now Her Majesty has already moved to the flower house in the side hall, and specially sent me to call you over to dine together.
Her Majesty said the wind on the wilds of the Northern border is strong, and we vassals, toiling away for days on end rushing out the rosters and quotas, haven't eaten Hot Pot in a long while.
As it happens, today at high noon, Her Majesty intends to set up a bronze pot in the flower house and call everyone together, for a lively Hot Pot at midday today.
Although the weather is still very hot, Saint Daphne has already placed several great blocks of magic-reinforced ice in the flower house, so the temperature there now is quite cool and pleasant."
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