"Is what Butler Xiwen would say," Ett murmured, her gaze drifting over the tall stacks of reports sprawled across the polished desk. The quill in her hand hovered briefly before she pressed it down again, her mind elsewhere.
"And he seems… far too devoted in tending to him," Akan's voice cut through the quiet, precise as ever. She caught the edge of something unspoken in it, the faint pull of concern or disapproval, and her thoughts fluttered. That was close; Akan moves faster than one expects.
"Well, he possesses a compassion that even I, as your subject, cannot claim," she admitted softly, almost to herself, yet aware that he would hear.
"You are equally competent," Akan replied, the words measured but carrying a weight that made her pause.
"Good?" she echoed, a brow lifting.
Akan's thoughts churned, internal debate tight and swift. Her Ladyship was changing the subject, surely; fear of misinterpretation made her tactful.
Perhaps she worried he might perceive her diligence as support for the Emperor's endeavors, a delicate overreach beyond her station. But no, that was not all.
Cold-blooded and efficient, they measured everything by competency alone; warmth was a rare currency, and none between them was ever spent lightly.
Yes, that explained much.
Or perhaps, he considered, she was simply irritated, bored by the endless unfinished tasks surrounding her. It would be more fitting for her to gather these reports herself, driven not by care but by impatience at the Emperor's slow progress. That seemed plausible, even likely.
"Yes, that must be it," Akan concluded internally, settling his thoughts.
"Then let us continue organizing this," Ett said, her voice steady, pulling them both back into the present.
"Yes, Your Ladyship."
***
"The… The Empress Dowager has fainted."
The words came from the passing physician, his tone edged with fatigue and worry, carrying down the hall to Butler Xiwen.
"These days, she appears to faint with troubling frequency," he added, shaking his head.
"Well, Sire Akan mentioned she pushes herself as if she were a student nearing her examinations," Xiwen observed, neutral but careful.
"Was there no way to prevent it?" the physician asked, frustration darkening his eyes.
"We tried," Xiwen said softly, "but she commands with such authority that refusal is impossible. Inevitably, she collapses. Every day, I watch this rhythm, when the handkerchief lodged in her nose reaches half the length of a middle finger, she will faint."
He paused, watching the physician's expression. "Guards wait outside at Akan's summons; now, the palace corridors lie quiet, save for these footsteps."
Perhaps she required a guard more than a physician, Xiwen mused, a wry thought but no less true.
"Butler, I beseech you," Fran's voice trembled slightly, weighed with resignation. "Sire Akan and I cannot contend with her willfulness. We admire her diligence, yet she is… still a child."
"I shall try," Xiwen said simply, calm and unwavering.
Even Fran, veteran of three generations of royal service, seemed daunted, his gaze reverent as though Xiwen were the very sun.
"Thank you! Truly, thank you!" Fran exclaimed, relief flooding him.
"I said I shall try," Xiwen repeated, quiet but firm.
"Yes, yes, better than refusal," Fran conceded, though unease lingered.
Is it really that dire, Xiwen wondered inwardly.
But then knowing the Empress Dowager, and if she sleeps longer than what is due….
"Then I shall attend to the Emperor first," he said, voice measured, shifting his attention with careful precision.
"Of course," Fran replied, weariness threading his words.
The walk back to the Emperor's wing was quiet, deliberate. Xiwen's steps echoed lightly against the polished floors of the palace corridor. The study door opened to reveal Guren, hunched over documents with unwavering focus, dark circles beneath his eyes and pallor shading his cheeks, a shadow of the vigor he once held.
"Greetings, Emperor," Xiwen said, bowing slightly.
Guren's gaze never left th
e manuscript in his hands, eyes scanning the words with relentless diligence.
"This is your refreshment, Emperor. Pray, do not overtax your recovering body," Xiwen added.
"You may leave," came the curt response, clipped and final.
Xiwen bowed again. "Yes, Your Majesty."
Even now, during recovery, the Emperor's diligence left him vulnerable.
Xiwen's concern tightened in his chest any further decline could prove perilous. He would need to attend to the Dowager next, then confer with the chef regarding the Emperor's meals. Presenting such matters to her first risked an icy glare; discretion was paramount.
Upon reaching the Empress Dowager's wing, Xiwen found Fran pacing, sweat gleaming along his brow, anxiety taut in every movement. Relief washed over the physician's features upon seeing Xiwen approach.
"Butler Xiwen, you came," Fran said, voice trembling with exhaustion and relief.
"Physician Fran, you have labored greatly," Xiwen said, acknowledging his effort with quiet respect.
"Indeed, a miracle I have survived three generations of the Adiand royalty," Fran murmured.
"Come, come." He gestured Xiwen forward.
Survival, secrecy, and discretion had preserved him through decades of intrigue and peril; he knew the court's hazards intimately.
The door opened, and Xiwen blinked. The scene mirrored the Emperor's study almost uncannily: piles of papers, meticulous order. Yet here, the stacks towered even higher, a testament to the Dowager's relentless diligence.
"…Butler Xi-Xiwen," Ett's voice reached him, and he turned to see her acknowledge his presence. A quiet relief stirred at least she knew he was here.
"Greetings, Empress Dowager. How are you?" Xiwen asked, bowing respectfully.
"As you can see," she replied, sweeping her hand toward the mountain of documents, eyes sharp but tinged with fatigue.
"Err… do you require my assistance?" he asked, voice almost instinctive.
"I am not your principal master," she reminded him, calm but firm.
"…True," Xiwen murmured, a chuckle escaping despite the tension. He produced a small plate of cookies and a cup of tea, their fragrance unfamiliar yet inviting.
"I prepared a new recipe with the chef's aid, and this tea was suggested by Sire Akan. He said you favored it at the academy. Perhaps the Empress Dowager will sample it?"
Ett regarded the offering with a frown, setting down her fountain pen, eyes assessing. The physician at the door had orchestrated this, yet she discerned no malice.
Really that guy.
Guren would have ignored it entirely, but here, the gesture came purely from Xiwen.
"Then I shall taste it," eat, she must try to have something in her throat.
"Please."
***
Lur Street, Imperial City
Akan sat in the corner of Casim's tavern, deliberately distant from other patrons. Casim leaned back across the table, faint amusement in his eyes.
"What are you aiming at these days?" he asked casually.
"Why? Do you presume to know more than I?" Akan countered, irritation pricking his tone.
"You are the master of rumor and truth," Casim replied lightly, amusement dancing in his words. "I merely wish to hear your account."
Akan's chuckled. Casim had a gift for provocation, a skill honed over countless encounters. Sending him to the gallows, or a slow, miserable exile, tempted him endlessly.
"Very well. I shall refrain from teasing you," Casim offered.
"I am grateful," Akan said flatly.
"How sincere," Casim remarked, voice light, teasing, but faintly approving.
"…Please continue," Akan urged.
"Have I not mentioned my need for a title?" Casim asked, casual as ever.
"That explains your recent activity," Akan noted, eyes narrowing.
"Do you dare suggest aiding children is mere whim?" Casim countered, voice smooth, confident.
"Yes, and you cunningly attach the Emperor's name to your deeds," Akan observed.
Casim shrugged. "Profit and result matter most. Look beyond these walls: the children sweep the streets of Imperial City with joy. I have eased their burdens."
Akan considered, patient but skeptical. "The outsiders may see favorably, even if the Empire does not. Yet they care little. Profit and curiosity guide them. You craft warmth where none exists, yet the truth is cold."
Casim's eyes gleamed. "Let it be so, if perception suffices."
Akan's mind traced the treaty, the Gavarian Treaty, ensuring labor for the Empire was rewarded, loyalty maintained, bloodshed avoided.
"I tell you, Akan, nothing here is improper. People remember generosity. Does the Emperor not value usefulness?" Casim pressed.
"Merely for a title?"
"Reputation accompanies titles. Influence follows. Unlike you, I once remained obscure, known to few," Casim said.
Akan understood. Casim's charity masked ambition, a calculated elevation of social standing. No urgency, but opportunity.
"Very well. If this is your path, so be it. But I sought your counsel," Akan said.
"Speak, then."
"Do you know of anything that might calm a person on the brink of frenzy?"
"Frenzy?" Casim's mind turned swiftly, identifying the subject: the Emperor, a mind strained by war, fragile yet volatile.
"Let me seek and relay it personally," Casim uttered seriously.
Akan expected this. He too had wrestled with facts, seeking clarity in scattered truths.
"Fear not, my friend. I shall aid your turmoil. Surely it stems from the war," Casim said.
Akan's lips twitched. The cover story was plausible. But why are you being so close? My friend? Shivers.
"Yes, of course," he agreed.
"Do not worry. I have known of your madness, yet you control it well. I, Cashim, shall ensure it does not prevent you from marrying suitably," Casim said, eyes glinting with conviction. Doing some dramatic winking.
Akan exhaled slowly. This one, ever persistent, ever infuriating, alone could provoke him so thoroughly.
"Then I thank you, in advance," he replied back. "Wouldn't want you to be influenced right?"
"Oh my Akan, that's a dangerous thing to say~."
"Heh."
That's for you.