When I returned to my room in the rear palace, a maid was waiting with a letter. She seemed to have been waiting for me to come back. The sender was the 5th Prince, Alan. I vaguely remembered him as the one sitting next to me at the Crown Prince's funeral, but I had no clear recollection. In times like this, I deeply regret my long-standing weakness from my salaryman days—my inability to remember people's faces.
This letter was clearly an invitation to join Prince Alan's faction in the succession struggle. For a minor prince like me, there was probably no option to refuse. His mother was the Queen, after all. He was the Queen's faction's promising prince—a huge difference from someone like me. The only possible answer was "yes." I didn't want to offend him and cause trouble for my mother.
I asked the maid,
"Do I need to write a reply to this?"
