Klein and Ophelia shared a look.
It wasn't long, barely half a second. But within that half-second, all the necessary information was exchanged—they would discuss the matter of the Sage once they returned; now was not the time or place to hash it out.
Klein moved first. He picked up his teacup and took a sip, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. By the time he set the cup back on the saucer, his hand was steady. The tea was warm, washing away the dry bitterness at the back of his throat.
But some things couldn't be washed away with a single sip of tea.
Klein pushed that thought to the bottom of the cup.
Ophelia was even faster. Her expression recovered with clean precision, the ripples in her golden eyes vanishing without a trace.
Diancie had been secretly observing them.
She could tell that these two had certainly been thinking a lot just now. The fact that the Sage had personally arranged the marriage was absurd enough on its own; the fact that the parties involved were unaware was even more ridiculous. Diancie really wanted to ask, "What were you just thinking?" but the words died in her throat.
She knew what to ask and what not to ask.
It was one of the few useful skills she had learned in the palace.
“So,” Klein broke the silence, his tone returning to its previous relaxed state, “what does Your Highness usually do in the royal capital?”
The change in topic was abrupt.
But Diancie caught it deftly, clearly not wanting to continue the previous subject either.
“I’m usually at the academy, studying administrative affairs with several tutors. Occasionally, I go to the Council Chamber to observe.”
“Observe?”
“Basically sitting in the back and listening to those ministers argue,” Diancie said, a hint of genuine irritation creeping into her voice. “You have no idea. The people in the Council are like fighting roosters the moment they meet. Last time, over the West Coast funding, Minister Ron almost threw his teacup in Minister Hermann’s face.”
“Did he throw it?” Ophelia asked.
Her tone was flat.
However, Klein noted the names of these two ministers.
“No. He was held back by the people next to him.” Diancie shook her head with a bit of regret. “Actually, I really wanted to see what would happen if he had.”
“Your Highness has rather unique hobbies.”
“Watching a scene is hardly a hobby,” Diancie huffed, then laughed. Only after laughing did she realize she might have revealed a side of herself that didn't quite fit a princess’s image, and she quickly straightened her posture.
Ophelia hadn't spoken, but the slight curve of her lips betrayed her.
Klein inconspicuously stole another glance at Ophelia.
Her body was more relaxed than before—her posture was still upright, but her shoulders weren't as tense, and the line of her back had softened slightly.
The teacup in her hand was no longer just for show; she was actually drinking.
That moment of tension seemed to have passed.
Diancie was changing too.
She was speaking faster, using fewer flowery words, and the polite tone polished by palace etiquette was peeling away bit by bit—like kicking off a pair of stiff-soled shoes after wearing them all day to reveal the comfortable layer underneath.
...
...
“What does Lady Ophelia usually do?” After chatting for a while longer, Diancie tossed the conversation her way.
“Training,” Ophelia’s answer was brief.
Diancie waited for two seconds, only to find there was no follow-up.
“Just... training?”
“I also read some books.” Ophelia’s gaze drifted toward Klein for a moment before quickly pulling back. “It’s a newly formed habit.”
Diancie’s eyes lit up.
“What kind of books? Knight tactics? Art of war?”
“...Travelogues.”
Diancie blinked, surprised.
“Hmm... that’s also quite good. Lady Ophelia is a free agent now and can go wherever she wants—I’m not the same.”
“Father rarely allows us to go out. Even this time...”
Realizing she had misspoken again, Diancie stopped immediately.
However, Klein now understood why Nelisa’s behavior had been so odd when she invited him and Ophelia.
It wasn't that there was any danger, but that the true person behind the invitation was...
“Ahem, let’s not talk about that... Actually, what I’m most curious about is something else.” Diancie rested her chin in her hands, her elbows on the table—a posture that completely defied etiquette, though she likely didn't notice. “How did the two of you end up like this?”
“Like what?” Klein asked.
“Just...” Diancie gestured, her finger moving back and forth between Klein and Ophelia. “Like this. So in sync. Even though you were brought together by an imperial decree of marriage, the way you interact doesn't look like it at all.”
Klein looked at Ophelia.
Ophelia didn't look at him. But the color of her earlobes was a bit deeper than before.
“Adaptation,” Ophelia said.
She paused for a beat.
“...Gradually finding our rhythm.”
She added those four words as if feeling the first part was too dry, injecting a bit of moisture into the statement. But after adding them, her expression became even stiffer—likely because she felt she had stated the obvious.
Diancie: “...That’s it?”
“She’s right,” Klein chimed in, his tone serious. “It’s just normal daily life. Over time, you just find your rhythm. There’s no special secret.”
Diancie’s expression practically screamed "I don't believe you." But she looked at Ophelia’s face, then at Klein’s, and ultimately suppressed the urge to press further.
“Fine,” she muttered. “If I ever get married and things aren't as harmonious as they are for you, I’ll write to ask for advice.”
“Your Highness overestimates us,” Klein said with a smile. “There’s nothing to teach. There’s no methodology for this sort of thing—it’s mostly just that I’m lucky to have met the right person.”
Ophelia finally turned her head to look at him.
There was no particular emotion in that look. It was just a glance. But Klein read a sentence that went unspoken—"Stop being glib."
There might have been another half-sentence after that. But she probably wouldn't admit to that part herself.
He smiled and picked up his teacup.
Diancie didn't notice these details. She was already excitedly talking about a newly opened dessert shop in the royal capital, saying their almond milk crisps were impossibly delicious and that she absolutely had to take Ophelia to try them if there was a chance.
“There’s also a bookstore over there,” Diancie said, suddenly remembering something. “It seems they have quite a few books on alchemy as well.”
She said this with a clever little smile, her eyes intentionally or unintentionally sweeping over Klein.
Ophelia didn't take that bait.
“If it’s a dessert shop—I suppose we could,” she said.
Just those few words. But Klein heard what was buried beneath them—it wasn't enthusiastic, but it was no longer just a perfunctory response. This answer was serious. It even carried a hint of something he rarely saw in her: anticipation.
It was very faint, like ink bleeding through from the back of a page. But it was definitely there.
Klein leaned back against the chair, watching Ophelia and Diancie’s conversation grow smoother. When Diancie got excited, she would tap the table; Ophelia would occasionally interject a sentence or two, saying little but clearly being engaged.
The begonias on the windowsill were still swaying. The sunlight had moved from the edges of the petals to the veins of the leaves, the angle lower than before.
It was as if the West Coast and the Sage mentioned earlier were all illusions, and they were just here for tea.
But Klein knew they weren't.
However, that was for later.
For now, the tea hadn't cooled yet.
Why not steal a bit of leisure?
Rate on N.U.
