“Are you… not eating?”
“Ah, I had something during the night shift, so I’m not that hungry. Don’t worry about it — eat as much as you like.”
Alec’s plate was exactly as it had been when he first brought the food over.
“Hey, where have you been? What took you so long?”
A woman in a maid’s uniform snapped at Uriel the moment she laid eyes on him. Imperial maids, unlike ladies-in-waiting, were not of noble birth.
Those of common birth — or more specifically, those among them whose status was clearly established — could be hired as imperial maids. Working within the imperial household was something of a guarantee of one’s standing, which gave them a fairly high sense of pride in their own right.
Even if they worked in the same imperial household as Uriel, they were of an entirely different standing than a slave like him. As such, there were many among them who looked down on Uriel. Imperial household or not, a slave was a slave. Slaves were generally assigned the difficult work in places the other staff preferred to avoid.
But this particular golden-haired slave had snagged the most coveted post among the staff. And on top of that, the hazing that was typically carried out to establish the pecking order had made an exception of this slave — on account of the palace steward’s warning not to touch him.
Because of that, no one openly tormented Uriel, but there were many who subtly looked down on him and treated him carelessly. The maid in front of him was exactly that type.
“I’m sorry. The head maid asked me to do something before coming over….”
The maid, who had been about to say something more, closed her mouth at the mention of the head maid. Instead, she got to the point in a tone even more irritable than before.
“Never mind that. Get yourself to the parlor. Now.”
“Pardon? But I finished cleaning there a little while ago.”
“Are you, a slave, really talking back to me right now? You think I’m sending you there for my own amusement? You say you cleaned it — so why is His Majesty saying it doesn’t look cleaned, and calling for whoever’s in charge of the parlor? If other people get scolded because of you, are you going to take responsibility for that?”
“H-His Majesty?”
Uriel’s body went rigid at the maid’s mention of the emperor. He was certain he had cleaned the place thoroughly, so why was it being called dirty? Could it be that someone who disliked him had made a mess of it to get him in trouble?
The thought crossed his mind for a moment, but Uriel shook his head. He couldn’t imagine any staff member with enough nerve to dirty the emperor’s parlor just to get back at a slave. There must have been something he had missed somewhere. The thought of Avelos handing down a punishment over something like that made Uriel suddenly afraid.
“Was His Majesty angry?”
“You think he’d be pleased?! Get moving! I’m not about to get scolded because of you.”
The hands shoving him along were rough, regardless of whether Uriel stumbled. Uriel had no choice but to move quickly to keep from falling.
The parlor wasn’t far, but running there was more than enough to work up a sweat. Whatever effort he had put in was beside the point — the area he was responsible for had been deemed unacceptable, and if that had caused Avelos to show displeasure, it was serious. To lessen Avelos’s anger even a little, Uriel ran with everything he had.
Someone stopped him midway for running through the imperial corridor, but the moment Uriel said he had been summoned by His Majesty, they let him go immediately. No one else stopped him after that. In a matter of minutes, Uriel arrived at the door of the parlor he was responsible for.
Sure enough, the emperor’s attendants — knights among them — were standing outside the parlor door, confirming that Avelos was indeed inside.
“Hah, hah…. His — His Majesty….”
He was too out of breath to finish the sentence, but the knights stepped aside for him anyway. They had apparently already been informed by the emperor and knew to expect him. Too breathless to greet them aloud, Uriel bent at the waist in a brief bow of thanks and pushed the door open.
The first thing he saw when the door swung open was a pair of broad shoulders and the wide, solid chest beneath them.
“Well. I thought you wouldn’t even have the strength to open the door. I suppose it’s not quite that bad.”
It was Avelos. Those cool violet eyes, carrying their pale light, were looking down at Uriel. At Avelos’s words, Uriel glanced back at the door he had just pushed open. Being the emperor’s parlor, the door was considerably thick.
And yet Avelos had known Uriel was on the other side. Not only that — his comment about Uriel not having the strength to open the door suggested he had heard exactly how ragged his breathing was from sprinting over.
Uriel had the body of a grand mage, but he didn’t possess the same kind of ability as Avelos. The mana within his body handled physical recovery, but he had no exceptional physical gifts the way Avelos did — no keenly honed hearing, no extraordinary physical strength.
He had just learned something new about Avelos. The more he knew about Avelos, the better his chances of getting out of this place. Holding that thought, Uriel steadied his breath.
“Hah… hah… hoo… I-it’s not quite that bad.”
Contrary to how the maid had rushed him along as though the emperor were furious, Avelos didn’t look particularly angry.
“I… I was told you called for me. Wh-where would you like me to clean?”
“You should catch your breath first. You look like you’ll die before you even start cleaning.”
The person who would benefit most from Uriel’s death was Avelos himself, wasn’t it? Perhaps he simply didn’t want him dying from a sprint when he could be the one to cause his suffering directly. The sight of Avelos waiting on him with unhurried ease, as if genuinely accommodating him, felt rather unfamiliar to Uriel.
In any case, thanks to Avelos’s patience, Uriel was able to catch his breath as much as he needed.
“Thank you. I’m alright now. Your Majesty.”
He straightened up from the slight hunch he had been in while catching his breath and looked up at Avelos. Uriel’s shining golden eyes and Avelos’s violet ones met softly.
“It seems Uriel finds what I say amusing.”
“Pardon…?”
Uriel looked back at him in bewilderment at Avelos’s cryptic words. Was it because he had arrived late despite the emperor summoning him? But then Avelos had waited for him after he arrived, hadn’t he? If it wasn’t about being late, was it about not having cleaned properly? That was possible. The maid had said something along those lines when she came to find him, too.
He was certain there had been nothing wrong up until the moment he finished his final touches and left — so where had he fallen short? With Avelos blocking the way, it was difficult to get a proper look at the inside of the parlor. At least from the side he could see around Avelos, there was nothing to fault. Was there something lacking in the area hidden behind him? Uriel decided to apologize for now.
Even if there genuinely was nothing lacking, Uriel was a slave now. If the emperor — his owner — said something was lacking, then it was lacking. Uriel was not so foolish as to argue and earn himself a beating.
“I apologize, Your Majesty. I will set it right immediately.”
“Ha…. And here I thought you had some sense.”
To clean, Uriel would need to put a bit of distance between himself and Avelos, so he shifted slightly to the side. At that, a short exhale from Avelos settled over Uriel’s head — the sound of barely contained irritation at how Uriel had come rushing over with no idea how disheveled he looked.
“Yes?”
“Didn’t I mention it a few days ago?”
Avelos’s large hand came to rest on Yuri’s waist. Avelos’s hot hand slipped across his lower abdomen and clamped around his waist, and Yuri sucked in a sharp breath.
“Ah—”
Looking down, his clothes were a complete mess. The worn-out shirt had come untucked from the waistband while he was running, and the bottom two buttons were gone somewhere — nowhere to be seen. Because of that, the lower part of the shirt was hanging open, leaving his navel exposed. Through that gap, Avelos had slipped his hand and seized Uriel’s waist in a firm grip.
“Ngh… that hurts, Your Majesty.”
“……”
“Hh—”
It was his side that had been grabbed, but Avelos’s hand was large enough that it felt as if his whole waist had been caught in a vice. The force was so strong it felt like his stomach might burst if any more pressure was applied. Even as Uriel said it hurt, Avelos didn’t ease his grip — and even then, looking unsatisfied, his brow furrowed further.
Uriel ended up laying his hands on the emperor’s body. He grabbed Avelos’s wrist with both hands and pushed against it. But it was like trying to move an iron pillar — Avelos’s wrist didn’t budge so much as an inch.
“Y-Your Majesty… A-Avelos, please.”
