The Unexpected Proposal

Ophelia watched the cluster of ministers kneel before her, utterly bewildered.

‘What are you all kneeling for?’

“Your Majesty, we humbly request that you temporarily assume regency!” one old noble declared with a resolute expression.

Ophelia blinked, her eyes wide.

‘I don’t want to, you know. I’m here as a tourist, not to work. Once I’ve nurtured the heroines, I’ll be leaving. Your country will be governed by the male lead and the heroines, and it will flourish.’

‘Who wants to work while on vacation?’

“What nonsense are you spouting, Jean-Paul? Our factions are far too intricate; the Queen cannot simply become regent just because she wishes to,” another old minister whispered a warning.

‘Exactly! That’s precisely the point!’

“However, by gathering here, we can first establish a tacit understanding, and then we can strive on the Queen’s behalf to secure her the opportunity for regency,” the old minister, called Jean-Paul, replied.

‘No! Absolutely not! The one in my arms is the true strategist, and later there will be a heroine who is a real queen! It has nothing to do with me; I absolutely refuse to work!’

‘But how should I put it…?’

Ophelia’s face contorted with difficulty; her social skills were severely lacking, leaving her at a loss as to how to refuse these ministers.

In her arms, Emily blinked her eyes.

She had long since ceased crying, lifting her head to find her nostrils still filled with the Queen’s faint, distant fragrance, while a large patch of the Queen’s chest was damp from her tears, subtly revealing the beauty beneath.

However, Emily was not yet in the frame of mind to commit the breathtaking sight before her to memory.

Gazing up at the Queen who had saved her, Emily’s thoughts revolved around belonging to Her Majesty, a mix of shyness and gratitude welling within her as she began to observe the one she would soon pledge her loyalty to.

‘The Queen doesn’t want to be regent…?’

‘Not only does she not want regency, but she also doesn’t know how to respond to these people…?’

She glanced at the knight who had so clearly directed killing intent towards her; though he had once appeared so holy and righteous, he now eyed others with such an expression. In an instant, Emily surmised it was likely an emotion called jealousy, and so she snuggled even closer into Ophelia’s embrace, pressing herself more tightly against her.

As she clung to Ophelia, she began to speak, refusing on the Queen’s behalf.

“My Lords,” Emily murmured softly from Ophelia’s arms, her voice a delicate whisper while Ophelia still hesitated on how to refuse. With tear stains still glistening in her eyes, she appeared as pitiful as a fragile flower.

“My affairs are yet undecided, and Her Majesty must still visit my family. May I ask, my Lords…?”

She offered a subtle glance.

The old ministers, led by Jean-Paul, exchanged glances with Emily, a flicker of understanding passing between them. They rose to their feet and bowed.

“Indeed, Her Majesty must pay a visit to Miss Emily’s family.”

“Please forgive our interruption here; we shall take our leave.”

Ophelia paused, slightly stunned. She looked at Emily, who had once again buried her face, on the verge of tears, filling Ophelia with a pang of heartache. She gently embraced Emily more tightly.

“Thank you all. I’ll be taking my leave now.” Despite her social anxiety, Ophelia still possessed the necessary politeness! She offered a slight nod, then quickly departed the area.

‘How annoying.’

‘I can’t even go home yet; I still have to face another group of people.’

Ophelia took a deep breath.

By now, she no longer felt particularly timid when facing strangers, though her voice might lack power. Still, she intensely disliked conversing with others.

‘Utterly detested it.’

“Let’s go, Emily, to your family’s estate!”

“I’ll tell them it wasn’t your fault!”

Emily lifted her gaze.

Ophelia’s embrace was both warm and gentle, reminding her of the tenderness she had yearned for in her mother’s arms long, long ago. Beneath the glittering lights, Ophelia smiled softly, carrying that unchanging hint of melancholy.

Emily nodded.

Wrapped in gratitude and loyalty, and bathed in the light, a seed suddenly began to sprout in her heart.

‘Is the Queen not adept at social interaction?’

‘If I handle the Queen’s social engagements from now on, will she… will I be the only one in her world? She’ll become my caged bird, forever nestled in the palm of my hand…’

This thought was so rebellious that Emily found herself shaking her head internally while simultaneously commanding herself to stop thinking it. She leaned into Ophelia’s gentle embrace, watching as shadows emerged beneath the light.

Ophelia carried her out.

As she left, she glanced out the window, wondering if it was her imagination, as if she had caught a fleeting glimpse of golden hair in a distant corner.

****

Ophelia swallowed hard.

Before her stood an exceptionally grand mansion, its splendor rivaling that of the royal palace. While the palace’s familiarity kept Ophelia from fear, the sight of such an imposing house filled with strangers made her legs tremble.

Emily had already disentangled herself from Ophelia’s embrace.

She wiped away her tear stains, adjusted her appearance, and lifted her head, making herself seem as though nothing significant had happened.

‘Yes, this is truly the place that pressures Emily every single day.’

The book had described it multiple times: while it might appear grand and magnificent to Ophelia, for Emily, this place was a cage that would imprison her for life.

Emily’s gaze upon the mansion now held a profound fear, a fear that, ironically, eased Ophelia’s own tension.

‘Why be nervous?’

‘I’m just a passerby! Even if I make a fool of myself, they won’t be able to track me down later!’

She first reached out to stroke Emily’s head.

Emily’s silver hair was incredibly soft and smooth to the touch, and Ophelia couldn’t resist caressing it a few more times. Emily, in turn, looked up, gazing at her with surprise.

“It’s alright, Emily,” Ophelia said gently.

“I will argue on your behalf, for Emily has done nothing wrong. I won’t allow them to blame you, because you’ve already tried so hard.”

Emily looked into Ophelia’s eyes.

What kind of eyes were these? Gentle, melancholic, yet imbued with a certain resolve. She looked at Emily as one would look at a child.

Emily felt an irresistible urge to cry once more.

‘A child.’

‘Only she treats me like a child.’

‘Only she tells me: “You’ve worked hard enough.”‘

Emily lifted her head again, willing her tears not to spill. She pursed her lips, suppressing the surge of emotion within her.

“It’s alright, Your Majesty.”

‘My voice is a choked sob right now.’

‘The Queen is looking at me so gently.’

‘It’s okay! Pull yourself together, Emily, it’s just a canceled engagement!’

She lifted her head high, puffed out her chest, and followed behind the Queen, walking inside.

Ophelia gazed at Emily, feeling a strong surge of protectiveness. This urge likely stemmed from her boyish soul, which harbored considerable protectiveness towards such a fragile girl.

Thus, her blood boiled, and her spirits soared.

Seeing Emily’s entire family seated before her, with countless eyes fixed upon her, an inexplicable excitement surged through her heart, and she suddenly felt capable of anything.

“Distinguished sirs and madams! Please entrust your daughter’s life to me! I will ensure her happiness!”

A stunned silence descended.

Marta’s aura turned murderous, while Emily flushed with shyness.

Ophelia froze for two seconds, then felt an overwhelming urge to cover her face.

‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have gotten carried away… What did I just say…?’