Unexpected Company

“This is my residence.”

Ophelia gestured awkwardly towards the royal bedchamber. It felt rather desolate, the maids having all been dismissed by Marta, and the furnishings were surprisingly simple, a testament to how little attention anyone paid to her as queen.

“Well… it’s a bit quiet, and rather plain… probably nothing compared to your home, Emily… I apologize, Emily…”

Emily, who had been standing behind her, leaned closer.

She surveyed the bedchamber. Indeed, it appeared considerably shabbier than her own home, yet she found herself unconcerned.

For here, she detected the scent of sunshine.

“It’s quite alright. I feel very much at ease, thank you, Your Majesty.”

“That’s wonderful!”

Ophelia stretched languidly.

She then collapsed onto the bed, her legs flailing as she kicked off her high heels, her voice instantly imbued with profound weariness.

“Please make yourself at home, Emily~ I’m going to rest now. I’ve dealt with far too many people today; it’s utterly exhausting…”

Ophelia was truly exhausted.

While she hadn’t felt it during their interactions, the moment quiet descended, a profound weariness washed over her—a fatigue that encompassed both her body and her spirit. All she desired was to lie peacefully on the bed and rest. Before she knew it, her eyelids grew heavy, and she drifted into a deep slumber.

Emily, meanwhile, was observing the bedchamber’s interior.

From the simple furnishings, it was evident the Queen’s status was neglected, but the complete absence of maids was truly excessive.

‘I must do my utmost to assist the Queen and rectify this situation,’ she vowed inwardly.

Turning back, she discovered Ophelia had simply fallen asleep, her breathing even, her chest gently rising and falling, a look of utter exhaustion etched upon her face.

Slowly, she drew closer.

The Queen lay sprawled on the bed in a rather undignified posture, yet she slept soundly, oblivious even when Emily gently touched her cheek.

The Queen’s cheek felt wonderfully soft—warm and yielding, comforting to the touch.

Emily couldn’t quite understand her own actions.

Her rational mind dictated that after touring the room, she should immediately review documents and then begin to alleviate the Queen’s burdens. Furthermore, she still commanded a faction within her own family, which could now be put to the Queen’s service.

Yet, her emotions compelled her to simply stand there, gazing at the sleeping Queen.

‘The Queen is so weary,’ she thought.

She had only known of the Queen by name before, dismissing her as a mere decorative figurehead. She had assumed her only interaction with the Queen would occur after Eli ascended the throne, never imagining that the person she believed would be her lifelong companion would abandon her, and that the person she thought she would never meet again would be her savior.

She told herself that she could indulge in a little childishness.

Emily hesitated for a moment.

She gently turned the Queen over.

The Queen rolled over with her touch, remaining fast asleep.

Slipping off her shoes, she climbed onto the bed, then cautiously, once more, nestled into the Queen’s embrace.

A comforting scent enveloped her.

A reassuring warmth radiated against her.

She had never felt such profound peace in her life, and slowly, her own eyes closed.

****

Marta had been delayed, assisting Ophelia with Emily’s transitional affairs.

She had assumed Emily was utterly useless, yet many members of Emily’s family still cared for her, pressing gifts upon Marta and expressing their hope that Emily would not suffer.

Consequently, Marta returned a little late.

The moment she stepped in, her eyes fell upon the scene on the bed: the Queen was sleeping, and Emily lay nestled in her embrace.

Marta’s eyes darkened.

‘My molars are practically ground to dust!’ she fumed internally. ‘I haven’t even slept with the Queen yet! How dare you lie in her arms!’

Fury surged within her, malice rising to her guts. She drew her sword, intending to strike down Emily, but after a moment of hesitation, she sheathed it again.

She genuinely wished the Queen would rely solely on her.

Yet, a spark of goodness still resided within her heart.

Even though the Queen had spoken those words, if forced to choose between the Queen’s happiness and her own, she would still choose the Queen’s. Therefore, cutting down Emily was clearly an irrational act, illogical in every way.

‘Just endure it!’

‘Emily has no combat prowess anyway; only I can protect the Queen! With that thought, Marta convinced herself that she was undoubtedly more important to the Queen.’

‘Besides, the Queen lets me yearn for her.’

At that moment, as the sun dipped below the horizon, golden light spilled across Ophelia’s face. The lingering melancholy between her brows, softened by the sunset, touched the tenderest part of Marta’s heart, even in her sleeping countenance.

‘Ophelia, my sun, my faith.’

‘A mere Emily is nothing.’

Marta reassured herself, and despite her lingering reluctance, she finally sheathed her sword.

The twilight wind carried a gentle warmth.

Marta shed her white armor and carefully climbed onto Ophelia’s bed.

With utmost care, she embraced Ophelia from behind.

While Ophelia, standing, radiated like the sun, her curled-up form seemed rather small. Marta found she could easily encircle Ophelia with both arms from behind—soft, and emanating a comforting fragrance.

Ophelia remained in a deep slumber.

Thus, as Marta held Ophelia, the twilight’s warmth mingling with Ophelia’s scent evoked a peculiar sensation within her. Her eyelids grew heavy, and she, too, gradually drifted off to sleep.

****

Ophelia awoke from her sleep.

‘Ah, what a wonderfully refreshing sleep!’ she thought. She couldn’t recall ever sleeping so soundly; back home, constant late nights always left her feeling unrested upon waking.

Yet, her body felt incredibly heavy.

‘Huh… why can’t I move?’

Her consciousness slowly sharpened.

She was holding something warm in her arms, and something warm was pressing against her back. These two warm presences had her sandwiched, rendering her utterly immobile.

‘This in my arms…?’

‘This lustrous black hair… Emily?’

‘And the one behind me…?’

Ophelia strained to turn her head, catching sight of a golden ponytail and a dashing, sleeping face. ‘Ah, it’s Marta!’

‘Hahaha, so it’s Emily and Marta, hahahaha, what a relief.’

‘Relief, my foot!’ she internally screamed. ‘I remember falling asleep face down on the bed! Why am I now in Marta’s arms, with Emily in my own?’

‘I want to get up, but I can’t… Marta is holding me so tightly…’

In front of her, the scent of Emily’s hair wafted into her nostrils.

From behind, Marta’s breath brushed against her neck, a strange sensation, ticklish, a tickle that reached deep into her heart.

A ripple of emotion stirred within Ophelia’s heart.

What an odd feeling. She had always slept alone before; let alone with other girls, she had never even shared a bed with anyone.

Now, she had a girl pressed against her front and another against her back.

She felt a blush rise, a hint of enjoyment, yet also trapped and unsure what to do, being unable to move while Marta held her. Then, Marta’s hand suddenly began to wander.

Marta’s breathing, which she felt against her neck, grew heavier.

Before Ophelia could even process what was happening, Marta’s hand moved upwards, slowly ascending, then reaching for higher ground.

Ophelia trembled.

A jolt, like an electric current, coursed through her body, leaving her utterly weak. Her sudden tremor seemed to startle the person behind her, who abruptly pulled back their hand.

Silence, and the thumping of her heart.

She suddenly realized Marta’s nurturing value (TL Note: A game-like stat indicating a character’s affection, loyalty, or development level towards another, often increasing with positive interactions.) had only been 85 around one o’clock today. How had it secretly risen to 95, now on par with Emily’s?

‘I haven’t even tried to ‘nurture’ Marta today!’

“Your Majesty? Are you awake?” A muffled voice, seemingly suppressing some emotion, came from behind her—Marta’s voice—instantly plunging Ophelia back into her recent embarrassment.

Overwhelmed by awkwardness, she offered no reply, intending instead to feign sleep.