The High Price of Being a Prince’s Playmate

The playmates visit the Imperial Palace for regular lessons four times a week, but unless there’s a special schedule, they usually come in twice more, spending a total of six days together. Since I see these kids’ faces more often than my own family’s, becoming close was only natural. No matter how much they try to act dignified, they’re still only about elementary school age; combined with the shared goal of staying on Prince Erkel’s good side, it would actually be harder not to become friends.

I toyed with my lemon mousse cake—today’s snack—while watching the boys make the most of their break time.

The one with the most striking blond hair—ah, right. Llewellyn has light blond hair too, but since I can’t see my own face, I’ll exclude myself. The one with the brightest blond hair I can actually see is Louis Chloe, the nephew of Marquis Chloe. He was just a typical ten-year-old kid with a pretty face and nothing else particularly special about him. A brat in the middle of the transition from the “terrible fours” and “deadly sevens” to becoming a functioning member of society.

Eating a smoothie and swinging his legs next to him was Aiden Rooster, the only son of Minister of Foreign Affairs, Count Rooster. I have more to say about this one compared to Chloe—not because he’s impressive, but because he’s… lacking.

While his mother, the Count, was a legendary woman who had dived into the grueling world of diplomacy since her youth and now ruled the field, his father was a bit below average. Every bit the cautious and sensitive type, he possessed zero talent. All he had was a pair of sparkling, deer-like eyes—the very ones that had captured the Count’s heart years ago. The fact that their marriage was a love match remains the most shocking detail of all.

The story of the Count choosing a man with no status or ability, possessing nothing but a handsome face, was famous enough to be talked about even decades later. The problem was that the story was resurfacing lately not to bless their beautiful love, but because of Aiden Rooster, the legitimate eldest and only son. Rumors were spreading like a light joke that the heir of the Count’s house was the spitting image of his father.

The Count’s worries grew deeper by the day. It was hard to tell if she was sadder that her only son resembled her husband, or if it was sadder that she had to be sad about that fact at all.

Moreover, if you compared the rumors to reality, the reality was even worse, making it impossible to deny. Aiden Rooster was cowardly, timid, and even prone to tears. While his anxious eyes could be considered cute, his habit of hunching his shoulders or stuttering whenever he got nervous hadn’t changed, despite constant corrections from the etiquette teacher. He had only improved this much thanks to Erkel taking his side and treating him kindly.

Since Erkel, the highest-ranking among us, treated him with warmth, the others naturally followed suit. Perhaps those efforts paid off, because now, when it was just us, he would occasionally crack a joke and laugh. It was a massive leap forward considering he couldn’t even mutter his own name when he first met me.

Even the etiquette teacher didn’t treat him too harshly. I had been worried he might report directly to Rowena, Erkel’s mother, which might result in Aiden being banned from the palace. Fortunately, while Rowena was known to be gentle, she was still a woman born of noble blood who entered the palace. She wouldn’t just stand by and watch a boy like Aiden hang around her son.

And finally, the black-haired boy playing chess with Erkel over there was Elliot Dylan, the second son of the Dylan family. He was eleven, one year older than the rest of us, but his behavior lacked any “cute” qualities. With a blunt, cynical attitude that suggested he had no interest in the world and a height that surpassed his peers, he looked at least two or three years older. Not surprisingly, he was also the person Aiden feared the most among the four of us.

“I win.”

Elliot, having secured his fourth consecutive victory, let his lips curl into a smirk. His tone was polite, but his smile was incredibly irritating. Erkel, having lost four times in a row, picked up his fallen King gloomily. If it had been just me, he would have wailed and collapsed onto the table or whined for another round. However, Erkel—currently managing his image in front of young, loose-lipped nobles—was playing the role of the kind and gentle prince quite well.

“You are merciless, Elliot…” “You told me not to hold back.”

Regardless of the field, the Imperial family must always be the best. Therefore, it was an implicit and absolute rule that the playmates should lose to the royalty, regardless of their own skill.

Because of this, games of chess or cards usually ended with the playmates making ridiculous mistakes and losing even when they were about to win. Even Rooster, who tried the hardest to raise his hand and get praised, would start looking away and acting distracted by the middle of the lesson. While the playmates racked their brains to find answers that were “sufficiently good but not superior,” Erkel would do his best, and the teachers would squeeze out something to praise from his work.

Fortunately, Erkel wasn’t actually ten, so he understood the situation well, making it not too difficult. But what fun is a game if you win every time? Especially for an adult playing against a child.

Erkel had been subtly nudging Elliot’s pride, encouraging him not to hold back. After appealing several times that he wouldn’t be held responsible, that it was just a game for fun, and that only the four of us were in the room, Elliot finally accepted after pretending to deliberate for a while.

This was the result. He wasn’t just “good for an eleven-year-old.” Elliot Dylan played so well that I wondered if he would have been a chess champion if he had been born in the modern world. Every time he won, he would say, “I worked hard because you told me not to hold back,” as if to tell Erkel not to be mad. He had a genius talent for making his opponent’s blood boil. I’m starting to get curious about his family’s educational methods.

Knock, knock.

Everyone’s heads snapped toward the door. The rhythm of the knocking was precise. It took considerable skill to knock so consistently on a palace door thick enough to prevent sound from leaking out.

“Your Highness.”

It was a voice I had become familiar with while frequenting the 4th Prince’s palace. Once Erkel gave permission, the door opened and a line of maids entered.

They cleared away the empty plates and cups, brought out new snacks, and aligned the desks with perfect precision. The light green brooch on the left breast of the Head Maid, who stepped forward to greet us, sparkled. A brooch was a privilege allowed to only two people per palace: the Head Attendant and the Head Maid.

Melanique Adeloa, the Head Maid bearing the symbol of the 4th Prince’s palace—the Levrat—was a young and beautiful woman, unlike the image of a “Head Maid” I had imagined. Her pinned-up reddish-brown hair was lustrous, and her delicate eyebrows and sharp eyes made her look intelligent. She was clearly a sharp person to have earned the concubine’s trust and secured the position of Head Maid at such a young age.

“What is it?” “Sir Aniglan has arrived.”

A groan escaped everyone’s lips simultaneously. Louis offered a short prayer to a god he didn’t even believe in, whispering, “Please let it end early, let it be less boring, or let Sir Aniglan have an urgent matter today.” Of those, the last was probably the most likely.

“We can’t keep the teacher waiting. Tell him to come in.”

Melanique Adeloa bowed politely and left. I enjoyed the last of my break, taking a long sip of my freshly poured juice. As soon as Adeloa’s back disappeared, a stiff-looking man in his 50s with a goatee entered. His thin gold-rimmed glasses made him look even more sensitive.

Actually, being a Prince’s playmate was quite an exhausting job. My expectation—that they would just gather a bunch of elementary school kids, call them playmates, and have them run around doing light exercise or chatting—was utterly shattered.

Lessons started at 10 AM and continued until lunch, with an afternoon schedule to follow. I was just glad there were legally sanctioned “skipping times” under the names of breaks and review sessions.

Since the teachers were the best the Empire had to offer in fields ranging from math and history to art and literature, the quality of the lessons was undeniably superb. The problem was that the students taking those lessons weren’t undergraduate students with brilliant intellect and passion. If they were at least college students—no, late teens—they probably would have listened intently. But for kids barely ten years old, the lectures from the Empire’s greatest minds were too difficult, too dull, and too boring.

The one showing exceptional leadership among them was Jeffrey, a former Academy instructor. Perhaps it was the experience of managing and lecturing arrogant, disobedient young nobles at the Academy; he seemed to be an expert at repeating the same points and explaining things simply. He explained with a certainty of our ignorance, appearing accustomed to situations where students didn’t even understand half of what he said. Sometimes, I felt like an idiot who didn’t even know that 1 plus 1 equals 2 and needed his help. He had an uncanny ability to sense when we were getting bored and would pique our interest with stories unrelated to the lesson.

The topics were mostly about life at the Academy, and Louis and Aiden, who were facing admission at age eleven, would lean in and pester him with interest.

The person at the exact opposite end of the spectrum from Jeffrey was Aniglan, who was in charge of history. He was a scholar famous enough to receive a title from the Emperor, and he was as stubborn and pedantic as the knowledge he had accumulated. My fascination with this world where magic exists lasted only a moment. I had briefly forgotten the fact that I was always terrible at history, where there was so much to memorize.