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About half a month had passed since Aleksei’s birthday.

Choosing a day when the Magic Academy was on break, a long-awaited Council of the Three Dukes was convened—the first in several months. The three grand dukes, Jurnova, Jursein, and Jurmagna, gathered before the Emperor in a formal audience.
Taking advantage of this occasion, Aleksei requested permission to present a tribute before the council began. Emperor Konstantin, in good spirits, granted his wish and even rearranged his minute-by-minute schedule to make time for him.

“Your Majesty.”

When Konstantin appeared in the lavish meeting room of the imperial palace where the council was to take place, Aleksei, who had been waiting, rose and bowed deeply.

“I am deeply grateful for the precious time you have granted me.”
“That noisy one isn’t here, you may relax. You must already be busy with both your ducal duties and your studies—and yet you’ve come bearing a gift yourself. It must be something quite special, then.”

Konstantin spoke amiably. Back when he was still the Crown Prince, he used to drop in on his son Mikhail’s lessons from time to time, and would teach both Aleksei and Vladimir—who studied alongside Mikhail—about academics and swordsmanship. The tone he used now was reminiscent of those days.
Aleksei smiled.

“Yes. I am certain it will please Your Majesty.”
“Oh?”

Smiling in kind, Konstantin couldn’t help but wonder—it had been years since he’d seen such a soft expression on this boy’s face.

Every time Konstantin saw Aleksei, he thought two things: how much he had come to resemble his father, and how completely different he had become.
Konstantin and Aleksei’s father, Aleksandr, had been friends since childhood—much like Mikhail and Aleksei were now. Georgiy of Jurmagna, too, had been part of their circle. But Konstantin never got along particularly well with Georgiy; he was much closer to Aleksandr. As a child, he had truly believed Aleksandr—a charming man loved by everyone—was his best friend.
But when they entered the Magic Academy, Konstantin began to distance himself. Aleksandr’s promiscuity had grown too flagrant, and more than that, Konstantin realized that for all his brilliance and grace, the man was hollow at his core.

When Konstantin opened the purple velvet box that Aleksei presented, he tilted his head slightly.
Beautiful—there was no denying that.
Inside, secured against a silk lining, were three slender glass craftworks. Each was long and tapered to a delicate point etched with a fine spiral pattern, and each had its own unique design.

The first piece was made of purple glass adorned with intricate gold and enamel designs depicting wings and serpents—the symbols of the thunder god. Purple was the imperial color, and the thunder god, an auspicious motif, had been favored by the royal family ever since Emperor Piotr the Great, who possessed lightning attribute magic.

The second piece, also purple, featured a lion’s head carved at its base—the emblem of kingship itself. Though no larger than a fingertip, its craftsmanship was so exquisite that even the Emperor, long accustomed to fine artistry, could not help but admire it.

The third was simpler compared to the others—two twisted strands of glass, one the color of a summer sky, the other a blue-green like the southern seas. It was immediately clear that these represented Konstantin’s and Empress Magdalena’s hair colors. He found himself remembering the way his wife’s hair looked when unbound, how his fingers would comb through its silken length—and then he caught himself and gave a wry smile.
Such thoughts belonged in the intimacy of their bedchamber, not here, in a meeting room, and certainly not in front of a boy barely older than his son.

“They are beautiful—but what are they?”
“These are called glass pens, Your Majesty. They are not only beautiful to behold but also easier to write with than the traditional quill. They can draw up a great deal of ink at once, allowing many lines to be written without re-dipping. A truly revolutionary writing instrument.”

Aleksei’s tone betrayed barely contained pride.
Following his suggestion, Konstantin picked up one of the pens, dipped it into the ink, and tested it. At once, he gave a low hum of appreciation. The nib glided far more smoothly than a quill’s, and even after several lines, the ink had yet to run dry.

“I see. I like this very much, Aleksei. It’s an excellent piece.”

Konstantin smiled.
An innovative pen combining beauty and function—he knew *she* would certainly like it as well.

“But tell me, where did you obtain such a thing? Is it a product of our Empire, or imported from abroad? I’ve heard nothing of Jurnova expanding into glasscraft.”

At that, Aleksei hesitated for a moment before answering.

“My younger sister, Ekaterina, had it made in her own workshop.”
“What?”
“She’s usually not one to ask for much, but one day she suddenly requested I purchase a glassworks for her. When I did, she later presented me with this as a birthday gift.”

From inside his coat, Aleksei produced another velvet box—this one blue—and opened it to reveal a light blue and indigo glass pen.

“The artisans certainly contributed their skill, but the very idea of crafting a pen from glass was Ekaterina’s. She is quite eager now—she says she wants to sell these glass pens to pay the craftsmen’s wages.”

Aleksei spoke as evenly as he could, but Konstantin let out a quiet laugh.

It was hard to believe that a sheltered noble young lady could have conceived such a groundbreaking idea. Yet Aleksei was not the sort to lie about something easily verifiable. In fact, it seemed more as though he *didn’t want* to mention that it was his sister’s idea.

Aleksei clearly did not wish the royal family to raise Ekaterina’s standing.
So Jurnova had no intention of offering her as a candidate for empress after all.

That was why he had hesitated—but he still spoke. For in the presence of the Emperor, deceit or evasion were absolutely forbidden, and the prudent Aleksei understood that well.

(*But still, Ekaterina…*)

Konstantin recalled the girl he had seen on the day of the royal visit—a slender young lady clad in a twilight-colored gown that set off her flawless white skin. She had a mature beauty that outshone her glittering jewels—remarkable for someone only fifteen.
She had spoken confidently with the Empress, and even shown fascination with tariffs and insurance, topics no ordinary young lady would care for. Above all, she was Aleksei’s sister, granddaughter of the late Duke Sergei. If she truly had invented this glass pen, then perhaps she had inherited her grandfather’s genius.

“She wishes to turn glass pens into a business, then? The daughter of the Duke of Jurnova, personally managing a workshop?”
“…She said that since she was the one who asked me to buy it, she should take responsibility for it herself.”

At that, Konstantin finally laughed aloud.

“She wishes to pay the craftsmen herself, and take responsibility for it, does she? Your sister is truly earnest and endearing.”

And though he doesn’t want the imperial family to take special notice of his sister, Aleksei can’t quite hide the pride in his smile.

“Then tell Ekaterina this: I shall purchase these glass pens as a gift for the Empress. Have her craftsmen make pieces as beautiful as these.”

Those close to the royal household know this well; when Emperor Konstantin finds a tribute he truly likes, he often orders more of it himself to gift to the Empress. Ever since his student days, he’s been meticulous about such gestures. No wonder he managed to win her heart back then.
At any rate, once something becomes an imperial tribute, it’s already considered a first-class good. But if it’s then chosen as a gift from the Emperor to the Empress, its value rises to that of a supreme masterpiece.

At the Emperor’s words, Aleksei’s neon-blue eyes gleamed.

“It is an honor. My sister will surely be deeply moved.”
“It is good to hear that Ekaterina is in good health. I recall you said she was frail; how fares she now?”
“Thanks to your grace, she’s managing her academy life without issue. Though with the capital growing warmer, I worry how she’ll bear the climate, as she’s not used to such heat.”

It seems he still wishes to emphasize her delicateness.

“Then you and your sister will return to your domain for the summer recess?”
“That is my intention. It’s not yet been a full year since I succeeded the title, and I must proceed with consolidating the fief’s administration.”
“Hm.”

Konstantin pretended to ponder for a moment.

“The court astronomer says this summer will be quite hot. Perhaps in the latter half of the recess, I’ll have Mikhail spend some time in your domain. Would that be acceptable?”

To host a prince in his lands, that is to say, to show his people that the new duke of Jurnova is on good terms with the imperial family, was hardly a disadvantage to Aleksei.
Yet his expression was oddly reserved. That alone told Konstantin that Mikhail must be trying hard; perhaps his young son had finally learned not to earn Ekaterina’s aversion.

“…Of course, it would be an honor to welcome His Highness. However, as it’s not long since I inherited the title, and Ekaterina is still inexperienced in acting as the lady of the main estate, I worry our hospitality may be inadequate.”

Suppressing emotion in his voice, Aleksei replied calmly, and Konstantin nodded.

“Think nothing of it. He’s not even crown prince yet—treat him as you would a guest, without ceremony.”
“I am deeply obliged.”

Once the Emperor said that, Aleksei could do nothing but bow.
Then, Konstantin’s lips curved faintly.

“Even so, a household cannot go long without its mistress. Ekaterina is there, yes, but still—should you not think of getting engaged soon?”
“…pardon?”

Caught off guard, Aleksei’s face stiffened slightly. It did seem the boy had a distaste for women.
But that was understandable.

After all, the women closest to him were hardly good examples; that grandmother of his for one, and a father who was a true philanderer, drifting from one woman to another without the slightest sense of responsibility. Even when his lovers quarreled to the point of drawing blades, he’d only tilt his head and say, “Why must they be so foolish?” as if it were none of his concern.
To make matters worse, the very women who once shared rumors with his father now often approached Aleksei, charmed by his similar looks. It must be exhausting.
That’s precisely why Konstantin wanted this serious, dutiful boy to build a proper home with a respectable young lady—not merely for the stability of the powerful Jurnova family, but out of a meddlesome sort of familial affection.

“I intend to consider such matters only after graduating from the academy. I beg your indulgence until then.”
“Ah, yes, I’d heard as much.”

He couldn’t help but bring it up anyway. After all, despite their vastly different personalities, Aleksei had inherited something of his father’s magnetic charm.

A memory stirred in Konstantin’s mind, back when Aleksei was still a child, and close friends with Vladimir, the heir of Jurmagna.
Both Aleksei and Mikhail were brilliant, but in academics, Vladimir was a prodigy. Aleksei, strict toward himself and others since childhood, had nonetheless shown unconditional affection toward Vladimir. The boy was selective with people, but he had a pure respect for talent.
Konstantin remembered once looking into the room where the boys studied. Mikhail wasn’t there that day; Aleksei was showing Vladimir a poetry book, asking if he could recite it from memory.

*”I read that one the other day, so I can do it.”*
*”I see, that’s impressive.”*
*”…It’s not really. I’m just good at memorizing. There’s a bird called a parrot that repeats words it hears—I’m no different from that.”*
*”I can’t really grasp the beauty of poems, even when I read them. Seems I lack the heart for it. But when I hear you read them aloud, I think they’re beautiful.”*

Aleksei had said it sincerely—and then, with eyes that sparkled faintly, he smiled.

*”If that parrot could make words sound beautiful like you do, I’d keep it with me. If I had a bird that spoke and sang in your voice, always by my side, I think I’d be very happy.”*

…Vladimir had turned scarlet, utterly flustered.¹ Konstantin hadn’t been able to step into the room after that. He’d thought, half in disbelief, that this boy might one day become an even more dangerous charmer than his father—to speak words like that, so innocently, to a friend his own age!

Whether by fortune or misfortune, Aleksei had always opened his heart to only a select few. Should a woman ever truly capture it, she would no doubt find herself cherished beyond measure.
Since his falling-out with Vladimir, though, no such special person seemed to have appeared. If all his affection was directed solely toward Ekaterina, one had to wonder whether Mikhail stood any chance at all competing against him.