Looking at Etna's face, I was reminded of when I first met her—about half a year after my ascension to the throne.
☆
Inside the palace's private lounge.
Having just returned from the public halls, I took off my crown—the bulkiest and most exhausting part of my ceremonial attire—handed it to a nearby maid, and sank straight onto the sofa.
Exhaling the stale air from my lungs, I rubbed my stiff shoulders.
Then I turned to Don, who had followed me into the room.
"How much of it is done?"
"Reporting, sire. Roughly thirty percent of the total, leaving just under seven hundred people."
"Hmm. We won't finish today at this rate."
"Would you consider streamlining the process, even now? Your Majesty extends far too much warmth to each and every person."
I kept smiling and offered no reply.
Whenever an emperor ascends the throne, custom dictates that he bestow various imperial favors far and wide.
The Knight Selection is held on a vastly larger scale than usual, opening up many more positions.
Those chosen in the Grace Examination upon an enthronement are regarded symbolically, holding a far more honorary status than regular knights.
In short, it amounted to handing out coronation mementos left and right.
As part of those coronation honors, I gathered donations from all across the empire.
Back when I was an imperial prince, I had petitioned the Emperor—or rather, the late Emperor—to establish the honorary knight system.
While one should never be permitted to wipe away crimes with coin, purchasing only honor with money ought to be allowed. Under this system, anyone who made a designated contribution to the state would receive the title of honorary knight, presented directly by the Emperor himself.
I expanded this even further for my coronation, capping the slots at one thousand and soliciting contributions from the top thousand donors.
Enthronement celebrations inherently carry a heavy air of prestige. By tying that to the prestige-focused honorary knight system, dubbing it the "Feast of the Thousand Paragons," and giving it extra grandeur, I honed the event entirely toward pure prestige.
There had been some grumbling from critics, but I bulldozed through it under the pretext of gathering auspicious celebratory gifts.
And now, having finished commending about three hundred people, we had paused for a brief recess.
When Don said I was extending too much warmth, he meant I was spending time conversing with and listening to each person individually.
"This is only for today. Besides, doing this adds prestige to the entire system."
"That may be true, however..."
"Those spoken to by me—by Us—will boast about it once they return home, which will prompt people to open their purses again next year."
"That sounds like a back-alley—no, forgive me."
Don swallowed the rest of his thought.
I knew what he wanted to say, and since it came from genuine concern for my health, I didn't press the matter.
As Don and I engaged in our near-bickering, Zoe stepped up to offer me a cold drink.
Almost in unison, two young maids wiped the sweat from my brow and the nape of my neck from either side.
Having brought Zoe and the others directly from my estate upon my ascension, their long years of service meant their knack for soothing my fatigue was nothing short of exquisite.
"Good work. That helps."
"Thank you very much, Master!"
"...Very well, I shall not try to dissuade you any further."
"Hm?"
"Instead, I will step in to call time after a certain point. Please continue as you are, Your Majesty."
"Volunteering to play the villain, are you?"
"Your Majesty always accomplishes great things, yet you are far too indifferent to presentation. Given your intentions, leaving out the theatrics would be a dreadful waste."
"I see. I'll leave it in your hands, then."
I nodded and took a sip of the cold tea.
Don made a fair point, so I decided to let him handle it.
I rested a bit longer while the maids worked the knots out of my shoulders, and once some of the exhaustion had cleared, I rose briskly to my feet.
"Let's continue."
"At once."
Leaving the maids behind, I exited the chamber with Don in tow.
We headed straight for the audience hall.
Stepping inside, I took my seat upon the throne and gave Don a nod.
Don nodded back, then called out in a booming voice to signal the resumption.
A man entered immediately.
An elderly gentleman, he wore his absolute finest clothes, which he clearly wasn't accustomed to wearing.
Following the protocol instructed beforehand, he knelt and bowed, but his movements were awkward and stiff from unfamiliarity.
He was typical of the attendees today.
A prominent local figure who was visibly nervous, having zero experience with the glamorous affairs of the capital.
I offered him gracious words of appreciation and engaged him in light conversation.
The man replied anxiously as our exchange progressed.
At this point, Don stepped in to intervene, saying, "Time is up," to which I raised a hand to halt him, exchanging another word or two with the man.
That left the gentleman looking all the more overwhelmed with gratitude.
When Don intervened a second time, I drew the audience to a close: "Good work. Continue to strive for the sake of the empire."
The tension the elderly man had carried upon entering had vanished entirely; he left the audience hall with an expression akin to worshipping a god.
His mindset was plain as day.
To most commoners, the Emperor is a being above the clouds—a heavenly existence.
And that heavenly Emperor had brushed aside his minister's objections just to speak a few extra words with him.
He couldn't help but be moved to tears; it would be a memory to cherish for the rest of his days.
People drawn in by the honorary knight system were especially prone to that sentiment.
In this manner, even after the recess, I devoted my time and words to each individual.
Though a furrow of reluctance occasionally surfaced between Don's brows, he committed fully to playing the bad guy.
Before long, another man entered.
He was a young fellow who looked barely twenty, bearing the portly build common among the provincial wealthy.
He stepped forward, knelt at the designated spot, and bowed in perfect accordance with etiquette.
I was mildly impressed.
Most wealthy, pampered sons grew up spoiled; indeed, many such men had appeared today, and most could barely manage the bare minimum of manners, or were so terrified they couldn't even string a sentence together.
Yet the man before me not only demonstrated flawless form, but despite his nervousness, his demeanor was dignified. He looked directly at me without averting his gaze.
His eyes held the distinctive look of someone trying to measure a person's worth.
My interest was piqued.
"Your name?"
"I am called Turuf Aiwan. To gaze upon the Imperial Countenance is an honor beyond measure—"
"Turuf?"
I tilted my head.
"If I recall, is Turuf not forty-six years old?"
I tossed the question to Don beside me.
Don blinked, bewildered.
"How do you know that...?"
"What are you saying? You were the one who handed me the registry, were you not?"
"N-No, it is not that... Surely, you didn't memorize it...?"
Astonished, Don looked back at me with probing eyes.
"Indeed. Turuf Aiwan, forty-six years old. A grain merchant with a wife and one daughter. Entrusted with most of the family business, though the head remains his father, who is over seventy—am I mistaken?"
"H-Hey!"
After a momentary daze, Don frantically beckoned to a scribe standing a short distance away.
The scribe rushed over in a fluster, clutching a stack of papers.
Don took the documents and scanned through them.
After skimming the pages, he looked up to answer me.
"Y-You are entirely correct. You remembered all of that?"
"More or less, once I look over it."
"Incredible..."
Both Don and the scribe stood in sheer awe.
Meanwhile, Turuf remained kneeling, looking at me with eyes that seemed somewhat suspicious.
Ignoring the look, I asked:
"As you just heard, Turuf is forty-six. No matter how one looks at you, you don't appear forty-six, do you?"
"T-That is..."
The expression of the man claiming to be Turuf shifted completely, visibly rattled.
After studying the man for a brief moment, I spoke.
"Could you... perhaps be the daughter?"
"What?"
That "What?" came from Don.
As for the person addressed, her eyes went wide, her mouth opening and closing soundlessly, entirely at a loss for words.
I see. Hit the bullseye, then, I thought.
"Y-Your Majesty? Why would you say such a thing?"
"Once you realize it's a different person and look closely, the discrepancies become obvious. She hid it well with layered padding, but where is the Adam's apple?"
"What? Ah!"
Struck by my observation, Don whipped his gaze toward the self-proclaimed Turuf.
The self-proclaimed Turuf hurriedly clamped both hands over her throat to hide it.
Given how fast she moved, Don probably couldn't confirm it clearly, but the reaction itself was damning enough.
"Guards! Seize this person!"
"Hold."
I stopped Don.
"Which means you are the daughter, Etna."
"..."
"Setting that aside... while your physique might be padding under your clothes, how did you manage your voice? It was hoarse and sounded entirely like a man's."
"Ugh... Ah..."
"Answer His Majesty's question!"
Though Don had refrained from calling the guards at my command, his temper was boiling over, and he roared at the flustered Etna.
That only made her panic even more.
"Was it charcoal?"
"—!"
At my guess, Etna nodded vigorously over and over.
"I see."
"Your Majesty, what do you mean by charcoal?"
"She drank crushed charcoal. The carbon powder coats the throat and... well, keeps the voice raspy for about half a day."
"I had no idea such a method existed. As expected of Your Majesty."
"So, why are you here in your father's stead? Did something happen to him?"
"W-Well..."
"Hmm?"
"I wanted... to behold the Imperial Countenance with my own eyes, just once. But since honorary knights had to be men, my grandfather told me to disguise myself and go."
"Hmm? Don?"
"...It is not explicitly stipulated in writing, but the officials in charge of each tier likely instituted that as customary practice."
"Is that so."
I nodded and turned back to Etna.
"I'm glad you came. Starting next year, I'll ensure women can become honorary knights as well."
"—!"
Etna was struck speechless.
☆
Nearly ten years had passed since that day, and I had crossed paths with Etna once again.
"Did you... remember me?"
"I couldn't connect the dots at first since I hadn't seen your real face, but I remembered your eyes."
Etna looked taken aback.
"My eyes?"
"They were rare eyes, intent on measuring the man known as Myself."
"Ah..."
Etna's eyes widened, then she cast her gaze downward, her expression tinged with bashful embarrassment.