I rapped the white paint of the door with my knuckles. Then counted quietly to two in my head, took the brass handle, and entered the office of the Emperor of Ferdina.

It was a room plainer than you might expect. Wide but stripped of excess. A crimson carpet covering a waxed parquet. Tall bookshelves stood by the walls, loaded from corner to corner with tomes. No fiction or anything fanciful. Books on law, chronicles, annals, dictionaries, catalogs, ledgers, records. In the far left corner posed a small, round table with a crystal carafe and a set of glasses; in the carafe, plain water. In the back was a broad desk, behind which a man; a man of only thirty-seven, the ruler of a proud federation of eight million. The man sat dressed in a deep blue uniform, decorated with golden epaulets, aiguillette, and fourragère. His brown hair was cut short and cleanly combed; a beard covered his mouth and chin, promptly trimmed.

The desk in front of the man was loaded with stacks of papers, but he didn’t allow a hint of fatigue or displeasure to show on his face. He sat with a good posture, a stoic look in his gray-blue eyes, and wielded his quill like a rapier. Lightly, sharply, without wasted movements. The sun of a bright spring morning shone through a large window behind the high backrest of his chair. The dull white walls of the room caught the light to brighten up the office, and take you as close to being free and outside as you could while being neither.

I went to stand in front of the desk, five steps off, lightly tugged the pleated hems of my black dress, and curtsied.

“Your majesty. You wished to see me.”

“I did,” Emperor Friedrich II responded without raising his gaze and continued to write.

I’d been employed by the imperial family of Ferdina for a bit over four years now, but the times I’d been summoned by the Emperor in person like this could be counted with one hand’s fingers. Traditionally, if his majesty had anything to tell me, he would tell the majordomo, who would tell the lady of the bedchamber, who would then call me in and let me have it. But such customs were seldom followed. There was typically nothing so important an emperor would have to say to a maid that it would require starting such a game of Rodian gossip and wasting so many people’s time. He would tell me if and when we happened to pass each other by in the palace over the course of the day. By way of happenstance.

In other words, an exceptionally formal arrangement such as this didn’t bode well for a servant of my station. You wouldn’t—weren’t supposed to—pay any special attention to maids’ existence unless they did something critically wrong. I briefly consulted my memory, but failed to recall any such blunders as of late. There was perhaps cause to be nervous—but I wasn’t. I held great faith in my memory.

Also, it was perhaps a presumptuous thing to say, but my relationship with the Emperor of Ferdina was slightly out of standard compared to the other servants. I meant nothing scandalous by that, of course, only that we’d reached a sort of mutual understanding of each other as people. Perhaps you might go as far as to describe it as a bond of trust. Camaraderie, nearly. So I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt and waited quietly, instead of outright assuming the worst.

The Emperor put the paper away into the pile of finished work. Instead of looking at me now, he took another sheet from the taller pile of insofar unfinished work, and diligently resumed operating his quill.

“How’s Anna?” he asked absentmindedly.

Royal Princess Anastasia van Ferdina was the Emperor’s firstborn and thus far only daughter. And also my primary charge, if such an unrefined expression could be forgiven. I was her personal attendant, her lady-in-waiting.

Due to the length of the given name, everyone close to her highness would refer to her with a pet name, each with their own, and trying to keep track of them all would give anyone a headache. Her father called her Anna, her mother called her Asia, Henrietta called her Stasia, more insolent maids called her Stacy, old Augustine called her dear child, guards and butlers called her sweet angel, and her highness insisted I should call her “Sia”.

But I wouldn’t dare forget my place like that. Not under any circumstances.

“Her highness is well and currently preparing for tomorrow’s classes,” I reported.

“Is she doing all right at school?” the Emperor continued to ask, as though looking for excuses to prolong the conversation. Beating around the bush.

“Her highness is at the top of her grade, as always.”

“Oh,” he made an almost surprised sound, as though he genuinely didn’t know.

The Princess was a dutiful soul, naturally curious and terribly gifted at every subject, so performing well at school went without saying. Granted, she was only second-year at middle school, and her classes weren’t particularly demanding yet. But what of it? Princess Anastasia was not perhaps a blood-relative of mine, but my breast still swelled with pride over her hard work. How privileged was I, to be able to watch over her growth so close by?

Oh, pardon me. I nearly lost my situational awareness for a bit.

The Emperor tormented his quill a while longer, then stabbed a dot on the edge of the paper and put the quill down. He leaned back in his tall chair and looked up at me for the first time since I’d arrived.

“How is your sword arm, Lunaria?” he asked.

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I failed to stop my brow from twitching.

“That is a rather sudden question.”

“I suppose it is,” he admitted and wiped his beard, weighing his words. “The thing is, Raymond will be leaving for Argento next week. Have you heard?”

I nodded. “Yes. I’m aware.”

“Good. I need an escort for the young man. He will have to go through Baloria. It’s the shortest way, the only real way. To be precise, I’d like you to take him there.”

Now I began to turn nervous.

“Pardon me, but wouldn’t there be more suitable escorts to be found in the army?”

The Emperor didn’t immediately answer. He stood and stepped around his chair to face the window.

“Of course, I’ll have soldiers with him too,” he said. “But you know how the situation is with Argento. We can’t afford to dispatch a very strong force, they could take it the wrong way. I’d prefer to keep it low-profile. Quality over quantity. More than that, I’d like someone to teach him about dungeons along the way. The basics of adventuring and so forth. And you have experience with that sort of thing.”

“A bit…”

I still couldn’t tell why it needed to be me, specifically.

I was the Princess’s personal servant. Accepting the assignment would expect me to leave her side for several weeks…For at least a month. Not that there was a shortage of servants in the court, but I—it didn’t sit right with me. I recognized Henrietta’s skill as a dresser, and her needlework was exquisite, but her utter lack of presence could become an issue in other regards.

The Emperor appeared to have expected the argument. He turned back to me with a rehearsed response.

“You are the pinnacle of imperial maids, Lunaria,” he said. “Your combat ability is among the highest in our staff. Mr Crowe has personally acknowledged your skill. You are a registered adventurer and have seen the—harsher sides of life. Unlike the rank and file troops, you know a few spells too. You have a sense of tact and finesse. A lot depends on Raymond, as you well know. I want someone who gets things done to go with him. I couldn’t imagine anyone more suited to show him the ropes.”

Anyone else could have been beyond elated to receive such flattery from the Emperor’s own mouth. But I’d known the man for too long already, and knew how quick he was to turn to sweet talk when he wanted favorable answers without a struggle.

“My adventurer rank is only E,” I reminded him. “I’ve done virtually no real work for the Guild past basic training. I believe there would be more qualified personnel to be found in the bureau.”

The Emperor faced back to the window and the orderly, sunlit streets of the capital. Parade Street ran past the palace on the right, a lane of cobbled stone eight carts wide. Next to it on the left spread the picturesque Regent Park, the trees of it yet to grow leaf after the long winter. That view had the magic to always put you at ease.

“The fact that you’re not too deeply entangled with the Guild is actually a blessing,” he confessed after a pause. “I’d rather not owe them any favors. Neither do I want Raymond to grow too close with their ilk. He’s the hero who will save us, or so they say. It could be bad if he began to view himself more an adventurer than an imperial citizen, and forgot all we’ve done for him here.”

His fears were easy to understand.

Every major city and town in every civilized country had a branch office of the Adventurers’ Guild. They were an unaffiliated, independent, international organization, but independence didn’t necessarily translate to neutrality. What if the Guild were to convince the hero it was the Emperor who was the evil one instead of the Dark Lord of Thuria, and rather than building an alliance of free people, he united our enemies?

“No one alive is neutral, Lunaria,” his majesty said. “The best we lowly mortals can do is ensure we’re tied the right way. In such a way that we won’t have to regret. I’d be thankful if you could teach him that too.”

“...Very well, your majesty.”

I bowed my head in answer. Clearly enough, the decision had already been made and it was final. I would be going to Argento. Recognizing when the room for arguments was exhausted without having to be told so was the onus of a servant.

I’d taken my binds four years ago, of my own free will, without anyone to force my hand. From that time on, the only concern left for me was to shoulder these shackles the best way I reasonably could.

But that didn’t necessarily mean I was happy about it.