Fresh Potatoes and Sweet Mayapple Tart

Iskandar, Ramstein the Ninth, opened his eyes. He pulled back the drapes of the bed placed behind the majestic pillars and saw the entirety of the enormous room stretch before his eyes.

Topped with a ceiling painted with a beautiful depiction of the heavens, the bedchamber was a resplendent room with intricate golden patterns laced across ivory-colored wood. Iskandar’s favorite part of the bedchamber was the windows. He especially liked it when the morning sun streamed into the gigantic window across from him.

Finding the peaceful silence more pleasant than the showiest of music, he lightly stretched to begin the day. Then he went over to the curtains that his servants had tastefully drawn and opened the windows wide. As always, he inhaled deeply, expecting to breathe in the pristine and refreshing air, but... He was attacked by an unfamiliar smell.

Iskandar looked down and couldn’t believe what his red eyes had landed on. The temporary wall—which had been there for so long he thought of it as a part of the garden already—was gone. This meant that he now had a clear view of that shabby house standing right in the middle of Pegasus, the empire’s symbol.

A young lady with a straw hat was scurrying around, sprinkling something from a sack all over the soil. That was where the peculiar and unpleasant smell was coming from. Iskandar pulled on the bell rope, utterly flabbergasted.

“What is that smell?” he demanded.

The servant who’d rushed over apologetically replied, “It’s manure, Your Majesty. Manure is an animal’s—”

“I know what it is! It’s dung used for fertilizer! I’m asking why the stink of manure is coming into my bedchamber! Why on earth is sh—” Iskandar stopped himself before he could finish. He had been the one to issue the prohibition order on her, hadn’t he? He needed to discuss the matter through a different topic. For example... “Where is the wall from the construction site?”

“The guards removed it last night, sir.”

“Yes, but why?”

“We do not know either, sir.”

The emperor was baffled. “Is the Minister of Palace Internal Affairs here?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Count Albert said, stepping forth.

Iskandar turned to him and asked, “What on earth happened?”

“I’m just as surprised, sir. I looked into it, and it appears a palace salon application has been submitted for that lot.”

“A palace salon?”

“I didn’t know either, sir, but about two hundred years ago, there was a law passed by His Former Majesty Ramstein the Second. Private properties cannot exist within the imperial palace, but there’s only one exception, and that is a salon run by an aristocratic lady. This was based on the universally accepted concept of salons, whereby the woman claims ownership of her salon and holds the authority of a queen within the premises of that salon. It’s quite an impertinent move, but I am aware that not even the emperor can force an aristocratic lady out of her private salon.”

“What does that mean? Are you saying that not even you, the best expert on imperial law, can do anything about it?”

“No, sir. Even monkeys fall from trees sometimes—I cannot think of an appropriate measure this time. What a shame, sir, a shame indeed.”

As the minister let out a heavy and exaggerated sigh, Iskandar stared intently at him. “Lysander, are you hiding anything from me?”

“What do you mean, sir?” the minister said innocently, adopting a puzzled expression.

All the while, the smell continued to waft over into the room. How could this be? How could the bedchamber of none other than the emperor of Vrahtania, in all its majestic glory, smell like manure? This was an attack on the very nation’s prestige!

Utterly seething, Iskandar pulled off his bow from the wall.

“Sir! Hunting is forbidden on palace grounds! Both animals and humans cannot—”

“But objects are fine, aren’t they?” the emperor snarled.

The razor-sharp tip of his arrow landed squarely on the sack of manure. He saw the woman in the straw hat jump in surprise. But the next moment, she clapped excitedly to herself, clearly pleased. The sack had burst open, scattering the manure everywhere. In his fit of rage, the emperor had only ended up doing all the work for her. And now the smell of manure was stronger than ever.

Damn it... Iskandar was flustered beyond words.

Just then, the servant brought him the morning newspaper as always, but for some reason seemed reluctant to hand it over. Iskandar had a bad feeling about this. He snatched the newspaper and spread it open.

The first thing he noticed was the gigantic headline: The Conqueror, Conquered!

The emperor’s beautiful face twisted into a menacing scowl.

* * *

“Oh gosh, that’s hilarious!”

The imperial training hall rang with the sound of husky laughter. But of course, she would laugh.

Iskandar stared sourly at Louise, the heir to the empire’s prominent vampire clan and the only woman of the emperor’s four advisors.

She was fiercely loyal and had once gone to great lengths to disguise herself as a man and fight as a knight for her nation. If anyone was pride personified, it was her—Dame Louise Gallardo, the brave warrior and a role model to any knight who witnessed her wield her splendid flamberge.

Iskandar cherished his friend Louise dearly and trusted her with his life... But as he watched her shoulders tremble until her long red hair whipped back and forth and her alluring purple eyes shone with tears as she roared with laughter, he seriously wanted to kick her in the shin.

He sullenly said, “They’re always looking for an excuse to come after me.”

“But this article is such a masterpiece!” Louise cried, wiping her eyes as she straightened up. “Oh, don’t be so mad. You got what you wanted. Isn’t this what you were always talking about? I thought you wanted to be closer to your subjects.”

“Not like this! This is just silly!”

“Why? You’re the emperor whose front yard got seized overnight! It makes you so much more relatable.”

Iskandar bit down on his lip. He didn’t want to say anything anymore.

“Come on, just forget about it and stop wasting your time. Superficial frauds like that eventually drive themselves to ruin,” Laurendel Blenheim said coolly.

Of the five gathered here, Laurendel was the most taciturn and soft-spoken. But he was also from a noble high-elf clan, and whenever anyone displayed an attitude he found vulgar and materialistic, his light green eyes turned almost blue with contempt.

“I bet just giving her that look alone could bring her down. If only the emperor didn’t order everyone to treat her like she’s invisible,” mumbled Cayenne Runebard, the nineteen-year-old cait sith who still had a boyish look about him.

“While we’re on the topic, that prohibition order was an excellent measure,” Cayenne continued. “It’s like Laurendel said, that speculator is just going to drive herself to ruin. The people will forget about her soon enough, and newspapers will find other stories to cover. Those kinds of people thrive on attention and die without it. And besides, did you see that house? There’s a huge hole in the roof that she just covered with a plank. The whole building’s gonna fall down before you know it. Don’t worry, Iz. In just a few days, you’ll open your window and see an empty clearing...”

The young cat fairy trailed off and stiffened. No wonder something felt strange. It happened whenever he got too carried away—before he knew it, his long and sharp feline claws were scraping against an elm tree in front of him. An elm tree designated Imperial Treasure 354, named “The General.”

“I was wondering how you ended up there, but of course. You’re just interested in anything to do with trees, aren’t you?” Laurendel scolded him like the tree-loving elf that he was. “Something bad is going to happen to the poor General because of you. We should replant him somewhere else.”

“Sorry. I can’t stop my cait sith habits from coming out when I’m focused...”

Everyone rushed forward to soothingly pat the tree and made a fuss over pressing its peeled bark back on. Only Iskandar’s expression remained grave.

Sigvald Sachsenspiegel from the war bear clan met his friend’s gaze and nodded, quietly expressing his sympathy with his eyes. It’s not easy ruling a country, but this is all a chance for you to learn. Hang in there. I’ll buy you a drink later...

“Right. I was an idiot.” Iskandar spun around. “See you later.”

He stormed out of the training hall, his scarlet cape flapping behind him. Once he was completely out of earshot, Laurendel said reproachfully, “You went too far, Louise.”

“Yeah, even I thought it was a bit much,” Cayenne added, while Sigvald agreed in silence.

Louise shrugged. “Fine, I’m hopeless. It’s like Iz said. I just can’t miss out on a chance to make fun of someone. But you need to know this. A hopeless prankster like me is far better than optimists who vaguely believe everything’s going to get better!”

“What are you talking about?”

“I won’t let Iz become a laughingstock.”

“You were the one laughing at him, remember?”

“I laughed because I know I can stop it! You’re all so dense. Since we were talking about manure, let me make a similar analogy. This situation is just like a puppy that came in and took a dump. And you guys are all just crossing your arms and saying it’ll go away if we wait! Well, sure. If you wait and wait for years, I guess it will fade away eventually. But why would you want to sit in the stench? Watch closely. I’m the only one who helps a friend in need. Me, Louise Gallardo.”

Louise clapped her hands together, and a dozen or so of her stealthy Holy Fire Guard knights suddenly appeared in black capes.

“The palace of the Vrahtania Empire is not a place where anyone can throw a tantrum for attention. Make her really think about whether it’s a good idea to step foot here.” Her purple eyes, ruthless when it came to her enemies, widened as she sternly made her order.

“Yes, captain!” her knights answered in unison.

Then they turned around and soundlessly marched away, their capes fluttering behind them, black as night.

* * *

At that same hour...

“My goodness.” Hazel was greatly unnerved.

She had just discovered a plank on one corner of her bedroom ceiling while she was cleaning. When she pounded on it, it immediately broke and made a hole straight through her roof. She found a ladder in her shed and used it to climb to the roof, where she saw a large gaping hole. This was a big problem. She needed to hurry up and replace the broken frame, then cover it with shingles or straw or whatever else worked.

“Hmm... I can do this. I can do this,” Hazel said encouragingly to herself. For now, she had to find some wood. She gingerly climbed back down the ladder, but when she placed her foot on the last step, even that snapped off.

It’s okay. She brought a hammer and a piece of wood from the shed. Then she placed a nail on the broken ladder step and struck it with all her might.

Whack!

But not even a tenth of the nail went in. She tried again, to no avail. She simply lacked the strength. Come to think of it, it was lunchtime already.

She had only had biscuits and water for breakfast today, having been too busy with sprinkling the manure she’d found in the shed. Even if she were treated like she didn’t exist, she didn’t want the palace people scrunching their noses and frowning at the smell of manure, so she’d purposely gotten up early in the morning to do it. And yet...

Hazel glanced into her basket.

Who would have thought an arrow would come flying to help her? The sack had been so old too, thick and tough like leather. She’d been truly fortunate this morning. An unexpected bonus of sorts, for farming inside the palace. On top of that, this arrow—whomever it belonged to—was of exceptional quality. It was made of a sturdy metal that didn’t rust.

She had plans to make this into a kitchen utensil after lunch. Hazel headed to the field.

After much deliberation, she picked out and planted the very best of her seeds into the soil, which was nicely plowed thanks to all her weeding. Of course, even her fastest-growing crops like spinach would need at least thirty-five to forty days. But at least this house had given Hazel a gift: a bounty of potatoes. The ones with dry leaves and limp yellow stems were ready for harvest.

Hazel picked up her rake and dug out the potatoes from the soil. Someone had failed to pick the flowers in time, so the potatoes were not exactly thick. But they had ripened well, given the good soil and plentiful sunlight. There were so many that Hazel’s basket wasn’t enough, and she needed to bring over a separate sack.

Hazel looked proudly down at her sack of potatoes.

“What should I make with this?”

It was the first proper meal she’d be making at Marronnier Farm, and therefore the menu was very important.

She soon thought of a very good idea.