Though he required no instruction, His Highness was not exempt from… certain impulses.

  He rarely explained the nature of his requests, as though clarity were redundant.

  I had long since adjusted to such summons.

  The junior attendant remained bowed. A light trace of ash clung to her sleeves — recent.

  ”Very well.” I stepped past her into the eastern corridor. The air was heavier than it should have been.

  Incense lingered low, dense enough to press at the back of the throat. The second lighting should have burned by now.

  A faint resonance from the shrine trembled in the beams overhead. Smoke veiled the alcove, obscuring the painted gaze of the bodhisattva.

  The timing had been misjudged.

  Merit was no substitute for precision.

  Nevertheless.

  The corridor narrowed toward the prince’s chambers. A vermilion seal marked the beam above the door. I knocked lightly against the lattice panel.

  No answer came.

  One breath.

  Then another.

  Had the summons been mistaken—

  “Come.”

  Of course.

  My steps were soft against the polished wood, a bow was offered.

  His Highness did not look up immediately. He appeared absorbed in the scroll before him, as though I had arrived by coincidence rather than invitation.

  “You sent for me,”

  “Did I?” His tone bordered on casual.

  “… I trust the matter warranted interruption.”

  “As always,” he observed, “you are punctual.”

  Merely a factual statement.

  I inclined my head. “It is my duty.”

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  A memorial lay open on his desk — Ministry of Revenue. Grain allocation discrepancies. At his gesture, I stepped forward.

  “The southern prefectures report shortages. Your assessment, Secretary Lam.”

  He passed me the scroll. Red ink marked the margins. The reported deficit was exaggerated by eight percent. Transport routes inefficient. Two officials shared overlapping jurisdiction. The correction was straightforward.

  Too straightforward.

  Stabilization was projected within three months. I outlined redistribution and oversight adjustments to secure it.

  A pause followed. Not evaluation. Waiting.

  My regards returned to the document. His annotations mirrored my conclusions. Even the phrasing of the directive had been drafted.

  “…Your Highness has already prepared the order.”

  “Yes.”

  The directive demanded no revision.

  It was not correction he sought.

  A test?

  No faults presented themselves.

  When I looked up, his focus had shifted from the document.

  Tri?t was watching.

  “You frown when you think,” he noted.

  My expression smoothed out at once. “If my analysis is unsatisfactory, Your Highness may indicate the deficiency—“

  “It is not deficient.”

  “…Then I will maintain it.”

  His gaze remained.

  Beyond what protocol required.

  “You are diligent.”

  “I fulfill my role.”

  “Only your role?” He tilted his head.

  The question did not correspond to administrative context.

  I did not answer.

  Thoughtful rather than impatient, his attention stayed.

  “Have you eaten?” he asked.

  “That matter is unrelated to the memorial.”

  “I did not mention the memorial.”

  Personal details did not warrant disclosure.

  The distinction was deliberate.

  “…I have.”

  That account was unreliable.

  He studied me for a moment too long.

  “Hm. As always.”

  Catalogued. He employed the phrase frequently — after praise, before requests, occasionally alone.

  Rarely without implication.

  The scroll returned to his desk. “If there are no further directives, Your Highness—”

  “Butler.”

  I stilled.

  “Your Highness,” I said evenly, “I am Attendant Secretary of the Eastern Palace. The duties of a butler do not fall within my appointed role.”

  A faint trace of amusement touched his expression.

  “Fetch me tea.”

  “Attendants are assigned for that purpose—“

  “I prefer yours.”

  An immediate reply.

  Preference implies deviation.

  “It would be inappropriate to blur designated roles.”

  “And yet,” he murmured, “you remain.”

  Tri?t’s eyes did not meet mine. Yet a gentle smile curved his lips.

  “As always.”

  Recognition.

  Correcting the title “Butler” maintained structure.

  Correcting implication would presume intention.

  “…As you command, Your Highness.”

  I did not need to look back to know he was watching me.

  The memorial had never required discussion. I understood that.

  The purpose had been proximity.