âWhatâs this supposed to mean, Karendoll? Knowing that Master has a duel tomorrow with that idiot, why did you come here? Donât tell me you donât know whose room this belongs to?â
It really doesnât make any sense, and itâs impossible.
I wanted to reprimand Karendoll aloud for being there, but I held back and calmly asked her.
Although she is a slave and ostensibly engaged to Kaisar-sama, she was nothing more than mere decoration, a camouflage to make it easier for him to move as Black Rose behind the scenes.
It is true that the other party is a dirtbag named His Highness Prince Claude, so even if Kaisar-sama were to engage in an all-night duel, there is no way he could lose, but even so, it would be outrageous to do anything that would burden Kaisar-sama.
I thought it was for camouflage, but I didnât understand why Karendoll, who hated Kaisar-sama so much until a short while ago, had grown so fond of him.
I know you worship Kaisar-sama for his strength and his ideology, butâ
âHnnâŠâ
Just as I was thinking that much and wondering how I would respond, I heard a voice coming from Kaisar-sama, showing that he was having a hard time sleeping.
âKarendoll.â
âYes. Letâs call a truce so that we donât wake Kaisar-sama.â
And it seems too good to be true at the right time, as the atmosphere of the confrontation dissolved with Kaisar-samaâs uncomfortable breathing, so the three of us slept together for the day.
In the first place, Kaisar-sama is everyoneâs Kaisar-sama.
The idea of keeping it all to yourself is a no-no.
Karendoll seems to share this view, so we both fell asleep with Kaisar-sama in our arms from both ends.
.
.
.
.
.
The day ended without them knowing that Sarah, the self-proclaimed first slave, was hiding inside the bed that was big enough for three people, hollowing out the contents of the bed to the size of a person and soaking in the pleasure of feeling Kaisarâs weight.