It has been a week—a long, harrowing week—and despite my desperate longing for even a peaceful night's sleep, rest has remained elusive.
The relentless cascade of responsibilities left behind by the late emperor, compounded by a new avalanche of duties thrust upon me, has blurred the lines between night and day. Every moment is swallowed up by a never-ending pile of paperwork, a ceaseless reminder of the empire's demands and my own fragility.
"Do you want to have your lunch here, Your Majesty?" Therese asked softly as she entered my study.
Her gentle tone was almost drowned out by the rustling of the countless papers sprawled before me. I barely spared her a glance, too engrossed in deciphering the endless contracts and decrees that mocked my exhaustion.
In a distracted voice, I ordered, "Make a simple lunch—just bread with meat and vegetables." I added with a hint of regret, knowing well that our kitchen news rarely extended to inventive sandwiches.
