After everything was arranged, the bedchamber remained quiet for a long time.
The map had been put away in its waterproof case, and the Den Den Mushi had all retreated back into their shells to doze off. Roy placed his sword on the coffee table, slumped into the sofa, spread his arms out over the backrest, and let out a long, loud groan from his stomach.
"Hungry."
The word he uttered carried more emotion than any of his previous remarks during the discussion of the Guard Corps.
Mila sat in the chair opposite him, still simulating the Guard Corps's marching route.
Without even looking up, she said, "Are you a reincarnated starving ghost?"
"I've only eaten one meal since last night, and that meal consisted of just a few pieces of dry food."
"I fought alongside you in Limestone Village, then with you in Katya, then we traversed dozens of miles of desert, and then I argued with the king in this palace until midnight. This morning I was dragged off to be a witness in a marriage alliance."
Roy counted on his fingers, then spread his hands and said, "Mila, your brother is starving."
"Go ahead and chew on your nails."
Barlow ignored them. He leaned against the window, holding a half-cold glass of water, his gaze fixed on the walls of Alubarna outside the window.
The defenders on the city wall were rearranging the city's defenses. Sandbags were being moved from the armory to the back of the battlements. The gunners were calibrating the sights. Several old but well-maintained fixed cannons were being dragged out of the storeroom, and the gunners were pushing the cannon carts up the slope while shouting in unison.
There was a knock on the door three times.
Roy sprang up from the sofa with a bang, his eyes shining. "Dinner's here!"
The door opened, and instead of a royal servant carrying a tray, it was Lia who entered.
She changed into a light blue long dress, with extremely fine silver thread embroidery on the cuffs and collar. Her braids were re-braided and coiled at the back of her head, secured with the Silver Sun Hair Clasp.
Her cheeks were slightly flushed, whether from the draft in the corridor or something else, it was hard to tell.
She stood in the doorway, her hands clasped in front of her. She glanced first at Barlow by the window, then at Roy and Mila on the sofa, who were staring at her expectantly, and smiled slightly.
"My father sent me to invite you all to dinner. The royal chef has prepared roasted lamb chops and honey-preserved date cake today. It's been several years since we last hosted foreign envoys, and the head chef is unusually attentive."
She was speaking to "several people," but between sentences, Zi Guang would unconsciously drift toward the window, only turning her gaze back to the center of the room after she finished speaking.
Roy had already jumped up from the sofa.
He slung his sword at his waist, took three steps to the door, and casually pulled Mila, who was still sitting in a chair flipping through a list, to her feet.
Mila was pulled so hard that her pen drew a long black line on the paper. Just as she was about to lash out, Roy pushed her out the door.
"Let's go, let's go! The roasted lamb chops won't wait. Mila, didn't you just say you were hungry?"
Mila's voice echoed down the hallway, "I didn't say anything, let go, you're pulling my hair, Roy!"
The sound of their footsteps and bickering followed the corridor toward the banquet hall, gradually fading at the end of the long corridor.
Barlow placed the water glass on the windowsill and walked from the window to the door.
He nodded slightly as he approached Lia, preparing to continue walking out.
Lia didn't move aside. She stood in the middle of the doorway, her hands still clasped together, looking up at his face. Her lips moved slightly, then she released them.
"Mr. Barlow, wait a moment."
Barlow stopped and looked down at Lia, his eyes asking her, "What is it?"
Lia glanced to the left and right along the corridor.
The corridor was empty; Roy and Mila's figures were so far away that they could no longer be heard. Several guards stood outside the archway at the other end of the corridor, separated from them by a whole stretch of stone path.
She released her hands, which were clasped in front of her, and let them hang down at her sides. She clenched her skirt, then lifted it up and very lightly tugged at Barlow's sleeve.
I have something to tell you, it won't be long.
Barlow looked down at her fingers, which were clutching his sleeve.
He looked up at her expression again, thinking, "I hope she won't start asking me all sorts of questions again. Actually, I'm a little hungry too—"
Barlow was right. Her eyes were full of questions, too many questions that had been building up since she asked him in the hallway last night, "What's your favorite color?" Today's marriage proposal had added the final fuse, and now it had reached a point where she had to ask them.
He nodded slightly.
Lia pulled him to a small terrace recessed into the wall at the corner of the corridor.
The terrace wasn't large, just enough for two people to stand side by side and watch the sunset outside the palace walls.
Several potted sand plants were placed on the sandstone railing. Their thick leaves had pale purple edges and were the most common drought-resistant varieties in the Alabasta Royal Palace.
She took a deep breath and poured out all the questions that had been building up for a long time.
"Mr. Barlow, what do you think of me?"
Before Barlow could even speak, she continued, speaking even faster than when she asked about colors in the hallway, as if afraid that if she stopped, she would never have the courage again.
"We've only known each other for two days. This morning, my father asked you if you were married, and I said I was. Do you think I'm too casual or frivolous?"
Barlow opened his mouth, but before he could utter the word "no," Lia had already spoken.
"You don't need to deny it. I grew up in the palace, and I know what political marriages are like. I've heard countless stories of princesses marrying old kings from other countries, and princes marrying noble ladies they've never met."
"Everyone says it's for the country, for the family, for the greater good. I've known since I was little that I would one day be put on the negotiating table and become the most valuable dowry of the Nefertari Royal Family."
"I thought I would accept my fate."
She gave a self-deprecating laugh, the curve of her lips carrying a stubbornness unique to nineteen-year-old girls—knowing they were being naive but still choosing to speak out.
"But I still didn't. I asked you on purpose to find out what color you like."
"I want to know if the person I might marry is the kind of person who can answer childish questions like 'What's your favorite color?'"
She paused abruptly, looking down at her fingers gripping the railing, her nails lightly scraping against the sandstone.
"Everything I said in the audience hall this morning was true."
"But I also know that you agreed to marry me not because you have any special feelings for me, but because you were making a judgment."
"You're a businessman. You did the math in your head, figured this deal would benefit the Uchiha, and then you nodded. I could tell."
Barlow looked into her eyes; her eyelashes were wet, but no tears fell.
She released her fingers from the railing, extended her index finger and gently touched Barlow's chest, her fingertip trembling slightly through the collar of his dark gray shirt.
"I talk a lot and tend to overthink. The old folks in the palace have always said I don't have the manners of a princess. But I know, ever since I asked you those questions in the corridor yesterday, that you had the opportunity to refuse. You don't find me annoying, do you?"
Barlow stared at the finger pointing at his chest.
Besides the ink stains, there was also a small red mark from being worn down by the sandstone railing on her fingertips.
He remained silent for a few moments, then reached out and gently removed the finger from his chest, holding it in his own hand.
"You certainly have a lot of questions," Barlow said, his tone exactly the same as when he presented the quarterly revenue in the conference room—rigid and unbiased.
"Yesterday you asked me what my favorite color is, and the answer is none. For me, color is not a decision variable."
"You asked me if I like sweet or salty, and I don't have a preference. Food is a source of energy for me, not a source of enjoyment."
"You asked me what the difference is between the desert and the sea. I'll tell you now: the risks at sea are storms and reefs, while the risks in the desert are dehydration and temperature fluctuations. Both can be mitigated in advance through data and experience. Your questions seem meaningless to me."
Lia stared at him, her eyelashes trembling slightly, wet.
Barlow looked at her, and her hand clenched slightly, not too tightly, but enough for her to feel the warmth of his palm.
"But whether it makes sense or not, as long as you have something to say, I will listen, and I will listen for as long as you speak."
There was a moment of silence on the terrace.
The wind rustled the leaves of the sand plant in the pot, and the bugle call of the changing of the guard came from the city wall, deep and long, its echo stretching out in the twilight.
Lia felt her fingers slowly warming in his palm.
She stopped crying and started laughing, quickly wiping her eyes with her free hand before pulling her hand out of his palm.
She took a half step back, tilting her head to look at him. The setting sun cast an orange-red curtain behind her, gilding her coiled braids and the outline of her light blue dress with a soft golden edge.
"Mr. Barlow, don't worry, I'm actually quite smart, and I have no flaws except for being talkative."
She tapped her temple, squinted, and smiled like a cat that had just pulled a ball of yarn off the sofa.
She turned around, her skirt swirling into a small blue wave at her ankles, Earth Flow a few light steps toward the corridor.
Barlow stood still, not following immediately. He watched her back as her braid swayed gently behind her, the silver hair clip shimmering in the twilight.
She walks with her toes touching the seam between the paving stones before her heels land, a habit completely opposite to Mila's.
Mila walks with her heels touching the ground first, leaning forward, as if ready to draw her sword at any moment.
When Lia walks, her toes touch the ground first, as if she is testing whether the world is really worth putting all her weight on.
She walked by like that in the hallway yesterday, Barlow only noticed her now.
Lia took a few steps, then turned around and saw him still standing there. She waved to him.
"Come on, or your brother will eat all the lamb chops!"
Barlow raised his hand from his side, straightened the cuff that she had pulled askew, and followed.
"Not very clever, but easily solved."
Barlow thought to himself.