As the youngest diplomat of the empire, I, Lesia, was awarded the lofty title of "Messenger of Peace" and was stationed in the "Sword of the Empire" - the Principality of the North, which is always frozen. Sounds glorious, right? But here's what the job actually involves: 1. Smiling down the other person's potentially poisoned toast. 2. Dancing at a ball with a bunch of aristocrats who wanted to hang my head on the wall. 3. The first thing you do when you get up every day is check if there are any assassins hiding under the bed. The century-old alliance between the Empire and the North has long been a piece of waste paper, and both sides are frantically testing each other's bottom line. My mission is to use the majesty of the empire and my words to calm these hungry wolves and maintain this shaky peace. Because everyone knows that no one can afford the price of a full-scale war. Maintaining the status quo has become more difficult and requires more force than fighting. And I am the most glamorous and most helpless piece that the empire has placed on the chessboard. My chief negotiating opponent is Cyril, the infamous illegitimate son of the Grand Duke of the North. He was like an elegant snow leopard, with deadly murderous intent in his lazy eyes. During the day, we bickered at the negotiating table and wanted to smash the ink bottle into each other's face. At night, as soon as the assassin he sent slipped away from my window sill, he himself knocked on my door with a bottle of good wine, smiling like a sneaky cat: "Miss Lesia, I didn't scare you just now, did I? Why don't we talk about the trade agreement tomorrow?" Me: "..." I suspect that he is sick, but I have no evidence. Until one day, he fell in front of my door covered in blood.
