If she were only slightly scratched by rose thorns, everyone from her mansion would be worried. If she asked for any type of fruit, they would pile up a mountain of it in a storehouse, and if she happened to pick an unripe one, everyone from the mansion ranging from a maid to the chief attendant would beg for punishment. If she wanted any particular dress, they would cross the sea and mountain to find the master designer, but even such a dress would often be thrown and collect dust in the corner of her closet by her whim.
This woman, who grew up in such a comfortable environment, was now eating green fruit and laughing in front of his eyes. She wore a dress messed up with fruit juice, making her blush with her scratched cheeks.
Eckart put the apricots he was holding back on her skirt.
"Your Majesty, why don't you eat? Do you have a bad appetite?" she asked with a worried look.