In the audience chamber where the throne sits, Amun sits with his chin resting on one hand.

Ministers are raising their voices, arguing about something, but his gaze drifts blankly toward somewhere outside the window.

So, when are they arriving?

He taps the armrest of the throne with his finger, his lips curling into a smirk.

Huh, that was fast.

Look at them. They made such a fuss when I said I would marry, but now that the partner is actually here, they're all quiet as mice.

Several ministers standing nearby turn their heads away, unable to hide their discomfort.

Amun's gaze slowly sweeps over them before returning to the window, as if he has already lost interest.

I wonder what kind of person they are. Shall we go see?