Chapter 4
Thud.
Anel shot to her feet before she even realized her book had fallen to the floor.
Why was that man here?
Anger surged inside her, but she couldn’t tear her gaze away from the window.
Outside, Johan was greeting the butler with impeccable courtesy.
The butler of House Morata, known for his strictness, was smiling—a rare thing that could only mean one thing:
the guest’s manners were flawless, beyond reproach.
Without glancing away, Johan strode after the butler’s lead.
And just before he disappeared through the doorway,
he lifted his head.
Directly toward Anel’s window—as though he knew exactly where her room was.
Their eyes met.
“…!”
It was only for an instant.
The moment their eyes locked, she stumbled back and looked away.
Though she hadn’t done anything wrong, she felt like a sinner caught in the act.
When reason returned, Anel peeked back out the window,
but he was gone—already inside the grand mansion.
Was he here to see Father?
What was he here to discuss?
To plot Samu’s downfall?
Was the illustrious Duke Magnum planning to claim the throne for himself?
Or worse—was he planning to seat Anel Morata, the puppet of Morata, upon the throne as empress to unite their two houses?
“Giselle.”
Giselle was Anel’s lady-in-waiting.
“Yes, my lady.”
“Would you bring me some tea?”
“What kind would you like?”
“…Any kind is fine.”
Feeling bleak, Anel couldn’t even bring herself to sit by the window again.
She returned to the tea table. The book lay forgotten; her hands couldn’t grasp anything at all.
“My lady—”
“Leave the tea and go. I want to be alone.”
“It’s not that…”
“Lady Morata.”
At the unfamiliar voice that followed Giselle’s clear tone, Anel shot upright.
The voice was low—steady—but powerful.
For a moment, she almost mistook it for Samu’s; it had a similar timbre.
But the atmosphere was entirely different.
Anel instinctively recognized the owner of that voice.
“Lord Johan.”
The door opened, and the man entered.
It was nearly an intrusion.
Anel had called his name—but she had not invited him in.
She hadn’t said a word of permission, yet he stepped inside as though it were his right.
A rude trespasser, yet his demeanor was impeccable—
as though to excuse himself from the charge of intrusion.
He gave Giselle a small gesture, and she left, entranced, closing the door behind her.
Anel glared at him, unable to hide her shock.
“My lord, such a sudden visit…”
Who was the master here, exactly?
This was her room.
Was it acceptable to walk into a lady’s chamber without consent?
Even if he wielded the kind of power that might one day challenge the emperor himself—this was arrogance beyond measure.
“Did the Duke not inform you of my visit?”
“No.”
“I’ll be sure to tell him to notify you earlier next time.”
In other words: your father failed to inform you on time—it’s not my fault.
Brazen, insolent.
“Please, have a seat, Lady Morata.”
Johan sat across from her, gesturing with his chin toward the chair beside him.
“I am the owner of this room, my lord. Entering without my permission is—”
“I didn’t ask you to sit for my sake, Lady Morata.”
His tone was dry, but arrogance shimmered beneath the calm.
It was absurd.
Even if their families were discussing a match, they had no real relationship, yet he spoke to her as if issuing commands.
“Then for whose sake should I sit?”
“The one with the frail health isn’t me, is it, my lady?”
“I’m not that weak.”
“You’re being stubborn, then. It was a suggestion, not an order—please, do as you wish.”
Johan’s emotionless gaze fixed on her.
“…Why are you here?”
Johan brushed his long, pale fingers along the armrest of his chair.
He sat as if he were the master of this room,
and Anel—standing before him—felt more like the guest.
“Lady Morata.”
He traced the carved design on the chair with his fingertips, then lifted his eyes to meet hers.
Their gazes locked.
“As of today, I am a member of the imperial family.”
“!”
Johannes continued, ignoring Anel’s shock.
“It’s unofficial for now, so the announcement will come later—but you needed to know first.”
There was a faint amusement in his eyes.
Yes—amusement.
“But—”
“It was the Crown Prince’s decision.”
“That can’t be.”
Samu would never have surrendered his succession rights so easily—
not knowing the chaos that would follow.
“Well. You know better than anyone that your former fiancé can’t stand anything impure, don’t you, Lady Morata?”
Ah.
Anel could only accept it in silence.
Every time Johan’s birth was mentioned, the story of the late Empress inevitably followed.
Everyone involved was bound to be dragged into the mud.
With a heavy heart, she bowed her head.
Samu… in the end…
But there was something she still couldn’t understand.
If it was “unofficial,” that meant it hadn’t been approved for disclosure.
Then why—
“Why tell me this?”
“Because we’re in the middle of marriage discussions, aren’t we?”
He smiled—precisely, perfectly.
The kind of smile so well crafted that anyone else would have thought him gentle and kind.
But Anel knew that such smiles were more dangerous than any blade.
“I doubt the imperial family would forbid a fiancé from such confidential conversation.”
Confidential?
Anel nearly gasped at the word.
“I’ve heard nothing of this.”
“Well now, Lady Morata.”
Johan rose slowly and approached her.
Anel resisted the urge to step back and stood her ground, staring at him.
That gaze again—
The same unashamed gaze she’d felt at the ball, sweeping over her from head to toe.
He pointed to the chair before her.
“I’ll ask once more—please, sit.”
His emerald-green eyes glimmered with a cold blue light that pierced her.
But she would not yield.
Anel turned her head stubbornly away.
Then Johan suddenly stepped forward, pulled out her chair, and tapped it lightly with his finger.
A courteous gesture that was, in truth, an order.
Anel clenched her teeth—and sat.
Arguing with this man any longer was pointless.
Better to let him say his piece and leave.
“Good girl.”
Johan praised her tonelessly and returned to his seat.
A faint satisfaction crossed his marble-cold face.
Unbelievable man.
“Even if I act rudely, I trust Lady Morata will be gracious enough to forgive me.”
“Haven’t you already been quite rude?”
“I’ve barely begun.”
This isn’t even the beginning?
Anel wondered how far he intended to go.
A strange defiance began to stir within her.
“Please make it brief. As you can see, I’m not in the best condition.”
Anel gripped her skirt tightly as she spoke.
But Johan ignored her weariness entirely and went straight to the point.
“Samu Drnegger will never be emperor. Which means his fiancée—you—will never become empress.”
“I never agreed to marry him because I wanted to be empress.”
“Of course not. You only did it because your father commanded it.”
Johan’s words came without the slightest hesitation.
Anel bit her lip.
No matter what she said, this man would twist her words however he pleased.
“So if it’s the man your father chooses, it doesn’t really matter who, does it?”
“It’s my marriage. How could it not matter to me?”
“Oh, it matters.”
He paused, deliberately, before finishing:
“It just won’t change anything.”
“You’re being insolent, my lord.”
“I warned you beforehand, my lady.”
Even as she reproached him, Johan’s expression remained calm.
He looked at her almost pityingly, as if he were the victim instead.
“It’s not as though I want to be engaged to you, either.”
“…!”
That smooth tone.
Those sly, gleaming green eyes.
The slight tilt of his head, the fingers tapping idly on the chair arm—
There was nothing about this man that she liked.
