TMRM 05

Chapter 5

“Why are you pretending to be so innocent?”

Johan smiled gently.

“It’s a marriage of convenience. We’re both just getting what we want out of it. You must know everything you’re wearing didn’t come to you for free.”

His words spread through Anel’s heart like frost.
He wasn’t wrong.
She knew it too—everything she enjoyed had a price.
And that price was this single marriage.

But that didn’t mean she wanted to accept it so easily.
None of it was what she’d wanted.
They thrust things into her hands without asking, then demanded payment.

“Why… me?”

Even after everything he’d said so bluntly, she still couldn’t understand.

“Innocence? Or foolishness?”

Johan glanced at the watch on his wrist.
Anel’s gaze followed his.
Between the perfectly fastened white gloves and the crisp white cuff sat a wristwatch—unyielding, immaculate, like a symbol of his refusal to allow even the smallest flaw.
He was aristocratic to the core—even in the way he refused to show a hint of bare skin.
And yet, in truth, he was anything but noble.

“I wonder which you are, Lady.”

Anel thought of his private life.
What did it matter if he dressed like a monk and carried himself like a noble?
A watch worth the price of an entire estate—was that so impressive?
He was still a terrible man.

“I’m neither innocent nor foolish,” she said through clenched teeth.
The very act of talking to a man like this was humiliating.

“At least you can refuse, can’t you? Unfortunately, I don’t have that privilege. But you, my lord—you could choose another lady. Anyone else but me.”

What she said was true.
A man destined to be emperor—
Such a man couldn’t marry just anyone, but at least he had the right to refuse.
The right to reject the worst option.
Anel had been denied even that.
But him? Surely not.

“Yes, Lady Morata,” Johan said coolly. “I’m luckier. I do have a choice.”
“Then you could just refuse—”
“So what?”

His face was suddenly expressionless, for the first time.
Anel faltered.

“Oh, I see,” he said, his tone light again. “You’d rather I sacrifice someone else in your place?”

His expression softened back into that smooth, unreadable smile.

“You’re more selfish than I thought, Lady. You just don’t want to be the one paying the price.”
“I—”
“It’s a compliment.”

His eyes curved faintly in amusement.

Anel suddenly remembered a suicide note she’d once read from a noblewoman—one who had written that she wished, just once, to be reflected in those very eyes.

“For an empress of the empire, that sort of temperament is only fitting,” he said.
“That’s not what I meant!”

Anel snapped, her anger spilling over.

“I don’t even want that position—but aren’t there plenty who do? I don’t want you either, but I’m sure there are countless ladies who do!”

The moment the words left her mouth, she bit her tongue.
She hadn’t meant to bring up his scandalous reputation.
He’d been rude first, but years of restraint made her uneasy.
She glanced at him warily.

“And what of it?”
“What…?”
“Whether half the empire wants me, or all of it—”

Johan’s eyes were dry, emotionless.

“I said I’m going to make you the empress.”
“But why—”
“It’s too troublesome to train someone new.”

Train?

The word hit her like a slap, cutting off her breath.
Was that really it?
He was choosing her as empress simply because it was inconvenient to prepare someone else?
That was his reason?

Anel was too stunned to speak.

“Even a glass doll made for someone else can be useful if it fits its purpose,” he said.
“You’re treating me like an object now, my lord?”

She glared at him, appalled.
She’d heard he was arrogant—but this was beyond belief.

“As if you’re treating me like a person,” he said dryly. “To you, I’m nothing more than a means to the throne, aren’t I?”

He wasn’t wrong, but his indifference chilled her.

“I told you I don’t want to be empress.”
“And I told you that doesn’t matter to me.”

He looked at his watch again, then rose to his feet, as if the conversation had run its course.

“I believe that’s all I needed to say. Excuse me, Lady Morata. I’ll see you again soon.”
“Wait—”
“And please, recover quickly. Stop starving yourself over someone whose time with you is already over.”

With that, Johan turned and left.
No chance for rebuttal—his movements were as swift as they were final.
He vanished so quickly it felt almost like a dream.

Anel stared blankly at the spot he had occupied.
Nothing had changed because Johannes Drenegger had visited.
She remained locked in her room, as always.

Meanwhile, Samu continued visiting the ducal mansion, delivering bouquets of flowers.
Anel had tried knocking on the glass to show him she was imprisoned, but each time, the servants had blocked her view.

“My lady.”

Her maid, Giselle, approached hesitantly, holding something out.

“His Highness the Crown Prince asked me to give you this.”

Anel’s frail hands reached out.
It was a bouquet.
Flowers—the only thing she had ever truly loved, even though she’d never coveted dresses or jewels.

“…A bouquet.”
“Yes, my lady. It seems he picked them with care.”

Even after that day, Samu didn’t visit in person, but he sent bouquets every day to the ducal estate.
Tulips, daisies, marigolds—different every time, but each filled with the same affection.

To my fiancée.

I heard you’ve fallen ill, and they won’t let us meet in case it’s contagious.
I can bear not seeing your face, but I can’t bear knowing you’re unwell.
Please get better soon.
The world feels empty without you.

With love and devotion,
Samu.

The card always carried the same message—his hopes for her recovery, his affection.
Someone must have told him she was sick and couldn’t leave her room.
That lie, more than anything, filled her with despair.

No—everything filled her with despair.
But the one who made her despair most of all was Johannes Drenegger.

Every morning and night, newspapers were slipped through the crack beneath her door, and each time, her heart sank deeper.
She wasn’t allowed to send a single message outside, yet the duke made sure she received them anyway, saying,
“An empress must understand how the world turns.”

Slowly, the headlines became disasters.

“Lord Johannes Magnum Demands Recognition as a Member of the Imperial Family.”
“Johannes Magnum, Actually Johannes Drenegger? Dispute Over Direct Royal Bloodline.”

It started when he revealed that his true surname was Drenegger.
Then he requested the emperor officially acknowledge him as a legitimate son—
as though it were only natural.

“A New Heir to the Imperial Bloodline?”
“What Winds Will Blow Through the Empire?”

At first, the empire was shocked.
But soon enough, they accepted it.
Of course they did—Johannes was the pride of Stein, regardless of his name.
Some even said it was strange no one had guessed his royal lineage sooner.
Others whispered that the emperor’s bastard son, Johannes of the Magnus house, had a stronger claim to the throne than Crown Prince Samu, born of a foreign queen.

“Who Will Be Emperor?”
“Trueborn Heir, or Illegitimate Son?”
“How Will the Crown Prince Respond to His New Half-Brother?”

Every page of every newspaper was filled with one name—
Johannes.