TMRM 10

Chapter 10

“Your Majesty’s will is my will.”

Anel answered, forgetting even to breathe.

“If that were true, you wouldn’t have brought me such a reply.”

Johannes looked down at the woman caught in his grasp.
She had an oddly stubborn streak.
Yet he couldn’t tell what kind of stubbornness it was.
It was almost laughable that she had brought her own convictions into the oppressive imperial palace.
She looked as though she could break at any moment—
as if the slightest pressure would shatter her completely.

“Tell me what you really want.”

Those proud eyes of hers…
They irritated him.

In truth, Johannes had not planned to announce his choice for empress right away.
Since he had already advanced the coronation, he intended to abandon tradition.
There was no need to rush to appoint an empress at all.

If anything, that would only attract more mongrels sniffing around the throne.

So he had planned to listen—if Anel begged him.
If she said that naming five empress candidates within a week was too difficult,
that the coronation should be postponed, or at least the selection delayed,
he had intended to grant her request generously.

But so this is how you choose to play it.

How adorable, from the very beginning.

Johannes blinked slowly.
He had never once wanted to break anyone.
He never had to—everyone always broke themselves before him.
Perhaps that was why this irritated him so much.
Even though she had lost everything, she still pretended to stand firm before him.

“I have no such will of my own.”

Was she trying to test him again?

Anel couldn’t understand why Johannes kept pressing her for her own wishes.
If there was one thing useless in the imperial palace, it was her will.
He had to know that.
Yet he kept asking—

So this is how he means to brand me a traitor,
just as he had done to her father, the Duke of Morata.

Anel barely swallowed her rising anger and resentment.

“Then tell me, Lady Morata—”
“….”
“Are you a doll?”

Johannes smiled with a sharp curl of his lips.
Anel’s face flushed crimson.
A doll.
The word she despised most of all.

“If you have no will of your own, what difference is there?”

The more shame colored her face, the more delight colored his voice.
Even knowing that, Anel couldn’t push him away.
Helpless in his grasp—

“…Yes.”

She could only give him the answer he wanted.

“Your Majesty is correct.”

Anel met his eyes directly.
The green eyes that symbolized the imperial bloodline looked utterly detestable now.

“I was raised as a doll.”

Her voice was calm. She had endured every kind of humiliation already.
Something like this could no longer wound her.

“Wasn’t it that doll Your Majesty desired?”

Only now did she truly see his face.
Her fear hadn’t vanished, but her heart had begun to steady.

“So I became the doll who reads only her master’s wishes, just as you wished.”

But even now, as before when she bowed her head, she could read nothing from his face.
There wasn’t a single trace of emotion there.

“Skip the nomination.”

“!”

No emotion in his face—only the faintest twitch of his lips.
Or perhaps, a twist.

“I’ll name the empress directly on the day of the coronation.”

“That goes against tradition—”

“Against tradition?”

Johannes leaned in, his face brushing against her ear.
The coldness of his skin met the warmth rising in her blushing cheeks.

“So, Her Highness thinks I’m someone who begs favors from the nobles, is that it?”

But his breath against her ear was so hot that she forgot the chill instantly.
All her senses seemed to narrow to that single spot.

“I wasn’t raised as a doll, unlike you.”

Even when he spoke as if she were nothing but a doll, Anel couldn’t answer.
She didn’t even notice that his hand had already released her.

“You would become my doll, then?”

His soft, almost whispering laugh tickled her.
His breath brushed her hair, stirring it faintly.

“You chose this, Anel.”

All those whispers and touches seemed to hold her fast in place.

“Is that even possible?”

Guesch Salon.

A den where the rich and the wayward scions of noble blood gathered.
It was run by Madam Guesch, said to be well connected in the underworld.
If you could pay, she could fulfill any fantasy you wanted.
A place of ill repute—no man of honor would dare approach it.
But those who knew, knew.
There was another world hidden beneath the salon.

“It’s true. I heard it with my own ears today.”

The real master of the salon, Duke Magrot, flicked the ash from his cigar.
Around him, annoyed sighs rose in chorus.

“His Majesty has gone too far this time. Naming the empress outright?”
“He knows perfectly well why there’s a one-month grace period after naming candidates.”

The Marquess of Rodion silently laid down his cards.
Everyone at the table was displeased, but no one more than him.
After all, he was the only one here with a daughter suited for the position.

“Not a very imperial decision.”
“I agree. I thought he’d play us for weeks first and then decide on his own whim.”
“Should we be thankful he spared us the circus, then?”
“Who knows. Hard to tell what he’s thinking anymore—maybe it’s time to retire.”

The seven nobles gathered in the salon were all at least of marquess rank.
And among them, the one with the greatest power—

“Did you hear who he plans to name?”

—was, of course, Grand Duke Magnum.
The Emperor’s foster father and uncle by marriage.
The very man who had made Johannes I emperor.
And for that reason, the one Johannes watched most closely.
He had elevated the Magnums to a grand ducal house, but barred them from politics entirely.
Magnum obeyed his foster son’s orders outwardly, but inwardly, his resentment burned.

“I asked you, Chancellor.”

All eyes turned toward one man.
The youngest among them, and the emperor’s right hand.

Count Ern Lars—Marquess Lars, Chancellor of the Empire.
Educated in three kingdoms, first in each of their royal academies—an unprecedented feat.
He had returned home to serve Johannes the moment the succession crisis began.

“There must be a reason I came all the way here, don’t you think?”

It was said even Johannes, who listened to no one, would pretend to heed Ern’s counsel.
His brilliance was said to verge on frightening,
but even more so his political instinct and social grace—
enough that he could sit here, in a meeting formed to keep the emperor in check.

“His Majesty is not one to share much with me either,”
Ern said mildly, opening a cigar box and offering one to each noble.
A kind of bribe.
They all knew it, but chose to overlook it.

“If you don’t know, then who does?”
Duke Magrot sniffed at his cigar. The rich scent made clear it was no common thing.

“This is… exceptional.”
“Have I ever brought anything less?” Ern smiled faintly.

“One thing is certain—it was a sudden decision.”
“Sudden?”

Grand Duke Magnum frowned.
He knew better than anyone that Johannes never acted on impulse.
There were only two things the emperor lacked: impulse and emotion.

“As you all know, it was never His Majesty’s plan to name even the candidates at the coronation.
He meant to take his time, to train the nobles first.”
“My thoughts exactly!”
Magrot thumped the table in agreement.

“I thought he’d toy with us for a month at least.”

Then, the silent Marquess of Rodion spoke up.
At once, the room fell quiet.
Everyone knew about his troublesome daughter.

“Surely one of the two will be my foolish girl, eh, Marquess Lars?”
“Let’s just say I wouldn’t mind if that were the case,” Ern said with a strained smile.

“Of course it’ll be your daughter, dear Dierson,”
Grand Duke Magnum said, clapping his old friend’s shoulder reassuringly.
“The emperor may be arrogant, but he’s not a fool.”

He sighed.
If only his nephew were a fool—everyone might have been happier.
But Johannes was far too clever for that.

“The real question,” Magnum said,
“is which family will claim the other seat.”

At those words, every man in the room straightened—eyes flashing with hunger.