After much hesitation, the question she finally asked trembled with desperation. As Atlion rubbed the tip of his p*nis against her entrance, her mind was overwhelmed by terrible thoughts.

“I told you, a child is not a burden to me.”

“Your Majesty, you are Mirabella’s father.”

“And yet, you took my daughter away from her father.”

She was at a loss for words. The tip of his p*nis, which had been teasing her entrance, suddenly pushed in, filling the slick, needy opening. Despite the fact that his size and thickness were unchanged, her breath caught in her throat as if she was experiencing him all over again. Her head snapped back involuntarily, her mouth falling open at the overwhelming sensation.

His heavy balls pressed against her outer folds, the rough friction of their contact sending sharp, tingling heat through her. Her fingers dug into his forearm, nails biting into his skin.

“Ahh! Hngh… ahhh!”

“If you despise the position of a wife so much, then become my mistress.”

“Ahh, h-hah! Stop, please, stop… ahh!”

The depth of his thrusts left no room for escape, reaching so far that it felt as if he might even bury his balls inside her. Swan shook her head violently, her body arching sharply as the weight of his cold words echoed through her mind.

‘Mistress. Become a mistress.’

The very idea was terrifying, and yet… perhaps it was less terrifying than becoming his Empress. As a mistress, hiding behind him rather than standing at his side, the burden might not be so crushing. It might even suit her better, she told herself. But what about Mirabella? What would happen to her?

“If you refuse, then remain my Empress.”

It was an ultimatum. For the man who had claimed her so relentlessly, there were no other options. She couldn’t understand why he would torture a woman he didn’t even love. She no longer asked him to take responsibility as her husband. She no longer wanted to live under his protection.

“No. I’d rather… I’d rather be your mistress.”

Each thrust sent her br*asts bouncing, the lewd, wet sounds of their union filling the room without pause. Swan spread her legs wider to accommodate him fully. She had always appeared before him as a woman, never as a wife – as if all she was capable of was spreading her legs and carrying his child.

Had she ever really lived as his wife? The thought made her laugh bitterly. His dark, imposing p*nis rammed into her with punishing force, as if to claim even the deepest parts of her. Swan let out a short cry, her voice breaking as Atlion’s hands cupped her ample br*asts.

“Ahh, nngh, haah…!”

Swan tilted her head slightly and let out a soft nasal sound before turning to look at him. Her vision, blurred with tears, cleared after a few blinks and what filled her vision was a man crying.

Her head felt heavy, as if weighed down by a lump of lead. Adelaide had said that the future Empress was a good-hearted person, if a little naive. Raoul had held his tongue, but he wanted to say that kindness alone was not enough for someone destined to be an Empress.

After sending his wife back to the castle in a carriage, Raoul went to the emperor’s bedchamber. The servant’s face darkened for a moment when he saw him. Just as the servant was about to speak, a faint moan came from the bedchamber. It was a sound somewhere between pleasure and a cry, and Raoul’s face hardened.

He was about to turn away when the moan, mixed with sobs, stopped him. A memory surfaced, a day exactly a year ago. His eyebrows knitted together, he stared at the thick doors of the bedchamber. The faint moaning from within reminded him of his foolish self of a year ago, and the man driven to madness by obsession.

***

“Raoul.”

Raoul’s name was called in a low voice and he stood staring at the body of the woman he had brought in with his own hands. The Emperor, his head tilted slightly, gazed at his subordinate, now turned vassal. For a man who had seen countless corpses, Raoul’s reaction was surprisingly fragile.

Raoul clenched his fists, forcibly closing his previously open mouth. Although not a single drop of blood stained the Emperor’s hands, the woman was unmistakably dead. Upon closer inspection, traces of foam could be seen at her mouth. It wasn’t hard to deduce what had happened, even without an explanation.

Red-golden hair. Long, wavy locks that cascaded down to her waist. A soft, warm body. The woman who had given birth to the Emperor’s child bore a striking resemblance to the woman who had been the seamstress. No, she was even more captivating, with a beauty that surpassed the courtesan who had borne his child. Her flawless, freckle-free skin had been one of the most striking features of her life. And yet…

“Surely you didn’t think you could dishonour the Emperor and live.”

It was unclear whether these words were directed at Raoul or the dead woman. But regardless of the intended target, the chilling effect was the same. The faint light of dawn crept through the curtains and outlined the Emperor’s gaunt, almost animal form.

Despite a body marred by self-inflicted wounds caused by hallucinations and nightmares, it remained lithe and striking, unencumbered by its scars. Raoul, who had been staring at the unmarked figure, fell to his knees. His head throbbed with remorse.

“Please take my head.”

The Emperor made no response to Raoul’s formal request. He rose in his n*ked form and picked up a candlestick. He dripped hot wax on his chest and shoulders, as if disinfecting parts of his body soiled by dirt.

He was devout. Raoul gritted his teeth, unable to bear the grotesque ritual. The Emperor’s self-inflicted wounds sometimes seemed almost reverent.

The touch of a woman who was not his wife. The touch of a woman not taken as his wife became a defilement. So it was not uncommon for him to act as if he had to cut out any unclean, unsterilised wound. Still, he’d never gone so far as to break someone’s neck as he had now.

“Whose plan was it?”

“I thought it a wise judgement.”

“Did the Marquise de Amiens order you to find me a wife?”

“It was all for Your Majesty’s safety.”

There was no answer. It felt like the ground was crumbling beneath his feet. It was the second time he thought he might lose everything. That was the Emperor. Even if someone had been his loyal right hand for decades, he would cut them off without hesitation when the time came.

This was because he had given nothing in the first place – nothing beyond trust. Things like affection, the kind a master might show to his loyal subordinates, were foreign to him. Having never shown such human emotions to those around him, he felt no attachment when he broke the bond.

Raoul swallowed dryly. The Marquise d’Amiens, also known as Princess Jacqueline. The late Emperor’s only sister. A woman who had always kept a close eye on her nephew.

All the more so as the Emperor was in the throes of a complete breakdown. Since he never openly sought the company of women, she had sent maids of exceptional beauty and arranged for noble maidens of striking elegance to approach him at banquets.

But all that came in return was an emperor who had spiralled further into madness. Though her plans kept falling apart, Jacqueline’s persistence was nothing short of foolish. And yet…

“Whip all the guards stationed outside the bedchamber and expel them from the palace. Jacqueline is to be placed under house arrest. She is also forbidden to enter the palace grounds until I personally lift the order.”

“Your Majesty…”

“You will not escape punishment either.”

“But…”

“Be grateful that I am sparing the heads of those involved in this matter.”

The Emperor’s eyes were piercingly clear as he crushed the hot candle wax in his hand. His mind was apparently sharp, unclouded. Raoul wished the drugs had dulled his senses instead. It was harder to comprehend – self-harming in full consciousness, unable to forget a mere peasant girl, descending into near madness with obsessive purity and hatred of women. Still, Raoul suppressed the turmoil within him and vowed to carry out the orders.

—

Atlion was awake at dawn. He sat quietly staring at a portrait hanging on the far wall of his bedchamber. The frame, stripped of its red velvet covering, held the image of a woman with the most serene smile the world had ever seen.

‘Swan.’

After losing the woman, he ordered the court painter to paint a portrait of Swan.”

The woman modelled for the portrait resembled Swan in her facial features and the inclination of her features, but she was not a perfect likeness of Swan. However, Atlion considered this painting to be Swan. Whether he indulged in self-pleasure or self-harm, it was always in front of the image of Swan.

When Atlion took his eyes off the portrait and looked at Swan, he muttered.

“I thought that someday I wouldn’t need this anymore…”

The red, sunset-coloured hair. He picked up the ends of the curls and, lowering his head, gently pressed his lips to the tips of the strands. The scent, normally unpleasant, was strangely alluring to him.

The woman, panting with a cold face, lost consciousness as he reached his climax. After confirming that her pulse was normal, he did not call for a doctor, but simply waited for her to wake up. She was the woman who had chosen to live as his mistress rather than become an empress.

It really meant that she despised the idea of becoming his wife. It was as if her heart had been broken. If she had asked him how she could become Empress, he would have been willing to explain his plans in detail.

He had chosen the Marquis of Clephas as a pawn against the current Marquis of Amiens, and he could have been a good father figure to her. In other words, it meant that Swan could become a politically valuable pawn for him. It wasn’t as if he was unaware of her position.

He was the Emperor of Solerium. From the moment he declared his intention to inherit the throne, there had been no action of his that was not political. Swan had nothing, but she was a woman who could fulfil his needs.

Besides, it was not unheard of to have an empress from a humble background. From slaves captured by the Marquis to the daughters of poor monks, it was not an impossible position for Swan. She had already been the mother of a princess. But despite all this…

“It would be better if she just stayed a woman.”

It felt disorientating. A feeling of being alone in a world he couldn’t understand and would never fully comprehend. He thought back to the first time he had met her. He had never imagined that she could fill him with such terrible fear. And so he had seen her as something light at first. Perhaps it was because she had begged so desperately that he had seen her that way.