“Well… I suppose I don’t have anything specific in mind. You really have a talent for selling the emperor’s secrets, don’t you?”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Mail stared at his shameless face—well, technically a mask—and rubbed her chin in thought.

‘Something about the emperor…’

There was something she had been curious about: whether the emperor had a lover. Just hours earlier, she had been anxious to know for certain.

However, she had recently influenced Riela’s decision using electricity-based reasoning, so the matter of the emperor’s lover didn’t seem as critical anymore.

If she asked now, it would simply be out of curiosity. Mail lowered her hand from her chin.

“You said you’d answer any question, right?”

“Yes. Anything.”

“Even if it’s super personal? Like, I could ask about the emperor’s chest, waist, and hip measurements?”

“…Is that something you’re actually curious about?”

“Of course not. Just teasing. Anyway, let me use the first question I earned.”

Mail, now ready to ask, carefully chose her words.

‘Does the emperor have a lover?’

‘Is the reason he’s treating the selection process coldly because he already has one?’

No, something more direct.

“Why doesn’t the emperor make his lover the empress?”

That should do it. It was her biggest question after all.

The way she phrased it assumed that the emperor did, in fact, have a lover. If he didn’t, Rohayden would refute her outright, and if he did, she’d get the answer she sought. She waited quietly for his response, hoping he wouldn’t claim ignorance.

After a moment, Rohayden finally spoke.

“How are you so sure the emperor has a lover?”

“I’m not certain… but why are you answering with another question? You’re supposed to answer first.”

“Fair enough. You asked why the emperor doesn’t make his lover the empress?”

“Yes.”

“That’s because he doesn’t think the empress’s position is necessary for her.”

Mail tilted her head, confused.

“Huh? Why not? Wait, this doesn’t count as another question, right? You can’t just leave it at that—it’s a vague answer.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll explain. The reason the emperor doesn’t think the empress’s position would benefit her is simple: she’s frail and has no ambition. Do you think anyone would leave her alone if she became empress?”

“Well… no. Parasites hoping for scraps would swarm her, from relatives to complete strangers.”

“Exactly. Being ‘the woman loved by the emperor’ and being ‘the empress of the empire’ carry very different weights. Once she becomes empress, she would inevitably get caught up in the political storms around her. The emperor saw no need to expose her to that.”

Mail picked up on an important detail: ‘The council of nobles disapproves of the emperor’s lover becoming empress.’ This meant there was something about her that the council deemed unsuitable. Probably her status, Mail guessed. But she quickly dismissed the thought—it wasn’t important.

“Does that answer your question?”

“I think so. Let me just organize my thoughts.”

Mail held up her palm, signaling him to wait while she sorted through everything she’d learned.

First, ‘the emperor does have a lover’.

He hadn’t made her empress because, while the nobles opposed it, his primary reason was that he didn’t want to force her into the chaotic world of power struggles due to her gentle and unambitious nature.

It seemed the lover herself wasn’t keen on becoming empress either.

Then why hold an empress selection process?

Most likely, it was to appease the dissatisfied nobles. The emperor needed a figurehead empress in name only, someone who wouldn’t wield real power. Allowing someone to become too influential could be dangerous, especially if they tried to interfere with the emperor’s lover. The empress had to remain a purely symbolic figure.

Based on this, the criteria for the selection process became clearer: The chosen woman would need to come from a distant land with little to no political influence, ensuring that her family wouldn’t wield power. While her background should be modest, she couldn’t be too lowborn, as that would tarnish the empire’s dignity. Ideally, she would be a princess or duchess from an insignificant kingdom.

‘They should be either meek and modest, avoiding vanity and greed, or…’

Mail’s thoughts trailed off.

‘…or a fool driven by extreme ambition and stupidity.’

Exactly. Mail leaned more toward the latter possibility. A foolish, greedy empress who suddenly finds herself on the throne would inevitably misjudge her position and cause trouble sooner or later. And if she didn’t, well, they could always nudge her along. Once she caused a scandal, they could easily charge her with a crime and depose her.

‘After that, they could leave the empress’s position vacant for several years, citing the disaster of the previous selection.’

They could justify not holding another imperial marriage anytime soon, claiming that even after an elaborate continent-wide selection process, the results were a disgrace. It would be a perfect excuse to silence the nobles pressing for another marriage.

Wait a minute.

‘So the empress being chosen now is just a scapegoat?’

Mail’s eyes widened as the realization hit her. A cold sweat ran down the back of her neck. The situation was far more sinister than she’d first thought.

They were selecting an empress only to later depose her. Whoever won the selection wasn’t gaining glory; they were stepping into a trap, a sacrifice for the emperor’s peaceful single life.

“…Masterr.”

“Finished organizing your thoughts?”

“More or less. But I need to confirm something.”

“And that is?”

“This selection process… Is the goal to eventually depose the empress?”

There was a brief silence after Mail asked. Rohayden seemed slightly surprised that she had figured it out. His lips curved into a peculiar smile as he finally spoke.

“I doubt anyone told you that… quick thinker.”

“Ah! So it’s true? That’s even worse than being just a figurehead empress! Is the emperor really that heartless—?”

Oops. In her irritation, she’d spoken too bluntly. Realizing this, Mail hurriedly backpedaled.

“…I mean, the emperor’s charisma perfectly fits the ideal ruler I’ve always admired.”

“You don’t need to worry. I won’t report you to the emperor.”

“Whew, saved.”

“I do agree the emperor lacks sentimentality to some extent. But if he were more soft-hearted, wouldn’t his situation be completely different? He might never have claimed the throne or, if he did, he’d be too overwhelmed by the council of elders to exert any real authority.”

What Rohayden didn’t realize was that he was now defending the emperor. There was no need for him to do so, especially since it didn’t matter whether the emperor was ruthless or even a tyrant. The important thing was that the emperor held absolute power, immune to others’ opinions.

Yet, Rohayden offered an explanation as if he didn’t want Mail to think poorly of the emperor. He wasn’t aware that this instinctive defense stemmed from a subconscious desire not to be seen negatively by her.

“Now that you mention it, it does make sense. A reckless young lady wouldn’t need much provocation to cause a scandal, and if she were deposed, it would be her own fault. It doesn’t seem too harsh.”

Mail nodded in agreement. Thinking of Ormil, it seemed even more reasonable. In her case, ‘not’ being deposed would be the real disaster.

“Oh, and I still have one more question, right? I’d like to use it now. Something just came to mind.”

“What is it?”

“At the banquet yesterday, there was a brief announcement about the selection process. At that time… Oh, wait. This isn’t exactly about the emperor, is it?”

“It doesn’t matter. Go ahead.”

“Well then, if you say so. When the marquis explained to the candidates, he basically hinted that the emperor wouldn’t care who became empress, and there would be no affection involved. Why did they bother telling us that?”

“Ah, that.”

This time, Rohayden answered without hesitation.

“There are two reasons. First, it’s easier for the emperor if the candidates focus on winning the favor of the marquis rather than trying to impress him. And second…”

“Second?”

“They were giving them a choice.”

“A choice?”

“Yes. Not everyone would want to pursue a loveless, purely symbolic position. If they didn’t want it, they could quit early and save themselves the trouble.”

“Ah.”

Mail nodded. That made sense. The announcement had given the candidates a heads-up, allowing those who couldn’t stomach such treatment to voluntarily withdraw. It was a way of letting them opt out of becoming the emperor’s puppet if they couldn’t handle the humiliation.

Mail was starting to feel more detached from the selection process altogether.

“So, I’ve used both my questions now, huh? I think I made the most of them.”

“…”

Rohayden quietly watched her. His gaze lingered, making Mail feel slightly puzzled as to why he was staring at her in silence. After a moment, his lips, the only part of his face visible beyond the mask, moved.

“I’ll count it as just one.”

“Huh?”

“Your questions. I’ll only count them as one.”

What Mail didn’t realize was that Rohayden hadn’t given her a full answer to her first question. The explanation he provided was only part of the truth.

“Why doesn’t the emperor make his lover the empress?”

There was another reason beyond what he’d said. But since that reason was confusing even to him, he’d chosen not to disclose it.

In the end, Rohayden decided to show a bit of uncharacteristic generosity. Since his initial answer wasn’t complete, he wouldn’t count it. Mail would remain unaware of the reason behind this sudden kindness.

“Wait, why?”

“Does the reason matter? Let’s just say I felt like it.”

“Well, that’s fine by me.”

“More importantly, the food’s really going to get cold. Should we just leave it?”

Rohayden turned his gaze towards the food as he mentioned it. This time, it wasn’t to change the subject—he was serious. Plates filled with various dishes had been lying on the ground, neatly lined up for quite some time. Mail followed his gaze to the food.

“It’s fine. There’s nothing hot. Since we’re eating outside, I wanted something light and refreshing.”

“Light? This?”