Three days later, Marquis Pison returned to his office. Akan was beginning to reach the limits of his patience. Did the man really think that leaving him untouched, like a common pest, meant that he could no longer distinguish between heaven and earth?

Marquis Pison, unfazed by Akan’s openly weary expression, handed over the prepared documents. Akan glanced at the list, which resembled a register of noble families, and finally opened his mouth.

“What is this?”

“I have compiled a list of the unmarried daughters of each family who have not yet been betrothed.”

“And I ask, what is this?”

Akan threw the uninteresting papers on the desk. As if he had expected such a reaction, Marquis Pison continued without losing heart.

“In order to stabilise the imperial authority, shouldn’t you have an empress as soon as possible?”

Akan laughed derisively at Marquis Pison’s ridiculous suggestion. The man was so transparent. He was obviously testing Akan to see if he had any intention of placing Robellia on the Empress’s throne. Of course, Akan had no intention of making Robellia – or anyone else, for that matter – his Empress. An empress? What nonsense.

Marquis Pison cast an unhappy glance at Duke Mos, who had claimed the seat next to the Emperor.

“If the Duke of Mos had a daughter, you’d think of her first, of course.”

Though most of the ducal families tied to the former Imperial line had been removed, leaving the Duke of Mos as the clear leader of the nobles, Marquis Pison refused to accept this. With the tyrant overthrown, it was only natural that Imperial authority would diminish and power would shift to the nobles. Yet the Duke of Mos acted in complete defiance, consolidating power under the Emperor and wielding it as if it were his own. It was impossible not to feel resentment.

“Even if your achievements have earned you your title, it’s rather shameless to push a distant niece for consideration…”

“I have no such intentions, so hold your tongue.”

That tone was another thing that annoyed him. Since when had the Mos family been a ducal house that had to act so superior at every turn? In truth, Marquis Pison had another conflicting thought. If only the Emperor could become his puppet instead of relying on someone like Duke Mos.

It wouldn’t be the foolish Princess Robellia, nor would the daughters of noble Imperial families satisfy him. Deciding to play a bolder card, Marquis Pison spoke up.

“Could it be that there’s a woman elsewhere? Even if it’s an illegitimate child, taking her as an heir…”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

Akan was incredulous. The idea of surviving ten years as a slave was something these self-important nobles couldn’t even begin to imagine.

Their narrow-mindedness only went so far. It was enough for them to believe that a well-bred slave who had lost his name had somehow met a fortunate benefactor and ascended to the throne, only to indulge in pleasure and decadence.

Akan glanced at the list. The name at the top was so obvious it was almost laughable.

“Isn’t Lady Pison unmarried?”

“She was briefly engaged, but they never saw each other.”

Marquis Pison replied, subtly emphasising his daughter’s purity. Akan scoffed inwardly. The youngest daughter’s former fiancé had been a distant relative of the former Imperial family, and the engagement had been broken off the moment the rebellion began. Yet now they had the audacity to push her towards the new Emperor without a shred of shame.

“I will consider it.”

Satisfied with the answer, Marquis Pison left the office. The moment the door closed, Akan crumpled the list into a ball and threw it in the corner of the room.

“It might not be such a bad idea to make Lady Pison the Empress.”

Akan couldn’t help laughing at Duke Mos’ joke. The absurdity of someone throwing his daughter into what could easily be a death trap was almost amusing.

Having been exploited long before he even opened his eyes to the palace, Akan had never had the luxury of being interested in women. Even when a woman claimed her child was his, he could confidently dismiss it as nonsense. The idea of illegitimate children was even more ridiculous.

If there was a woman who carried the Emperor’s seed, it would probably be Robellia. The thought irritated Akan. How many m*n had Robellia been attached to, yet here he was, entertaining the faint possibility that she might bear his child. It was absurd and distasteful.

“Well, you could always just put Princess Robellia on the throne.”

“Historians would find that entertaining.”

As Mos continued his playful banter, Akan rose from his seat. After three days of merciless starvation, it was time to give her something to eat.

As Duke Mos watched Akan leave the office, he stroked his chin thoughtfully. After all, the idea of putting a doomed woman in a doomed position wasn’t entirely unreasonable. Pondering his failed joke, Mos stamped the Emperor’s seal on today’s pile of documents.

—

Robellia sat blankly on the bed, replaying old memories in her mind. She must have lost her mind for a while. If someone were to put her back on the platform now, she would scream that she couldn’t live like this anymore, beg them to kill her instead. She replayed the missed opportunity over and over again.

Three days. Akan had not even taken her to the mess hall. The humiliations she had suffered there remained vivid in her memory, but the image that burned brighter was the strawberry topped cake. She wondered if one day she might eagerly lick the soles of Akan’s shoes just for a slice of that cake. The thought that she might actually see it as a worthwhile opportunity was utterly repulsive to her.

Her limbs felt weak. She no longer knew the date or even the season. Her stomach was churning and she couldn’t tell if it was from hunger or pain. She staggered endlessly between conflicting thoughts: ‘I want to die. I want to eat.’

The sudden sound of the door bursting open made Robellia instinctively turn her head. Even after seeing Akan’s face, her mind could not process it. Despite all the sleep she’d had, her eyelids felt unbearably heavy.

“What is this?”

At first glance, Robellia was in bad shape. Her unfocused pupils wandered aimlessly. Smack. Akan’s palm landed lightly on her cheek. Her face, turned to the side, grew increasingly red, the heat radiating from her skin far greater than it appeared.

“Broken, are you?”

Akan laid his hand on Robellia’s neck, exposed above her nightgown. The warmth of a fever radiated from his touch. The tears rolling down her cheeks one by one were a sight he saw every day – hardly worth his attention. His first thought was that she might have a cold.

“Are you pregnant?”

His indifferent voice made Robellia’s eyes widen in shock. She looked down at her own body, disbelief and fear sweeping over her. Her frail, emaciated form showed no signs of pregnancy. But the unsettling possibility couldn’t be completely dismissed. Robellia hadn’t even had a menstrual cycle since Akan had taken the palace. The thought hit her like a bolt of panic.

“Get up and lie down. If you want something to eat.”

Akan’s voice no longer registered in Robellia’s ears.

‘Pregnant.’

Why had she never considered the possibility before? Had the repeated blows to her head rendered her completely lucid?