Count Helario Ramier’s estate stood at the lower mouth of the Schumann River, which flowed southwest from the heart of Brakan, the Empire’s capital. The surrounding district was home to many prestigious noble houses gathered into a grand residential quarter, and among them, the Ramier estate was especially vast and beautiful, befitting its name.

The imperial procession had just reached the entrance to the quarter.

Inside the gently swaying carriage, Clodine clasped her gloved hands together. Through the parted curtain, she could see Ahazan riding alongside the carriage, keeping pace at its side.

Though she had accepted his sudden proposal and was now on her way home, her heart was a tangle of emotions. She longed to see her father, but she knew her stepmother and half-sister would not welcome her.

Her stepmother had married Count Ramier when Clodine was three. Over the years, she had grown bitter watching her husband fail to forget his first wife. That resentment had always been taken out on Clodine. And Cecilia, raised in such an atmosphere, had naturally come to resent her elder sister as well.

‘If only my sister hadn’t existed, Father would have forgotten that woman much sooner. Mother and I wouldn’t have suffered our entire lives because of her.’

Remembering Cecilia’s habitual words made Clodine’s chest feel tight.

If not for her father, she would never have returned home.

Of course, they would not be foolish enough to reveal their true feelings in front of the Emperor, but still…

Knock, knock.

While Clodine was lost in thought, Ahazan approached the carriage and tapped lightly on the window. She opened it carefully.

“Are you uncomfortable?”

His voice carried the same gentleness it had in the dim stable that night.

In truth, Clodine had been feeling faintly motion-sick for some time, but she found herself nodding instead.

“I’m fine.”

At that very moment, a child’s loud, sorrowful cry rang out from outside.

The sound was so heart-wrenching that both Ahazan and Clodine turned toward it at once.

“Shut up! You filthy foreigner!”

Several children were ganging up on a smaller child.

At the word foreigner, Clodine felt her heart drop.

“Stop the carriage.”

Ahazan immediately ordered the coachman to halt. He dismounted in one fl*id motion and helped Clodine down.

The children, engrossed in their cruel game, failed to notice the adults approaching. Ahazan stepped slightly back, allowing Clodine to move ahead.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Up close, the scene was worse. The girl branded a ‘foreigner’ lay on the ground, covered in dirt and barely conscious. The other children froze mid-kick and looked up at Clodine.

“She’s a foreigner!”

“Foreigners are supposed to be beaten to death!”

The children hurried to justify themselves.

In the Empire, foreigner was synonymous with barbarian. Those who did not carry pure imperial blood were targets of ruthless discrimination.

“Who told you foreigners should be beaten to death?”

“All the adults say so.”

“That is wrong. You must never follow such words. That is a crime.”

“But everyone does it.”

Clodine gently lifted the small girl into her arms. Then she approached the oldest-looking boy.

“How old are you?”

“Thirteen.”

After hearing his answer, Clodine firmly pinched his arm between her fingers.

“Ah!”

He yelped and jerked away, glaring at her with teary eyes, but he did not dare retaliate.

“Did that hurt?”

He nodded.

She raised her voice so all could hear.

“If anyone here thinks they would not feel pain when pinched like this, step forward.”

No one moved.

“Everyone feels pain. That is why people must not strike or torment one another. And if you ever leave the Empire, you will become foreigners yourselves. There is no guarantee such a thing would not happen to you. Never do this again.”

The children scattered immediately.

The foreign girl, now alone, opened her eyes cautiously.

“Th-thank you, madam.”

“Can you walk?”

When the girl nodded, Clodine lowered her gently to the ground.

“Where are you from?”

“Sahar.” the girl whispered fearfully.

Sahar—one of the nations currently embroiled in war on the northern continent. Clodine had heard even in Rotermann that many refugees had fled to Van Helsing because of the war.

“Tedler.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Ahazan summoned one of his imperial guards.

“See that the child is treated and escorted home safely.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

As the knight lifted the girl into his arms, Clodine pressed a gentle kiss to the dust-streaked cheek.

“I am sorry. On behalf of the Empire.”

The girl’s eyes filled with tears.

Watching them depart, Clodine fell into thought.

A dark, uneasy premonition settled over her.

Foreigner.

Perhaps she herself, once dragged here as a queen of another land, might also be seen as a foreigner by some. And the many people brought from Rotermann were no different.

Vast fertile lands. Restored titles.

Perhaps such things were not enough to secure the future of her people.

What more can I do?

A shadow of concern rose slowly across Clodine’s face as she stood lost in thought.

“Let us go.”

Ahazan draped a light cloak over her shoulders as he spoke. Clodine turned her head slowly to look at him.

“About taking a foreigner as your wife.”

Her voice carried a sharp edge.

“Shouldn’t you reconsider?”

There was mockery in her tone, but beneath it, something wounded.

Ahazan studied her hollow expression for a moment before lifting his hand to gently caress her cheek.

“I feel pain when I’m pinched too.”

A faint trace of laughter touched his voice. She knew he was trying to ease the atmosphere.

“Even if you were a beast or a monster instead of a foreigner, I would still marry you.”

Clodine pretended not to hear the softness that settled near her ear.

***

Contrary to her worries, her stepmother and half-sister Cecilia were out when they arrived. Helario alone was home, and he greeted the unexpected imperial entourage with visible shock.

“Clodine…!”

“Father…!”

Helario was not a man prone to dramatics. But seeing his daughter return to the Empire after seven years, without warning, was different.

Clodine nearly threw herself into his arms.

“Father… have you been well?”

“And why have you grown so thin?”

They held each other tightly, each fretting over the other’s health.

“Ahem.”

Ahazan cleared his throat lightly, smiling as he watched their reunion.

“Your Majesty. We meet again. What brings you here?”

“My judgment was lacking. I imagine the Count wished to see Clodine very much. I have some matters to attend to, so please enjoy your time together.”

With that, Ahazan turned away with Cal at his side.

Clodine’s gaze moved between her father and Ahazan’s retreating back. Then she hurried after him.

Her small white hand caught the hem of his coat.

“Your Majesty.”

The way she addressed him so formally was, at times, strangely pleasing.

Ahazan gently covered the hand clutching his clothing.

“What is it, my lady?”

Since she had raised her tone before others, he did the same.

“If your business is not urgent, please come inside with us. I am quite all right.”

She was not naive enough to believe he truly had urgent matters. He had left the palace because of her.

His consideration was appreciated, but she did not want him waiting somewhere pointlessly on her account.

Ahazan hesitated briefly.

“Please, Your Majesty, when else shall we share such a moment?”

Ahazan looked down at Clodine as if conceding against his will.

“Very well.”

***

The three of them gathered in the Ramier estate’s grand reception room. Despite the Emperor’s sudden visit, an impressive spread of refreshments appeared as if prepared in advance.

Clodine lifted her teacup and took a small sip before speaking.

“You have heard about my marriage, have you not?”

Her voice was quiet but steady.

For some reason, Ahazan felt faintly uncomfortable in his seat. He shifted his gaze elsewhere.

Clodine shot him a brief look and continued.

“I am ashamed to show myself to you like this, Father.”

Helario, flustered, set his cup down a bit too loudly.

“N-no, it is not— I mean, it could—”

Wait. Could it?

Conscience pricked, Helario quickly changed direction.

“Why is this tea so bitter?”

Clodine glanced between the two men and took another sip.

“It is not bitter at all.”

“Ah… is that so?”

Honestly.

She swallowed a sigh.

There was no doubt that the two of them had already discussed the imperial marriage. Her father, as always, must have bowed to Ahazan’s will, no matter how much he loved his daughter.

She did not resent his loyalty. Before he was her father, he had long been a devoted servant of the nation. She herself had been raised to understand that duty, trained thoroughly in the qualities required of an Empress.

But today—

Today she had come not as a future Empress.

She had come as a daughter.

Clodine moistened her lips slightly before speaking.

“Father. I have a request.”