Ahazan narrowed his eyes as he looked at Clodine, who still did not know where to rest her gaze because of the horse standing so close beside her.

“Are you saying that because you truly think you can do it?”

This time she did not stammer, though there was still hesitation in her voice.

“I learned how to swim… There’s no reason I can’t do this.”

Ahazan smiled faintly. It was obvious at a glance that she was nothing like her usual self. He had never once found women cute, even when they deliberately acted coy, but Clodine somehow managed to look endearing without doing anything at all.

At the same time, irritation twisted in him. What is that knight commander to you, that you’d go this far?

Yet the thought of teaching her to ride himself sent a surge of interest through him.

In truth, he had had other reasons for not releasing Valoran Lord with the others. Still, this unexpected advantage was not unwelcome.

‘Humans live on land, not in water.’

Swimming was a skill for fish. Useful perhaps, but unnecessary. Riding, on the other hand, that was a skill worthy of a person.

Ahazan let his gaze slide meaningfully from the white horse beside him to Clodine standing in front of him. He would make sure that from now on, whenever she mounted a horse—or even merely looked at one, she would remember who had taught her.

“Fine. If that’s what you want.”

He accepted her proposal, then laid out his condition.

“Your knight remains imprisoned until you can ride on your own and manage a proper trot. In return, I’ll make sure he spends his time in prison very productively. So don’t be too heartbroken.”

Clodine’s shoulders drooped in protest.

“That won’t take just a day or two. You could at least give him a room in the palace.”

“And would that truly ignite your desire to learn?”

There was a faint edge of annoyance in his tone. No matter how he thought about it, the fact that she was willing to overcome her fear of riding for that knight did not sit well with him.

Before his childish jealousy could show, Ahazan shifted the subject.

“And the prisoners who caused trouble, no matter what rank they held in Rotermann, they will not be granted imperial titles.”

He had promised that all citizens of the former Rotermann Kingdom would receive imperial ranks equivalent to their former status.

“Why…?”

Clodine’s objection was not fierce, though the gravity of the matter was obvious.

Ahazan made his reasoning clear.

“Surely you’re not asking me to tolerate them insulting you to my face?”

She closed her parted lips, understanding at once. He was referring to the banquet with the noblewomen, when he had deliberately allowed her to handle the matter herself. It had required significant restraint on his part, and from the imperial standpoint, could even be seen as a weak response.

“If I truly intended to punish them to my satisfaction, this would be nothing.”

In truth, Ahazan had intended to strip those who had insulted Clodine at the funeral of all status and reduce them to imperial slaves, sentenced to lifelong labor. Had he not heard her crying through the night, he would have carried it out at dawn.

He knew her well enough to know she had not cried out of resentment toward them. That alone stayed his hand. Their crime, however, was far from light.

Clodine nodded slowly. She accepted his decision.

Knowing further discussion would only weigh on her heart, Ahazan ended the matter.

“Come here tomorrow afternoon.”

He stroked the horse’s glossy mane once more.

Clodine looked at the animal with an expression that was somewhere between a glare and deep contemplation.

“Are you busy in the morning?”

“Not particularly.”

“Then let’s meet in the morning.”

At her unexpected eagerness, Ahazan’s smile turned almost dazzling.

“So impatient?”

“You’re the one who plans to keep Lord Valoran in prison just to watch me struggle, aren’t you?”

Her bold gaze made him burst out laughing.

She frowned faintly, then declared like a challenge,

“From today on, every one of your breaks belongs to me. Don’t regret it later, Ahazan.”

With that, she turned and left the riding grounds.

Left alone, Ahazan watched her retreating figure with a smile that refused to fade. Only after she disappeared completely did he glance at the horse beside him.

“Regret it, she says. She really has no idea.”

***

After her tense exchange with Ahazan, Clodine returned to her room and found an enormous stack of documents prepared by Merian Bennett.

The number of knights who had died during the ten-year imperial war was so vast that her bedroom now resembled a library.

“So even the soldiers below common rank were never recorded?”

“Yes, Your Majesty. They said it was impossible to keep records beyond that point.”

And yet, even with those omissions, the documents were overwhelming in number.

Clodine felt a sharp ache in her chest as she realized how many innocent lives had been lost in the Imperial War.

She rolled up her sleeves and opened the first volume in earnest, the oldest among the year-by-year records. Each ledger was so large and thick that it covered the entire desk, making her seated figure look almost childlike behind it.

Now and then she recognized the names of sons from prominent families, but most belonged to houses she had never heard of. Even so, she carefully read through each one.

“May I ask why Your Majesty suddenly wishes to examine the list of fallen knights? Is there someone in particular you are looking for?”

Clodine shook her head slightly, her gaze still fixed on the page.

“No. Just…”

It was difficult to explain, so she left it at that. But there had been a clear turning point.

She had been so consumed by grief for her dead maids that she had overlooked other tragic deaths. So focused on the resentment of the citizens of the fallen Rotermann Kingdom that she had remained blind to the grief of Imperial families who had lost sons in war. She had never truly tried to understand the individual suffering of the Empire’s people, hidden behind the glory of victory.

She had realized all of it during the maids’ lavish funeral.

‘After all, they weren’t heroes who saved a nation.’

The Imperial citizens had watched that grand ceremony in quiet confusion. They had not even known who the deceased were. Some must have wondered why such magnificence was afforded to foreign attendants when even those who died defending the Empire had not been honored so extravagantly.

From their perspective, it must have seemed absurd.

‘Princess, you truly have a comfortable conscience. Do you expect us to believe that you sincerely pray for the Empire’s prosperity?’

‘Were you not grinding your teeth only days ago, saying you hated this Empire? We all pretend not to know, but that doesn’t mean we’re ignorant.’

If the Duchess of Brighton had spoken such words, Clodine could not say she was entirely wrong. Nor could she easily condemn the majority of noblewomen who had agreed with her.

To recognize Clodine as the Empire’s mother, when she had not endured the same losses, was no small thing. Their grief was too vast.

‘So many young men died to protect this land.’

Clodine forced herself to read on, engraving that truth into both her mind and heart. Only then did she begin to truly feel the depth of the Empire’s loss.

Now she understood both the resentment of the Rotermann people and that of the Imperial citizens.

If she continued to excuse herself by claiming she had never meant harm, if everyone simply ignored the anger of the people, then no change, no hope, could ever be expected.

‘But I don’t want that.’

Clodine Penelope.

‘No. I, Clodine von Lernando.’

At her core, she was not someone with a weak will to live.

She had not spent years studying and disciplining herself in the qualities of an empress merely because she loved Ahazan or wished to become his wife.

Even while living as O’Neil’s wife in Rotermann, however miserable that life had been, she had devoted herself to the kingdom and its people. Because her true dream had always been just governance.

When that realization fully settled in her mind, Clodine felt something clear and bracing wash through her. For the first time since Rotermann had fallen to Ahazan, it was as if fresh air filled her lungs.

“And regarding the Duchess of Brighton, Your Majesty…”

Merian began her report, and only then did Clodine lift her eyes from the records.

“It seems rumors that the Duchess suddenly changed began circulating around this time last year. What is strange is that she was not seen in society for quite some time during that period. Then she reappeared, and people said she was completely different from before.”

Clodine narrowed her eyes thoughtfully.

‘Around this time last year…’

It might have been nothing, but that period had coincided with a critical turning point in the Imperial War.

‘But the Duchess has only daughters…’

Still, unable to shake the thought, Clodine pulled out last year’s casualty records. After carefully turning the thick pages for a long while, she finally found the name she had been searching for.

‘Kasiak Rodman.’

“Could it be… could it be that the rumor…”

Her voice slipped out in a whisper.

When she was younger, her stepmother, who had delighted in spreading scandal through high society, had often repeated a certain story.

‘No matter how you look at him, Baron Rodman’s youngest son resembles the Duchess of Brighton. It wasn’t just a passing affair between them, of course it’s possible. People pretend not to talk about it, but many agree with me.’

Clodine could still hear the animated tone her stepmother had used whenever she told that tale.

She stared blankly at the page for a moment, as though confronted with an unexpected truth.

“So the rumor… was true.”