“I have worked in various parts of the Imperial Palace, carrying out many different duties. In the end, my time here has not been much different from that of the other servants.”

After saying that, Merian seemed to fall briefly into thought. Then, as if answering a question Clodine had not yet asked, she added,

“Well… I was appointed to serve Your Majesty because I once lived as a gongnyeo in the Kingdom of Kryson.”

To have been a gongnyeo was one thing. But to say she had once lived as one felt oddly phrased. Perhaps it sounded that way because Merian had hesitated in a manner unlike her usual self.

“Once lived as a gongnyeo…”

Clodine set her teacup silently back upon the vanity.

“If that was your status, you needn’t have come to the Empire to do such work.”

The probing undertone was unmistakable. Yet it was not an unfair question. Merian finally withdrew her hands from Clodine’s hair and met her gaze.

“I was adopted. I no longer am…after one failed marriage, I fled to the Empire.”

Her eyes and voice carried an unmistakable sincerity.

Clodine blinked slowly as she studied Merian.

It was easy enough to imagine. Her adoptive father must have needed a daughter to marry into power and secure the family’s standing. And when that marriage failed, she would have become an embarrassment, her name quietly stripped away.

Such things were hardly rare. The Empire was no different.

After watching Merian in silence for a long moment, Clodine lightly shifted the subject.

“Do I still have time to rest my eyes for a moment?”

Merian smiled faintly at Clodine’s decision not to pry further.

“Yes, Your Majesty. I will apply the ointment to your hand and then take my leave.”

Though hidden beneath long sleeves, the burn on Clodine’s left hand was still under treatment. The wound had healed considerably, yet the scar grew darker with time.

Merian carefully applied the salve, tidied the surroundings, and quietly left the room.

She had insisted it would not matter if her hair were disturbed, but Clodine did not wish to waste the effort Merian had poured into it. Instead of lying down, she chose to rest in a chair by the window.

Beside the chair stood a small tea table.

Upon it lay a sheet of leather parchment, covered with a long vertical list of names.

Clodine cast a detached glance over them, the list of those to be invited to the funeral of the slain maids.

Her gaze lingered on the very first name.

‘Valoran Lord.’

He had been assigned to her as an escort knight by her father, Helario Ramier, when she first left the Empire to wed into the Kingdom of Rotermann.

“It seems I must place you by my side once more.”

She murmured bitterly.

Merian Bennett was capable. But Clodine could not yet trust her entirely. She believed Merian regarded her as her mistress, but how many masters did Merian truly serve within this palace?

Clodine needed someone who served only her, clever, loyal, and strong. And Valoran Lord was precisely such a man. She was certain no one in this Empire could replace him.

Yet to bring Valoran to her side, she would first need to persuade Ahazan.

‘To think I cannot even choose a single knight to stand beside me.’

In some respects, her position here was no better than in Rotermann.

Shaking her head to clear the tangle of thoughts, Clodine leaned back into the chair. She closed her eyes, intending to take a brief nap.

But the memory of last night crept in, sharpening her mind instead.

‘I’ve never once thought of taking anything else through you.’
‘So if anyone dares to say otherwise, blame me, elegantly.’

She knew such words could be spoken easily if one intended to beguile another. And yet, those few sentences had stirred her beyond restraint, leading her once more to want him first.

She could not even blame it on wine.

She had never been impulsive by nature, yet lately, she found herself questioning that certainty. Especially when it came to Ahazan. In the very moments she ought to hate him most, she lost control.

Her life had always flowed in one of two directions: either she longed for Ahazan, or she must not.

The path had always been clear.

But this confusion, this desperate wanting in a moment when she ought to despise him, was unfamiliar territory.

Clodine stared at the bed with eyes heavy with emotion. It felt as though she could see herself there, rolling with him until dawn, reason utterly undone.

She wanted to believe she had been ensnared by his base temptation.

But she could not.

She did not even know if he had intended to tempt her at all.

Last night had been born entirely of her own desire.

Clodine had no choice but to admit that.

***

“The wound has healed enough that there is no more pain. We continue applying medicine to lighten the scar.”

Beneath the spire of the southern palace lay a vast archive, accessible only to the Emperor and those granted his permission.

Within were meticulously arranged ancient paintings, imperial relics too sensitive to reveal, priceless spoils of war, and letters containing matters of great importance.

The place resembled nothing less than a treasury of secrets.

From early morning, Ahazan had been reviewing state affairs there.

He gave a small nod as he listened to the report from Clodine’s maid, who had come at his summons.

“The medicine I ordered will arrive at the palace tonight. I was told there is nothing better for burns. Apply it to the Empress whenever there is time.”

Though his voice was dry, the instruction carried unmistakable care.

Merian Bennett bowed her head in response to the Emperor’s command.

“Yes, Your Majesty. I will see to it.”

Ahazan set down the quill he had been holding to write and thought of the wound he had seen on Clodine’s hand the previous night. Even the servants claimed they did not know how she had burned her palm.

It had not been a small burn like the wax that had dripped onto her arm on their wedding day. The injury had been far more severe.

He had wanted to ask how it had happened.

But he had been told that Clodine did not wish for him to know she was hurt, and so he endured in silence, pretending not to notice.

Clodine had been wounded and in pain far too often since coming to the Empire. Perhaps she was simply tired of being treated like a patient.

“Is that all you have to report today?”

Ahazan asked with a faint, slanted smile, casting a look at Merian.

As always, Merian pressed her lips together and offered a mild smile, signaling that she had nothing more to say.

“The more I see it, the more interesting your loyalty becomes.”

“Loyalty does not suit me, Your Majesty. When one has two masters, it is something to be ashamed of.”

Ahazan immediately caught the subtle reproach hidden in her tone and let out a soft, amused breath.

The secret alliance between Ahazan and Merian had begun on the very first day Clodine was brought to the Empire as a prisoner, when she lay unconscious in her chamber.

Returning to the Empire after ten years, he had sensed the awkwardness among the court. Claiming exhaustion from travel, he had intended to give them time to adjust. Instead, it had only resulted in even more excessive treatment.

Even then, his thoughts had been entirely fixed on the fainted Clodine. But he needed time to calm his emotions and think clearly, so he followed the attendants’ urging to bathe and change first.

When he emerged after a longer-than-usual bath, a servant stood inside the chamber, carefully preparing the clothes he was to wear.

The indulgence felt less welcome than burdensome. He had ordered the servant to leave, saying he would dress himself.

Yet the servant, with their back turned to him, merely stopped working and did not move from the spot.

Perhaps the killing intent ingrained in him from the battlefield had not yet faded into ordinary life. At the time, even a single glance from him was enough to make those around him tense.

In such an atmosphere, the sudden defiance of an unnamed servant, remaining rooted in place despite his command, caught Ahazan’s attention.

‘Did you not hear me?’

He had likely asked something along those lines.

He could not remember clearly. At that moment, it had meant nothing to him.

But everything changed when the servant turned, threw themselves flat to the floor, and, when Clodine’s name fell from their lips.

‘Please spare Queen Penelope, Your Majesty.’

Until then, not a single word had been exchanged between them. Yet the servant’s face was already soaked with tears.

Her entire body trembled as she pressed her forehead to the floor and sobbed.

‘Her Majesty the Queen is kind and pitiful… Please do not kill her, Your Majesty… I beg you, spare her…’

He learned later that rumors had spread like wildfire among the lower ranks: that the Emperor, freshly returned after ending a decade-long war, had destroyed the Kingdom of Rotermann in three days, a kingdom not even listed in his original campaign, and dragged its queen back alive.

To the servants, the story had grown monstrous.

The servant seemed convinced that Ahazan would t*rture Clodine to death at any moment, repeating her plea over and over.

‘How do you know Clodine?’

At his question, the servant hesitated before answering.

‘Her Majesty Queen Penelope… saved my life.’