Chapter 7
The Emperor’s First Love
2023.08.07
“Anette’s life is in danger?”
At those words, the Emperor’s First Knight, Shimorein Lindell, was dumbfounded.
“How can someone who was perfectly fine just yesterday suddenly be on the verge of death? Does that even make sense?”
No matter how badly she wanted a seat by the Emperor’s side—bold enough to brazenly step into the palace—this was too transparent, too obvious. Surely it was a ploy. If things continued like this, it was certain Peter would never go to her, so she must have devised a trick.
The sheer shamelessness of it.
If she was already trying to manipulate the Emperor after surviving just one night, then surely greater problems would follow in the future.
With a frown, Shimorein opened his mouth.
“Your Majesty, it would be best to send Anette Martinek away. If she remains here—”
But he could not finish.
The reason was simple.
“Haha, ha!”
Peter’s face, far more than Shimorein’s, was twisted with fury.
Ordinarily, Peter was a man of few outward emotions—so much so that the title “tyrant” seemed almost ironic. Or perhaps it was precisely because of his lack of outward expression that the title fit so well. Yet now, countless emotions were tangled across his face.
The slow way he dragged a hand down his features was astonishingly passionate, and at the same time, savage.
“Anette Martinek, how dare you…”
His voice, low and rasping, sounded as if his fury was scratching at his throat.
When Peter had first heard the report that Anette’s condition was critical, his reaction hadn’t been very different from Shimorein’s.
But Peter knew something Shimorein did not.
He knew that Lowell had once been terminally ill.
‘Not only does she wear a face so uncannily like Lowell’s, but now she dares to mimic Lowell’s illness as well.’
The implication of this was sharp enough to make his head spin.
Whoever had thrust Anette before him clearly knew Lowell.
The thought was laughable. Peter laughed for a long while, then with a smile still lingering on his lips, he called to his knight.
“Shimorein, do you remember that time?”
“…That time, Your Majesty?”
“When my father went into a frenzy to find me a partner.”
“Ah…”
Remembering it, Shimorein couldn’t continue. But Peter, as though still amused, snickered as he untied the handkerchief at his wrist.
It had been about ten years ago. The late Emperor had pried into Peter’s mind—literally torn it open.
The excuse was that, as a father, he was concerned for a son who refused to find a mate.
He had bound his son hand and foot like a dog, thrown him before the high nobles, and then used magic to bare Peter’s mind to them.
[“Look closely. This is the face my son loves. Memorize it well and prepare a suitable partner who can win his favor.”]
It was madness. Even if those with dragon’s blood were said to lack empathy, how could he do such a thing?
By then, the old Emperor was already half-mad, so such eccentricities were not rare. But even among his deeds, that day stood out.
Thus, it became public knowledge that Peter’s first love had been a noble girl with black hair.
Yet the memory was so fragmentary, and Peter had slain his father shortly afterward, killing all who had witnessed Lowell’s image, that no further information spread.
Even the fact that such a thing had happened to young Peter was buried.
So very little was truly known of “the Emperor’s first love.”
Only that she had black hair and black eyes.
The story of fifteen-year-old Lowell was left only to Peter’s memory.
‘And now she dares to do this.’
This was not something one could attempt without knowing Lowell. Anette was deliberately thrusting his past in front of him.
A poisoned chalice, sweet enough to burn the tongue.
His mouth tasted bitter. Peter drew in a shallow breath. Even now, the madness gnawed at his lungs, corroding his reason.
Very well. He had said he would play along—then he would keep that promise.
Slowly clenching and releasing his scarred hand, Peter spoke in the same deliberate rhythm.
“Where is Anette Martinek?”
The world blinked. Lowell opened her eyes. The canopy above the bed was the first thing she saw.
‘I thought someone would be here…’
But the room was empty. Perhaps they wanted her to rest peacefully. Or perhaps no one wished to watch a woman waste away to death.
In truth, she preferred it this way. When she awoke, there was only one person she wished to see.
Peter.
‘Did it fail?’
With effort, Lowell lifted herself, frowning.
After soaking too long in steaming water, her body felt like a waterskin filled to bursting. She was so heavy she could barely lean against the bed’s headboard. Still, she forced herself to search for the clock.
‘Quite a lot of time has passed.’
Judging from when she had last checked before entering the bath, much time indeed had slipped by.
Likely she had been discovered unconscious too late. For her last memory had been of the bath, and now she was in the bedroom. Which meant the maids, alarmed at her long absence, had dragged her here after finding her.
So time had passed. And yet she woke alone.
Had word not reached Peter? Or had it reached him, but he had chosen not to come?
‘The report must have gone through…’
Given how the palace operated, it surely had. Lowell had long served in O’perta, a rigid system, so she could imagine how the imperial palace worked.
Minor incidents were never reported upward. Everything was handled at the lowest level possible. Only urgent, critical matters went higher.
Therefore, the maids must have tried everything to revive her before daring to report.
On the surface, she was the bride the Emperor favored enough to spare. If through their negligence she died, their own heads would roll.
‘Judging by the emptiness here, they must have given up.’
At this point, the matter was beyond them. To save themselves, they must have reported up the chain.
And still Peter had not come. The emptiness of the room only proved it: her plan had failed.
‘Perhaps… it was inevitable.’
Ten years ago, she had read Peter’s heart like an open palm. But time changes all things. Surely he too had changed. To test him should have ended with the gamble of surviving on her longing alone.
Yet foolishly, Lowell had thrown herself into it—perhaps to test him, perhaps simply to glimpse the shadow of the boy who no longer existed.
She lifted her lowered head. The dying sunlight spilled across her black hair.
‘Back then, when I was sick, you often came running to cheer me.’
The two of them had a promised place. A massive greenhouse her father had built for her, since she couldn’t play outdoors.
Every day at the same time, they met there. So if Lowell was not there, it meant she was too sick to come out.
Then Peter would disguise himself as a boy delivering letters and knock on the Hesen estate’s gate.
[“A letter for Lady Lowell Hesen. You must read it right away.”]
Of course, no one ever wrote to her. Frail Lowell had no friends, not even close cousins. She had once admitted she had never received a letter. From then on, Peter always came in that disguise.
He would say that even while sick, she deserved some small joy.
Seeing him, flushed and nervous, holding an empty envelope, Lowell had felt happiness so fierce it eclipsed her fever. It was the only luxury her closed-off world allowed.
So what Lowell truly wished to confirm was not whether she could move the Emperor.
But how much of that boy named Peter remained in him.
Did the boy she loved still live, even a little? Did her longing still mean anything?
“….”
The answer was as expected. Only after tasting the bitter disappointment did Lowell realize she had still been hoping—foolishly.
But she had not come this far to wallow in such regret. Shaking her thoughts away, she steeled herself. Success and failure both existed in any plan. This was only one of them.
‘Since it’s come to this, I’ll have to try another way.’
Just as she gathered herself to rise—
The door burst open.
Lowell’s head snapped around like an arrow loosed. A familiar man walked in, silhouetted by the setting sun. The moment she saw the Emperor’s frown deepen at the sight of her—
“Hahaha!”
Lowell couldn’t help but laugh.
The reason was simple.
The Emperor’s face no longer looked like Peter’s.
The realization was both joyful and devastating.
Suppressing the hatred burning in her calm black eyes, Lowell smiled brightly.
“Hello, Peter.”
Now, only the sight of you in suffering brings me joy.
And that, truly, was a relief.
