Chapter 8
The Fate of a Substitute
2023.08.09.
Peter wanted to kill Lowell—or rather, Anette. But at the same time, he wanted her.
The fact that the reason he wanted to kill her and the reason he desired her were the same was ironic, but it couldn’t be helped.
Because she was the perfect “Lowell.”
All the confirmation was complete.
The moment Peter left, Lowell forced her heavy body upright and called for a maid. Naturally, she couldn’t stay wearing a slip with one shoulder strap hanging down forever. As the maids dressed her in a light indoor gown, Lowell sank into thought.
What Peter wants most right now is for me to live as Lowell.
A life spent quietly in the palace assigned to her, breathing like a doll. That was what Peter most desired.
That way, the nobles wouldn’t dare try to shove any more Lowell look-alikes at him, and Peter would continue to live without Lowell, just as he had until now. In that sense, when he said he could live without her, it hadn’t been bravado. He had, after all, lived for more than ten years without Lowell.
During that time, just as she had grown used to Operta, Peter too must have grown accustomed to a life without Lowell. Even if his body had been corroded by madness in her absence, his mind must have adapted.
And now a woman who resembled “Lowell” so perfectly had appeared—how could that not be an irritation?
Even though he knew she wasn’t Lowell, he would constantly find himself seeing her as Lowell. Naturally, he would try to push her away as much as possible. Keep her as far away as possible.
So what Lowell needed to do now was very simple.
I’ll just have to do the opposite.
She had to catch Peter’s eye.
But she couldn’t keep calling for him loudly like before. She had already provoked him twice, and today she had learned clearly that any more would be truly dangerous.
Still, that didn’t mean there were no options.
If I can’t move, then I’ll move those around me.
She beckoned one of the maids, who was busy arranging her dress.
“Bring me a pen and paper.”
She would write a letter.
Inside the Martinek manor.
A man sitting at a dark mahogany desk removed his glasses and set them down.
In the silence, even the faint sound of the glasses frame clinking against the wood seemed loud.
“It seems Anette is planning something, Ruben.”
He wore leather gloves, and in his black-gloved hand was a small letter.
It had been encrypted in Operta’s style, unreadable to most. But at the very least, to Ruben, his master’s vassal, the sender’s name—“Anette”—was clearly visible.
“She says she has information. I was considering checking on her myself if we didn’t hear from her, but it seems she isn’t injured.”
Relieved, the man smiled gently.
Moonlight spilled down over the silver-haired man sitting in the dimly lit, shadowy room. His features were straight and sharp—not overly large, but solid enough to convey strength.
This was René Martinek, leader of Operta and Ruben’s master.
“Since it seems urgent, deal with it quickly. Organize the information she requested and bring it to me within two hours.”
“Whose information, sir?”
“Several people’s. Look into it yourself and prepare it.”
“Yes, Master.”
René tossed the letter, and Ruben bowed and respectfully picked it up.
It could have looked servile, but between the two of them, it was simply natural.
After Ruben left and closed the door, René leaned his chin on his hand, tapping the desk rhythmically—until his fingers suddenly stopped.
“…Even though I tried to dissuade you.”
The gentlemanly smile had vanished. His golden eyes, no longer smiling, were reminiscent of a snake’s slitted pupils.
“You should know there’s nowhere else for you to return but here.”
Where could someone steeped in Operta go?
Wherever they walked, it would be only through mud.
If it were up to him, he would bring her back immediately. But since he had promised to help Anette, he would.
René’s gloved fingertip traced the initials of Anette’s name on the envelope. A faint smile curved his lips.
“I’ll support you in killing the Emperor, Anette.”
So that you can return to my side as soon as possible.
The next day, in the Imperial Library.
“His Majesty will not kill Anette Martinek, Shimoren.”
Beside Shimoren, a brown-haired young man answered indifferently as he gathered documents. His name was Noah Ernst, one of the Emperor’s close aides and a fellow alumnus of Shimoren’s private academy. Because of that, Shimoren often sought Noah out when he needed someone to discuss matters with—and today was no exception.
“Anette Martinek is the most suitable doll, both for His Majesty personally and for political reasons. Unless someone else appears to replace her, she’ll keep her head.”
“A substitute for the substitute—how laughable.”
“But it’s the truth, isn’t it? What better bulwark than the Martinek name? No matter how reckless the nobles get, none would dare provoke Operta.”
The reason Emperor Peter was at odds with the nobles—ironically, it was because he had no companion.
More precisely, because without a companion, he was descending into madness.
A von Deraien who never took a companion was destined to go insane.
And the emperors who had gone mad had always caused enormous problems.
“Kurtne II started a war. Emperor Herbertus squandered the treasury and stirred strife by bringing in his in-laws. There was even the one obsessed with superstition, remember?”
With each example Noah listed, he placed another coin atop the pile of documents.
Shimoren quietly watched, then picked up one of the gold coins and asked:
“Do others believe His Majesty will follow the same path?”
“More than believing—it’s that all the evidence points that way. Honestly, it’s a miracle he’s lasted this long without a companion.”
That applied both to the madness and to the nobles’ attempts to force the issue.
For the madness was not merely an illness eating away at the Emperor. It was tied to the dragon’s power flowing in the von Deraien bloodline. The more the madness consumed an Emperor, the exponentially stronger his magical power grew. Of course, the drawback was that his lifespan dwindled just as rapidly.
It was said Kurtne II, who waged the unprecedented Continental War, had power enough to annihilate an entire village in an instant. No wonder everyone feared such might.
Especially in the case of Peter, the current Emperor—who possessed unmatched magical power, was still sane, yet had already earned the name “tyrant.”
What would happen if the man who had purged his own father and his father’s allies to seize the throne finally lost his mind? The nobles were desperate never to see that answer with their own eyes.
“That’s why everyone wants to put a leash around His Majesty’s neck.”
And if that leash could also be used to manipulate him, even better. If he could be discarded after serving his purpose, better still. If he was going to go mad anyway, wouldn’t it be most convenient if he went mad for women? That was exactly what the nobles desired.
And indeed, not a few were trying for just that.
Noah swept the coins back into his palm with a shrug.
“I hope Anette Martinek stays in the palace for a long time, Shimoren. As long as Operta is holding firm, the other nobles will keep their mouths shut, won’t they?”
“I agree with that. But I think Anette Martinek will leave the palace before long.”
“Why?”
Shimoren watched his friend tossing and catching a coin, then turned his gaze away.
“You know His Majesty’s true goal.”
“Ah, right.”
Clink.
Noah’s hand holding the coin froze. His gaze followed Shimoren’s.
“Yes. Once His Majesty achieves his goal…”
The substitute would be discarded.
The fate of a substitute was usually the same: to be thrown away, or to be broken.
So, Noah thought, Anette Martinek had best hope to at least be discarded intact.
Even though the entire palace was buzzing with interest over the newly arrived bride, his own interest went no further. Such substitutes were of no importance to him.
Even if she’s broken, it was a path she chose herself. She’d have no right to complain.
Besides, Noah had no reason to bother with her—he had more than enough work of his own.
…Or at least, that was what he thought until yesterday.
“You must be Noah Ernst.”
At least, until a woman with black eyes and black hair suddenly appeared before him.
For a split second, Noah’s mind raced with thoughts. Should he acknowledge her? Pretend not to know? There were many options, but too little time. He grabbed the nearest answer.
“…I’m sorry, but this isn’t a place just anyone can enter. If you’re looking for the servants’ passage, it’s that way—”
“I’m Anette Martinek. You know that, don’t you?”
Damn it. Noah cursed inwardly. Outwardly, his words remained polite.
“An honor to meet you, Lady Anette. Forgive me, but I have a tight schedule. May I ask what brings you here?”
“I know your meeting just ended, and that for the next two hours, no matter what happens, you guard your teatime jealously.”
Every word of it was true—damnably so. Noah’s palms were slick with sweat.
If she knew this much about him, there was no way this was a chance encounter.
So why is she here?
