LLTEEFM 113

#113. Are You Asking Me That Now?

“But you never accepted the position of Empress, did you?”

The sudden remark made me freeze on the spot.

“Uh…”

My hand, which had been idly stroking the teacup, stilled.

In a situation where no answer could possibly be given, pretending to look calm would hardly make me appear truly composed.

The Emperor let out a quiet chuckle at my frozen expression.

“I’m not asking for an answer to a proposal. Is there any need to be so tense?”

How could I not be tense?

When I didn’t reply, His Majesty rang the bell to summon a servant.

The servant approached, replaced my cup, poured fresh tea, and withdrew.

“It’s hot weather, and here we are drinking steaming tea. Have something cool instead—clear your head a little.”

This time, my cup too was filled with iced tea.

I took a sip as instructed. The cold tea slid down my throat, and the queasiness in my stomach eased somewhat.

“Baekryeon.”

“…Yes, Your Majesty.”

“I think you and I… need to talk.”

I said nothing.

His Majesty tilted the cup, popped an ice cube into his mouth, and spoke calmly as he chewed on it.

“Back then… there were too many things we had to pretend not to know, weren’t there?”

The sound of ice crunching between his teeth cut intermittently into his words.

“Your position and mine inevitably made it so.”

I only nodded inwardly.

“So our feelings, our relationship… everything between us could only be built on silence. Even the words that slipped out—we ended up pretending they’d never been said.”

Which “words” was His Majesty referring to now? There had been too many cast aside, too many dismissed as if they never existed.

“I thought it wouldn’t matter. Because neither of us was the sort to misinterpret the other’s intent. Beyond emotions, beyond trust.”

“Yes. That’s how I saw it too.”

Neither he nor I had ever been foolish enough to misread each other’s political intentions.

And we certainly never mistook personal feelings for political maneuvering.

For most of our lives, that judgment had held true.

He trusted me. I gave him my loyalty.

“But lately… I’ve wondered if maybe that wasn’t the case. That maybe… the way we ended….”

He broke off. His brows furrowed, his lips pressed tight as though suppressing something.

I rubbed at the condensation beading on the teacup.

“Is there really a need to bring this up now?”

Neither of us seemed particularly eager to revisit the past.

“Yes, there is.”

Despite my reluctance, he was firm.

“Remember? You once said the cold of the North clears the mind.”

It had been during his visit to the Academy.

“Yes, I recall.”

“And when even letters stopped coming, all I had left was thinking. So I thought. And thought. About you.”

The words sounded almost like a confession.

“About your views. About our past. About whether you might have been right again. Whether what I was feeling was only lingering regret. Whether it would be better to bury the past and live separate lives. Whether our bond was already beyond repair.”

My heart began to race, but I kept my expression carefully still.

“And this”—he spread his hands wide, like a warrior showing he carried no weapon—“this is the result of all that thinking.”

“There is no such thing as ‘we don’t need to say it because we both know.’ Maybe we ended the way we did precisely because of the silence we maintained for decades. Maybe what I thought you knew, and what you thought I knew, were never the truth at all.”

At the unfamiliar thought, I only blinked over the rim of my cup.

It was true—I had never questioned that premise.

We had always assumed we’d read the game correctly, that we knew each other well enough. That what happened had been inevitable.

But what if that assumption had been wrong? What if I had misunderstood his choices all along?

Hands still spread open, he went on.

“Of course, I’m not saying we should dig up every detail of the past. That would just turn into a parade of excuses. Though… I suppose in your case, I can’t imagine you making excuses. It would just be me rambling on defensively by myself…”

I couldn’t help but smile faintly. I could hardly imagine him making excuses either—unless they were deliberate, political ones.

“But let’s not act as if it’s some forbidden subject anymore. Unless we truly plan to never see each other again, how could we never speak of the past?”

“…Perhaps so.”

“Exactly.”

The crunch of ice between his teeth sounded again. Didn’t it make his teeth ache? I caught myself wondering.

“If the past were really to be erased, you would have become my Grand Duchess long ago.”

I pressed my lips shut. He wasn’t wrong, but to have it pointed out so bluntly was different.

Usually it was I who spoke directly, while His Majesty preferred roundabout phrasing.

“Blanche.”

This time, he called me by my current name.

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“You think too much.”

That, at least, was easy to answer. I relaxed a little.

“Isn’t it the people around me who force me to think?”

And it was true.

In the early days of this life, I’d lived thoughtlessly enough. So much so that I only realized late that the Grand Duke was in fact the Emperor himself, and that my negligence toward the kingdom had nearly set disaster at my feet.

“If I were you, I’d have just asked for Lamore outright and been done with it. No need for endless thinking then.”

Before I could reply, he continued.

“Of course, you must have your reasons. But don’t you think that too is the result of overthinking?”

Perhaps he was right. Sometimes it was better not to think at all.

If I asked him now to renew our betrothal, perhaps the kingdom would be satisfied and leave me alone again.

As Grand Duchess—or even as Empress—there would always be endless decisions to weigh. But with him, perhaps even those decisions could be entrusted away.

Or I could claim Lamore, shut myself away as its nominal ruler, and ignore the interference of others.

Or I could escape altogether—to some remote countryside within the Empire.

If I begged him to remove me from the battlefield of politics, the kingdom might never find me again.

So why didn’t I? Was it habit? Nature? Guilt?

“Your Majesty…”

I gathered my courage to ask. A question I never would have dared, had he not spoken of the past today.

A doubt I had always intended to bury in my heart until the end of my life.

“Why did you favor that child?”

The daughter who bore the single character of my own name bestowed by him. Yi Hyun. Recorded as the last loyal subject of the Jin Empire…

And the very cause of its downfall.

“…Are you asking me that now?”

He swallowed back a bitter smile and raised a hand in signal.

It was to dismiss those who lingered nearby, no doubt.

They hadn’t been close enough to overhear us anyway, but for this conversation, caution was necessary.

After giving ample time for them to withdraw, he finally spoke again.

“I thought that was why you left.”

“I only wanted her safety. Simply letting her inherit her lands without stripping them would have been enough.”

Yu-hyun had followed in my footsteps as a warrior, rising to the rank of general as I once had.

But truthfully, she was not suited for it.

She would have been far better off tending the northern estates, making them prosper as I had, or devoting herself to study.

Yet she had chased my path, and His Majesty had granted her favor.

Just as he once thrust me into the battlefield as a commander with no record of merit.

And as a result, she led the Jin Empire to ruin—where I had once led it to unification.

“She asked for it.”

The histories all say the Empire fell because she was not my equal.

Because she lacked my strength, because the heir lacked his, the Empire crumbled after His Majesty’s death. Because she could not raise it again.

Because when she, who had once held the nation in fear through sheer might, died, even that last check on chaos vanished—and the Empire shattered.

While the new Emperor, hopelessly incompetent, could only watch it fall apart.

“After your passing… after even the funeral was done, I called her. I asked what she desired. I told her I would grant it. And she answered—she wanted to follow in your footsteps. So I allowed it. That was all.”

But as the one who raised her, who knew all her limits and strengths, I could not help but harbor one suspicion.

“Did you do so knowing… that she carried within her the will to destroy the Empire?”

Perhaps she never intended to protect it at all.

Perhaps it wasn’t that the Empire collapsed because she died, but that she died because she knew the Empire would collapse.