HSDOE 15

15. The Price of a Secret

Plop.

A soaking wet overcoat fell at her feet. Feeling significantly lighter, Raselia turned her head to face the Marchioness of Pashad.

“What do you mean by that? A promise?”

The Marchioness swallowed dryly, visibly tense.

“Didn’t Your Majesty make a promise to me? That you would grant the inheritance rights of Count Aief to my second son, not the count’s daughter.”

Apparently, the Aief family had no sons.

But that wasn’t the important part.

“So you’re saying that in exchange for assisting me with my wardrobe, I promised to take away another family’s inheritance and give it to your son? Is that what I’m understanding?”

“It wasn’t just dressing assistance, was it, Your Majesty? Do you know how much I’ve—just to keep things quiet—!”

Raselia cut her off.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. As you know, I don’t remember anything from before.”

“Th-that’s… that’s not something Your Majesty needs to say even to me.”

The Marchioness clearly thought the memory loss was a lie.

“What do you mean, not even to you? Memory loss doesn’t work selectively depending on who’s around.”

“……”

The Marchioness’s lips twisted before she tightly clasped her hands together.

“You can’t do this to me, Your Majesty. If you knew what I’ve been protecting for you, you’d never—”

“I have no idea what you’ve been protecting. What is it you’re supposedly keeping safe for me?”

“You know. You know what’s happening with the Mark.”

Just as she suspected—Raselia had guessed right. The Marchioness was holding onto the Empress’s secret like a blade, using it to extort her. Perhaps Raselia had once handed over that blade herself, but that didn’t matter. Now that she held it, the Marchioness could swing it whenever she pleased.

“The Mark?”

But just because someone has a knife doesn’t mean the other side has to stand still and take it.

“…Excuse me?”

“What’s the Mark?”

The Marchioness stared at her, aghast, as if she couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

“You’re not seriously pretending not to know the Mark, are you?”

“I told you. I don’t remember anything. So go ahead—explain it. What’s happening with the Mark, what does it mean, and if I don’t strip the Aief family of their inheritance, what exactly are you planning to do with that information?”

“S-so… you mean, even if this gets out, you don’t care?”

“Like I said—I don’t know what it is. But you’re saying you’ve been hiding it for me, so it must be something that can’t be revealed, right?”

“O-of course! If His Majesty the Emperor were to find out—!”

“And? What would happen?”

“W-well, the House of Pielion would surely—”

“And the House of Pashad? You’ve kept this secret right alongside me, haven’t you? Are you saying your family would be left untouched?”

“Th-that’s…”

There was one thing the Marchioness didn’t understand:

No one was harder to blackmail than a prophet. If blackmail relied on exposure, it meant nothing to a prophet—because their entire role was to reveal.

“If you’re sure the House of Pashad will be spared even if the House of Pielion is ruined, then go ahead and tell His Majesty. As for me, I don’t remember anything, so I have nothing more to say.”

“Ah…”

The Marchioness bit her lip with a strange, stifled groan.

Until now, she had gained many things from the Empress through coercion disguised as loyalty. But now that the Empress was refusing to pay any more “price” for past promises using memory loss as an excuse—if the Marchioness revealed the secret, they would go down together.

Raselia made it clear: she would not go down alone.

And with that, the balance of power flipped. The blackmailer had become the one being blackmailed.

“If that was all you had to say, then please continue undressing me. I’d like to finish bathing.”

“…Yes, Your Majesty.”

With a face pale as if she’d been rolling in the snow alone, the Marchioness resumed unfastening Raselia’s underdress.

Plop, plip…

Her trembling fingers began to undo the buttons.

“A bit faster.”

Raselia urged her.

“Ah—! Y-yes, Your Majesty…”

For some reason, the Marchioness grew even more flustered.

“No need to be so afraid. Just do your job as you always have, and I’ll treat you the same as before. If your hands are shaking too much, you may take a moment before continuing.”

“Th-thank you…”

Her shaking hands paused for a moment. Then, as if gaining composure, she began to move more steadily.

So Raselia didn’t notice—

She didn’t see the real reason the Marchioness’s hands had trembled.

As the final buttons of the underdress came undone, a mark—nearly faded—reappeared vividly, just above the curve of her lower back.

“Please get dressed, Your Majesty.”

Reskal finished his bath in just five minutes. He’d merely soaked himself in hot, soapy water and rinsed off.

He didn’t even stop Serben from drying him afterward.

Normally, Reskal disliked contact with others and preferred to do everything himself.

Anyway, Serben, having dried him off, began dressing him in new clothes.

Reskal slid his arms into the shirt without complaint and buttoned up as he asked:

“Where’s Riyan?”

“He’s planning a bird hunt, as far as I know.”

“He may hunt. But take his sword away.”

“…Pardon?”

Serben blinked in confusion at the unexpected command.

“He’s responsible for the Empress falling into the canal. A month-long punishment.”

“A whole month?!”

If Riyan were barred from carrying a sword for a month, he’d surely become a frustrated beast on the verge of madness.

“Couldn’t you perhaps shorten it a little, Your Majesty?”

Serben cautiously asked, but Reskal’s answer was absolute.

“No.”

“…He will suffer, no doubt. Understood.”

Serben could already see himself becoming the target of Riyan’s frustration over the next month.

He was still bracing himself for that fate as he continued dressing the Emperor.

Thud!

“Your Majesty?”

“….”

Reskal suddenly sat down on the floor. Thankfully, the cushioned footrest prevented a harsh fall, but it was still strange.

“What’s wrong? Are you injured?”

Serben quickly rushed over and grabbed the Emperor’s ankle.

“No. I’m not hurt…”

He wasn’t injured. Just moments ago, Reskal had moved perfectly fine. And his heightened senses would never miss even a minor wound.

But what left both of them speechless was the trembling of Reskal’s hands.

“Why is this happening?”

He stared at his trembling hand, trying to steady it with force, but it wouldn’t stop.

“Perhaps… maybe the shock of seeing Her Majesty fall into the canal is only hitting you now.”

It wasn’t uncommon for warriors to feel delayed shock after a traumatic injury. Knights who lived with swords often experienced this.

“Shock… I see.”

“Yes. You must have been greatly startled.”

At those words, Reskal briefly recalled the scene at the canal.

The splash of Raselia falling into the water echoed in his mind, and cold sweat broke out. His stomach turned.

“Nothing can happen to the Empress from now on.”

He muttered, clenching his trembling hand into a fist.

“If something happens to her, I might lose control of myself.”

“O-of course. I see…”

Reskal suddenly looked up sharply.

“You’ll be guarding the Empress from now on.”

“…What?”

Serben pointed to himself in disbelief.

“Me?”

“Riyan can’t use his sword for a month.”

“But I’m… I’m a shadow knight, Your Majesty!”

He meant that even before his official knighthood ink had dried, he had served as the Emperor’s personal guard.

“Exactly.”

“But, Your Majesty… the Emperor and Empress are different. Guarding them is different, too—”

“They’re the same. From today.”

Serben struggled not to frown.

“No, they’re different. The Empress may be Your Majesty’s consort and a royal, but she doesn’t bear imperial blood—”

“She’s the same.”

Reskal was firm. No other answer would suffice.

“When she fell into the water, it felt like my heart shattered. If she dies, I’ll die too. So we’re the same.”

“I—this is all so sudden…”

“Protect her. Make sure nothing happens.”

“…As Your Majesty commands.”

Overwhelmed by the Emperor’s conviction, Serben bowed his head.

Honestly, considering Reskal had already decided to stay by the Empress’s side 24 hours a day, appointing a guard seemed redundant. But a more important realization came first.

It seemed likely that the Empress truly was his destined partner.

Riyan won’t like this, Serben thought.

Then again, neither do I. Considering Her Majesty’s personality…

With a personality like hers, once she learned the Emperor had fallen for her, things would only get worse.

Even when the Emperor showed no affection, the Empress had roamed the palace as she pleased. Luxury was nothing—she invited past lovers to the palace without hesitation, killed off nameless court servants, and ruined nobles who displeased her.

And now that the Emperor treasured her like his own life?

I don’t even want to imagine it.

Even “horrific” didn’t cut it.

Serben clenched his jaw and steadied his nerves.

I have to do my best to make sure that never happens. Maybe it’s a good thing I’ve become her guard.

He had to ensure the Empress never found out how Reskal truly felt.

But even that seemed like a tall order.

But if he keeps acting like this, even a fool would notice… I’m doomed.

Still, he had to try.

At the very least, he had no intention of telling her that she liked gardenia flowers.

Thud!

That was quick.

She was starting to get used to the Emperor’s sudden appearances.

“You’re here, Your Majesty.”

Thankfully, she was fully dressed this time.

The Emperor raked his golden hair back with a strangely anxious expression.

“I didn’t mean to take this long. I finished bathing quickly…”

It sounded like something else had happened after the bath.

If anything, he’d come too fast.

“I understand the distance from the Imperial Palace. You’re not late at all.”

His anxious face softened slightly.

“In that case…”

The Emperor very naturally sat beside her.

The problem was, Raselia had chosen a single-seat sofa to avoid this exact scenario, and yet the Emperor perched himself on the armrest—meaning their bodies were now pressed together. He looked down at her with those unmistakable golden eyes. Strangely, she was starting to get used to their dazzling intensity; she could even begin to read his expressions.

He gently held the top of her head and kissed it.

“I was late because I was shaken… because of you.”

“I see.”

Still, she didn’t think that merited a kiss.

“So until I’m over the shock, I think we’ll have to keep making exceptions.”

…What does that even mean?