#132. Love Does Not Die
“Let me escort you to the palace.”
“…Weren’t you on your way to pay respects to the Grand Empress Dowager?”
“I didn’t make a specific appointment. As long as I greet her before she goes to bed, it will be fine. If you’re worried, I’ll tell one of the attendants to deliver the message.”
“I wouldn’t want to take away even more of the time already delayed for your visit. Please, go inside and greet the Grand Empress Dowager first.”
Normally, he would have ignored her words and stolen more time by her side.
But since he had said he would respect her wishes, would it not be proper to turn back now?
It should have been an easy decision, yet for some reason his mind grew complicated. Seeing him remain silent, Blanche sighed faintly.
“Then after you’ve paid your respects, come to my palace. I’ll serve you tea that’s good for a restful sleep.”
Well, that changes everything. He smiled faintly and strode into the palace.
“Don’t forget the promise. The conversation might take longer than expected, but even if I’m late, don’t fall asleep.”
“Yes, of course.”
Ah, as expected. Being with Blanche was always a joy.
Whatever the past or previous life had been, he could not give her up. Love does not simply die.
The confusion that had begun the moment he met her would always quiet down with just one word from her lips.
And once the confusion subsided, only a single choice remained.
He thought he ought to ask Blanche if she would allow him to make that choice.
After all, in their previous life, much of their tragedy had come from the lack of communication.
Just like Baekryeon, Blanche never said things she didn’t mean. If she promised tea, she truly meant to serve it.
His meeting with his birth mother for the first time in five years was no different from a simple dinner with his brother and sister-in-law.
Lachia treated him calmly, as if Melchizedek had only been away for a week, and Melchizedek himself acted as though there had been no absence at all.
After ending their short conversation, unlike earlier when he had walked idly as if time were endless, Melchizedek mounted a horse—rather than a carriage—and headed to Jasper Palace.
The servants, strictly trained under Lachia’s management, received him with courtesy and guided him to the highest floor.
“You’ve arrived.”
“The lower floors are still rented out?”
“Why wouldn’t they be? The Grand Empress Dowager has been taking care of the upkeep anyway.”
After offering him a seat, Blanche fetched the pot that had been kept warm by the fire.
It seemed the moment Melchizedek entered the palace, someone had already informed her, and she had started brewing tea.
By the time he had been guided upstairs, the tea was ready.
Watching her warm the cups with hot water, pour it out, and then refill them with tea, he teased lightly:
“Are you planning to become the headmaster of an academy?”
“That wouldn’t be possible at Scheherazade, since Lady Wellington is still enrolled there. She’ll probably inherit the position, don’t you think?”
He had only meant it as a joke, but she answered seriously.
Well… somehow, managing scholars suited Baekryeon more than conducting research herself.
Recalling how Baekryeon once commanded ministers and generals alike, Melchizedek smiled wryly but spoke earnestly.
“It’s a national academy. You know it can’t be hereditary.”
“I’d rather not create any cause for conflict with Lady Wellington.”
Blanche gave a faint, bitter smile and handed him the cup.
The fragrance struck him—strange, yet familiar. Ah, tea from his homeland. Time had passed, the cultivation methods had changed, but…
He fell silent, savoring the nostalgic aroma. Returning to her seat, Blanche lifted her own cup and added softly:
“I am looking into suitable candidates, though.”
To hear a girl not yet twenty casually say she was considering which academy she might become head of—and yet, it didn’t sound at all like an empty boast.
Even if he hadn’t known there was a sixty-year-old soul coiled inside her, Melchizedek would have believed her. Her words carried that much weight.
“The current empress is the knight commander, and the future empress the academy headmaster. Centralizing power is going smoothly, it seems.”
Would there be backlash about the imperial family monopolizing too much? Perhaps. But turning noble resistance into a chance to strengthen the throne had been his specialty since the previous life.
If Blanche was considering the academy position simply as an excuse to reject his pursuit, then it was truly meaningless.
He tested her with bait, and Blanche bit—no, perhaps she allowed herself to.
“I haven’t accepted Your Majesty’s courtship yet.”
“Ah, about that.”
Melchizedek smiled faintly, inhaling the tea’s aroma.
“It’s been five years now. I’d like to take a little progress check.”
After all, the times he’d gained the most from Blanche were when he had been completely honest.
There was no reason to hide his feelings.
She had already witnessed every inch of his depths; there was nothing left to conceal.
“I was a bit forceful, and you allowed it. Even if you weren’t by my side, you permitted me to continue courting you from afar.”
It wasn’t groveling—it was simply stating the truth.
He had known even then that Blanche had only given him reluctant permission because outright refusal had been difficult.
But turning a reluctant permission into genuine consent—that was his skill.
So he had accepted even her token permission with gratitude, and he still felt the same.
But now, he simply wondered—had his efforts borne fruit?
“So how is it now? Is it still burdensome and uncomfortable? Has your heart closed completely? Or does loyalty from a previous life still bind your feet?”
“…And if I say yes here, will you give up?”
“Sorry, but no. I’ll try to persuade you again.”
Melchizedek let out a bitter laugh.
Truly—he had hated the throne, yet perhaps, as others said, he had been born to be emperor.
How selfish he was, after all.
Part of him longed to sacrifice everything for the one he loved.
He thought of his sister-in-law—not Liana, but Yeonnoksa.
She had run alongside his brother, chasing his brother’s dream.
Even after his brother’s death, she had carried on, pouring her talents, her life, her very self into that dream.
Even her own child had never taken precedence over it. She had embraced death still holding onto that dream.
That kind of devotion had once suffocated Ja Cheongryeong—but also stirred his admiration.
If I could love like that, sacrifice everything for love, perhaps then I could call myself happy.
If destruction bore the name of love, wouldn’t it be almost noble?
But his own ruin had never been given that name, and in this life, he could not choose sacrifice.
If Blanche said she couldn’t breathe unless he was gone, he wanted to change her—just to remain by her side.
He could endure, but never let go.
Selfish, reckless, utterly shameless—and yet, this was who he was.
Blanche’s black eyes flickered away.
Was that a blush rising on her porcelain-white cheek? Melchizedek felt the faintest spark of hope.
Not too bright—because…
He had already lost far, far too much.
“…It’s uncomfortable. It troubles me. …But I don’t dislike it.”
That’s why it troubles me.
Her whisper was so quiet it was almost inaudible.
Her face looked genuinely pained, as if it were truly a problem—yet his heart surged with joy in proportion.
Ah, truly…
Melchizedek felt his fingertips tremble with happiness.
Not even buried beneath gold, jewels, and absolute power had his heart ever stirred like this.
If only time could stop here.
Even if he let go of everything he owned, if only she would take his hand, that would be enough.
“Can I take this as a sign that I have a chance?”
“I hope not.”
Was he insane, to feel happier at that answer than at an outright yes?
But he truly was—because it meant she hadn’t simply yielded. It meant his persistence was working.
“…May I kiss you?”
Blanche instinctively leaned back. To prevent misunderstanding, Melchizedek hastily added:
“On the hand.”
Her hands, calloused yet slender, with long, straight fingers, and nails as neat as seashells.
He brushed her pearly nail with his fingertip. That was enough. He could breathe with just this.
As long as Blanche didn’t reject his love—just that was enough.
Even if he couldn’t kiss her lips or share her bed, he could endure. He had already lived his whole life that way.
“…You speak as though you already had my permission.”
Her hand lifted slightly, not quite offering it, not quite denying it.
Melchizedek lowered his head, pressing a reverent kiss to her fingertips.
“I told you, didn’t I? I won’t do anything you say you dislike.”
If that was the way to earn her love—
If at the end, the ending that awaited him was her taking his hand first—then he would wait.
Ten years, a hundred years, however long it took.
