Episode 6
When word spread that the barbarians had entered the city, people who had been hiding in their homes began to peek out from their windows, one by one. Occasionally, a few particularly brave children ran out into the streets and wandered around.
However, all the onlookers remained silent. The only sound in the air was the rhythmic clatter of horses’ hooves striking the pavement.
Thank goodness.
What Lentia feared did not come to pass.
Everyone merely watched from afar. She wasn’t sure if her presence had truly made a difference or if no one, no matter how deeply resentful of the barbarian army, would dare act rashly.
When they finally reached the gate, Lentia exhaled in relief but quickly straightened her back. She reminded herself not to let
her guard down until the very end.
Turning the reins, Lentia looked back at Kirta. She addressed him politely.
“Once you pass through this gate, you’ll reach the forests and fields. Camp wherever you feel comfortable, but do not stray too far. If there’s any news, I’ll send a messenger immediately.”
“Understood,” Kirta replied.
Lentia prepared to dismount. Idran, the nomads’ horse, needed to be returned. She felt a twinge of regret, knowing that walking back to the palace would expose her to potential ridicule, but she steeled herself against the humiliation.
“Please, continue riding Idran, Your Majesty the Empress.”
Kirta’s unexpected words made Lentia pause. Her eyes widened slightly in surprise.
“This horse is a gift from me to you, Your Majesty. Or, if you’d prefer, think of it as a token of my goodwill,” Kirta added with a faint smile.
The word gift unsettled Lentia. Before she could respond, Kirta quickly clarified, as if anticipating her hesitation.
“This is not a gift from my people to yours. It is simply a gesture from me, as an individual, to you personally—not to your empire. Surely that makes it acceptable?”
Lentia frowned inwardly. She prided herself on her integrity and was wary of receiving personal gifts, especially from the enemy. However, Kirta’s insistence and his careful distinction made it difficult to refuse.
After a brief pause to gather her thoughts, Lentia finally nodded.
“Very well. I accept it. Thank you, Kirta,” she said, her tone calm and measured.
Kirta inclined his head slightly.
“Then, I look forward to hearing favorable news soon. Until we meet again, Your Majesty.”
“Stay well until then,” Lentia replied, unsure of the appropriate farewell to offer someone of Kirta’s culture.
Her cautious response seemed to amuse Kirta, who smiled warmly.
“I hope Your Majesty remains blessed until our next meeting,” he
said, his words unexpectedly grand.
His gaze lingered a moment longer than necessary, and Lentia felt her heart flutter unbidden. She quickly dismissed that feeling.
Ridiculous.
She silently chastised herself, refusing to be swayed by his charm or that ever-present sly smile.
With that, Kirta and his men left through the gates. Lentia stood watching until the heavy doors closed behind them, sealing their departure. Only then did she turn back towards the palace, her steps slow and heavy.
—
Before the war, imperial politics had been largely divided into two main factions.
One was the imperialist faction, which sought to consolidate power in the hands of the emperor. The other was the aristocratic faction, which championed the authority of the ministers who advised the throne.
The imperialist faction itself was split into two groups. One group believed that, despite the emperor’s shortcomings, the throne
was the rightful center of power. The other group consisted of sycophants who flattered the emperor for personal gain, regardless of his competence.
Similarly, the aristocratic faction had its divisions. Some members genuinely feared the dangers of concentrated imperial power and acted out of concern for the empire’s future. Others simply held a grudge against the imperialists and opposed them out of spite.
The emperor led the imperialists, supported closely by his chamberlain. Meanwhile, the prime minister, Duke Paolin, served as the leader of the aristocrats.
Although Lentia officially maintained neutrality, in truth, she sympathized strongly with the aristocratic faction.
If the emperor were a sage ruler, it might have been different. But given his incompetence, Lentia believed firmly in the necessity of strong ministers to balance the throne’s authority.
Her views, however, had made her deeply unpopular with her husband. Lentia often wondered if his disdain for her stemmed from her political leanings as much as from personal grievances.
Perhaps his infidelity wasn’t just an extension of his debauchery.
Was he looking for an empress who would align with his views?
Lentia’s lips curled into a faint, bitter smile. She wouldn’t put it past him.
In fact, if not for the chaos of the war, she suspected he might have already sought to remove her from the throne—perhaps by accusing her of failing to produce an heir.
Her husband, though lacking in the qualities of a ruler, was frightfully cunning when it came to serving his own interests.
Am I cruel for feeling relief that the war has put a stop to his schemes?
The thought unsettled her. So many lives had been lost in this conflict, and yet here she was, finding solace in the upheaval.
Shaking off her guilt, Lentia forced herself to focus on her duties. Late into the night, she pored over documents in the emperor’s office, striving to untangle the neglected affairs of state.
The more she read, the more appalled she became.
This project is over budget. That one hasn’t even started because approvals were delayed…
Leceon’s finances were in shambles. Lentia had been aware of the empire’s struggles, but seeing the extent of the damage laid bare was a shock.
The emperor had rebuked her for interfering in state affairs, dismissing her involvement as unnecessary meddling.
“You’re not the emperor!” he had once shouted. “You’re the empress—mind the household like an empress should!”
Frustrated and weary, Lentia had withdrawn, choosing to focus on her own responsibilities instead. She now regretted that decision deeply.
The state’s affairs had deteriorated disastrously in her absence.
If the emperor is going to run the empire into ruin, it might be better if he never returns, Lentia thought coldly, her clear blue eyes burning with determination.
For all her guilt over the war’s casualties, she couldn’t deny that the emperor’s absence had given her a chance to act—a chance to set things right.
If only there were a suitable heir…
Her expression darkened as she clenched her fists.
If the emperor had fathered a child with another woman, Lentia would have adopted the child and raised them as her own—for the empire’s sake.
Her personal feelings didn’t matter. They never had.
They never would.
