Second Marriage with a Loving Enemy

Episode 8

“…Ah.”

It was dawn. The bed the maids had diligently warmed was still toasty.

Lentia sat up, trembling slightly. She lifted the hem of her skirt and slid her hand inside her undergarments.

When her fingertips brushed over the sensitive area, a sticky moisture greeted her touch.

“Ugh,” she muttered.

Of all nights, and with that man’s face in her dreams, she’d had the most absurd dream she could recall—even more absurd than the whims of her teenage years.

This is driving me crazy, she thought, squeezing her eyes shut.

It had to be the stress of war and state affairs. There was no other explanation. She, the model of propriety and composure her entire life, couldn’t fathom any other reason for such a lapse.

Shaking her head to dismiss the thoughts, Lentia rose as the morning light began to stream through the windows.

—

Ally

When Lentia called a meeting on behalf of the absent Emperor, the remaining nobles in the capital promptly responded.

The conference room wasn’t as full as usual. Many imperialists had fled the capital alongside the Emperor. Others, driven purely by fear of the invading nomadic army, had escaped without concern for politics.

Still, those who believed in protecting the empire alongside the Empress, as well as the shrewder ones who calculated that fleeing now might harm them later, had stayed.

Now, gathered in the room, the nobles sat with a mix of apprehension and resolve.

“I believe everyone who can attend is here,” Lentia said, her expression solemn.

“Let us begin.”

She scanned the room. It was clear that whatever their personal views or affiliations, these nobles all recognized their duty to the empire.

“Yesterday, I met with a man named Kirta, the leader of the nomadic army,” Lentia began. “After a brief discussion, it became evident that what they want and what we seek are not so different.”

Murmurs rose among the group. Some nobles frowned deeply, while others maintained carefully neutral expressions. A few looked pale with fear.

“They wish to establish diplomatic relations,” Lentia continued. “They’re considering not just economic trade but also cultural exchange. Their invasion, as we now know, was sparked by the murder of their delegation. Their grudge seems to have been resolved, which brings us to the next step.”

The room erupted into mixed responses—some calm, others heated.

Some nobles scoffed at the idea of negotiating with “uncivilized barbarians,” clinging to age-old prejudices.

Others warned of the inherent risks, arguing that the nomads couldn’t be fully trusted given their history of military friction with the empire.

Still, there were pragmatic voices too. They pointed out the

potential backlash from grieving citizens if the empire appeared too accommodating.

Lentia listened patiently. When the discussions grew too chaotic, she raised her hand, silencing the room.

“I understand your concerns,” she said evenly. “I’ve considered all these possibilities since yesterday. However, they have no intention of fighting us further, and we cannot afford to wage a war for revenge under these circumstances. Our duty is to honor the fallen, not to send the living to their graves.”

The room fell quiet. Lentia’s logic was irrefutable.

War always brings casualties. Even if revenge against the nomads were a justifiable cause, raising an army would lead to more deaths, more bereaved families, and further devastation of imperial lands.

The empire, burdened by financial strain and far removed from the expansionist glory of its ancestors, couldn’t sustain such a conflict.

Moreover, the northeastern grasslands—harsh, rugged, and unconquerable even during the reign of past monarchs—promised little reward for enormous risk.

Faced with these realities, the nobles, though reluctant, saw the wisdom in Lentia’s proposal.

“I suggest we hold a ceremony to commemorate the fallen soldiers on both sides,” Lentia said. “Then, we can formalize an agreement. We must clarify their demands and set firm boundaries on what we are willing to grant.”

Despite her composure, Lentia couldn’t entirely ignore the sour expressions of some nobles. Their disdain for the nomads was deeply ingrained.

But the Empress remained resolute. The reluctance of her subjects mattered less than their acceptance of her plan, and for that, she was grateful.

“Then, if we are all in agreement about the necessity of establishing diplomatic relations,” Lentia said, “let us discuss the specific terms—”

Her words were cut off by the sudden opening of the door. A servant entered, his face pale and anxious.

Lentia frowned. “What is it?”

Her voice was cold, a stark departure from her usual warmth. She tolerated no breaches of decorum, especially during such

critical meetings.

“Forgive me, Your Majesty,” the servant stammered, bowing deeply. “I bring urgent news from His Majesty the Emperor…”

Lentia’s expression hardened further. “Speak,” she commanded.

The servant stepped closer, trembling as he whispered the message into the Empress’s ear.

Lentia’s body stiffened. Her eyes darkened.

For a moment, she couldn’t breathe, the weight of the message was crashing down on her.

The Emperor’s carriage, she learned, had disappeared during his escape the previous night.

Though no body had been found, his death was all but certain.

—

Kirta

The Empress’s response came swiftly. Two days after their initial meeting, a palace attendant arrived at the nomadic camp to deliver her message.

The sentries led the servant to Kirta, who was seated in the leader’s tent.

The attendant, visibly nervous, relayed the Empress’s words:

Her Majesty was willing to meet again to discuss terms. The meeting was to be held in the palace reception room the following afternoon.

“Tell Her Majesty that I am honored by her invitation,” Kirta said. “I look forward to our conversation.”

The servant nodded hastily.

“Did Her Majesty specify how many of my men I may bring?” Kirta asked.

“She said you may bring as many as you wish,” the servant replied. “However, she kindly asks you to remember that the Empire no longer views you as an enemy.”

Kirta understood the implication. Unlike their first encounter, this meeting was to be the one of mutual respect, not intimidation.

“I will gladly comply with her request,” Kirta said, smiling.

As the servant departed, Kirta watched him go, noting the man’s palpable fear. It was a stark reminder of the deep prejudice and terror the people of the Empire held towards the nomads.

Yet the Empress herself had displayed no such fear.

Kirta recalled her calm, clear eyes, the steadiness of her hands, and the elegance of her demeanor.

Her golden hair, perfectly arranged, framed a face of marble-like smoothness. Her cheeks glowed like ripe peaches, her full lips were as rosy as the dawn, and her graceful neck was perfectly straight.

The thought of uncovering what lay beneath her modest gown stirred something primal within him.

But Kirta pushed those thoughts aside. Tomorrow’s meeting would be about diplomacy, not desire.

Or so he told to himself.