To My Gentle Dictator – Chapter 011

Sasha blinked blankly. The moment she faced the barrel of the gun aimed at her, an absurdly unreal sensation washed over her. It felt as if none of this was real—as if it were all just a dream.

“Do you know what happens when someone gets shot in the head?”

“B-Basily….”

“They run after their own brains, trying to catch them. I wonder how it’ll be for the imperial princess.”

She didn’t even have time to scream.

The gun fired, and her skull rattled violently. The bullet whizzed past, barely grazing her hair, and embedded itself into the wall with a distant thud.

Sasha squeezed her eyes shut, her clenched jaw trembling.

“Hic…!”

If only she were the kind of person who could face death calmly, maybe she wouldn’t be this miserable.

If only she were someone who could snap back, telling him to just get it over with, instead of trembling like a frightened dog, hiccupping in terror.
If only she were like the heroines in the novels she read as a child—bold, defiant, unyielding.
If only she were the kind of person who could inspire those around her, changing them for the better….

“Hic, hic…”

“So much for your precious imperial blood. Seems it’s nothing special after all.”

A cold sneer glistened in Vasily’s eyes as he muttered in a low voice.

“Even a prostitute has more backbone than you, Aleksandra. Aren’t you ashamed?”

“I’m sorry… hhic, I’m sorry, I really… hhic, I really am hopeless, like a piece of trash….”

Even in her fear-clouded mind, Sasha instinctively belittled herself.

Because degrading herself made things slightly more bearable.
Because if she did, at least Kiril wouldn’t have to suffer….

“At least you’re aware. How admirable.”

Holstering his pistol, he pulled out a chair from the old dining table and sat down lazily, lighting a cigarette. His face remained disturbingly indifferent—completely unshaken, even after firing a gun at someone.

“Stop dawdling and get up.”

His voice was quiet.
A calm, ominous voice—like the stillness before a storm.

Sasha staggered to her feet, trembling uncontrollably.

There was no escaping the storm.

The only truth she had learned in the past three years was that a safe path didn’t exist.

Neither did a savior.

“Go wash your face.”

“Hhic, y-yes….”

“Think carefully while you do. About how many times you’ll be hit today.”

This was the worst.

Sasha swallowed a sigh of resignation, feeling her heart shrink with dread.

Today would be even longer than usual.

The sunlight streaming through the worn-out balcony no longer felt warm or beautiful.

* * *

Around 10 a.m., just as the breakfast meeting at Tremlyn Palace had concluded, an urgent call was handed to Ulrich.

“…Understood.”

After responding curtly to the butler’s lengthy report, Ulrich set the receiver down. A hand landed on his shoulder.

It was Fedir, his old friend from the officer academy.

“Something wrong, Yuri? You’re not leaving right away, are you? The Supreme Commander seemed eager to go rabbit hunting.”

Rabbit hunting.

Ulrich gazed down at the hand resting on his shoulder, his expression smooth and unreadable.

Sensing the hesitation, Fedir withdrew his hand and sighed playfully.

“He’ll be disappointed if you don’t go. I envy you, man. The rest of us can’t even dream of skipping out—but even if we did, no one would notice.”

“Vasily would notice. And he’d put your name on the list.”

“Shit, you’re right. But speaking of him, where the hell is he?”

Lowering his voice into a casual murmur, Fedir spoke the way friends do when gossiping about their superior behind his back.

“He was here this morning, wasn’t he?”

Lighting a cigarette, Ulrich asked in an easygoing tone, “Yeah, he was—right up until you got here. Then he suddenly disappeared. Maybe he’s got food poisoning or something?”

“I see.”

Ulrich’s crimson-tinged eyes, reminiscent of roses in bloom, darkened ever so slightly.

According to Yakov’s report, Lieutenant General Vasily had returned home around 8 a.m.

About 30 minutes later, his personal physician, Igor, had arrived to check the bedroom—only to find Sasha missing.

And Vasily hadn’t returned to Tremlyn since.

Piecing together these details along with the injury he had seen on Sasha’s leg, Ulrich felt a familiar sentiment toward his cousin.

‘Idiot.’

Vasily’s impulsive actions had been anticipated in Ulrich’s plans to use Sasha.
But he hadn’t expected him to act this quickly—or this stupidly.

Ulrich knew about the women Vasily had been with over the past three years.

All of them had been small, with long black hair and an artificial beauty mark inked beneath their left eye.

If technology had allowed for eye color alteration, Vasily likely would have dyed their irises lilac as well.

‘Like father, like son.’

The resemblance was uncanny. It was enough to make him understand, just for a moment, why some men obsessed over eugenics.

“So, what’s your decision, Yuri? Are you coming to the hunt?”

“Not sure.”

According to Yakov’s report, the bedroom’s balcony door had been left open.

No matter how reckless and idiotic Vasily was, he wouldn’t have dared to break into Ulrich’s private chambers.

Which meant Sasha had left on her own.

Ulrich’s blue eyes drifted toward the swan fountain visible beyond the lounge window.

Once a symbol of Tremlyn Palace, the swan now seemed to be drowning in water polluted by rusted coins and discarded cigarette butts from the soldiers.

It was an unpleasant sight.

His idiot cousin had finally done something truly foolish.
So why did this gnawing irritation claw at him from the depths of his mind?

“…Annoying.”

The low murmur slipped through the haze of cigarette smoke, making Fedir pause as he lit his own cigarette.

“Ah, well, I guess I was pushing you too hard. You only just got appointed the other day—you must be drowning in work.”

“Not really.”

Ulrich curved his eyes into a warm smile and gave his friend’s shoulder a light pat.

“The weather is perfect for a hunt.”

“Right? I’m looking forward to it. It’s been a while since we’ve seen the ‘King of the Skies’ in action.”

King of the Skies.

That had been Ulrich’s moniker during the world war.

A name the Allied forces had given to the Velusian pilot who had shot down countless infamous Doichen air force fighters.

Ulrich responded to his friend’s teasing with a smile and picked up the receiver once again.

It was, indeed, a fine day for a hunt.
And for cleaning up.

Since the other side had started this spectacle, it was only proper to see it through to a grand finale.

* * *

The first time Sasha told her mother that the imperial physician kept touching her inappropriately, her mother had reacted with outrage, as if she would drive him out immediately.

But no matter how long Sasha waited, nothing happened.

When she pleaded with her mother again, her mother snapped at her instead.

“Shut up! We’re all making sacrifices for your brother, so you should just do your part and serve properly!”

She couldn’t tell her brother or her father.

Her brother had shut himself away in his room ever since his illness had worsened.
And her father…

Her father had already heard about it from her mother.

He never said a word, but at some point, Sasha could clearly see the disappointment in his eyes whenever he looked at her.

That, more than anything else, had been the hardest to bear.

Her parents had once seemed perfect.

She couldn’t tell her fiancé, who was eight years older than her, and she couldn’t confide in her friends either.

There were no secrets in high society.

 

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