To My Gentle Dictator – Chapter 012

At the time, rumors were running rampant in high society—wild whispers that the fraudulent imperial physician was not only sleeping with the empress but also with the imperial princess.

Even her nanny hadn’t been an option. Sasha’s nanny had been just as enamored with that doctor as the emperor and empress had been.

To this day, Sasha still didn’t know why she had thought to confide in Ulrich.

No matter how desperate she had been, how could she even consider telling such a shameful secret to the man she had admired since childhood? To her brother’s friend, of all people?

Had she read too many romance novels about chivalry?

Like a foolish, starry-eyed princess lost in daydreams, had she secretly wished for Ulrich to be a knight who would slay the wicked dragon?
And was that why, even after not only the dragon but also the princess’s palace had been reduced to ashes, she had never been able to resent him?

She hadn’t meant to wish for something like that.

And yet, was that why she could never shake the guilt—the crushing feeling that, somehow, she had brought all of this upon herself?

Bright sunlight streamed through the grimy balcony window, casting cold light onto the wooden floor.

Curled on her side like a fetus, Sasha lay on the floor, her heavy eyelids flickering.

When she finally managed to open them, her hazy vision caught sight of an overturned laundry basket, its contents spilling out in a mess.

Staring at the colorful pile of laundry, she suddenly remembered the vibrant cupcakes she hadn’t been able to finish.

And just like that, she felt hungry.

‘Are you insane?’

Of all things, she was thinking about cupcakes right now?
She really must have lost her mind.

A choked, almost sob-like laugh slipped from her cracked lips.

“…Ugh!”

Instead of another hiccup, a dry gag tore from her throat.

She didn’t know if it was because laughing had aggravated her injuries—or if she was simply nauseated by the reality she was trapped in.

The spot on her thigh where the leather belt had struck burned as if seared with a hot iron.

If only she had been beaten with fists instead.
If only she had been hit all over, as brutally as possible—after all, she had already been slapped and had a nosebleed—maybe then she wouldn’t hate herself quite as much.

‘This is my reality.’

And the moment she acknowledged that, everything that had happened over the past day began to feel like a dream.

Meeting Ulrich again.
The townhouse that had looked like heaven.
The colorful cupcakes.

They all seemed like hallucinations, nothing more than illusions conjured up by a desperate mind.

‘I’ll never see them again.’

Maybe that was for the best.

Maybe it was better that things had fallen apart before she had the chance to taint Ulrich as well.

‘Someone like me should just die. It would be better for everyone.’

At some point, Sasha had begun to believe that everything that had changed—all of it—had been her fault.

Kiril’s downward spiral.
Vasily’s transformation.
The revolution itself.
Even the way her family had started to fall apart long before the revolution.

Somehow, it all felt like it had been her doing.

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

The words still shackled Sasha’s unconscious mind.

As if every misfortune that had ever happened was her fault—because she hadn’t served properly, because she hadn’t handled those around her the way she should have.

‘I was the rotten apple.’

A single spoiled fruit that tainted everything fresh around it.
Not a heroine like the ones in the novels she had read as a child, but a witch—one who drove everyone mad and dragged out the worst in those around her.

‘I should have let myself get shot.’

She should have lunged at Vasily and forced the gun to her head.
What had she been so afraid of? Why had she trembled like a coward at something as trivial as a bullet?

It would have been a far easier death compared to her brother, who had been beheaded at the guillotine.
There was no one left who would grieve her anyway.
She was useless to anyone, a burden to everyone.

“Ugh—”

She was disgusted with herself, with the pathetic way she clung to this miserable existence.

The nausea that kept rising in her throat—it was nothing more than self-loathing manifesting physically.

Through her fading consciousness, she thought she heard footsteps echoing down the old apartment hallway.

She couldn’t tell if it was real or just another trick of her exhausted mind.

If it was real, then who could it be?
Had Kiril been released?
Or had Vasily come back?

‘No… please… don’t come…’

Just leave me alone. Just for a little while.

Desperately chanting those words in her head, Sasha squeezed her eyes shut.

She just wanted to rest.

To disappear beneath the earth, somewhere no one knew her name, and sleep forever.

* * *

A haze of gunpowder smoke spread like morning mist around the forest, where thick layers of ice were slowly melting.

As the golden sunlight began to fade, the gunshots and the barking of hunting dogs that had echoed through the woods finally came to a halt.

While riders on four-wheeled ATVs roamed between the white birch trees, collecting the lifeless hares, the high-ranking officials hurriedly prepared to return to the Winter Palace for an early banquet.

Amid this lively and boisterous atmosphere, the sudden arrival of an NSS transport vehicle—with its distinctive black license plates—at the entrance of the hunting grounds was an unexpected and unsettling sight for everyone.

“Did the Director summon them…?”

“Why the hell are they here…?”

In a regime built on purges, no one ever knew when their own name might be added to the list.
Even the highest-ranking members of the Supreme Council instinctively tensed whenever the National Security Service (NSS) was involved.

And today, the Supreme Commander and the NSS Director were gathered in the same place.

As tension rippled from the outskirts of the hunting grounds, Ulrich emerged from the inner camp, walking side by side with Supreme Commander Kryuchkov.

Vasily, who had discreetly joined the hunt midway, was with them.

Taking the rifle from his father’s hands and passing it off to his adjutant, Vasily stole a glance at Ulrich.

‘Does he really not know?’

He had assumed that Ulrich would have already been informed about the missing guest from his residence.
And yet, throughout the entire hunt, Ulrich had shown no sign of concern—nothing out of the ordinary.

If anything, he had been unusually focused on the hunt, impressing Kryuchkov and the other old men with his enthusiasm.

For a man as impossible to read as Ulrich, this level of indifference seemed entirely genuine.

‘Well, it’s not like that woman meant anything to him anyway.’

He had thought there was something between them when Ulrich brought her into his own bedroom, but clearly, he had been mistaken.

At this point, Sasha was the pathetic one—for ever believing she could rely on someone like him.

Suppressing his frustration, Vasily barely registered the sound of his father’s booming voice.

“What do you say, Yuri? Will you join us for the banquet?”

“I appreciate the offer, but I have business at headquarters.”

In this world, Ulrich was probably the only person who would dare reject a dinner invitation from the Supreme Commander.

Vasily shot him a look of disbelief, but Kryuchkov merely smiled, appearing pleased.

“That’s why I trust him. A man like Yuri should be in charge of security—so that the rest of us can focus on governing without concern.”

“That’s a little hurtful, Father.”

Vasily’s voice took on a sharp edge, laced with mockery.

“Saying that in front of your son—the previous NSS Director—what does that make me?”

“No one said you did a bad job. But every man has a role he’s suited for.”

Kryuchkov responded flatly, furrowing his brows in mild annoyance before turning his attention to the commotion at the hunting ground’s entrance.

“That looks like our NSS friends over there. Yuri, did you call for them?”

From the black transport vehicle, NSS agents were beginning to disembark.

Vasily stared at the scene in silence—until a sudden, insane suspicion gripped his mind.

‘Ulrich… that lunatic wouldn’t dare—’

“Yes,” Ulrich replied smoothly, his voice calm.

“There’s someone who needs to be urgently arrested.”

Kryuchkov raised an intrigued brow.

“Oh? And who might that be?”

Ulrich stepped forward without hesitation.

He walked up to Vasily, placed a firm hand on his shoulder, and spoke.

“You, brother.”

 

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