To My Gentle Dictator – Chapter 018

Her cheeks burned with heat.

Even though Ulrich resided in the official residence rather than this mansion, the thought of using his personal space made her suddenly self-conscious, unsure of where to place herself.

‘Why am I being treated like this…?’

Just being given a guest room would have been overwhelming. His willingness to help with Kiril’s situation was already a suffocating kindness.

Sasha swallowed dryly as she stared at her disheveled reflection in the mirror, which was engraved with an idyllic landscape.

‘I have nothing to give him in return…’

Back when she was a young princess—when being adored by everyone had felt like the most natural thing in the world—accepting kindness had been easy.

But not anymore.

Now that other people’s goodwill felt like a rare miracle, nothing could be taken for granted.

‘What could I possibly do for him…?’

After taking a thorough shower under the warm water, Sasha dried her hair with the hairdryer on the bathroom shelf.

There was no brush, so she had to comb through her damp locks with her fingers, but that was fine.

Though mirrors surrounded her from every angle, she wasn’t ready to truly look at herself yet.

If she checked her injuries, those awful memories would come flooding back and ruin this fleeting moment.

Thankfully, the bruises on her calves had almost faded.

As she reached for a bathrobe, her eyes caught something neatly placed on the small table beside the door—a set of pale pink loungewear.

A velvet dress with a soft silk lining.

Someone must have entered while she was showering to leave it there.

‘Is this something they keep for guests…?’

Pushing away unnecessary thoughts, Sasha slipped into the elegant garment, her freshly washed skin absorbing its gentle fragrance.

The sensation of clean, luxurious fabric against her skin filled her with both a soothing comfort and an inexplicable sense of relief.

It felt like something out of a fairy tale—like she had fallen into a magical world beyond the rainbow.

Sinking into the plush periwinkle-colored couch, Sasha exhaled as if she were in a dream.

Then, her gaze landed on the magazines neatly arranged on the coffee table.

They were imported from Camiria, the New Continent.

‘Ulrich said I could read them, so it should be fine…’

She carefully picked one up, and the smooth, glossy cover beneath her fingertips sent an unexpected thrill through her.

Unlike the coarse, cheaply printed local magazines, this one had a shimmering, high-quality coating.

It felt like a portal to an entirely different, dazzling world.

The magazine wasn’t in Velusian but in the common continental language, yet that didn’t matter in the slightest.

Sasha had never forgotten the foreign languages she had learned as a child.

Not that she had any use for them now.

The etiquette she had studied so diligently, the ballet, the piano—even her experience volunteering at a field hospital—none of it served any purpose anymore.

The only remotely practical skill she had left was embroidery.

She couldn’t even get a job at a factory. No one dared hire a former princess, a relic of the old regime, for fear of drawing the military’s ire.

Considering that, she was lucky to have even found needlework jobs.

But at this moment, there was no time to dwell on reality or sink into despair.

Sasha flipped through the magazine with complete focus, absorbing every image and every word as if savoring them.

Ulrich returned home just as she was opening her third magazine.

The sound of a car engine rolling up the driveway made her flinch. She quickly set the magazine down, nearly burying her nose in it in her startled state.

‘Could it be Ulrich?’

She crept toward the balcony, but from there, she couldn’t see the driveway.

In the garden below, a man who appeared to be a gardener was carrying a tub full of dead branches and fallen leaves as he exited the back courtyard.

Sasha cautiously walked past the windows lining the walls, glancing out each one until she finally reached the one near the coffee table.

The sun was setting early. A pinkish twilight stretched across the entrance to the garage, where Ulrich emerged, holding a small paper box with red and black stripes.

Sasha let out a small sigh of relief.

How ironic.

Just a few days ago, that black uniform had been the embodiment of fear—now, it was almost a welcome sight.

She watched him as he walked, casually chatting with the gardener.

Then, suddenly, Ulrich turned his head and looked straight up at her.

The moment their eyes met, Sasha stiffened. Flustered, she forced an awkward smile and raised a hand in a small wave.

It had happened so suddenly that she hadn’t even realized what she was doing.

‘What on earth am I doing right now?’

She felt like a complete fool.

But, fortunately, Ulrich simply grinned and waved back, mirroring her gesture.

A dizzying sense of embarrassment washed over her.

In her panic, she instinctively ducked down—completely forgetting about the coffee table beside her.

The sudden movement jolted the white coffee table, knocking the ashtray onto the marble floor.

With a sharp crack, the crystal ashtray—decorated with colorful seashell inlays—split into several pieces.

“Ah…”

Sasha crouched there, staring at the shattered ashtray in stunned silence.

A wave of self-loathing crashed over her.

‘Why am I such an idiot?’

Her chest tightened, and tears pricked at the corners of her eyes.

Sniffling, she tried to press the broken shards back together.

Of course, they wouldn’t fit.

‘What should I do?’

Sasha was too overwhelmed to even hear the knock on the door.

The person who entered was none other than Yakov.

“I’ve come to escort you to the parlor… What happened?”

Yakov approached as he saw Sasha crouched with her back turned toward him.

She hesitated before speaking in a barely audible voice, gathering the broken shards in her hands.

“I… I broke this…”

Yakov glanced at the shattered remains and replied in an indifferent tone.

“You’ll hurt your hands. Leave it as it is. The Director is waiting for you in the parlor.”

His voice was so composed that it was impossible to gauge how serious this situation actually was.

Sasha carefully placed the broken pieces down and wobbled slightly as she got to her feet, following Yakov down the hallway.

As she walked through the long corridor leading to the parlor, she had no time to recall how much this place had changed over the years.

“Shura…?”

Ulrich, who was seated at the head of the table, was drying his hands with a clean towel.

His gaze landed on Sasha as she entered, sniffling, her eyes still glistening with unshed tears.

“What’s this? What happened in the short time I was gone?”

His teasing tone only made her feel even more ashamed.

Fidgeting with her hands, Sasha hesitantly spoke.

“I’m sorry, Ulrich… I broke your ashtray…”

Ulrich set the towel down and studied her intently.

Just moments ago, she had been boldly waving at him from the window with a bright smile—now she looked like a dejected puppy, nervously gauging his reaction.

“How did that happen?”

“Well, I just…”

“Did someone upset you while I was gone?”

“Huh? Oh, no! That’s not it—I broke it by accident…!”

Sasha’s face flushed crimson as she hurriedly denied it.

The way she had gone from timidly sulking to blushing in frustration in a matter of seconds was almost amusing.

‘This is better.’

Ulrich smiled and beckoned her over with a slight motion of his fingers.

This time, she didn’t end up kneeling on the floor in a flustered panic, unlike last time.

As she hesitantly approached the long tea table, Ulrich pulled out the chair across from his own.

“Sit. Did you hurt yourself?”

“No…”

“Good. Then don’t worry about it—it was a cheap piece anyway.”

But Sasha had recognized it immediately—it was Venetian glasswork. There was no way it had been a cheap piece.

Still, the fact that he dismissed it so lightly made her feel both relieved and guilty.

She couldn’t shake the feeling that she was simply taking advantage of his kindness.

Just then, a group of maids in white aprons appeared, placing a steaming samovar on the table along with a dessert tray and a fondue dish.

Ulrich opened his cigarette case and glanced at Sasha, who was still pouting slightly.

“Stop looking so miserable and give me a smile like you did earlier. I even stopped by a new café just to see that.”

“Huh…?”

Sasha, who had been lowering her gaze in guilt, slowly lifted her eyes—only to be left momentarily breathless.

 

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