To My Gentle Dictator – Chapter 034

One thing was certain—both then and now, there was only one person Sasha could bare her heart to.

“Ulrich, I… I’m used to being misunderstood. I don’t mean that other people are wrong—it makes sense for them to see me that way. I’ve just… gotten used to it. But that day…”

Ulrich blinked slowly, listening to her words as they stumbled out—seemingly from nowhere.

Sasha struggled to steady her breath, which kept shaking in her chest.

Fear and uncertainty lodged themselves like weights beneath her ribs, but if she didn’t speak now, she felt like she might never get another chance.

“That day… what scared me more than you leaving me—was the idea that you might misunderstand me. That you’d see me as some cheap, indecent woman and feel disgusted. I don’t even know why, but that terrified me.”

“…”

“So I said that stupid thing… that you didn’t have to marry me. I didn’t say it because I didn’t value our agreement. I never, ever meant it like that…”

As the words spilled out, she came to a quiet realization.

Some of what Kiril had yelled at her earlier… had been right. She had been longing for the man in front of her this whole time.
And even now, she still was.

Whether that was a symptom of romanticizing someone as a survival mechanism in a hellish life, or because Vasily had repeatedly beaten his name into her head until it stuck like brainwashing, or because she still hadn’t let go of her foolish first crush from years ago—Sasha didn’t know.

Maybe she’d simply become a malformed person, twisted by a malformed era.

After all, this marriage itself was already twisted.

“So what I mean to say is… I…”

The words caught like thorns in her throat.

Like a sliver of glass lodged in her chest all afternoon, now forcing its way back up.

“I… I’ll do my best, I really will…”

Without realizing it, her hand had grasped the edge of his coat, trembling violently.

She was no stranger to resignation. She knew it too well—it had become second nature.

And yet, the thorn wouldn’t go down.

Ulrich’s townhouse was one of the few places still tied to Sasha’s childhood memories.

Back when she was a princess—when she was treated with dignity, when her older brother was still healthy and kind—this had been one of their shining little escapes.

But places were just places.

Just like Tremlyn Grand Palace and the rest of the royal estates, the townhouse was now merely a building full of unfamiliar people.

“That’s why… please… I’ll really try my best, so… could we not be a weekend couple?”

Ulrich looked down at the girl in his arms—her face begging, like she was about to break into tears at any moment.

Her parents and brother had been executed. Her relatives had turned their backs on her.
And the brother she’d protected with her very body had just chosen to make her the scapegoat instead.

Her fear of being left behind was understandable.

But the Sasha he had observed until now was someone who wore submission like a second skin.
Even before the revolution, she had silently endured everything—an unwanted engagement, assault in the imperial palace—without making a sound.

She had always struck him as the very image of an outdated noblewoman.

Which made the words that had just come out of her mouth all the more unexpected.

And then there was the phrase “weekend couple”—a surprisingly novel way to put it.

‘Still fascinating,’ Ulrich thought, as his interest—and anticipation—rose sharply.

Yes, she was someone he needed to keep close by.

Masking his thoughts with a tender tone, he finally spoke.

“Shura.”

“…Yes?”

He had only said her name, and yet Sasha already looked like she might suffocate from dread.

Such a volatile creature.

“The quarters won’t be as comfortable as the townhouse. You won’t have nearly as many attendants, and you’ll have to mix with the other officers’ wives. You’ll have barely any privacy. Are you sure you can handle that?”

“Yes. Yes.”

Sasha nodded fervently, her desperation plain.

It wasn’t like she’d ever known privacy to begin with.
She was afraid—afraid of running into Lef more often, afraid of how the wives’ group would treat her. But it was still better than being away from Ulrich.

If she could be in the space he returned to every evening, she felt like she could endure anything that happened during the day.

“I’ll be fine without attendants. I’ve lived like that until now, and I’m pretty good at housework. I’ll learn whatever else I need to. I’ll attend the wives’ gatherings, and even if I can’t be much help to you, I’ll make sure I’m never a burden.”

That was what she said, blinking those wide, innocent eyes.

Apparently, this outdated little princess believed a good wife’s duties ended there.

Ulrich bit back a laugh as he flicked the end of his cigarette to the roadside and replied,

“Alright then. Sounds good to me.”

“Really…?”

Sasha blinked at him, stunned by how readily he agreed.

Bold or clumsy—who knew which—but after looking so desperate a moment ago, her reaction now was absurdly uncertain.

“You think I’m just being polite?”

He tightened his hold around her waist and smiled meaningfully.

As their bodies drew closer, her pale cheeks flushed once more.

If she was already blushing like this from just a little contact—what would she do later?

“Th-thank you, Yurochka. I’ll really do my best. I mean it.”

The ever-changing little princess spoke with a face lit up by joy.

Her cheeks were flushed, her lips glimmered with life again, and her lilac eyes sparkled with excitement.

Was she calling him by that childhood name on purpose, or did it just slip out?

Figuring that out would be another kind of fun.

Ulrich nodded, clearly entertained.

“I’ll be looking forward to it.”

* * *

The dress, delivered in a box tied with a satin ribbon, was a shade of soft lilac.

It nagged at her slightly that it happened to be the same color as the bride’s eye color—but considering it was a piece from a Francian fashion house, nearly impossible to obtain domestically, that was an issue she could easily overlook.

Lyudmila traced the dreamily smooth hem of the skirt with her fingertips.

Despite its astronomical price, the design wasn’t too flashy, nor was it too plain.

It was a flawless choice—clearly selected with care to reflect both the wearer’s status and public image, elegant without a single unnecessary flourish.

A breathless voice came from behind her.

“It… really suits you. That brand’s dresses are supposedly hard to get even in the home country…”

“And how do you know that, Lieutenant Valentina?”
Lyudmila turned with a sweet smile as she asked.

Lieutenant Valentina, who had in fact been on the verge of losing consciousness, went pale as a sheet, as if she might faint on the spot.

“I—I just…”

“Oh my, no need to be so startled. I was only teasing.”

“Ah, haha… yes, of course…”

“So stop with the pointless chatter and finish your meal.”

Lyudmila’s fresh, serene smile was betrayed by the chill in her eyes.

Valentina stared down at the table with a hopeless look.

Either Lyudmila was in a particularly bad mood today, or the meal had been doubled in size compared to usual.

She hadn’t even finished half, and already it felt like her stomach might burst.

It might seem absurd to complain, being one of the few enjoying luxurious meals for free while over half the nation starved—but being forced to consume extravagant amounts of food under Lyudmila’s watchful gaze every single day wasn’t a privilege.

It was more like culinary torture.