Chapter 17 · Broken Before Bent

Not even two days had passed since Sis’s visit when Isadel was once again seized by rough hands and dragged out of the tower.

The imperial guards gripped her arms as if handling a wild beast that might bolt at any moment, but Isadel moved her feet so obediently that their wariness seemed pointless.

By now she had grown rather used to the arrangement of coming when called and going when sent, and she did not wish to waste her strength for nothing.

The place the guards brought her to was the emperor’s office—where her late father had once overseen the affairs of Rastain, and which had now fallen into Erhan’s hands.

Before the gate carved of black marble, a man pacing the cold corridor turned his head at the sound of footsteps from afar.

It was Baron Esvan, the empire’s Minister of Foreign Affairs.

Spotting the princess being escorted like a criminal, he hurried toward her.

“Your Highness.”

“…Baron Esvan.”

Recognizing the baron, Isadel slowly came to a halt.

The guards gripping her roughly on either side tactfully released her arms and stepped back.

“I greet Your Highness.”

Looking at him as he bowed courteously, Isadel smiled bitterly.

“You must have several lives. Seeing that you still cannot bring yourself to abandon that title.”

“…I beg your pardon.”

The baron lowered his gaze and apologized contritely.

Glaring at the firmly closed door of the office, Isadel continued.

“So it seems they have all gathered in a pack.”

“They intend to obtain Your Highness’s signature on the declaration of support for the emperor. It is meant to persuade the allied nations that still question the legitimacy of his succession.”

Isadel’s eyes narrowed.

“It would not have come from that bastard Erhan’s head…”

“I heard you met Adjutant Sis.”

So that bastard’s name is Sis, it seems.

“Yes. A bat of a man if ever there was one. Underhanded, and utterly impossible to read…”

Isadel recalled the blond man who had come to see her days ago.

Those clever eyes that had laid a meticulously calculated trap behind flowery speech, smiling as they waited for the other to crumble on their own.

A mere fleeting recollection was enough to twist her insides—a nausea rose as if she might vomit at any moment.

Baron Esvan’s lips moved as if hesitating, then he carefully opened his mouth.

“…Your Highness.”

“Speak.”

“If you would permit me, I dare to offer a word.”

When Isadel gave a light nod of assent, the baron with difficulty brought out the sincerity he had suppressed.

“Forgive me, Your Highness, but the tide among the ministers has already turned toward Emperor Erhan. They are men who profited from betraying the Lacent imperial house, so to cover their own shame, they will try to harm Your Highness by any means. Therefore…”

A thick sneer formed on Isadel’s lips.

“After all this time—were they not always such men?”

At the princess’s lukewarm response, the baron could not quite hide his consternation.

“Your Highness, I know it is not right, but… please, just this once, show flexibility.”

“……”

“You must preserve your life first if you are to plan for the future…”

What the baron meant was clear.

Rather than die a dog’s death, bow your head, however abjectly, and preserve your life.

But Isadel Lacent had no intention of bending for a life in name only.

She would break before she bent, and die before she compromised.

Even if every bone in her body were crushed and every strip of flesh torn away, she did not care.

Rather than endure the disgrace of the Lacent name being defiled, she would gladly throw away her life.

Isadel kept silent for a moment, then smiled an unreadable smile.

“What you just said. Depending on how it is taken, it could sound like treason.”

“…Your Highness.”

“Be careful.”

Isadel passed him without regret and headed for the emperor’s office.

The baron, unable to say anything, watched the receding figure of the princess for a long while.

* * *

In the office, the ministers of state had gathered like a pack of beasts.

The moment Isadel appeared, the clamor filling the hall drained away like the ebbing tide.

Dozens of pairs of eyes clung to her like starving hyenas.

“In the end, she’s been dragged here on her own feet.”

“Look at that stiff neck. She still thinks she’s a princess, tsk tsk.”

Blatant jeers and mockery pouring from all sides churned the air.

But Isadel’s attention was fixed entirely elsewhere—not on the ministers.

On Erhan, who sat askance in the seat of honor, looking down at her with arrogance.

Every time the shameful image of herself drunk and clinging to him last night surfaced, her stomach churned.

The moment their eyes finally met, a hot flush spread across her cheeks, but Isadel struggled to keep her face composed.

“So. Why did you call me?”

There was no way she did not know what the slip of paper before her meant, but she deliberately feigned ignorance and asked back.

As if he had been waiting, Sis stepped forward and held out the parchment.

[Year 319 of the Barentis Calendar — Declaration of Support for the Succession of Erhan Karhilen, Nineteenth Emperor of Rastain]

On the smoothly unfolded parchment, the seals of the families forming the backbone of Rastain were densely stamped.

Sis lightly tapped the single blank space left with his fingertip.

“Sign it.”

It was not a request but an outright coercion.

Isadel stared at the fountain pen Sis held out for a long while, then reluctantly took it.

The touch of the metal at her fingertips was unusually cold.

‘So this is how it ends…’

With a self-mocking smile, Isadel looked down at the blank space on the parchment.

While the nib hovered precariously over the paper, the ministers held their breath and watched the tip of her hand.

Most of Rastain’s families had turned to Erhan, and even the Ceres Empire—Isadel’s maternal house—had turned its back. Now, no matter how proud Princess Isadel might be, there seemed no way to avoid signing the declaration of support.

But just before the nib touched the paper, Isadel’s hand suddenly stopped.

‘Wait, come to think of it…’

The corner of Isadel’s mouth twisted faintly.

Into the office that had been waiting only for the princess’s signature, the sound of tearing paper split long and harsh.

Riiip!

The mercilessly torn paper fell uselessly to the floor.

“If you need a signature, I believe I told you to cut off my wrist.”

Isadel said, glaring straight at Sis.

At the princess’s sudden act, the hall was thrown into an uproar.

Viscount Sillon of the Ministry of Internal Affairs sprang from his seat and bellowed.

“This is utterly outrageous! How dare you commit such a scene before His Majesty!”

Isadel tried to recall who he was, then gave up.

The name of some low-ranking noble who had shot to prominence by joining Erhan’s coup—there was no way she would remember it.

“The deposed princess will sign this instant! Any further disgrace will have to be dealt with by execution!”

She sneered briefly at the sight of him raging with a flushed red face, then quietly rolled the word around in her mouth.

“Execution…”

Muttering low, Isadel readjusted her grip on the fountain pen in her hand.

It was the work of an instant.

“Keuk—hah…!”

By the time Viscount Sillon came to his senses, the nib had already pierced his neck and emerged on the other side.

“P-Please… spare…”

Blood welling up through his throat swallowed his plea.

The viscount convulsed and collapsed disgracefully onto the marble.

“W-What is the meaning of this…!”

While everyone was horrified by the sudden carnage, Isadel slowly bent her legs and lowered herself before the viscount.

She calmly, and in a single motion, pulled out the fountain pen lodged deep in his neck.

There was a sickening sound of flesh parting, but she did not blink an eye.

Drip, roll. Clack.

The blood-soaked fountain pen was tossed ostentatiously onto Erhan’s desk.

The pen rolled with an unpleasant friction and came to a stop before the back of his hand.

With one hand pressed against the desk, Isadel looked down at Erhan.

“You must not have known. An official declaration of the imperial house is not completed by my signature alone. A document without the imperial seal stamped upon it is, externally, nothing but meaningless scribbling.”

“……”

“But what a predicament this is. I simply cannot remember where my seal is.”

Beyond her translucent gray-blue eyes, a chilling madness flashed.

The reason he had deliberately summoned her to obtain her signature publicly must have been a scheme to compensate for the declaration’s defect—the absence of the official seal—with the ministers’ testimony.

“You haven’t found it either, have you? That is why you tried to get my signature at least, before everyone.”

As if confirming that her guess had hit the mark, Erhan’s still blue eyes wavered without mercy.

With the uneasy sidelong glance of the adjutant beside him added, her conjecture soon hardened into certainty.

A blatant sneer spread across Isadel’s lips.

“Go ahead and tear the entire imperial palace apart. Though I doubt you will find it.”