“Your Majesty?”
Should I apologize right now?
Should I beg forgiveness?
First, I should stop leaning on the table like an arrogant bastard.
Sasha slowly lowered his arms and straightened his back. He wasn’t clueless enough to lean all the way into the chair.
Truly fortunately for Sasha, Edward had a great deal of patience.
“…Yes. You belong to me.”
He contained his emotions to the point where all that showed was a voice that had gotten a little rough.
It felt like there were words he’d clenched his teeth and swallowed, but they were too far away for Sasha to hear clearly.
Sasha let out a long breath and studied Edward’s expression—like he was enduring something—then opened his mouth again before Edward could change his mind.
“What would you have me do?”
It was already the second time, but he still needed the answer.
If he couldn’t retreat or run, then now was the time to find out what the hell this was.
Only then would he know what he needed to be careful about.
“You’ve heard the news about the Grand Duke and those who used to be the Emperor’s faction.”
Edward’s voice still cracked at the end, but he didn’t ignore Sasha’s question.
“As they moved again, there were many eyes that looked at you with suspicion.”
And with just those two sentences, Sasha grasped the situation immediately.
The Grand Duke’s faction and the Emperor’s faction—the ones who’d survived thanks to Edward’s broad mercy—had gotten carried away and made themselves known.
Are they insane?
So it was because of those bastards.
He didn’t know whether the Grand Duke or the deposed former Emperor had stepped in personally, or whether it was nobles under them, but either way, because of them, only Sasha—who’d been living quietly—got hurt.
If you’re going to die, die alone! Why are you grabbing Sasha by the ankle and dragging him down too?
Why do I have to clean up their shit?
But no matter how unfair it was, Sasha had done what he’d done, so he couldn’t protest.
It crushed his pride to be lumped together with those two, but to Edward, Sasha was a set with the Grand Duke and the former Emperor.
“Do you suspect me?”
“I don’t think you’ll betray me again.”
Really? Then are you sending me back to my territory?
He clung to that threadbare hope, but not a chance.
“But there are still people who view you favorably.”
Favorably?
Who?
Why?
What part of me are they looking at?
Are they out of their minds?
Don’t tell me—because of my face?
Did this damn face cause trouble again?
Everywhere you go, there are people who forgive anything as long as the face is pretty. But at best, those people were all talk—
“I found a faction claiming, in secret, that what you did was justified.”
Sasha bit his tongue at the bolt-from-the-blue. What kind of ridiculous nonsense was that? There were really lunatics like that?
O-okay, as long as they haven’t done anything bad yet—
But the heavens weren’t on Sasha’s side.
“They assaulted commoners who shouted that you were wicked, and hung them from a tree.”
So it was real?
“After confirming you had no involvement… it seems that faction is larger than expected.”
So I can’t send you back to your territory.
The words added on top didn’t feel real at all.
I can’t go back?
If you looked at the situation alone, it wouldn’t have been strange for Edward to cut Sasha’s head off on the spot.
A force supporting someone who’d already once raised a banner of rebellion had appeared again?
It was exactly the kind of situation a newly crowned Emperor would welcome least. What Emperor would just watch the possibility of civil war bloom again?
And yet Edward kept Sasha in the Imperial Palace and only watched him—he wasn’t trying to kill him.
Edward was granting Sasha mercy again.
“Staying in the Imperial Palace, within my sight, will be good for you as well.”
Like the kind protagonist he was.
“I… don’t want to kill you.”
Right? Please let that not be a threat or a warning.
Sasha met Edward’s long, lingering gaze and forced a smile onto his face.
“I will obey.”
It seemed like returning to his territory would take a very long time.
*****
The Emperor’s words were absolute.
You could tell, just by looking at where he was led the moment the meal ended.
Sasha let out a hollow laugh as he stared at a room that looked exactly the same—down to the smallest detail—as the one he’d stayed in only a few hours ago.
“Ha.”
The servants who’d guided him flinched, trembling in fear. But Sasha didn’t have the mental space to worry about anyone else’s feelings. Just accepting what had happened was already overwhelming.
The place Sasha stood in now was truly the palace residence his sister had used. And Sasha’s sister, Ophelia, had been the Empress.
“The Empress’s palace.”
No one would take this as a kindness.
Yes, Sasha’s sister had been the Empress. But how many people had passed through here after that—how could this possibly be called a place of Sasha’s memories?
To begin with, Sasha didn’t even have a memory of visiting the Empress’s palace.
He possessed this body after his sister had died.
So this was a warning Edward was giving Sasha.
The moment he realized it, it finally felt real—his return to the capital, being caught in the whirlpool of politics.
Right. This is what the Imperial Palace was.
A place where every word and action had meaning. A place where you couldn’t even eat comfortably. A place where you couldn’t sleep with peace of mind.
When Sasha let out another short laugh, the servants hurried out of the room, telling him to rest well.
Good. Better that way.
Left alone, Sasha threw himself onto the bed and thrashed around.
I’m screwed. I’m really screwed!
How long am I supposed to stay in the capital?
A month? Half a year? A year?
Maybe even longer than that…
From here on out, Sasha had to continue living under watch in the Imperial Palace—indefinitely.
Why?
Because Sasha was a traitor.
And because humans who supported someone like Sasha had appeared again!
Why are they gathering up on their own?!
At the very least, shouldn’t they get my permission? Shouldn’t they ask my opinion before they gather? Why are they doing things I don’t want, on their own?
As Sasha punched the bed again and again, the documents Edward had given him before he left the dining hall crumpled under his body, and he had no choice but to sit up.
They’re the reports I got this morning.
He wanted to rip them all up and burn them, but he still needed to grasp the situation.
Sasha took a deep breath and tore open the already-crumpled envelope.
The incident had occurred last night, in a back alley in the capital, and as Edward had said, the victim had been found hanging from a tree, beaten into a bloody pulp.
Fortunately, the victim’s life wasn’t in danger, so they were able to obtain a few statements about the perpetrators.
The victim had been walking home after drinking with a friend when they were seized by masked assailants and dragged into the back alley. At first, they thought it was a robbery and handed over everything they had, but that only seemed to provoke the attackers further, and a barrage of indiscriminate violence began.
As the man was brutally beaten by three masked assailants, he only understood why he was being beaten when he was nearly losing consciousness.
[Sir Sasha is not a bad person!]
[Wicked? He made the wrong choice, but he had reasons, too.]
[Anyone can make a mistake once, can’t they? If you really know him, Sir Sasha is a kind man!]
[Say it! Sir Sasha did nothing wrong! Sir Sasha is a face genius!]
Sasha had been reading as emotionlessly as possible, but his brow tightened.
“You’re kidding.”
But this was a real incident—formally reported.
Sasha kept reading the record, so absurd it made him laugh.
“Only after forcing the victim to shout ten times that Sir Sasha did nothing wrong and that he’s a face genius did the assailants finally leave.”
His voice, growing smaller and smaller, was nearly inaudible by the end.
Why was the embarrassment his share?
Sasha stared down at the document, now even more mangled in his hands, and tried to think positively.
“This is the only one like that.”
Of course it is.
He hurried to the next document.
Last night, nonsensical graffiti claiming Sasha Ambrose was an angel and had been falsely accused appeared across the capital.
This morning, a newspaper ran a piece saying Sasha Ambrose had returned, and among the customers who swarmed in to buy the editions printed with Sasha’s portrait, a brawl broke out.
This morning, commoners saw Sasha’s face in the portrait and caused an uproar, gathering in front of the residence that had once been the Ambrose marquessate, shouting that there was no way someone that beautiful could exist in real life.
After checking the final document, Sasha muttered, unimpressed.
“That’s it?”
Aside from the first one, they were all shockingly flimsy. It actually threw him off.
If you really wanted to nitpick, the first incident was dangerous, sure—but there was nothing in it that should be connected to Sasha at all.
Wasn’t it just people bewitched by Sasha’s face, as always, doing insane shit without knowing their limits?
Where was the sign of rebellion in any of this?
It’s not like I’m trying to conquer the world with my face.
Did Edward judge Sasha a threat over this?
“No. No.”
Ha. As if.
Sasha shook his head quickly.
“There’s no way he’d show me everything he knows.”
Not when Sasha had done what he’d done. There was no way Edward would hand over all the information about people who supported him.
Every incident in the reports was dated from last night to today, but even that had to mean something.
“…Right. There’s a reason.”
Sasha erased the suspicious feeling as quickly as he could.
Edward Lacarte wasn’t just anyone.
Sasha’s faith in the protagonist was rock solid.