Grand Opening (8)
The train station the morning after the grand opening was a whirlwind of activity. To be precise, the only ones rushing about were the servants and station staff attending to the glamorous guests from the previous night. Their masters lounged comfortably in their private cars, waiting for departure, while the platform thrummed with the clamor of luggage being loaded and the train’s tenders being filled with coal and magic stones.
Mikhail stood before the massive steel locomotive as it belched clouds of steam, bidding farewell to Clement and Liliana.
“Misha. This really is goodbye,” Clement said, patting Mikhail’s shoulder with genuine regret etched across his face.
Mikhail answered with a grin full of mischief. “If you’re that attached to me… you know what to do, right, brother?” He winked theatrically.
Clement, catching the exact meaning, let out a bright laugh. “Hahaha! Of course I do. I understand perfectly. I’ll push hard to revise or outright abolish that dusty old law. If my little brother wants to import some booze by train and enjoy it, that’s the least I can do.”
“You’re the only one I can rely on. Thank you.” Mikhail bowed his head. A grateful smile played on his lips, but inside his head the gears were spinning along an entirely different track.
Maybe… it wouldn’t be so bad if Clement became emperor?
When he thought about it, it was the best possible outcome. Anastasia—that psychotic, sadistic bitch—was a thousand times worse. Nothing could be more horrifying than serving a lunatic who murdered innocent people on a whim as the ruler of the empire.
Dmitri. That mentheura fascist bastard would be even worse. Living under a Hitler-Stalin hybrid would feel like suffocating every single day.
Vladimir. That barbaric, womanizing nomadic warlord wasn’t even worth considering. If a man whose brain contained nothing but war, women, and plunder took the throne, the empire would immediately pivot to expansionism. And the bridgehead for that conquest would almost certainly be the Far East Maritime Province.
Compared to those three, the benevolent Clement was the perfect candidate. He didn’t even seem to be putting on an act; his character already far exceeded the passing grade. His maternal family, the Albrecht Duchy, was the most prestigious house in the empire, giving him rock-solid backing. And if he married the Saintess Liliana on top of that? Game over.
Those two had been the male and female leads of the original novel anyway, so they were bound to end up together one way or another.
Yeah. Clement becoming emperor is the best outcome.
Mikhail reached his conclusion internally. Maybe he should just declare his support right here and now? No… it was still too early. Announcing his allegiance this soon would be the same as playing the pathetic defeated heroine in a romantic comedy. Better to keep cultivating their personal relationship like this…
Having finished his thoughts, Mikhail spread his arms wide. Clement looked surprised for a moment, then smiled brightly and pulled his younger brother into a powerful hug. Mikhail patted his brother’s back and whispered softly into his ear.
“Make sure you invite me to the wedding, brother.”
During Clement’s stay in the Far East Maritime Province, Mikhail had given him several pieces of advice on how to win over that prickly Saintess. Since he had referenced the original novel Blood, Lilies, and the Double-Headed Eagle, the tips were guaranteed to be effective.
“Ah, of course, of course. Thank you so much, Misha,” Clement replied, his voice thick with emotion.
At that moment, Liliana, who had been quietly watching the two of them, furrowed her brow slightly and asked, “It’s wonderful to see such deep brotherly affection, but… what exactly have you two been whispering about all this time?”
Her eyes held equal parts suspicion and curiosity.
Mikhail smirked. “Oh, it’s just guy talk. No need for the Saintess to concern herself with it.”
Liliana’s lips immediately puckered into a pout. “I see. Of course it is.” She gave a curt reply, spun on her heel, and boarded the train first. Her sulking was obvious.
Clement offered an awkward farewell. “Well then, I really must be going. It was truly enjoyable, Misha. I hope… we can meet again in the capital.”
“Have a safe trip, brother!” Mikhail called out with a deep bow.
Then, raising his voice once more toward Liliana, who was glaring at him through the train window, he added, “And you as well, sister-in-law! Have a safe journey!”
In that instant, a faint glow of divine power shimmered above the pale fist visible through the window.
Anastasia’s salon was thick with fragrance. The sweet, heavy smoke of water pipes, the sharp bite of expensive cigars, and beneath it all, the faint, underlying scent of opium. Crimson velvet walls and gold-leafed furniture gleamed with sensual light under the soft magical illumination. Low whispers and suppressed laughter never ceased throughout the room. Young nobles sprawled on sofas with glazed eyes, high officials engaged in grave secret discussions, and beautiful attendants weaving between them like butterflies, refilling wine glasses. This was the most extravagant, exclusive, and decadent space in the entire empire.
And at the center of it all sat the 2nd Princess Anastasia herself.
Reclining languidly on a chaise, Anastasia looked down with bored eyes at the hulking man prostrated at her feet. Truffles, caviar, foie gras. The upstart tycoon who had monopolized the empire’s finest ingredients and built a fortune from them—Big Jack Horner. In the markets, merely hearing his name made men tremble, yet at this moment he was nothing more than a dog.
“Your Highness.” Jack’s voice was wet with lust and reverence. He pressed his lips to the top of Anastasia’s snow-white foot in an act of utmost piety. “May I… speak?”
Instead of answering, Anastasia twitched one long, pale finger. Permission granted. Jack’s face melted into ecstasy at even that tiny gesture as he began recounting everything he had seen and experienced in the Far East Maritime Province. The layout of the newly built resort, the bizarre events held there, and the identities of every distinguished guest. His report was meticulous and precise.
“In conclusion… the 7th Prince Mikhail poses no threat whatsoever to the imperial throne,” Jack declared. “He merely built himself a playground and is rolling around inside it like a child. He is certainly not someone who would dare disturb Your Highness’s peace of mind.”
No interest in the throne?
Anastasia scoffed inwardly. Of course not. He was the same even when that mother of his, Alexandra, was still alive.
That mother and son had never shown the slightest interest in power. A political threat? Such a thing had never existed. Even so.
She truly, deeply hated them.
Separate from the fact that they posed no threat, whenever she saw them flaunting their affection, an inexplicable disgust would crawl up from the depths of her chest. That was why she had tried to kill them. The result had been only half a success. She had killed the mother, Alexandra, but the son had survived.
Yet perhaps that half-success had actually been an even greater triumph.
After his mother’s death, Mikhail had completely shattered. Drowning himself in alcohol, throwing violent tantrums, destroying himself in rage and despair. Ah, it had been a truly beautiful sight. Just remembering it made the space between her legs grow damp. No priceless jewel, no lavish dress, no sweet delicacy, no handsome man in her bed could give her greater pleasure than that.
The one work she had carefully ruined—no, the one masterpiece she had created. That was Mikhail.
But after being exiled from the capital and driven off to his territory in the Far East Maritime Province, he had launched all sorts of businesses… even that Tourism Special Zone development project, and had eventually made a spectacular comeback right before her eyes.
Could it be… that it was all an act from the very beginning?
The moment that thought crossed her mind, the displeasure of seeing a flaw in her own masterpiece, or perhaps the humiliation of possibly having been deceived by that worthless slave spawn’s performance, surged up violently. Anastasia’s eyebrows twitched faintly.
But the anger lasted only a moment. She quickly regained her composure. A faint smile even rose to her lips.
It’s fine.
She could simply break him again. She had done it once before. There was no reason she couldn’t do it a second time. The question was how to ruin him this time.
Using those two women—his fiancée from the Valeriano Trading Company and that Jugashvili bureaucrat—didn’t sound bad. People tended to shatter horribly when betrayed by what they held dear.
But it wasn’t satisfying enough. Too ordinary. What if she simply kidnapped them, pumped them full of drugs, and reduced them to drooling wrecks who licked her feet? Then she could show that sight to Mikhail. Selling them to a brothel would be amusing too. Once-proud, capable, and beautiful women reduced to the lowest of the low, becoming playthings for countless men. And Mikhail realizing it was all his fault, collapsing in sobs. Just imagining it filled her with delight.
“Haa.”
Anastasia let out a satisfied sigh and languidly rose from her seat. She whispered softly to Jack, who remained prostrated at her feet.
“Jack.”
“Y-yes! Your Highness!”
“Turn off the lights, would you?”
Jack hurriedly stood and began extinguishing the magical lights throughout the room. The salon plunged into darkness in an instant. Only the faint moonlight seeping in from the windows outlined the silhouettes of the two figures.
Anastasia slowly approached Jack through the gloom.
“And… help me take off my clothes.”
The moment her words brushed past his ear, the sound of Jack swallowing hard echoed loudly in the darkness.