No Need to Leave It Be
The Imperial Chancellery was the organ that oversaw the entirety of the Empire's administration.
Kay Price, who had become Chancellor in the wake of Marianne's rebellion, was working himself to the bone to restore the nation to working order. His favorite disciple — a man even whispered about as a candidate for the next Chancellor — was James Rector. And the moment James Rector returned to his mansion, he was throwing a fit.
The servants stood frozen solid, barely daring to breathe. Their master's outbursts had grown markedly worse of late.
James Rector had been a cleric before becoming Kay Price's disciple, but he had never possessed so much as a scrap of mercy or compassion. What he did possess was a vicious inferiority complex and a bottomless hunger for power. That was precisely why he had crawled into a place like the Empire, sidled up to an old man like Kay Price, and spent years playing the part of a diligent student.
A very long time, in fact. Which was why, when Kay Price had suddenly thrown in with the rebellion, James had despaired that it was all over. But fortune had smiled: the rebellion succeeded, and opportunity came knocking.
Perhaps that was why. Things he could once grit his teeth and endure for the sake of his goals had become far harder to tolerate now that he actually held power.
"You! Get over here!"
"Eek!"
James Rector seized one of the mansion's maids and dragged her forcibly up to his room. He figured that if he could just work off his urges, the humiliation he'd suffered recently might settle a little.
Unfortunately for him — and fortunately for the maid — someone was already waiting in his chambers.
"Don't do anything filthy. Let her go."
"Tch."
At the words of the man in the dark hood, James Rector clicked his tongue and released the maid. Once she had gathered her disheveled clothes and fled, the hooded man rebuked him.
"I told you before not to do that kind of thing, didn't I?"
"What I do with my own maids is none of your business."
James Rector snapped back angrily, but when a murderous gaze returned to him, he couldn't get another word out. The hooded man let out a long sigh.
"Watch your behavior until Kay Price is dead and you become Chancellor. That old man might look the other way, but the Empress will never tolerate your garbage."
The man held out his hand, and James Rector opened his bag and passed over a thick bundle of documents — records of the imperial administrative information handled by the Chancellery. But as the hooded man skimmed the papers, he frowned.
"What is this? Nothing's changed from last month."
"Can't be helped. If I try to pull any more information, they'll know it's me immediately."
The hooded man felt a powerful impulse to take this piece of trash's head off right then and there. Long experience had taught him that whenever James Rector turned uncooperative, it meant he wanted something.
Unfortunately, he couldn't kill James Rector. The man had been a common, incompetent spy — but after the Empress's rebellion succeeded, he had become an indispensable asset to them.
The hooded man clenched his teeth and asked again.
"What do you want?"
"I like how you get straight to the point. Don't worry. I just need you to kill one person."
The way James Rector smiled afterward was so repulsive that the man had to fight back not only rage, but nausea.
Marianne lay in bed, turning her head to look at the clock on the nightstand. The magical instrument, which told the time clearly even in darkness, informed her that a full hour had passed since she'd retired. That fact only fanned her discontent further.
She turned her head the other way. A bed that hadn't existed until yesterday came into view. The Emperor's bedchamber was wider than most family homes, so the addition of one more bed didn't make it feel cramped in the slightest.
Marianne, who had always gone straight to sleep after finishing her work, had never held any particular opinions about her own bedroom. But perhaps because Isaac, lying in the bed right next to hers, felt strangely distant — today the room seemed unnecessarily vast. She was muttering inwardly at the palace builders, who would have found the complaint deeply unfair if they'd heard it, when she realized the true source of her dissatisfaction lay elsewhere.
Isaac is the problem, after all.
Marianne sat up and glared at the neighboring bed. Her husband, utterly oblivious to his wife's feelings, was enjoying his sleep — snoring, even.
After dinner, the sight of Isaac organizing the materials she'd given him had been incredibly attractive. It was a different kind of attractive from when he'd faced the Black Knight — the sight of a man at work had squeezed her heart tight. But once the work was done, Isaac had tried to leave again. Even though she'd told him several times that as her escort, he should stay glued to her side.
Angry, Marianne had impulsively told him that from now on they would sleep together. Isaac had asked, half in disbelief, whether she meant they would be sharing a bed. She told him it wasn't like that.
Once again, the excuse was escort duty. Marianne had cited the reason that one was most vulnerable while sleeping, then belatedly felt embarrassed — while Isaac had simply accepted it. They immediately had the servants bring in a top-quality extra bed and decided to sleep in the same room. Marianne's heart had felt like it would burst, but she'd feigned composure, washed thoroughly, changed clothes, and lain down.
Which brought her to now.
This is ridiculous. How can he not lay a single finger on me when his lovely wife is lying right next to him?
It had been an impulsive outburst, so she hadn't been prepared at all. But when truly nothing happened, irritation set in instead.
Don't tell me I'm not attractive?
The irritation cycled until she arrived at a rather pessimistic thought, but she immediately rejected the hypothesis. Even she, who had never experienced love, had eyes.
I should be more beautiful than any woman Isaac has ever been with.
To become Emperor, and even after becoming Emperor, Marianne had never skipped her training. What had begun as a means of survival had already become a part of her life. Her body, which she'd continued to train even through her frantic schedule, was excellent even by her own assessment. Both her proportions and her balance were close to perfect, and yet her chest and hips still made their presence thoroughly known.
There had been a time when she'd hated them as useless lumps of fat that only got in the way, but that was already a story of the past. She now understood that the more means one had of drawing a certain man's gaze, the better. What's more, she was currently at the peak of her beauty — her youngest and prettiest years. The golden age of womanhood, in other words.
So why won't he touch me, then?!
She couldn't understand Isaac, who had held all kinds of women and yet wouldn't so much as twitch a finger toward her. Asking if it was a conjugal night had been the first and only time. There had been no approaching her, no subtle seduction.
At this point she wondered if she should just pounce on him herself, and it wasn't as though she had no such inclination, but...
...I-it's embarrassing!
A virgin like her couldn't possibly have that kind of courage. She didn't even know how to start in the first place. The charisma of an Empress who commanded and was obeyed by all was of no help whatsoever in this moment.
In the end, Marianne had to stay up the entire night with her eyes wide open.
"That hurts, Marianne. It really hurts."
For the past few days — that is, ever since I'd started sleeping in the same room as Marianne — she had been kicking my legs whenever she got the chance, from the moment she woke up until she returned to the bedroom.
At first it was just little pokes with the toe of her shoe, more cute than painful. But as the days passed, Marianne's kicking evolved. It seemed to grow stronger and stronger, until today she started throwing proper low kicks. Marianne's kicks were a far cry from the physical ability of an ordinary woman, so they actually hurt quite a bit.
Of course, if I tensed my leg even slightly when they landed, I wouldn't feel a thing — but then Marianne's kicking leg would hurt, so I had no choice but to just take it.
"Can't you at least tell me why you're hitting me?"
"...Hmph."
Even when I asked for a reason, she just turned her head away, still sulking. It was cute, but I wished she'd understand the state of mind I was in every night when I closed my eyes. Having my wife within arm's reach and not being allowed to touch her before I slept. It was torture so agonizing I wanted to scream at someone to just kill me already.
If I hadn't learned to sleep anywhere thanks to rolling around on battlefields, I might actually have died.
Holding back a sigh, I was working in the office with Marianne when she spoke first.
"How's the bait? Any bites?"
"There are some, but nothing on the one we actually want yet."
Coyle was diligently flirting with the wives of high-ranking officials, per my orders. So diligently, in fact, that a few of them had come to me in secret to lodge roundabout complaints. Of course, that wasn't the only thing we were doing to root out the traitor. We were investigating everything happening in the Imperial Capital, including movements in the underworld, but there hadn't been any particularly notable results.
"At this point I'm starting to wonder if there's even a traitor at all."
I said this while rolling my neck, stiff from having my head down for so long, when Marianne, who had been thinking about something, spoke up.
"He'll take the bait soon enough, don't you think?"
"Coyle, you mean?"
Surprisingly, Marianne was looking quite favorably on my plan to use Coyle to provoke the upper ranks. Even I, who'd given the order, didn't have particularly high expectations.
"Nothing makes people more irrational than jealousy."
I was about to say I could see that, when someone urgently knocked on the office door. The moment Marianne granted permission to enter, it was none other than Haria who came in. It felt like I hadn't seen her in quite a while.
"Please forgive me for failing to observe proper etiquette. The matter is urgent."
When I asked Haria, who was bowing her head in apology to Marianne, what was going on, she answered quickly.
"Coyle is under attack. Derigan and Gina are currently responding—"
"Lead the way."
The Hounds had officially become Marianne's Direct Escort Guard the day after finishing their move a few days ago. Meaning whoever was attacking likely knew they were the Direct Escort Guard and was doing it anyway. More importantly, if Derigan and Gina — who had been assigned to protect Coyle — were actively responding, these weren't just some random thugs.
So it actually worked.
"You were right, Marianne. I'll be back in a bit."
"Be careful."
When I left, the other Hounds would protect Marianne. Unless something like the Black Knight showed up, ordinary enemies shouldn't be a problem. I ran outside with Haria.
"Hmm."
After Isaac left, Marianne set down her pen for a moment. Isaac cared about his subordinates, so of course he would rush out when they were in danger. That was fine. But one thing bothered her.
What was that look Haria gave me just now?
Marianne recalled the hostility from when she'd taken in Haria after killing the family members who had come to assassinate her on the Sika Clan's orders — but she soon shook her head.
This is a different flavor entirely.
It wasn't simple killing intent. Especially the emotion Haria had inadvertently revealed when Isaac called Marianne's name as he left... it was almost like...
Don't tell me.
Haria had despised and loathed Isaac. It had seemed to improve over time, but even until recently, when she'd been delivering reports to Marianne, she hadn't seemed to hold particularly good feelings toward him. So it was just a suspicion. An extremely unlikely possibility, she thought.
Leaving something that bothers me alone would be foolish. It would only get in the way of my observation.
Having organized her thoughts, Marianne picked up her pen again.