How the Romance Fantasy Male Lead Avoids Flags (2)
Right, time to think this through. I'd just been talking with the emperor. And from the offhand remarks he tossed out like jokes, I'd picked up some bad vibes. The sudden buddy-buddy act was one thing. Even if it was meant as humor, he kept treating me like a potential rebel. So I'd laid it all out honestly—my real goal. Turn my army into a Prussian-style war machine and march straight into monster territory to wipe them out preemptively. A grand vision of preventive war to uproot the threat entirely.
Of course, I knew that sounded like pie-in-the-sky nonsense in this world. Like Columbus announcing he'd sail across the Atlantic to India. If I pulled it off, it'd shake the empire like the discovery of the New World rocked Europe. But with my historical knowledge, what couldn't I achieve?
Anyway, I'd just solemnly revealed my true ambitions, ready for a frank heart-to-heart. Then...
'His youngest daughter... sixteen...?'
Yeah, that threw me. A bit. Sure, sixteen was marriageable age here. But tying the knot with the emperor? That felt off—some primal aversion kicking in. And what justification was there for marrying off his airheaded youngest to me? I pondered it deeply, but no clear answer emerged.
I stared blankly at the emperor, and he shot back, "What's with that look? Like you still don't get it."
"I truly don't understand, Your Majesty."
"You've got a knack for training troops, but politics? Not so much, it seems, Grand Duke. Listen closely—I'll explain."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"Grand Duke, if you marry my youngest daughter, what relation would that make us?"
"Privately speaking, father- and son-in-law."
"Exactly. We'd be one family. Not this distant blood tie we have now. The empire's nobles are all cousins a degree or two removed anyway."
"Hmm..."
"From then on, we'd be in the same boat—fully committed. Do you follow?"
"Yes, I grasp the general meaning behind Your Majesty's words."
I nodded. Basically, once we're in the same boat, he wouldn't have to worry about me stabbing him in the back. Fair enough. Blood is thicker than water, but power blinds even parents to their children—what's a father-in-law to a son-in-law? History's full of examples without needing specifics.
Still, marriage alliances had their perks. If I ever rebelled, I'd be branded the son-in-law who usurped his father-in-law's throne—reputation in the gutter. It'd undermine any legitimacy I claimed. Effective enough.
As I nodded along, the emperor gestured with his chin. "And this would be a state marriage, me sending off an imperial princess. Who'd dare object if I make the dowry generous?"
"It's a private matter—whoever complains is the real oddity. Round up those malcontents griping about Your Majesty's every move as rebels."
"Precisely."
The emperor nodded vigorously. "Personally, I find your goal awfully vague. No one's tried it for a reason. I won't pry into details you haven't shared."
"If there's no road, we'll make one. Can't stick to the easy paths others blazed forever."
"That's exactly why you need this political marriage. Whatever the other nobles say, I could back your plans under the dowry pretext."
Ah, got it. Crystal clear now. Impressive, really. A lifetime in the political trenches had honed him sharp. If I wasn't plotting to club him over the head, the upsides were massive.
End the northern threat. Bolster ties with the pro-imperial Berg family via marriage. Weaken rival nobles relatively. Expand territory beyond the Great Wall—even if it was Siberian wasteland, it was still imperial land. Four big wins from one marriage, assuming no betrayal on my end.
Using his youngest as a bargaining chip like that? Pure master of intrigue. In the original story, he'd been a frail backdrop figure, raising princely brats like a beggar.
I eyed him anew, and he met my gaze like, Finally get it, you blockhead? before asking, "So, what's your take, Grand Duke? Speak freely if you have thoughts."
"Hm..."
The choice was back in my court. Sudden proposal. I weighed quick acceptance against refusal.
Theoretically, win-win—if neither backstabbed the other. I had no plans to, but the emperor clubbing me? Worth considering. Judge Bao's iron clues in Po Qing Tian came with Song Taizu's immunity—letting culprits walk. Zhu Yuanzhang? No such mercy. He handed them out to meritocrats, then purged them wholesale when convenient—not just three clans, but nine. His son, the Yongle Emperor, outdid dad with ten.
Cooperation benefited both, but his insistent gaze felt like pressure. I spoke up. "Your Majesty's offer is deeply appreciated, but such weighty matters aren't decided lightly."
"Mm."
"Even as family head, I can't commit without consulting my retainers. May I discuss it fully and reply later?"
"Fair enough. Factoring in messenger travel, half a year suffice?"
"Yes, Your Majesty. No later than that for a firm answer."
"See my youngest's face at the Founding Festival, then. Not just fatherly bias—she's quite the beauty."
"Yes."
"I turned heads as a handsome youth myself, twin pillars with your father—ahem. Embarrassing to say it myself. She takes after me, anyway. Hear it from others later."
Er, uh. The heavy mood evaporated with my deferral. From cool politician back to chummy old man with a near-stranger. Emperor shape-shifted like a chameleon.
I managed a stiff nod, masking discomfort. No imperial dignity in sight, but recalling his earlier sharpness... Yeah, it was all facade. Had to be, to rule.
Made me want it even less. As I turned to leave the reception room, a thought struck me. "Your Majesty."
"More to say?"
"Separate from your proposal—you still owe me building funds."
"..."
"Training takes real money. A proper facility for skilled staff officers could save your poor subjects' blood in the field."
"...Five thousand ducats enough?"
"I'll build with those five thousand and erect Your Majesty's bust out front. Inscribe it: 'Erected with His Imperial Majesty's gracious gold.' No worries."
"I'll add five hundred more—full statue, not bust. Busts lack gravitas."
"Noted."
That was that. Take what's owed. Closing the door, I swear he grumbled about "miserly merchant" or somesuch. Imagination, probably.
The imperial capital saw hundreds of carriages daily. More so with the Founding Festival looming.
One entered via the main gate avenue. As a guard stepped forward to inspect—like with Estiang earlier—
"Hey, kid. Don't."
"Pardon?"
A senior guard grabbed the junior's collar, shaking his head. "Check the crest."
"The crest? Oh."
He spotted it late: white field, shield, red cross.
"Iliad Duke's house. Basic inspection's protocol, right?"
"Skip it. Better to wave Iliad through. Duke himself isn't aboard anyway."
"Then it's fine to—"
"I'm saying this for your sake. Don't. Unless you want a slap like I once got for doing my job."
The senior smirked wryly. The junior blinked in confusion as the carriage rolled past.
How much farther it went, until carriages couldn't proceed. There, the Iliad carriage halted.
Clack-clack.
The door opened. Clacking heels announced a woman descending.
Vivid crimson hair, sharp as a blade's edge. Pale green eyes, fierce impression—yet glamorous. Beautiful, but thorny, like a rose with hidden barbs.
"What a hassle."
She muttered flatly. Helena Iliad. Iliad Duke's pampered jewel, famed empire-wide as Iliad's Rose. Not just for beauty—her foul temper too, a minor flaw.
"Sun's harsh. Hat."
"Yes, milady."
Hand extended, her maid promptly offered a wide-brimmed hat, which Helena donned.
"When's Father arriving?"
"The Duke said evening, after business."
"Evening? Late. Fine, I'll head in and rest."
True to her willful nature, she strode toward the grand Imperial Palace. Maid and escort knights hurried after their capricious charge.
Announcing the villainess's flashy entrance.