Chapter 11
Henriette schooled her expression with effort.
The Emperor answered her and Zakhar’s greeting with the same detached gaze as ever, his voice devoid of warmth.
If his indifference toward the Empress irked her, it enraged Zakhar to the brink of losing control.
Henriette placed her hand over his clenched fist, steadying him.
“Zakhar. This is not the time. Endure it.”
The Emperor was not a man to be swayed by whatever face Henriette might turn toward him.
As expected, he ignored her completely and turned instead to give instructions to the attendants.
Zakhar glanced sideways at him without a word, watching as Wilhelm issued orders with meticulous care.
The Emperor was wholly absorbed in ensuring the festival to silence the Empress would proceed without the slightest flaw.
Only after stressing once again that no mistakes would be tolerated did Wilhelm finally approach his wife, who had been standing idly by.
It seemed that his arrogance had been inspired by none other than Madame Augustine.
“Empress.”
“Your Majesty.”
Henriette dipped her head just enough to be polite, greeting him anew.
Zakhar offered the barest nod, a courtesy just sufficient to avoid breach of decorum, before backing away as if loath to be in Wilhelm’s presence.
“I shall take my leave.”
Henriette gave him a small nod, then looked up at the Emperor.
For the briefest moment, his golden eyes flicked toward Zakhar, yet it did not trouble her.
Bringing a consort into the palace at such a time was, admittedly, a move calculated to provoke suspicion, but since it did not break the strictures of the Imperial code, no one could press her further.
“Were you out walking, Empress?”
“Yes. The air is unusually clear today, so I took a pleasant stroll in the gardens with Zakhar.”
“If you have no engagements after noon, would you walk with me instead? Alone.”
He seemed to place a slight emphasis on the word “alone’.
Though doubtful of his intent, Henriette inclined her head readily.
It was, after all, most likely for the benefit of watching nobles and attendants.
“With pleasure, Your Majesty.”
Sensing the cue, the quick-witted attendants withdrew at once.
For the first time in a long while, the Emperor and Empress walked together.
By habit, their steps led them toward the small garden with the gazebo, a place they had often visited in their early days of marriage.
Back then, climbing roses had bloomed in the spring sunlight; now, they withered in the chill, baring only thorns, as if mirroring the state of their hearts.
They sat, and silence settled between them, so taut it was hard to believe they were husband and wife.
A few brief words about administrative matters passed between them before the conversation faltered again.
Then Wilhelm spoke once more.
“Empress.”
“Yes, Your Majesty. Please speak.”
“Since your resurrection… I believe this is the first time we have spoken privately.”
Henriette nearly let out a laugh at the absurdity, but masked it with a faint cough.
“Much has happened. There was no shortage of work awaiting me after my long absence, and I have been busy fulfilling my duties.”
“The weight of state affairs has been pressing upon you, then.”
“It is only natural, as Empress of Elhide.”
Her firm reply narrowed his eyes.
“Did you see the preparations in the ballroom earlier? As you know, everything for this festival has been chosen to suit your dignity, without regard for cost.”
“I did. Even the smallest ornament was crafted with remarkable care. Your taste is most impressive.”
“It is all for you, is it not? If you smile before the people, not only I but all the subjects of the Empire will rejoice.”
“I am humbled by Your Majesty’s thoughtfulness. Yet the grief of losing their Empress once is not something the people will soon forget.”
Her tone remained unchanged, and Wilhelm felt an unbidden surge of anger and hatred toward her.
Henriette Neva Ortensia.
So she had indeed guessed the true purpose of this festival.
He had thought her wits dulled when she suddenly brought a consort into the palace after her return from death. Yet the woman before him remained as vexing as ever.
“Who could fail to praise the beauty of a resurrected Empress? I hear the tailor visited a few days ago. Did you place an order to your liking?”
“With such care from Your Majesty, I feel your devotion. The couple’s skill is unmatched; the dress will be magnificent. As it is for me to wear, they worked with all diligence. If I find any changes are needed, I will inform them through Charlotte. But…”
“Speak, Empress.”
“No garment in this world could be more beautiful than the shroud Your Majesty once chose for me.”
Her words, delivered as if in praise, twisted his expression.
Henriette caught the faint, crooked lift of his lips.
He knew exactly what to say to wound her.
“Empress, are you aware of the talk among the courtiers regarding our conjugal life?”
Their gazes locked, sharp as drawn blades.
“It is no secret you cherish Emilia, but should we not think of an heir? I hear an unsavoury rumour that you cry out in her chamber every night. I trust it is false.”
Henriette’s blood turned to ice.
How dare he speak Emilia’s name with that foul mouth? Had he ever once treated her and Emilia as wife and daughter?
It was as if an old scar had been torn open.
Wilhelm uttered such shamelessness without the slightest change of colour.
“If there is one thing I like about you, Wilhelm, it is this. It makes it all the easier to despise you without restraint.”
She was certain now: it had been Wilhelm who killed her.
She remembered well the words he had whispered over her lifeless body.
“Your place is not by my side, Henriette. I am glad you have accepted my last gift.”
Even now, the voice that rejoiced in her death seemed to echo in her ears.
“An heir… yes, of course.”
She smiled, almost beautifully.
“Then this time, I hope you will raise the child in love without the slightest doubt, even if that child has blue eyes.”
“What do you mean?”
“Your Majesty, I shall take my leave. It seems Sir Zakhar Heil has been waiting outside the garden for quite some time.”
Henriette rose with a graceful smile.
Wilhelm glared after her retreating figure, then, grasping her meaning, flushed with rage.
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“You are more foolish than I thought. Must an Empress endure such insolence?”
Zakhar rested his chin on his hand, his expression sour.
Henriette, the very subject of that “insolence’, sipped her tea with an unruffled face.
“And to hunt during this wretched festival? Arrogant fool. Since when has killing life been a sport?”
Wilhelm had always enjoyed the hunt, yet to take life during a festival meant to honour the Empress was a provocation, a warning that her own life lay in his hands to take at will.
Perhaps because she had no expectation of him, or because her gaze toward him was already steeped in hatred, Henriette found it bitter but unsurprising.
Even with Zakhar by her side now, she knew this place could too easily become her second grave.
Studying her calm face, Zakhar shifted the topic.
“By the way, what was that about the Archduke’s land earlier?”
Henriette returned from her thoughts.
“Ah, yes. That was business between Wilhelm and me. It seems Archduke Aubert, the late Emperor’s brother, has gone bankrupt, and the lands he held have been claimed by the Crown. Wilhelm and I have each been granted a portion.”
Aubert, Wilhelm’s uncle, was as extravagant as he was ignorant, unworthy of his rank. Even after being excluded from the line of succession, he had declared himself the next Emperor, a jest whispered among the people.
Though given a sizable domain to govern, his misrule kept his subordinates constantly scrambling to mend the damage. This time, it seemed, the burden had been too great.
“So you have land now? That sounds like good fortune.”
“Perhaps… but I am not sure I can call it that. I was given Conhill.”
“Conhill? Where is that?”
Henriette rose and fetched a large map, spreading it across her desk.
She pointed to a spot north of Elhide’s capital, Botain, marked with the name.
“Here. It has long been known as a harsh, inhospitable place.”
Unlike temperate Botain, Conhill’s weather was severe. In winter, snow fell almost daily, and storms often claimed lives.
With its barren terrain and poor soil, it yielded few crops. Its only advantages were low taxes and little interference from the central government.
A gift in name only, it was nothing but wasteland.
“It is also home to many displaced and impoverished people. I hardly know where to begin.”
Zakhar listened in unusual silence, lost in thought.
“Are you even listening, Zakhar?”
“I am. And I am telling you, Conhill is no wasteland. It is a treasure trove.”
“What do you mean?”
He tapped the map twice over Conhill.
“Many greedy dragons made their lairs there. Which means they buried plenty of “collections” deep in caves and underground. If you dig deeper than usual, you will find minerals your kind prizes. Strange for me to say it, but there it is.”
Henriette’s eyes widened.
Wilhelm, oblivious to such knowledge, had all but handed her a vault of riches.
The so-called wasteland of Conhill held far more potential than any human guessed.
A faint smile touched her lips.
“Zakhar, you once asked how I meant to take my revenge. I will do it with elegance, not pettiness.”
“Elegance?”
“Yes. Elegance.”
