Chapter 82: Chapter-82

On the other side of the palace, in a large room—though calling it a “room” was an understatement—there was what could only be described as a private apartment. It had its own separate kitchen, bathroom, living room, dining room, and even a small balcony overlooking the gardens. It couldn’t be called a guest wing or a palace annex because it was technically still ’part’ of the palace, accessible through a single ornate door. But once you stepped inside, it transformed into something entirely different: a self-contained, almost modern living space.

This was the place the previous Emperor had built specifically for his beloved sister—Heena’s aunt. And this was also one of the very few places in the entire palace where ’no one’—not ministers, not servants, not even Heena herself—was allowed to enter without explicit permission.

And right now, six men stood in a neat, miserable line inside that apartment.

Five of them had been summoned.

The sixth had just been ’dragged’ in and unceremoniously thrown toward the others.

Estov stumbled, caught himself, and quickly straightened, taking his place at the end of the line beside Damien, who shot him a sideways glance that said, ’Welcome to hell.’

The Duchess sat in a high-backed chair near the window, a cup of tea resting elegantly in one hand. Her maid—a woman with the same cold, unyielding expression as her mistress—stood quietly to the side, hands folded, eyes forward.

The Duchess did not look at them immediately.

She took a slow sip of her tea, letting the silence stretch until it became uncomfortable, then unbearable.

Finally, she set the cup down with a soft ’clink’.

“You,” she said, still not looking at them, “the so-called heroes. Perhaps you have forgotten, but now you use the royal family name. You are married into this house. And just as a married daughter is like spilled water—irretrievable, no longer part of her birth family—the same applies to sons-in-law.” [1]

She turned her gaze on them at last, sharp and assessing.

“You are also like spilled water,” she continued. “You belong to ’this’ family now. Not your old houses. Not your territories. Here.”

All five of them gritted their teeth and lowered their heads.

They were scared of this woman. That was the truth none of them would admit out loud. She wasn’t the Empress. She held no official title beyond “Duchess” and “Imperial Envoy.” But the favor the previous Emperor had shown her was so immense, so public, that even biological siblings would have envied it. And she had ’never’ tolerated their nonsense, not once, not ever.

No matter how much power they wielded outside these walls, inside this room, they were nothing more than sons-in-law who had failed their duties.

The Duchess took another sip of tea, then set her gaze on Kieran.

“You,” she said. “Instead of running around chasing glory with your military campaigns and acting so high and mighty, why don’t you actually ’look’ at the people in your territory?”

Kieran’s jaw tightened. He spoke, voice low but edged with defensiveness. “I ’am’ trying—”

“’Shut up.’”

The command cracked through the room like a whip.

Kieran’s mouth snapped shut.

The Duchess looked at him coldly, her expression carved from ice.

“First,” she said, voice measured and deliberate, “I apologize if my tone sounds rude. But right now, you are in the imperial palace. Right now, I am your mother-in-law by marriage. So I think I have every right to speak to you in whatever tone I see fit.”

She leaned forward slightly.

“Second,” she continued, “don’t you ’dare’ try to throw your weight around here. I am not Celeste. I am definitely not your employees, your subordinates, or your so-called lover who will sit quietly and believe every piece of nonsense that comes out of your mouth.”

Kieran’s fists clenched at his sides, but he said nothing.

The Duchess shifted her gaze to Adrian.

“And you,” she said. “The scholar. The duke with all the answers. Tell me—why is it that the northern territories under your command have seen three grain shortages in two years, yet your personal estate grows wealthier every season?”

Adrian’s face went pale behind his glasses. “That’s—there were supply chain issues—”

“There were ’corruption’ issues,” the Duchess corrected. “And you either didn’t notice, which makes you incompetent, or you ’did’ notice and chose to profit from it, which makes you complicit.”

Adrian opened his mouth, closed it, then bowed his head.

She turned to Lucian next.

“General,” she said. “War hero. Scarred and stoic. How noble.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm. “And yet your soldiers whisper that you care more about your reputation than their lives. That you send them into battles you wouldn’t fight yourself anymore.”

Lucian’s jaw worked, but he didn’t speak.

Then Raphael.

“Priest,” the Duchess said softly, and somehow that soft tone was worse than the others. “Holy man. Keeper of faith. And yet you spend more time in private prayer than tending to the people who come to your temple begging for guidance. Tell me—what god do you serve, exactly? Yourself?”

Raphael’s violet eyes dropped to the floor, fingers tightening on his rosary.

Finally, Damien.

“And you,” she said. “The spy. The shadow. The man who knows everything and does nothing unless it benefits him.” She tilted her head. “Tell me, Damien—how many secrets have you sold in the last year? How many pieces of information have you traded while pretending to serve the throne?”

Damien’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes flickered, just once.

The Duchess sat back, satisfied.

“You five,” she said, “have spent three years treating this empire like your personal playground. You married the Empress, took her titles, took her resources, and then had the audacity to treat her like a decorative object while you ran around playing hero with that ridiculous girl.”

She set her teacup down with a sharp ’clink’.

“And now,” she said, “you will fix it. Or I will make sure the next generation remembers your names as cautionary tales.”

Silence.

Then she turned her gaze to Estov, who had been standing very, very still at the end of the line, hoping to be forgotten.

“And ’you’,” she said.

Estov’s spine went rigid.

“The fiancé,” the Duchess said, eyes narrowing. “Tell me—what exactly is your role here? Entertainment? Distraction? Spy?”

Estov opened his mouth.

The Duchess raised a hand.

“Choose your next words ’very’ carefully,” she advised.

Estov swallowed, glanced briefly at the five men beside him—all of whom looked equally miserable—and decided honesty was his only chance of survival.

“Support,” he said simply. “I’m here to support Her Majesty in whatever capacity she needs.”

The Duchess studied him for a long moment.

Then, to everyone’s shock, she smiled.

“Good answer,” she said. “You may stay.”

Estov exhaled.

“The rest of you,” she continued, turning back to the husbands, “are dismissed. Go back to your wings. Think about what I’ve said. And if I hear ’one more whisper’ about any of you disrespecting the Empress, treating her orders as suggestions, or running to comfort that foolish girl—”

She didn’t finish the sentence.

She didn’t need to.

All five of them bowed deeply and left as quickly as dignity allowed.

The door closed behind them.

Estov remained, still standing at attention.

The Duchess looked at him, then gestured to a chair.

“Sit,” she said. “We need to talk about your ’real’ mission here.”

Estov sat.

And for the first time since entering this world, he wondered if Heena had actually done him a favor—or thrown him into something far worse.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep