Duchess Mecklen’s Elegant Revolt - Chapter 4 Part 7

The Empress Dowager was well aware of the rumors circulating about the Emperor’s reluctance to marry again. However, the real reason he had remained unmarried was that the exact cause of Empress Edea’s death was still unknown.

In a situation where the method of the assassination remained a mystery, bringing another young noblewoman into the palace as Empress could result in yet another tragic death like Edea’s. Therefore, Lennoch had declared to the Empress Dowager that the position of Empress would remain vacant until the case was resolved. The Empress Dowager had respected his decision.

But that was only until the mystery was solved.

“We cannot leave the position of Empress vacant forever,” the Empress Dowager said, her tone firm. A young emperor needed a young empress by his side. As an aging Empress Dowager, she could not continue to support him indefinitely.

At her words, a wry smile crossed Lennoch’s lips. “Who would want to marry a man like me?”

“Watch your tongue,” the Empress Dowager chided, frowning deeply.

At times, her son spoke with a disregard that was unbecoming of an emperor, more like a commoner. She knew it was due to “that incident,” but she chose not to address it directly, instead continuing her reprimand.

“We cannot let the prince grow up without a mother. The absence of an Empress is not something that can be ignored. The prince needs a mother to love and care for him,” she concluded, her words a clear directive that he should remarry for the sake of his child.

Lennoch, who had been listening quietly, slowly leaned back, putting some distance between himself and the Empress Dowager. He sank back into his chair, pushing aside the teacup in front of him, and asked, “Was it easy for you to raise me?”

“Why do you ask such a question out of nowhere?” The Empress Dowager narrowed her eyes, sensing that something was coming.

And indeed, Lennoch’s response was sharp and unfiltered. “Let’s assume I do remarry for the sake of politics. Do you really think a new Empress could truly love a child that isn’t her own? If she’s forced to educate the child, to give love out of duty rather than affection, is that genuine love?”

“The Empress is expected to embrace such responsibilities. It is the duty of the imperial consort to be thoroughly educated in these matters,” the Empress Dowager replied, her brow furrowing in frustration. She couldn’t comprehend her son’s reasoning.

Lennoch chuckled bitterly. “Edea once described the imperial palace as a cursed place.”

This was news to the Empress Dowager, who had never seen any sign of such feelings from Empress Edea.

“She believed all her misfortunes began with the imperial family,” Lennoch continued.

“That’s preposterous. How could she harbor such blasphemous thoughts?”

“And yet, didn’t she die just as she feared, caught in an unseen power struggle?”

The Empress Dowager’s face went pale at his words, realizing the truth in what he was saying.

“She resented everything. She even refused to speak with me.”

“……!”

“She didn’t even want to see the child she bore.”

“…My God.”

Finally, the mystery that had puzzled her for three years was beginning to unravel. When Empress Edea had given birth, she had immEdeately sent the baby to be cared for by a wet nurse. At the time, the Empress Dowager had thought Edea’s reluctance to see the child was due to exhaustion or the demands of royal duties. She had even praised Edea, believing her selflessness in prioritizing state matters over maternal instincts was admirable. But now she understood: Edea had rejected her child because she didn’t love it. She had despised the palace.

The revelation left the Empress Dowager speechless.

Lennoch, seeing her reaction, continued, “I don’t want the child to be hurt any further.”

He paused before adding, “I visit the prince every week, making sure he lacks nothing. I will do everything I can to ensure his well-being, so there’s no need to worry about his upbringing.”

As he spoke, a figure flashed through Lennoch’s mind—a woman with short hair that reached her chin, bathed in white moonlight. His green eyes darkened as he thought of her.

“Regarding the prince, I will continue to ensure his well-being,” Lennoch said, his voice steady. “But as for finding a successor to your position, I will consider finding a new Empress.”

But, “I only hope that this new Empress does not suffer the same fate,” he added.

For Lennoch, it felt as though everything was his fault—even Empress Edea’s death.

***

The Empress Dowager’s stroll ended with the Emperor’s departure. As he left, he briefly glanced at Eleanor, but she deliberately avoided his gaze.

Back in her chambers, Eleanor remained standing, not bothering to change her clothes. The sun had fully set, enveloping the room in darkness, yet she didn’t think to light a candle.

‘Not entirely unexpected, but…’

Reflecting on how he had freely moved in and out of the former Empress’s palace, it now seemed obvious. Eleanor suppressed a sigh. No wonder she couldn’t identify him despite narrowing down the list of possible imperial families.

She was surprised by his true identity, but it didn’t evoke a sense of betrayal. She could understand why Lennoch, or rather, the Emperor, had hidden his identity—after all, she had once been a part of the royal family herself.

But now…

‘How should I see him?’

Her blue eyes wavered uncertainly in the dark.

‘Should I avoid him?’

Now that she knew he was the Emperor, she couldn’t just smile and treat him casually. The difficulties of his position weren’t the only reason for her hesitation.

“…I didn’t expect things to get so complicated,” she sighed deeply, running her fingers through her tousled blonde hair, a gesture that reflected her inner turmoil.

There had been countless times when she had cursed an unknown figure, someone she blamed for everything. Though it was in the past, the memories were still vivid, as if they had happened just yesterday.

The man responsible for forcing her into a marriage with the Duke of Mecklen. The beginning of her unhappy past. The man she never even saw at her execution. The Emperor of Baden.

“If not for that political marriage…”

Eleanor knew that the Emperor hadn’t ordered the marriage knowing that Caroline would make her life hell. Even she understood that much.

Caroline was cunning and manipulative, hiding her true nature even from her own son, Ernst. How could the Emperor have known?—Of course, Ernst’s lack of interest in Eleanor played a part in that as well

But regardless of the Emperor’s intentions, the result had been a horrific tragedy. The political marriage had led her to live a life worse than death, and eventually, she had been falsely accused and executed.

Eleanor slowly sank into a chair, her legs too weak to support her any longer.

‘It’s better if I don’t run into him,’ she thought suddenly.

It was an impulsive decision, but as soon as she made it, the anxiety that had gripped her heart began to ease. It wasn’t fear that had made her tremble, but rather something darker, more insidious—mild anger, bitterness, and the torment that came with resentment.

At the same time, she remembered the look in his eyes, devoid of malice. He had approached her with a familiarity as if he knew her well, acting kindly.

What had he been thinking back then?

But Eleanor shook her head, dismissing the thoughts.

‘It was just a brief encounter, after all.’

She had no desire to get entangled with the Emperor and end up feeling tormented. Even if he showed her kindness, it wouldn’t change her mind.

If his involvement in her marriage to the Duke had been out of genuine intent, it would only complicate her feelings further. She couldn’t fully hate him, but seeing him would constantly remind her of the past, making her heart ache.

It was better not to see him at all. Letting go of the joy of their brief interactions was easier than allowing herself to be emotionally unsettled by his presence.

Eleanor made up her mind.

***

“Such a pointless gesture,” Ernst’s cold voice cut through the silence of the study. His aide, Vincent, flinched, startled by the sudden harshness in his master’s tone.

Ernst handed him a letter. “Burn this,” he ordered.

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“And don’t bring me such things again.”

The letter and the gift that accompanied it had come from Evan, the second son of Duke Nestor. The gift was a rapier that reached Ernst’s waist, crafted from rare minerals and encrusted with jewels. It was more ornamental than functional, a showpiece rather than a weapon.

Though the sword appeared valuable, the intentions behind it were clear to Ernst.

‘What a nuisance,’ he thought.

He had already heard that Childe of House Ezester had returned to the capital. Childe was notorious for his flirtatious ways and had made numerous enemies among the nobility, with Evan of House Nestor being one of his fiercest adversaries. The timing of Evan’s gift, coinciding with Childe’s return, was an obvious ploy to secure Ernst’s support in their rivalry.

‘How childish,’ Ernst scoffed, returning his attention to the pile of documents on his desk. This kind of political maneuvering did not suit him.

“What should I do with this?” Vincent asked, looking down at the sword with a troubled expression. He regretted not asking Evan’s aide to wait before reporting to Ernst.

Ernst, still focused on his documents, responded coolly, “Do I really need to tell you?”

“My apologies,” Vincent stammered.

“Handle it yourself.”

For a subordinate, few commands were as daunting as being told to “handle it yourself.” He couldn’t just discard or sell the sword. Returning it to the Nestor family would be an equally awkward move. Despite his distress, Vincent took the sword and left the office.

Once Vincent was gone, Ernst set down his quill. The thought of getting involved in the conflict between Childe and Evan gave him a headache. Ignoring the situation wasn’t an option either; Evan was not only a former academy mate but also a relative of Eger, the Emperor’s aide. Evan would likely use Eger as an excuse to visit the palace frequently, ensuring his presence in Ernst’s office.

Feeling the tension build, Ernst looked out the window, trying to clear his mind. He noticed a bird flapping its wings just outside.

“Can you honestly say you know everything about your mother?”

There it was again. The voice of Eleanor echoed in his mind, and his brow furrowed.

“For all you know, she might be hiding another son from you. And that son might…”

He dismissed the thought as nonsense, a desperate lie Eleanor had concocted to save herself in a dire situation. Ernst had repeatedly told himself that it was a baseless story, a figment of imagination.

And yet, why did that claim continue to linger in his mind, refusing to be forgotten, even though he knew it was false?

“…Another son,” he muttered, eyes closed, trying to rid himself of the intrusive thought.

Ernst was the sole heir of the Mecklen family. His father had died young, leaving no other siblings. In his upbringing, there had been no mention of hidden brothers or any other secrets.

‘Mother wouldn’t have hidden anything from me,’ he reassured himself. Even if she had, nothing in the family passed without his knowledge. Despite his mother handling many responsibilities as the lady of the house, Ernst, as the head, was aware of everything.

He tried to push the thought away again. It was absurd, just another empty claim.