Chapter 9
“Lotte is dead.”
The Emperor’s words froze the room.
It was unbelievable. The shock was so intense that no one could even swallow, let alone speak.
The four close advisors cast glances at one another. When their eyes finally settled back on Albert, it was clear they were gauging his response.
Albert sank heavily into his seat at the round table.
“I’ve ordered the body to be preserved and sent to the capital. We may have a chance to view her one last time.”
“Are you planning a funeral in the capital?”
Irene was the first to react, her elaborate hairpiece trembling in agitation.
“Wouldn’t that imply a pardon and restoration of her status? Are you sure that’s the right course?”
Her words came out bluntly. While they usually wouldn’t dare speak informally to the Emperor, in this secret meeting room, they had the freedom to do so.
Dietrich adjusted his glasses and chimed in, siding with Irene.
“Albert, I oppose her rehabilitation. The Empress’s family would be furious. As the Minister of the Imperial Household, I’ll formally cast a dissenting vote.”
“The Emperor may have sentenced her, but we executed the punishment ourselves. If the reputation of us, the Four Great Heroes, wavers, so does the imperial authority. Are you forgetting that?”
Even Pascalina, usually quiet, voiced her objection.
It was up to Jonathan, the mediator of the group, to attempt a lighter approach. “Ah, well. I’ve used her as an example in sermons for years, telling people not to end up like Charlotte. If we backtrack now, what will I use to fill the time?”
“Are you all under some mass delusion? When did I say I’d restore her status?”
Albert snapped suddenly.
All four of them fell silent.
Albert’s golden eyes lowered, and his earlier anger faded as his voice softened.
“…The outcome was unfortunate, but she was a companion from the days of Moden. She’s the first of us to go. Let’s pay our respects.”
A somber look crossed each of their faces, stirring memories they’d left behind in the pursuit of success.
The tension in the room dissolved, and the once-hardened expressions softened as each remembered something of the past.
“Five years already, isn’t it? The older we get, the faster time flies. Pasha, have you heard from her recently?”
“No. No time to write all the way up north. But I often thought of her during army drills—if only those halfwits had half of Lotte’s commitment.”
“She was always the most diligent. I’d bet she followed a strict routine even in prison—up at dawn, bed at night.”
“Jonathan, most people live like that unless they’re as debauched as you. And she likely behaved as a model prisoner. If she’d held out longer, she might have been transferred elsewhere.”
“Maybe. She was from Moden, after all. Rural life probably suited her more than any glamorous life in the capital.”
“So how did she die, anyway? An outbreak in the North?”
Jonathan’s sudden question broke the silence, and Albert finally replied, struggling to keep his voice steady.
“She froze to death.”
The room went quiet once again. Irene covered her mouth with both hands.
“But there were guards, weren’t there?”
“…She killed the guards and escaped. She got out of the prison but was found collapsed in the snow soon after.”
Albert raised a hand to his forehead, no longer looking at his friends. His voice dropped to a murmur, as if he were talking to himself.
“There was one survivor. I’ve summoned him, but don’t expect a coherent report. He was a rookie guard, unfamiliar with the prison, and his memories are scattered from the shock.”
For a moment, none of them could speak.
It wasn’t the massacre of the guards that had them stunned—those lives could be easily replaced anywhere in the Empire. What shocked them was that Charlotte had managed to escape at all.
Five years ago, they had broken her completely to prevent any chance of retaliation. She wasn’t supposed to be able to walk, let alone wield her aura.
And yet, somehow, she had still managed to escape. The thought of what she must have done to get that far sent chills down their spines.
Among the Four Heroes, only Pascalina held a military position, but they each had enough combat experience to defend themselves.
And yet, no matter what they tried, Charlotte had always effortlessly overpowered them.
Now, that powerful figure had died, defeated by the northern snows.
The reality weighed heavily on them, filling the room with an air of sorrow.
“…I can hardly believe it.”
“Lotte wouldn’t have died that easily.”
“Whatever happened, she must have fought until the end.”
The dead no longer posed a threat, and as their fear melted away, a strange emptiness and regret took its place.
In hindsight, maybe they had gone too far. Locking her away in a cold cell seemed unnecessarily cruel now. If they’d left her with even a glimmer of hope, she might not have died so suddenly, so desperately.
“Perhaps we should have written to her. We never intended to keep her imprisoned for life, did we?”
“Whenever I visited the northern diocese, I avoided the prison for fear of stirring up resentment. I shouldn’t have.”
“Given our roles in the Empire, it was hard to make time for an old friend we’d sent so far away.”
“That’s right! Do you have any idea how exhausting it is to manage the merchant guilds?”
“The unrest from Ifenia’s remnants is intensifying. We can’t afford to relax our guard.”
“Ha, even I find myself praying to the gods, wondering how to manage all these people!”
“We’re all busy with external matters, and I’m left to keep the palace running. Not exactly ideal.”
As they spoke, the weight of their duties became apparent. With the Emperor ruling most of the continent, each of the Four Heroes held vital positions.
After lamenting their circumstances, they took a moment to reminisce about their departed friend. They recalled the days when they roamed the territories together as carefree youths. Most of the stories involved them leading, with Lotte simply following, but old memories are always cherished.
When they finally exhausted their tales, the air grew heavy once more as they returned to the present.
“Lotte… Why did you have to do such horrible things? Why did it have to come to this?”
“Empress Bathilde came from an ancient family that has provided royal consorts for generations. Once she crossed them, the punishment had to be severe.”
“I admit, during the plan to eliminate the Grand Duchess Licht, I missed Lotte’s skills. She would have singlehandedly dealt with the entire duchy.”
As they shared these musings, Albert remained silent.
The hand resting on his forehead cast a dark shadow over his face. His dull blond hair, tangled between his fingers, grew messier with every passing comment.
His head remained lowered, untouched by any of their words.
Eventually, his friends noticed and stopped talking, their eight eyes fixed on him, each swallowing nervously as they tried to gauge his mood.
In moments like this, it was Dietrich’s role to speak on their behalf.
“…Albert, what do you plan to do?”
Without lifting his head, the Emperor responded.
“No restoration. That decision is out of respect for the Empress. When the body arrives, we’ll hold a private funeral, and scatter her ashes in Moden.”
All four agreed silently.
“She has no surviving relatives to claim the body.”
“Then it’s just us who remain. Ah, it’s depressing to think of her being gone. Say something, Archbishop.”
“If I could answer that, I’d close down the temple. Albert, let us know when she arrives. We’ll arrange a private service.”
They’d long since forgotten they were the ones who’d annihilated House Moden.
Political assassinations had been routine since Albert’s accession to the throne. The Moden family was just one among many.
The secret meeting drew to a close, and Albert slowly rose from the round table. Dietrich stood quickly to follow him.
“Albert, is that all for today?”
“…Yes. Dismiss yourselves. I’m going to rest.”
“Wait. There’s a matter within the palace—the source of the poison that killed the Grand Duchess Licht–”
“Minister. I said I’m going to rest!”
Dietrich flinched, falling silent. The others, too, shrank back under his sharp tone.
Albert glared at them, eyes narrowing as he scanned the room, before turning abruptly and striding away, his cape swirling as the door banged shut behind him.
From inside, Irene’s grumbling voice barely reached him.
“Albi’s lost his temper ever since he became Emperor…”
He didn’t want to hear it. He shook his head to block out the noise.
These people were his friends, now central figures in the Empire. He knew that, logically, he should treat them with respect.
But right now, he was boiling with anger. Their casual sympathy, mirroring his own feelings, only made him angrier.
Lotte was dead.
She was gone.
Locked away in the Ice Prison, he’d almost forgotten her, yet knowing she was alive had given him some peace of mind. Now, her abrupt departure left him hollow, as though a chill wind had cut through him.
Most of all, he despised the guilt gnawing at him, whispering that her death was his fault.
‘So I should’ve let her go? She would’ve thrown away everything just to be Empress?’
His mind spun in a whirlwind of rationalizations as he stumbled to a stop, leaning against a pillar for support.
‘She killed too many people! How could I let them call me a parricidal emperor for life? To strengthen my rule, I needed a marriage alliance with a noble family!’
By then, Albert was no longer the youngest prince exiled to the backwaters. He was the Emperor who needed a secure foundation.
But now, no matter the reasons, Charlotte was dead.
Her body was on its way to the capital. Once the funeral was over, the North’s new Grand Duke would file his report. From what he’d heard, the one who succeeded Grand Duchess Licht was her adopted son.
‘The adopted son of the late Count Keitel’s illegitimate line, was it?’
Rumor had it that the Grand Duchess’s authority was fading, with a mere adopted son seizing control.
It was exactly what Albert had hoped for—a power struggle in the North. If the new head of House Licht was a greedy opportunist, controlling him would be easy.
Even as he calculated this as the Emperor, his thoughts drifted to his lost first love.
‘When Count Keitel submits his report…I’ll ask him about the weather on the day she died.’
He hoped she hadn’t been too cold in her final moments.
Albert lingered, lost in the regret of what he could never have. When he finally noticed, his eyes were wet. Each blink sent tears down his cheeks.
He wished she could come back to life. If she did, he’d arrange for her to live peacefully, maybe in a small castle near the capital, where he could visit and share his thoughts with her.
Just like the beautiful days they’d spent in Moden.
Albert was swept by a wave of regret.
But he did not repent for framing Charlotte, destroying her body, and annihilating her family.
After all, he had no choice.
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