TMRM 13

Chapter 13

At Anel’s question, Sandman stepped forward.

“She hasn’t been seen since last night. According to the maid who shares her room, she said she was feeling ill.”
“…I see.”

Anel gave a faint, bitter smile.

“I’ll summon her right away.”
“No. Let her rest.”

Anel stopped Sandman with a gesture.
Her heart was unsettled.
She knew Giselle had been hurt by what happened yesterday.
Still, she thought Giselle would come today, just for this day.
They had spent so much time together — at least today, she thought they would stand side by side.
But now, it was Anel’s turn to steel herself.

All the servants of the palace lined the path between the Davita Palace and the Solis Palace, bowing deeply.
Anel walked through them, feeling the weight of each step.

“The sunlight is strong, Your Majesty. Shall I bring a parasol—”
“Leave it. I’m fine.”

As she stepped outside, the sun blazed down upon her.
She endured the heat and crossed the bridge connecting the two palaces — and then she stopped.
The maids following her halted as well and looked up.

“…Your Highness.”
“Lady Morata.”

Samü.
He stood at the end of the bridge.
Only ten paces away.
Anel faltered.

“Y-Your Majesty—”

The maids quickly supported her.
Samü instinctively took a step forward — but then clenched his fists and stepped back again.

“Prince Samü.”

Leaning against the maids’ arms, Anel called out to him.
How… how could he be here?
She had heard he’d been granted a distant fief — so far away that he could never leave it.
Anel took a hesitant step toward him. But—

“Please, wait.”

Samü raised his hand to stop her.

“Please, just stay where you are, Lady Morata.”

He said it softly, lips trembling as though words refused to come.

“I know it’s discourteous to block your way. But just for a moment. Just a moment…”

His voice was so desperate that Anel’s heart began to crumble.
She had never seen him like this. He had always been the one who smiled kindly,
a man who had never known despair.
And yet now, because of her—he wore that expression.

“Are you well?”

He looked pale, gaunt.
And yet, as always, his first concern was for her.
He must have suffered more than anyone.
And so, Anel could not answer.

“I’m doing well. I hoped the Lady was doing well too.”

He bowed his head.

“I was permitted to attend the coronation. I thought perhaps—”
“You must go, my lady.”

Sandman interrupted quickly, stepping in front of Anel even though she knew she shouldn’t block the princess’s path.
Her instincts as a seasoned attendant told her — this is as far as it can go.

Anel looked at Sandman’s face once, then Samü’s.
He was there. She should go to him.
Her whole being screamed for it.
But if she took even one step, the danger—

“Think of Prince Samü, Your Majesty. For his sake — you must go to the coronation now.”

At Sandman’s words, Anel’s eyes wavered.

“I will be there.”

Samü’s voice came faintly from afar.

“I will be there, for you.”

Anel looked up at him.
The sunlight poured down,
and it seemed to fall only on him.
He alone was shining.
Unable to bear that light, Anel closed her eyes.

When she came to her senses, she was already walking down the grand hall.
She stood alone upon the long stretch of golden carpet.
People knelt on both sides of the jeweled and flower-strewn path.
Ah. So I’ve truly come here.
Reality sank in.

“Anel von Morata — the sole daughter of the Grand Houses of Crocellota and Morata,
heiress to Ezeren, Rosellia, and Segravo,
and Grand Duchess of Salizen and Kerrier—approaches.”

Even as the herald’s voice rang out, her steps didn’t falter.
Samü was watching.
The thought made the pain even heavier.

Compared to what he must be feeling, her emotions were nothing —
helplessness, sorrow, humiliation —
none of them could express what churned inside her.
And yet, within Samü there must also be betrayal.
The fact that he came here meant he had forgiven her.
That kindness shattered her heart even more.

She walked as if compelled by instinct,
knowing full well this path led to hell.
At the end of the path stood, as expected — that man.

Wearing his laurel crown and imperial uniform,
Johannes looked every inch the emperor.
No one could have doubted his majesty.
But for Anel, the only feeling she could muster was disgust — barely restrained.
That gaze again —
the one that saw no person, only possession.
Anel forced herself not to turn away.

“Let’s finish this farce already.”

Her steps quickened.
Inevitably, she reached him.
It was time to kneel before the emperor,
receive the pope’s blessing, and be crowned.
Anel knelt before Johannes, eyes fixed on him.

The pope looked startled but began the rite.

“On this day blessed by the Divine, the Sun of the Empire and—”

Anel was supposed to bow her head, but she raised it, staring straight at the emperor.
The pope hesitated, startled.
But Anel would not avert her gaze.
She wanted him to see—to witness the two lives he had destroyed.

“…I bless the union of the most noble fates.”

The pope’s voice echoed through the great hall.
Anel did not hear a word.
Johannes’s eyes never left hers.
For the entire blessing, they gazed at one another,
as if by doing so they could seize each other’s souls.

“And now, to the Empress — who shall become the glorious Mother of the Empire—”

Welcome, Empress.

Johannes’s lips moved.
…Welcome? Was this some kind of joke?
Her barely contained fury began to boil over—

“I now bestow the imperial crown.”

The pope’s voice broke through her thoughts.
He reached toward the crown held by a priest—
but another hand was faster.

Johannes seized the crown himself and lifted it high,
placing it upon Anel’s head.

Gasps rippled through the hall.

“Anel von Morata,”

The most shocked of all was Anel herself.
Frozen, she could only listen to his next words.

“With the title of Dnegger, I grant you a new name.”

His face — he was enjoying this.

“Anel Catenatus Dnegger.”

He was delighting in it all.

“You are now my Empress.”

Anel’s mind reeled.
Catenatus.
Among nobles, there was no one who didn’t know the meaning of that word.
Even Ern, who was officiating the ceremony, had gone stiff.
Everyone was struggling to understand —
but Johannes continued speaking, unfazed.

“Now, we must meet everyone’s expectations.”

He snapped his fingers.
Two attendants stepped forward, each holding a consort’s coronet.

Already…?

Anel looked up at him, unable to move.
To name imperial consorts the very moment after crowning the empress —
it was the height of insult.
Everyone knew that.
But then, what did it mean that he had personally placed the crown on her head?
No emperor had ever done such a thing.
The nobles were bewildered.

“As First Consort, I name Flora Rodion of the Marquessate of Rodion.”

That part was expected.
Losing the Rodion house would have been foolish.
It seemed some prior agreement had been reached.
Flora, wearing robes unmistakably made for the consort’s investiture,
stepped forward and knelt a step behind Anel’s right side.

“I greet the great Sun of the Empire.”

She waited, expecting Johannes to personally crown her as well.
But his hands remained still.
Traditionally, the pope was to perform the crowning of the consort —
yet, after what had just happened, he waited too.
When Johannes still did not move, the pope finally grew uneasy and lifted the coronet himself.

“I bestow this crown upon the new First Consort of the Empire.
May she faithfully serve Her Majesty, the Mother of the Empire…”

The nobles stirred again at the emperor’s inexplicable behavior.
No one was more rigid with shock than Marquess Rodion himself.
He couldn’t tell whether this deviation from tradition
was a good omen or a bad one for his family —
nor could Flora.
She accepted the crown with a troubled face.

As confusion spread, Johannes spoke again, his voice indifferent.

“For Second Consort—”

Anel was still watching him,
tracing every movement of his lips,
wanting to see just how far this madman would go.
And then, with his next words, she realized—
she had underestimated him far too much.
This man was not merely insane—