#148. All That Remains Is His Affection
Melchizedek quietly watched Blanche, who was holding his gaze.
Her lips moved as if she wanted to say something, then closed again.
It seemed she wasn’t going to answer. Melchizedek swallowed a silent sigh.
“Baekryeon.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“I thought… you were enjoying your life at the Academy.”
As Baekryeon had said, she had performed well in the war.
It wasn’t just anyone who could successfully take over the role of the successor to Yeonroksa.
But excelling at something, having to do it, and enjoying it—these could all be different for a person.
Just as it had been for Cheongneung. He had to do what he was good at, but he did not enjoy it. And he suspected Baekryeon was the same kind.
Although they hadn’t attended the Academy together, Blanche had come to see him every vacation, and he had collected information about the Academy.
Blanche seemed satisfied with her studies at the Academy. Her chosen major, Seed Studies, was truly a fitting choice for her.
But now she had returned to her homeland and was at war.
She spread blood over the fields instead of seeds, covered corpses instead of fertilizer. Was there really a reason for that? Melchizedek could not understand.
If she was going to wear that expression, it would have been better not to make such a choice at all.
“It was enjoyable.”
“Then you could have just stayed as you were. Why did you have to be here?”
Blanche seemed to think Cheongneung hadn’t seen her on the last day, but she was mistaken.
He had seen her.
He knew exactly when her gaze would falter.
Cheongneung had always been the one to look at others first.
In a past life, Baekryeon had never willingly met his gaze after they reunited, always offering excuses about decorum and propriety between a ruler and his subject.
Yet he knew that whenever he looked away during private meetings, she would glance at him for just a moment.
It was an intentional habit, even if she hadn’t realized it herself.
When he wanted a private conversation, he would purposely look away once, just so she could catch a glimpse of him.
To confirm that she still wanted to see him.
To feel certain that he was loved by her.
That day was no different. Death was imminent, and he had no idea who would protect this steadfast person after he was gone.
Even though she was a second-in-command, he knew too well how fleeting power could be.
So even when his vision went white with anger, the habit remained.
After issuing the punishment and travel restrictions, he instinctively turned his gaze.
He heard the faint rustle of her clothing as Blanche rose from her seat and realized that she was looking at him even before her voice reached him.
He found comfort in the fact that she still wanted to see him.
“I shall take my leave. May Your Excellency enjoy eternal prosperity.”
After hearing her farewell, he turned his gaze again.
She probably didn’t hear the subtle rustle of his clothing since he hadn’t moved.
The face he saw then was the last one of her he would see in that life.
To be precise, the last time he would see her alive.
She looked the same as always.
Her gaze politely lowered, hands gathered but hidden within her sleeves.
Her lips neither curved nor frowned, and her eyes were deep.
In the end, it was only him who felt anxious. He had been about to mutter another twisted remark.
Her eyes closed deeply once. Her lips opened silently and closed again.
The greeting was over, yet her head moved down and up once more.
As if she were suppressing her emotions…
Swallowing a sigh… as if all of this were difficult for her…
As if his anger might disturb her feelings even a little.
Cheongneung quietly watched her leave.
And he wrote letters. Every day, until the day before her death.
He wanted to see her unease even just one more time.
He wanted confirmation that he wasn’t the only one who pined for the other.
If she were to kneel before him and cry.
Or, if she begged aloud for him to stop his wrath.
If she honestly expressed that she did not want to provoke his hatred by replying.
A man who could no longer propose or even confess love to his beloved could only hope for that. So the emperor included reproach instead of love letters.
It is said that the one who loves more always loses. He wanted to win at least once.
And in the end, he lost. Baekryeon never gave him her heart willingly.
All that remained was his affection. Letters inscribed with words of gold on silk.
Pitiful love letters begging for even a sliver of her heart.
If she had responded to them, or even burned them. If she had torn the silk to shreds to leave a trace of her heart.
Would it have been better? But she closed her eyes, having neatly folded away his love.
What she took to her grave was only her own affection.
His devotion could not even be buried alongside her.
So he no longer harbored any hope of winning her.
He could not know how much Blanche loved him.
But he did love her. Wasn’t that enough?
After all, even if he were reborn, he could not stop loving her.
Then it seemed enough just to be able to give love, as long as she did not reject it.
“Were you afraid of the price I’d demand? If so, I swear. I will demand nothing. Just tell me. Ask me to handle this. Ask me to let you find happiness again. —Then I will.”
It didn’t mean he had lost all desire.
He would be happy if she loved him.
Even happier if he could marry her and declare his love for her publicly.
If he had children, he wanted her to be their mother.
Not the family he was born into, but the one he would choose—he wanted it to be her.
But above all, he wished for her not to be unhappy.
Especially, he wanted to prevent her from suffering for reasons unrelated to him.
Melchizedek moved the fingers resting on Blanche’s cheek slightly. The skin under his fingertips was soft, smooth, and warm.
“I am sorry. I am foolish and could not comprehend what Your Majesty worries about.”
Blanche’s voice was calm. But he did not believe her. Baekryeon’s voice had also been calm when she delivered her last farewell.
“I worry because it may be difficult for you.”
He knew she could be hurt.
And he knew that those wounds could kill her.
Even though she had survived battlefields filled with swords and arrows, she could also, if she wished, choose her own death. That was why he worried about her.
“I—”
Blanche furrowed her perfectly shaped brow and stepped back.
The warmth that had touched his fingertips faded.
“I can handle it.”
“I never doubted your ability.”
“Then what is it? All of this is ultimately my choice, isn’t it?”
“Truly, did you have any other choice?”
“Huh?”
Blanche’s large eyes widened even further.
Melchizedek calmly voiced his suspicions.
“To those who know nothing, everything might seem coincidental, and that’s fine. To those who know the circumstances, it’s all your scheme, so naturally, your choice. But in reality? When you decided to take responsibility for Lamore, to raise Lamore using war as a means, when you set the scope of expansion to the entire southern continent—what choice was on the other side of the scale?”
He was confident he could name other options if she had truly had a choice.
She could have stayed at the Academy instead of returning to Lamore. She could have pursued diplomacy instead of war.
She could have merely conquered Cartian and gained pledges of loyalty from the rest, without taking the entire southern region.
But Melchizedek and Blanche were different.
Just as his brother had no choice but to unify the continent, perhaps Blanche had no other real option.
She might not have chosen the best path among many, but simply followed the only road visible to her.
In the ensuing conversation, a fleeting expression only deepened Melchizedek’s suspicion.
She insisted she had made a “choice.”
But could choosing the emperor’s position over poison truly be called a choice?
Was it not, in fact, a form of coercion?
Even if no one had forced her, if her upbringing and experiences eliminated other options, wasn’t she walking a path imposed by life itself?
If not, then why did her face look the way it did while walking the path she claimed to have chosen?
