The Empress’ Husband Is a Fool.

This was a common perception shared by most human nations, except for one rural kingdom.

The Empress was a woman who drew her sword for revenge and, with that very sword, slit the throat of the previous Emperor, etching her name into history.

It’s just that I, her husband, am the one being called a fool, so I hope there are no misunderstandings.

“Um, Sir Isaac…”

Lost in a daydream of nonsense, unsure of whom I was even talking to, I turned my gaze toward the woman I had just held a moment ago… What was her family name again?

Anyway, the young lady of some noble family was now dressed, staring at me.

Her face was still flushed, as if she hadn’t yet recovered from the afterglow.

“Well, then, you should head back now. As I said earlier, the carriage is already waiting.”

I said it, but I sound like trash. Then again, this was agreed upon from the beginning.

Thus, I am merely fulfilling my duties as a cheating man who diligently keeps his promises to the woman he’s having an affair with.

Hmm. Still trash.

“Sir Isaac, um, that is, uh…”

Of course, telling them to leave doesn’t mean they’ll go quietly. Not that they’re hoping for some sort of reward.

Or perhaps they are. It’s more like they just want a definite answer—when they’ll meet me again, if they’ll ever meet me again.

I handed her the ring I had prepared in advance.

“Be careful on your way back.”

“Yes!”

The noble young lady, satisfied with the ring, showered my face with kisses. It felt good, but I wish she wouldn’t go overboard.

Any more, and my dear baby-maker might start stirring again.

I didn’t want to keep the coachman waiting, so I gently pushed her away. Startled by her own actions, she hurriedly left the room.

“Hm. This isn’t bad, but going to a brothel is still the most convenient.”

Once I confirmed that the young lady was gone, I pulled out a new cigarette and lit it. That ring was fairly valuable, but it didn’t guarantee another meeting.

I hadn’t promised another time. I simply gave her the ring.

Women I slept with in the capital always wanted some sort of token afterward. So, I went to a jewelry store and bought a bulk supply of similar rings and accessories.

When I handed those over, the women left satisfied, whether they were noble daughters, maids, or even nuns from the convent.

They got what they wanted and left happy, and I avoided trouble.

A happy ending for both sides.

“…….”

Damn it. Yeah, I’m trash.

Knock. Knock.

“Excuse me.”

Without waiting for permission, a few palace maids entered the room, opening the door of their own accord.

I was used to it, so I didn’t bother saying anything. The maids were equally used to it as they swiftly stripped the sheets and tidied up the room, including the messy bed.

All except for one maid—much younger than someone who would lead a group of palace maids.

“…….”

“Why are you staring at me like that?”

Did I have something on my face? No, that didn’t seem to be it. Come to think of it, my personal maid, Haria, always looked at me with disdain.

How sad.

“Do you need a bath?”

“Are you offering to wash me yourself?”

“……….”

“No need. I’ll do it myself. Thanks for asking, though.”

I had wiped myself down earlier with a damp cloth, but the smell and stains couldn’t possibly disappear with just that. I had planned to bathe once the maids left anyway.

Really. Hygiene is especially important on the battlefield—I knew that well.

“So stop looking at me like that. If the Empress’s husband develops some strange fetishes, will you take responsibility for it?”

“Understood.”

Haria answered and started to leave, but my business wasn’t finished.

“Wait a minute.”

“…What is it?”

She turned back with a suspicious gaze, as if she was ready to report me to the guards if we were in the middle of the street.

Of course, I knew she was busy, but what I needed was important too.

“I’m hungry. Could you bring me something to eat?”

“…….”

I sent her a look that said, You know you get hungry after doing it, right? As I spoke, the faint light in Haria’s already dim gaze completely vanished.

Shortly after, she returned, dropped a plate piled high with hardtack on the table, and left without another word. (Hardtack are survival ration crackers.)

I wasn’t sure how she knew I liked hardtack, but I appreciated it.

Still.

“…She’ll probably get mad if I ask for water, right?”

Even I couldn’t eat this without water.

Three Months Ago.

Contrary to popular prejudice, Isaac von Meyer was a polite man. Despite being royalty, he was kind to everyone unless they were rude to him first.

In other words, if you were rude, he wouldn’t care who you were.

His unrelenting optimism created countless legendary stories that left kings and ministers clutching their stomachs, but those who knew him would unanimously describe Isaac von Meyer as a warm person who loved his family.

One day, he tilted his head and asked his father, the King of Meyer:

“I didn’t think you were at that age yet… Have you gone senile?”

Isaac adored his family. As the eldest son, he had two younger brothers and a youngest sister.

When he realized the second-born was incredibly bright, he willingly handed over the title of crown prince.

This was only possible because he was Isaac.

The Kingdom of Meyer was the smallest country on the continent, located on the far eastern edge. It was so tiny that its size barely compared to the Imperial Capital of the massive Blata Empire.

The only thing they had were the monstrous species beyond the border constantly attacking.

Isaac spent most of his life on the battlefield. At thirty, he still did.

But today, he returned to send off his third brother, who was about to leave for the Empire.

Then the King dropped a bombshell.

“You’re going to the Blata Empire.”

Isaac barely managed to reply:

“Why me?”

“…Your brother ran away.”

That day, for the first time, Isaac felt the need to hit his brother.

The Iron-Blooded Empress, Marianne Blata, was an extraordinary woman.

She was so far removed from power that no one would have known she was of royal blood unless they were told. Yet, at the age of just 17, she achieved the feat of taking down the continent’s strongest empire.

Oh—does “taking down” sound a bit crude?

Let’s put it more elegantly: she severed the head from the body of the former Emperor and, after fairly executing every existing member of the royal family—from the elderly to infants—firmly planted herself on the throne.

That sounds a little better.

In any case, the previous Emperor’s reputation was such a disaster that even I, stuck out in the distant eastern border, knew about it.

They say the daily bloodshed of loyalists and unlucky traitors during his life of luxury and debauchery was enough to fill the palace ponds.

When you’re eating something alone, it tends to cause trouble. That applies to cooking a meal, and it applies to running a nation.

The Empire had inherited immense wealth from the legendary achievements of its previous rulers. But the fool of a former Emperor greedily devoured it all for himself.

Naturally, the nobles and officials—who were unable to partake—were furious, and they eventually decided to overthrow him.

“But you unified the squabbling factions over who would get what, proved your ability, cut off the former Emperor’s head, and took the throne for yourself—that’s the story I know of you.”

“Correct. You’ve done your homework.”

Today was the monthly husband-and-wife tea meeting.

Of course, like all such arrangements, unavoidable circumstances had repeatedly delayed it. As a result, today—three months after our wedding—I was finally getting a proper look at my wife’s face.

“Still, there are many things to consider when sitting on the throne. Violence can subdue enemies, but it cannot rule the people. Even if you govern through fear, you cannot erase the rebellion that festers deep in their hearts.”

She was over ten years younger than me, yet her words sounded so aged. Would I get slapped if I said that out loud?

“That’s how it works.”

“…Where are you looking?”

“Your chest.”

“Lift your head this instant.”

I still had some attachment to my neck, so I obediently looked up. However, my wife was underestimating me far too much.

I, Isaac, may not remember faces very well, but I do remember bodies. I clearly remembered her full chest, slender waist, and curvy hips.

That said—

“You’re being too harsh. I’m your husband, after all.”

“I told you to dispense with formalities, not to forget your manners.”

Judging by the cold gleam in her icy blue eyes, our first night together still seemed a distant dream.