What Became of the Tyrant After the Pregnant Empress Left - Chapter 142
“To block dark magic… Hm.”
Jebiken’s primary motivation for mentioning dark magic to Kazhan lay in his own vulnerability to their influence. While he intended to exploit the dark mages for his own ends, he also had to account for the possibility of them turning on him. The game needed to be carefully tilted in his favor.
Equipping the palace with immunity against dark magic could prove useful in the future, but for now, it posed complications. Jebiken decided it would be more prudent to simply determine the possibility from the sage and store the information for later use. His previously paused hand resumed its steady movement across the page.
Scratch, scratch.
The quill left trails of black ink dancing across the parchment, only to come to an abrupt halt as the sound of angry footsteps approached.
Bang!
“Barillio Duke!”
“Your Imperial Consort, I’d prefer it if you observed basic etiquette.”
Jebiken didn’t bother to mask his irritation as Runellia barged into his office unannounced. Tolerating her transgressions had its limits, and his patience was wearing thin.
He wondered if she even realized that her life was effectively in his hands—kept alive only as a tool for later use. Jebiken despised his rare moments of miscalculation. Choosing Runellia as an imperial consort candidate had seemed logical at the time. Her bloodline was satisfactory, and her ambition showed promise. Yet, peeling back her exterior had revealed an insolent and reckless fool.
If he’d known that the rose of high society would behave with such a lack of dignity, he would have sought another noblewoman. Someone docile and unassuming, who wouldn’t make so much trouble.
…Perhaps, he mused, the mental suggestion he’d placed on her had backfired and amplified the worst aspects of her character.
“What are we going to do now? Everything’s ruined!”
“What’s ruined, exactly?”
Jebiken responded coolly, gesturing to the sofa for her to sit.
Runellia stormed over and sat down with a huff. Lowering her voice, she vented her frustration.
“The Emperor… I’ve heard he spends his nights with the Empress every day now. What am I supposed to do?!”
“Your Imperial Consort, you paved the way for this yourself. Whom can you blame for that?”
“Duke!”
“Imperial Consort.”
Jebiken’s voice sharpened as he placed his quill down with a deliberate clink. His gaze, filled with annoyance and disdain, locked onto her.
“I distinctly advised you to stay out of sight and keep your head down for the time being. Are you incapable of following instructions?”
“We’re supposed to be in this together! How can you treat me this way?”
“I gave you an opportunity, and you squandered it. Naturally, there are no second chances. Our relationship is now purely transactional: a debt owed to be repaid—nothing more, nothing less.”
His frosty response left Runellia momentarily speechless. Then, she clenched her teeth in frustration.
How could this happen? Even Barillio, her last lifeline, was abandoning her.
She bolted upright, ready to make a fiery retort, but Jebiken preempted her.
“No one would believe a word you say, but if your tongue strays in the wrong place… you know what I can do. You’re well aware of my reach and what I’m capable of here in Uzephia.”
“…!”
Her mouth clamped shut. Trembling with humiliation and rage, Runellia glared at him, her emotions swirling in her tear-filled eyes. Jebiken, unmoved by the sight, dismissed her with cold finality.
“Leave now. Do not come to me again unless I summon you.”
“Duke…”
“This is your last warning, Imperial Consort. Walk out of here of your own accord, or be forcibly removed.”
Her hands clenched into trembling fists as she sent him a venomous glare. With one last seething look, she spun on her heel and stormed out, slamming the door behind her.
“Ahh.”
Exhaling wearily, Jebiken shook his head. The Imperial Consort needed to be disposed of soon.
He returned to his half-finished letter to the sage. There was still much work to do—too much to waste his time here.
* * *
“Papa! Look! Over there!”
“Yes, yes, hold on to my hair—ow!”
Kazhan, with Mikael perched on his shoulders, endured the child tugging eagerly at his hair as they chased a bird. He couldn’t help but think how much easier this would be without his son riding on his neck.
