BDTIE 02

Chapter 2

The Perfect and Overwhelming Man

It was when Michelle and I were fourteen, and Clifford was fifteen.

Around that time, Clifford was completely obsessed with the gladiator arena.

“I want to go to the gladiator arena, too!”

“I told you, you can’t.”

“Is it because I’m not a member of the royal family, but the nanny’s daughter? Because I’m the youngest daughter of a poor rural barony?”

Michelle used to poke at Clifford’s conscience like that whenever the mood struck her.

She did it even more frequently after not being invited to our wedding.

“It’s no place for a woman.” “You would have allowed it if Stella had said she wanted to go!

Stella! You want to go to the gladiator arena too, right?”

Because Michelle’s eyes began to well up with tears, I had no choice but to nod.

To be a little more honest, I wanted to spend more time with Clifford, too.

“I want to go, too.”

“See! Even Stella says she wants to go!”

Emboldened, Michelle linked her arm through mine and stuck out her tongue playfully.

Of course, we made sure the nanny and the maids never caught us acting like that.

Whenever we escaped the watchful eyes of the adults, we behaved just like ordinary children who knew nothing of imperial etiquette or social standing.

Simply having a friend with whom I could share minor secrets provided a breath of fresh air in the suffocating life of the Imperial Palace.

I didn’t realize it at all back then.

Why Clifford was allowed to play to his heart’s content and only attend lessons whenever he felt like it.

Why I had to learn political science, diplomacy, economics, theology, five foreign languages, and ancient scripts without a moment of rest.

Would things have been different if I had known?

No. As a young girl, I was hopelessly shackled to Clifford—my husband and my first love.

“Shell. Don’t you dare cry.”

“Don’t treat me like a coward, Cliff!”

“You’re the one who cries just from a roll of thunder.”

“I am definitely not crying!”

Contrary to her vow, Michelle started sobbing loudly the moment the gladiator slaves entered the arena.

Annoyed, Clifford tugged on my long, braided platinum-blonde hair.

“If you hadn’t said you wanted to come along, none of this would have happened.”

“But I…!”

“Quiet. Shell isn’t as loud-mouthed as you. She’s inherently fragile.”

Clifford’s hand as he patted Michelle’s back was overwhelmingly affectionate, enough to make anyone envious.

Michelle whimpered like a puppy caught in the rain as she buried herself in Clifford’s embrace.

The maids used to say that Clifford was at a very sensitive age. They told me, his wife, that I needed to understand.

“Then who is supposed to understand me?”

The maids awkwardly averted their eyes. I felt deeply wronged, but I knew that if I dared to voice that injustice, I would only be met with scoldings urging me to maintain my dignity as the future Empress.

Rumors were rampant that Clifford would inherit the throne the moment he finished his coming-of-age ceremony.

Clifford steadily seized more and more freedom.

Openly favoring Michelle was just one of those freedoms.

The maids had been anxious and jittery, terrified that a young girl of humble birth might steal the Crown Prince’s love—love that rightfully belonged to me.

“That’s not going to happen. Shell is just a childhood friend.”

I really didn’t know back then.

That the childhood friend had been eyeing my husband for a very long time.

It was my first time watching a gladiatorial match in ten years.

A man basking in everyone’s cheers immediately caught my eye.

“A Black Bug, you say? What a completely unfitting name.”

He was a man who deserved to be called a ferocious beast rather than a mere bug.

Taller than ordinary men by a full head. Jet-black hair that obscured half of his face.

His muscular body, which deflected the late afternoon sunlight, possessed a sleek, glowing bronze hue.

Though I had seen countless elite knights in the Imperial Palace, I had never laid eyes on anyone with a physique as superior as his.

Should I call it perfection? Or should I call it overwhelming?

I frowned slightly as I looked down at the man named Black Bug.

It was safe to call it pure appreciation.

While I couldn’t claim to know his body intimately, I could certainly verify that the beauty forged by his muscles and skeletal frame was extraordinarily unique.

Just one thing bothered me: the fact that he was covered in scars.

It felt as though someone had vandalized an unpriceable work of art.

He wasn’t my possession, yet I felt a disagreeable sense of displeasure, much like seeing something of mine damaged.

“Why is this so-called gladiator slave refusing to fight back?”

The man wandered aimlessly here and there, repeatedly getting slashed and bleeding. His only defense was using his bare hands to stem the gushes of blood threatening to erupt from his wounds.

He moved as if he had never learned a single stroke of swordsmanship. Or rather, like a young boy terrified of violence.

“That is precisely the charm of the Black Bug, Your Majesty.”

“He’s going to die soon. He’s already sustained multiple fatal wounds.”

“Unless his head is cut off, the Black Bug simply does not die. I’ve seen countless gladiator slaves in my time, but I’ve never seen anyone with a life force as stubborn as that bastard’s!”

As if to prove the general manager’s words, the man dodged his opponent’s attack with the lightning-fast agility of a beast.

The gladiator who had been launching a one-sided assault suddenly collapsed instead.

“Wooooah!”

The spectators roared with cheers, celebrating the Black Bug’s victory.

A gladiator slave who refused to fight, yet won simply because he refused to die.

It was a truly bizarre spectacle. But my interest ended right there.

Just before I turned my wheelchair around, looking back at the man was purely accidental.

With a languid gesture, the man wiped the blood smeared across his eyes.

Through the tangled strands of black hair, golden eyes flashed like drops of honey.

“Dewey…!”

Dewey was dead.

How could I ever forget the day I lost my only friend and my one and only younger brother?

The day every single precious thing in my life vanished entirely.

The loneliness of the one left behind, and the squalid wretchedness of a life dragging on anyway.

I didn’t know why a gladiator slave possessed the exact same eyes as Dewey.

Golden eyes were so rare that finding even one person with them in an entire nation was a miracle.

Those who possessed such rare treasures were fated to die young, or destined to have their lives cut short.

Just like Dewey, or like me.

“Is there a healer in the gladiator arena?”

The general manager looked at me with a bewildered expression.

“That fellow doesn’t need healing. He is truly a wondrous living creature—”

“Just answer what I’m asking you. Is there a healer?”

“I-I’ll have one brought immediately!”

Sensing the freezing chill in my demeanor, the general manager straightened his back rigidly.

“Never mind. I will buy that slave.”

“Forgive me, Your Majesty, but he is not for sale!”

“How much do you want?”

“That fellow is the treasure of our gladiator arena, Your Majesty!”

“I’ll give you triple his baseline price.”

“How could I ever dare to haggle with Your Majesty?”

“Then I’ll pay ten times.”

“Oh, dear! I will give you as many concubines as your heart desires, so please, just give up on the Black Bug!”

Ignoring the general manager, who was practically wailing, I named my final price.

“I will pay 500,000 gold.”

Since a top-tier slave usually cost about 5,000 gold, I was offering a hundred times the market value.

It was a staggering sum capable of buying a hyper-luxurious castle, but to me, it was mere pocket change.

Even if the Empire went bankrupt, the Empress’s secret assets would never dwindle.

Money meant very little to someone who was going to die soon—unless something caught her eye on a sudden impulse.

“Will you sell the slave? Or would you prefer your establishment to face a month of special inspections under the slave laws and the human trafficking prohibition acts?”

I returned to the Imperial Palace. I had purchased an unusual slave, but that was the end of it.

Joan asked, “What shall we do once his medical treatment is finished?”

“Do as you see fit.”

I was satisfied enough that the man with the golden eyes was no longer a mere public spectacle.

I hadn’t managed to buy a sexual plaything, but I was glad I hadn’t returned empty-handed.

That was why I was thoroughly surprised when I overheard the chatter of the court maids.

“Have you heard? Her Majesty the Empress bought an outrageously expensive male prostitute!”

A male prostitute? What kind of nonsense was this now?

Unlike me, who stood there bewildered, the maids were entirely convinced.

“They say she has him hidden away in a secret chamber and visits him every single night!”

“They say he’s a handsome man straight out of a fairy tale. Some even say he’s an exotic prince!”

“They say he’s a savage who doesn’t even know how to speak! Could Her Majesty be planning to build her own harem? Ho ho ho!”

It had only been a week since my trip to the slave market, yet they were certainly industrious.

Looking embarrassed, Joan flushed red. “I shall discipline them all immediately.”

“Leave it be. They’ll get tired of it soon enough.”

“I fear that Her Majesty the Empress’s reputation might be stained.”

“How many days in my life has my name ever truly been honorable?”

“You are the punishment of Angel, Your Majesty.”

Ah, yes. I was a star—a star that neither twinkled nor shone.

The Star of Angel was never permitted to cry, to hurt, or to waver.

She could not neglect her duties, nor could she harbor jealousy toward her husband’s concubines.

Not content with wringing me dry, Clifford and the ministers constantly demanded even more.

The Empress of Angel was no different from a slave exploited until the moment of her death.

A headache swept over me. It was due to the meticulously lifted blonde hair and the heavy Empress’s tiara resting upon it.

“Your Majesty. Will you go see that slave?”

“No need.”

“His wounds have already fully healed. At the very least, his physical body is intact.”

Does that mean his mental state isn’t entirely sound?

I recalled the man’s gaze, which felt somehow familiar.

Should I call it sorrowful? Or world-weary?

A look that concealed deep loneliness beneath utter indifference—it resembled the reflection in my mirror.

Thinking of the maids’ chatter and Clifford’s pretty collectibles, I let out a sigh.

I would have to give him some kind of work, wouldn’t I? I couldn’t just let him lounge around eating and playing like the women in the harem, could I?

To do that, it seemed I would actually have to go see that bizarre man.

“Joan, where is he kept?”

Before Joan could reply, a familiar shadow appeared at the end of the eastern corridor.

“Stella!”

Michelle waved her slender arms from side to side with a radiant smile.

Her pale pink hair cascaded like rippling waves.

Even the modest dress that clashed with the grandeur of the Imperial Palace and the slightly crooked ribbon at her waist looked like accessories intentionally designed to accentuate Michelle’s beauty.

“What brings you to the Empress’s Palace?”

“I came because I wanted to see you!”

Michelle crinkled the corners of her eyes like an innocent child. A maid speaking to the Empress without a shred of honorifics.

Even when she was an Imperial Consort, Michelle had at least made a decent show of superficial etiquette.

Before the regression, Michelle had been a simple-minded woman whose inner thoughts were glaringly obvious.

However, in this current life, I could no longer read the slick, glossy green eyes of Michelle.

“Lady Michelle. Please mind your speech and manners.”

Joan pointed out with a rigid expression.

“Ah, I’m sorry! I really meant to be careful.”

Michelle clasped her hands together in apology. She would undoubtedly forget her honorifics again—or pretend to forget them—but for now, she looked genuinely remorseful.

“Your Majesty the Empress, are you busy? Too busy to even have a cup of tea with me?”

“I am busy. The Autonia diplomatic delegation will be arriving shortly.”

“Pushing yourself too hard is bad for your health.”

“I only wish His Majesty the Emperor realized that as well.”

“I’ll make sure to pass that on to Cliff, so he gives Her Majesty the Empress plenty of rest time!”

Was she implying I couldn’t rest simply because I lacked Clifford’s permission?

Unlike me, who suppressed a bitter laugh, Joan made no effort to conceal his contempt.

“Lady Michelle. Please refrain from using the Emperor’s pet name in front of Her Majesty the Empress.”

“Why?”

“Not only is it a breach of etiquette, but this is also the Empress’s Palace.”

“Cliff told me I didn’t need to worry about things like that…”

Looking dejected, Michelle mumbled under her breath.

“I suppose Joan thinks Her Majesty the Empress outranks even Cliff.”

“Pardon?”

“Because of remarks like that, Cliff gets upset. No matter how grand Her Majesty the Empress may be, the true master of this country is the Emperor.”

“Lady Michelle. There seems to be some kind of misunderstanding here…”

“Whether it’s the Empress’s Palace or not, as long as Cliff permits it, it’s fine, isn’t it? Am I wrong?”

She was putting on an act of being cowed, but the underlying message was clear: ‘Is a mere staff secretary daring to pick a fight over something the Emperor himself allowed?’

Michelle possessed a special talent for playing the victim in any given situation.

Inevitably, the other party would always end up looking like a malicious oppressor tormenting poor, fragile Michelle.

I couldn’t just throw Joan to Michelle’s jaws as prey.

“Michelle. It doesn’t matter what you call anyone, so just tell me why you came here.”

The moment permission was granted, Michelle asked in a bubbly, cheerful tone.

“That slave you supposedly hid away in the basement of the Empress’s Palace. Is he really that handsome?”

“…What?”

“Is that why you’ve been summoning him to Stella’s bedroom every single night?”