The dim side wing of the City Lord’s mansion had long been cleared of its original furnishings.
In their place, a half-suspended magitech cloud bed that the princess was accustomed to, along with her familiar furniture and decorations, had been brought in, transforming the room into a “boudoir” identical in style to her other palaces.
Expensive calming incense lingered in the air.
Even so, Margaret lay face down, letting Annana apply medicine to her thigh while she hissed through her lips.
After listening to Annana’s report, she couldn’t hide the schadenfreude on her face.
“Good, that City Lord did well.”
“He does have some sense.”
“I’ll remember him.”
After praising the City Lord, she thought of that tall, burly figure she both hated to her core and secretly feared.
Tears welled at the corners of her eyes, and the bruises on her leg seemed to ache even more.
“Damn Jon… He actually dared to hit me! Even my Imperial Father never hit me!”
“Not even my Imperial Father!”
“Who does he think he is?”
“I haven’t even married yet!”
“Besides, even if the Imperial Father decreed the marriage, he should be marrying into my family…”
“Wu…”
Annana listened to Margaret’s complaints as she carefully cast various small spells—a gentle breeze, numbing cold—to ease the pain of the medicine as much as possible.
“Your Highness, City Lord Rossi is a scoundrel. He’s using you.”
Annana suddenly spoke.
“Ah?”
Margaret turned her head in surprise.
“Your Highness, these Border Warriors never act without profit. How could they be so kind?”
“Besides, their actions were too quick. The moment they heard news of your conflict with the Hero, they immediately took action.”
After finishing the medicine, Annana, as always, began to massage the princess’s body.
Her fair, delicate hands applied just the right amount of pressure, clearly the result of specialized training.
She explained to the princess step by step.
“City Lord Rossi probably wanted to secretly sell grain to the Hero for a profit, but the Hero either refused or delayed because of the high price.”
“So he used your name as leverage to seize the last remaining food and valuables from the refugees, putting pressure on the Hero.”
“He dares to use me!”
Margaret exploded in anger.
Annana didn’t even lift her eyelids.
Her tone remained gentle and submissive.
“Your Highness, if he can use us, why can’t we use his position as well?”
“You are the Imperial Pearl. No matter what, you can’t let things get this tense between you and the Hero…”
“You want me to bow my head to that bastard Jon?”
Margaret’s beautiful eyes widened as she sat up, wincing in pain as her bruises throbbed.
“Hiss—No way! Absolutely not! He hit me! He actually hit me!”
“Your Highness…”
Annana gently pressed Margaret’s shoulder, preventing her from jumping up, and patiently persuaded her.
“Don’t you want to borrow the Hero’s strength?”
“Don’t you want to use the Hero’s support to fight for The Throne?”
“Shut up! What nonsense are you spouting!”
Margaret’s eyebrows shot up.
Annana obediently closed her mouth, standing quietly by her side.
After a long while, Margaret finally asked in a low voice.
“But I don’t want to marry the Hero…”
“Your Highness, why not?”
Annana was curious.
Margaret irritably ruffled her long hair.
“No reason. I just can’t stand him.”
“He’s too rustic, too dumb, too crude.”
“He has no sense of fashion, can’t understand the operas I love…”
“Can you imagine spending decades sharing a bed with someone you have no common language with?”
“It makes me feel like a… a…”
In the end, Margaret couldn’t bring herself to say the word “prostitute.”
“Your Highness, there are few marriages in a royal family that go as one wishes.”
“Endure it, and it will pass.”
Annana advised sincerely.
But Margaret was unmoved.
Her eyes reddened.
“Isn’t there any way to make him obey me without marrying him?”
“……”
Annana fell silent.
Margaret looked back and caught sight of Annana’s delicate, beautiful face.
Suddenly, she blurted out.
“Why don’t you marry him instead?”
Annana froze at the words.
A flash of unspoken joy passed over her face, her cheeks flushing, but she quickly calmed down and shook her head.
“Your Highness, please don’t entertain such wild thoughts.”
“Annana, my dear Annana, you’re the best, you’re the smartest—help me think of a way~”
Margaret hugged Annana, whining like a spoiled child.
Annana hesitated for a long time before finally speaking softly.
“Your Highness, if you really insist…”
“We could set up a scheme to make Jon believe that, in a drunken state, he was disrespectful to you and took your maidenhood, then use that to threaten him.”
Worried the princess would be displeased, Annana hurriedly added.
“Not for real, just pretend.”
“There are ways to deal with clever people, and ways to deal with honest ones.”
“Since he’s loyal and naive, we’ll use his loyalty and naivety.”
“Good idea!”
Margaret beamed.
“Better yet, let’s make it more realistic.”
“At the right moment, you take my place and let him ‘do that’ to you, then when he’s about to wake up, switch back to me so I can scream.”
“Umm…”
Annana choked, her expression torn between laughter and tears.
Her hands trembled, as if she were reaching for a priceless pearl that she could never truly claim.
Margaret imagined the Hero discovering the bloodstain on the bed, flustered and helpless, completely at her mercy.
Her mood lifted instantly, and she stopped caring about “temporary submission.”
“Annana, what do you think should be done with that City Lord?”
Margaret asked lightly.
Annana leaned in close to the princess’s ear and whispered.
The more the princess listened, the more enlightened she became, nodding repeatedly.
—
Under the same dark cloud.
In a nondescript house in a remote corner of Rossi City, a towering, iron-towered man was asking the same question.
“Hero-sama, how do you think the City Lord of Rossi should be dealt with?”
The burly man had a succubus in each arm, his large hands roaming boldly.
He was none other than the highest commander of the Immortal Army, ‘Iron Bear General Folco,’ and the key figure in the “military rations smuggling” operation.
The succubus on the left was dressed as a nun, feigning innocence, resisting while moaning in half-hearted refusal.
The succubus on the right wore a red dress, her stockings bold and elegant, black heels with red soles gleaming seductively as she blew into the iron giant’s ear with a flirtatious smile.
The room was equally extraordinary.
The décor was simple but far from plain, with every exquisite oil painting crafted by a master, each piece of furniture an artwork chosen by the succubi—worth more than the Baroque Style luxury of the Imperial Capital.
In truth, Folco understood nothing of art.
He could only appreciate black stockings, long legs, and the soft, voluptuous bodies of succubi.
But he’d heard this style was popular in the capital lately, giving him a fleeting illusion of having “infiltrated high society.”
The Hero’s eyes, however, never once rested on these dazzling symbols.
His pupils glowed faintly red, his gaze unwavering, with a hint of killing intent seeping through.
“I want him dead.”
Jon spoke slowly.
Folco froze, then burst out laughing.
“Hero-sama, I never thought I’d hear those words from you.”
“Honestly, even someone like me, who hates him, wouldn’t go so far as to want him dead.”
“What did he do to offend you?”
“He killed one of my teacher’s children.”
Jon’s voice was low.
Folco was silent for several seconds before he recovered, a thoughtful look in his eyes.
“Is that so?”
“Then this is a big deal…”