When the Female Lead Went Off-Script, the Main Male Lead Became the Tyrant's Empress

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READ ONLY AT VANISHINTOFICTION.COM

Arden straightened his slouched back and sat upright.

He had been listening toward the corridor for more than thirty minutes, but no furious, pounding footsteps could be heard.

A satisfied smile appeared on his lips.

He had sent word that he wouldn’t accept a refusal, but he hadn’t expected Haster to go along with it so obediently.

No, perhaps Haster had actually liked it quite a bit.

Despite his stern face, Haster adored flowers.

He wasn’t the sort of person to indulge in luxury.

But there was one exception.

Flowers.

The North had long winters and cool breezes even in summer.

There was an enormous greenhouse there that seemed completely out of place in the North, and Haster had filled it with all manner of flowers that could survive only in warm climates and tended them with great care.

When it came to keeping the flowers healthy, he spared no expense and spent money lavishly without concern for the cost.

The moment Arden learned that Haster liked flowers, he ordered people to buy indiscriminately from a flower shop run by one of the most renowned florists in Carcosa, without regard for variety.

He knew Haster liked flowers, but he didn’t know which kinds he preferred.

But that didn’t matter.

There were plenty of flowers, and among them, there was bound to be something he liked.

Then it suddenly occurred to Arden that there was no guarantee Haster only liked fresh flowers.

How foolish!

Arden gathered every imperial tailor and ordered them to make a banquet outfit in half a day.

Using the finest fabric and expensive gold decorations.

They tearfully protested that it was impossible, but he paid them no mind.

If anything, the way he pressured them to test their limits made him every bit the exploitative employer.

Filthy monarchy. The proletarian revolution was imminent!

It was the moment the workers’ ideology turned red.

With no union to turn to, the tailors couldn’t even complain and had to sew until their fingers blistered.

And they finished it.

When Haster told him that their relationship was none of his concern, Arden had been quite bewildered.

He had felt like a sick dog that had been lying beside a warm fireplace, only to be suddenly hurled onto the damp, freezing stone floor of a basement filled with nothing but misery.

He tried to brush the feeling aside, but it was no use.

The shock had been unexpectedly severe.

Why had Haster always treated him so coldly?

And what was the source of this lingering hurt that refused to go away?

It was all because they weren’t as close as Arden had thought.

Their relationship had always been kept at a distance for environmental, political, and geographical reasons.

Arden had believed they had become very close through this opportunity, but apparently that wasn’t the case.

Like flowing water passing through a sieve full of holes, Haster’s words seeped through the cracks in his mind.

At night, he couldn’t sleep.

The more he buried his head in the pillow and tried to force himself to sleep, the more a quiet clamor tightened around his head, and questions flooded in.

The previous night had been the same.

Arden lay with his face buried deep in the pillow, his eyes open.

Every time he blinked, his long eyelashes made a dry rustling sound against the rough pillowcase.

‘Even if I were seeing the Countess, what would that have to do with you?’

Strictly speaking, Haster wasn’t wrong.

That was his private life.

“No, it’s not private!”

Arden shot upright.

If commoners or nobles from some unremarkable family met and formed a relationship among themselves, it hardly mattered.

But it was different when great nobles with private armies were involved.

Just as Haster, the Grand Duke who guarded the North, commanded private troops, so did Troanne.

She currently bore the title of Countess, but she was originally the sole heir of the House of Marquis Ihane, one of the great noble houses.

Her late husband had also been a Count in his own right as a great noble, and after his death, his child would have inherited his title and estate.

Since they had no children, the law dictated that the entire county title and estate would pass to his wife, Stelli Troanne.

Displeased by this, the late Count’s nephews and brothers filed a lawsuit, claiming there had been a verbal agreement regarding the inheritance made during the deceased’s lifetime, though whether such an agreement had truly existed was uncertain.

Because of that, despite being the Count in practice, Troanne was still being addressed as Countess, or the count’s wife, and her attendance at the council had been suspended. However, it was already certain that she would eventually become the household head in her own right.

Furthermore, when the elderly Marquis passed away, she would inherit the marquisate as well.