Chapter 51: Chapter 50. The Opposition Party
Main Palace, Erengrad Empire Palace
Dietrich stormed back into his office, his steps heavy enough to shake the polished floor. The moment the door slammed shut, his fury exploded. He swept his arm across the desk, scattering scrolls, ledgers, and an inkwell that shattered against the wall, black stains dripping like blood. He kicked over a chair, sent a pile of books flying, and tore down the velvet drapes in a blind rage.
His two aides froze where they sat, then scrambled up, pressing themselves into the corners of the room. They clutched their precious documents close to their chests, as though shielding them might spare them from the storm.
"Get me the chancellor!" Dietrich roared, his voice echoing like thunder.
"Ri—right away, Your Highness!" one aide stammered, fumbling toward the door before breaking into a run.
Dietrich’s chest heaved with every breath, anger flooding through him like fire coursing through his veins. He had followed them, wanting some proof. Things he could twist, proof that would allow him to break their bond before the church, to claim it was nothing but a fabrication, a trick woven by demon magic. If he could show the priests that their union was false and not consummated, the bond could be broken by force. Vivianne would be free, and he can have her.
But what he saw in Solendreich Palace was not the weakness he expected. It wasn’t a false display he could expose or some gentle playacting that could be dismissed as illusion. What he saw was something else entirely.
Roxanne claimed Vivianne openly, without hesitation, without restraint. Every movement spoke of dominance and possession, the mark of an alpha who needed no approval, no permission. And Vivianne didn’t resist. She yielded, not in fear, but in devotion. Her body, her voice, her eyes—all of it was given willingly.
Dietrich had expected to see pain or resistance, a fragile mask that might crack under scrutiny. Instead, he saw Vivianne’s gaze lift to Roxanne with admiration so raw, so full of love, that it cut deeper than any blade. There was no illusion in those eyes, no spell, no trick. Only truth.
The truth that shattered him. Vivianne, the woman he had dreamed of, the omega he still believed was destined to be his, looked at his cousin, the half-demon he despised, with a love that he hoped was his.
His fists clenched until his knuckles bled. The rage in his chest coiled tighter, darker, turning from frustration into something poisonous. He could not bear it. He would not bear it. The office around him lay in ruins, but it wasn’t enough.
Nothing was enough to silence the image burned into his mind: Vivianne’s laughter echoing in the palace halls, Vivianne’s lips on Roxanne’s, and Vivianne’s eyes shining with devotion for someone else. And worst of all, for a demon’s daughter.
"You saw the Grand Duke being intimate with her wife?" The chancellor’s eyes widened, disbelief flashing across his face as he studied the emperor. Dietrich’s jaw was tight, his fists clenched at his sides, and his whole body trembling with rage.
"And you’re angry?" the chancellor pressed, his voice sharper now, though still lined with incredulity. He leaned forward slightly, as though trying to see if the emperor was joking, though he knew Dietrich never joked about Vivianne.
"Why shouldn’t I be angry?!" Dietrich’s roar tore through the chamber, echoing off the marble walls. His chest heaved, every breath labored as his alpha instincts surged to the surface. "She’s mine!"
The chancellor, who had served two generations of rulers, didn’t flinch, though his lips pressed into a thin line. For a moment, he simply let the emperor’s fury hang in the air. Then, in a voice that’s neither gentle nor cruel but brutally honest, he said, "Pardon my insolence, Your Highness... but she is her wife."
The words landed like a blade, cutting through Dietrich’s delusion. His eyes burned with a mixture of pain and fury, as if the truth itself had betrayed him. "She’s not her wife," Dietrich said at last, his voice low but trembling with venom. "She’s playing a role. That’s all this is. Roxanne is forcing her, twisting her, and binding her with tricks. Vivianne doesn’t love her. She can’t. She’s mine. She has always been mine."
The chancellor inhaled slowly, weary from years of courtly battles but never from one as dangerous as this. "Your Majesty," he said carefully, "Vivianne de Borgia is bound by law, by vow, and by soul-bond to the Grand Duke. The more you deny it, the more you weaken yourself."
"Law?" Dietrich spat the word like poison. "I am the law. Do you forget who crowned Roxanne with her title? Do you forget who allowed her that northern seat in the first place? Everything she has comes from me. Even Vivianne—if I decide it, she will come to me."
The chancellor’s face tightened, but his silence only fueled Dietrich further. He stepped closer, his shadow falling long and dark across the marble floor. "She looks at me the same way she did before," Dietrich whispered, as if confessing to himself more than anyone else. "I saw it, the hesitation, the flicker. She’s waiting. Waiting for me to take her back. Roxanne may claim her now, but she’s nothing more than a shield, a temporary wall. Walls can crumble."
"Your Highness..." the chancellor began, but the emperor cut him off with a sharp glare.
"She belongs to me," Dietrich hissed, his voice unyielding, almost fevered. "No matter what vows they make, no matter how many times Roxanne parades her around, it doesn’t matter. In the end, Vivianne will be mine. And when that day comes, no one—not Roxanne, not even you—will stand in my way."
When the emperor finally stormed from his office, leaving behind the echo of his rage, the chancellor allowed himself a long, tired breath. He lowered himself into the nearest chair, the weight of years pressing harder on his shoulders than ever before.
In all his years of service, he had seen emperors obsessed, stubborn, and cruel, but never like this. This isn’t a passing fancy, nor the lust of a man chasing beauty. This is pure delusion. Dangerous, consuming delusion. His hands, gnarled with age, rested heavily on the polished oak table before him. He could almost see the numbers written there, the endless columns of gold already spent.
The palace treasury is bleeding, emptied at a reckless pace. In this year alone, Dietrich had spent the entire annual budget hiring the most expensive assassins, all with one goal: to kill Roxanne de Borgia and tear down the wall that kept Vivianne from him. But even as gold vanished into shadows and blood, Vivianne remained beyond his reach.
The empire couldn’t endure this forever. Already, murmurs spread through the court like smoke from an unseen fire. Taxes had been raised again, soldiers were left unpaid, and merchants stood in the halls demanding their dues.
What had once been whispered in corners is now spoken in guarded tones: the emperor’s obsession is driving the empire toward ruin. The nobility grew restless, their patience thin, their loyalty brittle.
The chancellor closed his eyes, weary from the weight of what he foresaw. He had served Dietrich’s father, the emperor; he has his own pride, flaws, and/orvices. But this one, with Dietrich as the emperor, is different. Never had he seen one man pour out the lifeblood of an empire for something so impossible, for someone who would never be his.
If Dietrich continued down this path, the empire would not fall to war or monsters from the North. It would collapse from within, its coffers empty, its armies disbanded, and its people starving. And all of it, every crack in the walls and every shadow of rebellion, would be for one woman who was already bound, already claimed, and already lost to him forever.
For years, he had served the crown faithfully, bending to every order and swallowing every doubt. His loyalty had always been to the empire, because Dietrich de Erengrad is the empire, the emperor, and the law itself. But in truth, much of it had become obedience to the emperor.
Now, watching the coffers bleed dry and the people’s patience wear thin, he finally saw the truth he had ignored for too long. His duty isn’t to please Dietrich. His duty is to protect the empire.
He rubbed his face, weary and heavy with thought. His thoughts shifted to Wyndham. They had always been a rival, always dangerous to oppose, their loyalty set on Princess Morwenna and the demon king she chose.
Once, that had put them on the opposite side. Now, bound to Borgia, their strength is even greater. Perhaps, he thought, they aren’t the threat after all. Perhaps they’re the shield the empire might one day need.
It felt like treason, but it’s the only truth. What loyalty could be owed to a man who would sacrifice his people for his pride? The empire deserved better than Dietrich’s obsession. The chancellor’s eyes hardened. For the first time in decades, his head is finally clear.
His loyalty is to the empire alone, to protect the empire, to put the emperor in his place. And if that meant planting seeds of opposition against the emperor himself, then so be it. Better to act now than watch the empire collapse into ruin.