It was a Political Marriage, But I’m Being Loved - Chapter 68

The Emperor showed no surprise at all upon receiving the report about Valter Bianchi’s condition. In truth, he only felt relief that Achilles had chosen to spare him. After all, Valter’s actions amounted to nothing less than outright treason against the imperial family—a crime rarely survived.

Even if the House of Bianchi had long been close to the imperial bloodline, survival would’ve been unlikely. And yet, Valter had dared act with such arrogance, placing his faith in the Princess’s favor.

Those insufferable fools will probably cling to the Empress or to Lize. They might even try to ruin the Princess’s wedding. I won’t allow that to happen.

“We’ve found evidence of treason in the young marquis’s possession. Arrest Duke Bianchi and place his wife under house arrest.”

The Emperor’s command caught his ministers off guard. They hadn’t even heard whether the young marquis had been interrogated yet.

“Has His Highness the Crown Prince already conducted an interrogation?”

One of the ministers asked cautiously, watching the Emperor’s expression. The Emperor clicked his tongue with irritation.

“Tch. Over forty knights attacked the castle where the Princess resides—and they weren’t from the official Bianchi retinue. They were secretly trained troops, raised under Valter’s command. What would you call a noble who maintains a hidden army without notifying the crown?”

It was no secret that most nobles kept private forces. The Empire was vast, and monsters sometimes appeared across its regions. Public order wasn’t always guaranteed in the provinces.

It was the duty of regional lords to maintain local security. And to do that, they were allowed to raise personal forces, which they considered their right.

For this reason, the Imperial Court required nobles to regularly report the number of their soldiers.

Though the law existed, it was widely regarded as symbolic. But when the imperial family needed a reason to reprimand a noble, it suddenly became useful.

Most nobles did report their numbers—but underreported them. That was “normal.” And so, none of the ministers dared to answer the Emperor’s question.

“Marquis Solten. What do you think I should make of this?”

As the news spread, some attempted to paint it in a romantic light—almost certainly the work of the Bianchi family’s influence.

A dramatic tale began circulating: the young marquis, driven mad by love, attempted to flee with the Princess rather than see her enter a political marriage. The Tower Lord pursued her in a dramatic chase—soon to be made into a staged performance, or so rumors claimed. When the Empress heard of this, she sent someone to shut the troupe down.

Though he, too, had underreported his forces, Marquis Solten knew this was a moment to be bold.

Unregistered troops could be written off as a mistake in paperwork. Treason, however, belonged to the Bianchi family—not to him. He had nothing to fear, unless he was directly tied to them.

“They raised hidden troops and used them to harm the Princess. That, Your Majesty, is treason.”

Treason…!

A wave of murmurs rippled through the nobles. The Emperor shot a sharp, irritated glare across the hall. Did they really think Valter had tried to harm the Princess, and yet could be spared?

“But Your Majesty! The House of Bianchi has served the imperial family loyally for centuries! While the young marquis’s actions are indeed unforgivable, surely, they were a reckless act of youthful emotion. He couldn’t have truly meant to harm Her Highness…”

BANG!

The Emperor’s fist slammed into the armrest of the golden throne with such force that its gilded surface cracked, scattering golden dust to the floor.

“Youthful emotion? Is the name of the imperial family so light it can be stained by something as fleeting as that?”

The noble who had tried to defend the Bianchi family turned pale with shock. He was Valter Bianchi’s maternal uncle—and the brother of the Duchess Bianchi.

The honor of the imperial family was no light matter. And if this continued unchecked, the entire Bianchi family would be doomed.

Valter… You were always clever—why would you do something so foolish…?

If the victim hadn’t been the Imperial Princess, Valter might have had a chance at survival. Had he been born a prince, he might have gotten away with the same crime under the guise of political maneuvering. But the woman he tried to kidnap was the Princess—just days before her marriage, personally arranged by the Emperor himself.

And to make matters worse, this all came not long after an attempted assassination of the Crown Prince. It was only natural for the Emperor to react sharply.

Duke Bianchi, realizing that his entire family might be dragged into this mess, quickly stepped forward, fell to his knees, and pressed his forehead to the floor of the audience hall.

“I spoke out of turn, Your Majesty, overcome by concern for my nephew. Please—have mercy.”

Though he pitied his sister and nephew, there was no escaping the flames this time. The Emperor had clearly made up his mind to abandon the Bianchi family. The surrounding nobles, picking up on this, began shifting uneasily, exchanging glances of growing concern.

Treason was a dangerous, cursed word—one that spelled suffering for everyone it touched. The nobles of this era had grown used to peace and were softened by comfort. Whispers of worry over the safety of their houses began to ripple through the court.

Looking down at them with disdain, the Emperor declared coldly:

“Hmph. Valter Bianchi is a traitor, and House Bianchi will be punished for its treason. Anyone who dares defend them will be judged as having committed the same crime. I suggest you all think carefully before opening your mouths.”

Though House Bianchi held a ducal title and was bound by blood to many noble families—some even to the Imperial Family itself—the Emperor had clearly decided to sever that connection. The nobles now began to suspect that Valter might have had a role in the recent assassination attempt on the Crown Prince.

Is the Imperial Family truly abandoning my house?

Duke Bianchi pondered grimly as he was loaded into a carriage by Imperial knights. It had been his son, Valter, who committed the crime—but as the head of the household, he now bore the responsibility and could not escape judgment.

When he first heard the news, the Duke had assumed only Valter would be punished—perhaps execution, exile, or lifelong confinement. But now it was clear: the entire family was being brought down.

The Imperial Family had always been generous to House Bianchi. Part of that was due to the Princess’s affection for them, but much of it was because they were soon to be related by marriage.

“To think it would all collapse like this… How could the Imperial Family treat me this way…?”

His cry of anguish fell on deaf ears. The Imperial knights showed no sympathy. House Bianchi had enjoyed prestige only because of the Princess’s favor. They had thrown that favor away, yet foolishly assumed it would continue.

His wife, meanwhile, had been attending a high-society tea party, deliberately trying to stir public sentiment in their favor. If knights had come for him, they surely would’ve gone for her too.

The image of her being dragged out in front of those noblewomen—humiliated and disgraced—made his blood boil. Not from love, but from fury at the shame it would bring their family name.

As the carriage door shut, surrounded by Imperial knights, it began to roll forward. It was not one of the stately carriages belonging to nobility, but the rough, jostling kind used for prisoners. The Duke let out a bitter chuckle.

Even in these small details, it was clear how the Imperial Family now saw them. With a hand over his face, Duke Bianchi sank into silent despair.

When word spread that they would be leaving the northern stronghold, the servants inside seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. Perhaps it was because they had realized the knights’ raid had been targeting the Princess.

Charlize sighed quietly in Achilles’ arms as she watched him cast a spell.

She didn’t want to return to the capital. That was where Valter had been taken. After this, she’d likely never see him again—but she couldn’t help wondering what would become of the Bianchi family.

This isn’t something I should be worrying about. I’m getting married now…

Even if Valter fell, it was simply a consequence of his own crimes. The fate of his house would be decided by the Emperor, not her. It was not her place to intervene.

As Achilles and Charlize soared into the sky, glowing with magic, she gazed down at the receding landscape.

Maybe it was her memories from a past life, but the rushing scenery reminded her of looking through a subway window. Though the flight was far more precarious, she wasn’t afraid. She trusted Achilles.

Instead of wasting energy on things she couldn’t control, Charlize chose to focus on something else. She had decided to learn magic—and long-distance teleportation was proving to be a particularly useful spell.

Perhaps even after marrying into the Tower, she could still use it to travel easily between the palace and her new home. Noticing the spell’s convenience, she watched Achilles’ magic with growing fascination, until he suddenly spoke.

“…Teleportation magic is difficult to control.”

It sounded suspiciously like he wouldn’t teach her until she reached a certain level. Charlize pouted in protest—only to be silenced by a kiss.

They had thought it would take longer to regenerate because it wasn’t a clean cut but rather a burn. But healing damaged flesh took the same amount of time either way.

The high-ranking priest examined the inside of Valter’s mouth and stepped back. That was as far as the Crown Prince had ordered him to go.

“He should be able to speak now.”

Casting one last glance at Valter, the priest left the dungeon. Whether that look had been one of pity or shock at the fallen young noble’s state was hard to say.

Oscar silently stared at Valter’s face, still handsome despite the disfigurement from the flames.

“…Why did you do it?”

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