A few days later, Sylas finally found a moment of leisure. Victoria remained tirelessly busy, continuing her duties at the Chancellor's residence.
Meanwhile, Sylas took out the storage pouch
Jade had given him and inspected the gifts inside—nothing more than some gold, silver, and jewels, nothing particularly noteworthy.
He stared blankly at the pouch, lost in thought about how to reach out to Jade again. It was clear Jade held strong feelings for him.
Sylas had always despised men who manipulated women's affections for personal gain.
In his eyes, such men were nothing but scoundrels.
Having been educated in the classics of sages since childhood, he valued honesty and integrity, and had never been one to exploit others' goodwill.
But this time, he felt he had no other choice.
He was at his limit.
Sylas considered finding a way to pressure Jade, though he hadn't yet figured out how.
But that very day, a palace messenger arrived, summoning the families of officials to pay respects to the Empress Dowager.
Sylas had no desire to go.
What reason did he have to visit Isolde's father?
He wasn't even the primary consort—just a secondary husband.
Yet the palace attendant insisted that, as the Chancellor of Aethelred, his absence would reflect poorly on Victoria.
"What face do I need to save? How absurd," Sylas grumbled inwardly.
A conquered slave—what need did he have for saving face?
But to maintain his position in the Marquess's household, he reluctantly boarded the carriage to the palace.
Upon arriving at the inner court, he saw many family members of high-ranking officials gathered there.
Sylas had no interest in socializing with them.
As a prisoner of war, he always felt a sense of inferiority.
Fortunately, a palace maid soon approached and instructed him to wait in the imperial gardens.
Sylas followed her.
Before long, they arrived at a flower pavilion.
Despite the freezing cold outside, the pavilion was filled with blooming flowers of every kind—clearly cultivated by mages, for how else could it be so warm inside?
Surrounded by the blossoms, Sylas sat quietly, waiting for further instructions.
After what felt like a long time, the door to the flower pavilion opened.
Isolde entered, dressed in simple attire and carrying a food box.
Dressed like this, she looked no different from an ordinary palace maid.
Sylas hurriedly bowed in salute.
But Isolde impatiently closed the door, set down the food box, and complained, "The New Year is such a hassle. Sylas, I'm not happy."
"..."
Sylas remained on his head, utterly bewildered.
He bit his thin lip, unsure how to respond.
Usually, when Isolde said she was unhappy, it meant she was about to punish him severely.
But wasn't today meant for paying respects to the Empress Dowager?
And besides, this was a flower pavilion—what could she possibly intend to do here?
Isolde didn't elaborate.
Instead, she began undressing herself.
Sylas swallowed hard and said with difficulty, "Your Majesty, perhaps we should attend to the official matters first? Not here."
Isolde was taken aback. "Isn't this your official purpose? Or do you have some other use?"
She adored Sylas immensely, yet she loved to belittle him with her words—as if doing so could lessen her own affection for him even slightly.
"But everyone is here to—"
Isolde rubbed his forehead and laughed. "Sylas, you know?
Every time you come up with these lame excuses, it makes me particularly excited.
Honestly, I love hearing you give useless reasons for refusal.
Go on, keep going. I want to see what lies Lord Sylas can concoct."
Sylas fell silent.
Seeing that nothing he said would work, he gave up resisting.
But he also feared provoking Isolde's stubborn temper, which could lead to punishment.
He could only play along and say, "Your Majesty, my Lady Sovereign is currently serving you. This... this is ultimately improper..."
Hearing this, a trace of seriousness replaced the playfulness on Isolde's face.
She sighed deeply and, for the first time, showed Sylas her official, work-focused expression.
"Actually... Ah, Sylas, don't go back. Stay in the palace. Troubled times are coming."
"How can that be? I am part of the Marquess's household," Sylas hurriedly declined.
He had just been thinking of seeking Jade's help.
If he were confined to the palace, wouldn't he be completely imprisoned by Isolde?
"I'm doing this for your own good!" Isolde glared at him, then said quietly, "Victoria has overreached.
Now almost all ministers oppose her—even many frontier governors.
I've advised her several times, but she won't listen.
She insists on promulgating the new laws.
She wants to make moves against the upper class. But... it's not that simple."
Isolde wore a conflicted, troubled expression.
She was the Empress of Aethelred, the youngest and most sagacious monarch in centuries.
Yet even with such prestige and the feat of conquering a nation, she felt the resistance to reform was too great, beyond her strength.
Moreover, Victoria's power had grown immense, almost to the point of being uncontrollable.
Isolde didn't believe Victoria intended to rebel, but that didn't mean her subordinates didn't.
Suspicion was the greatest fear between ruler and subject.
After repeatedly urging Victoria to slow down, to no effect, Isolde finally grew displeased.
This feeling of giving orders that were ignored truly vexed the Empress.
Though it hadn't yet come to an immediate falling out, a rift had appeared.
The imperial family is the most ruthless.
Isolde had already prepared to sacrifice Victoria. Her remaining shred of humanity led her to trick
Sylas into coming to the palace.
She planned to place him under house arrest to protect his life.
This time, she saw her own heart clearly.
Since she couldn't let go, she shouldn't give him to anyone else anymore—even if it meant keeping him as her own collection piece.
Hearing this, Sylas's breath hitched.
He didn't have deep feelings for Victoria, only grateful that this woman had given him a period of relatively peaceful life.
And now, Isolde intended to close this last window of opportunity for him.
He forced a smile. "Your Majesty, I was just managing the household this morning. Let me prepare, alright?"
"Prepare what? What do you need to prepare?" Isolde said irritably. "I'm afraid one day the situation will spiral out of control, and a mob will storm the Marquess's manor to take you away."
Her concerns weren't unfounded.
Victoria had made enemies relentlessly.
These people, for their own interests, would surely stop at nothing.
Sylas smiled bitterly. "Wouldn't that be fine? Then I could just... uh!"
His cheek was pinched.
Isolde shot him a look. "I've heard these words so often my ears have calluses. You're not a fool. You know you can't die, so why won't you accept it?"
Her eyes twinkled mischievously. "How about this: you focus on recuperating.
Once you're well, help me get pregnant.
I'll remove the Servant's Chain then, and you can go die. Deal?"
Sylas's eyes were full of doubt, unsure how much truth was in her words.
Isolde added, "But if you die, what about your mother and sister? Should they be buried with you?"
Sylas finally closed his eyes. She was still deceiving him.
"Alright, you've been supplementing for a few days now. Let me inspect the goods first. You're not leaving."
Isolde laughed.
Although recent events were numerous and annoying, this moment was the happiest she had felt in a long time.