Mirabel knew her own limitations all too well.
If she weren't the Empress, Sylas probably wouldn't even glance her way.
Even as Empress, Sylas wasn't the type to climb the social ladder; he would still look down on her.
And she lacked Isolde's ability and force of character.
Since she had nothing, she had to resort to underhanded tricks.
Gwendolyn's return had given Mirabel a profound understanding of what it meant to be a puppet emperor.
She truly had no power whatsoever; everyone could instruct her.
She was actually quite content with this; being Auntie Gwendolyn's puppet was wonderful!
However, it was precisely because she had finally experienced the feeling of being in a position of power over Sylas these past few days,
that its sudden disappearance now felt so acute.
This was truly difficult for Mirabel.
She had become a sage sovereign in the eyes of the Stoneworld people—courteous to the worthy, discerning loyalty from treachery, even compressing her own desires as a ruler to the extreme.
This wasn't her delusion.
Sometimes, a sovereign without power or desire was simply a wise ruler in the eyes of the common people.
Comparing people shouldn't always be vertical; one must also look horizontally.
The Aethelred Empress Isolde was brilliant and formidable, but somewhat militaristic.
A single war, tens of thousands dead and wounded—how many families lay shattered behind those numbers?
The Wealdham Empress Rowena the Recluse devoted herself to spiritual cultivation, building countless churches, squandering vast amounts of public wealth.
In Wealdham, priests held higher status than ordinary officials.
In comparison, Stonewold enjoyed clear politics, its people lived and worked in peace, and officials at all levels were diligent and conscientious.
Regardless of whether Mirabel did any work, she was considered a wise ruler, right?
So now, couldn't this wise ruler take a man for herself?
The secret potion she brought back from the palace was specifically used to control disobedient men.
This potion was called the Puppet-Heart Potion, extremely precious, and only worked on those with a weak will or constitution.
The potion, once ingested, released a potent enchantment that clouded the mind, making the victim suggestible and compliant to the commands of the one who administered it.
Sylas felt a strange warmth spread from his stomach, then stared blankly at Mirabel.
A foreign feeling arose in his mind.
Love her... love her proactively...
No! No!
Sylas shook his head. He said desolately, "Your Majesty, do not force others into difficulties..."
"Huh? Didn't it work?" Mirabel puzzled, poked his chest. Then, she suddenly remembered the usage method the palace alchemist had told her.
The Puppet-Heart Potion could influence a man's actions, but its most useful function was that it could artificially inflame a man's desire, making him pliable.
"Desire... Hehehe..." Looking at Sylas's aloof face, Mirabel couldn't help but imagine him in a state of desperate longing.
What would a handsome, aloof noble son look like overcome with magically-induced desire?
She leaned close to Sylas's ear and whispered with a light laugh, "Sylas, let's go to the palace together. I promise I'll govern the country well from now on."
"I'd rather... Sss—" He sucked in a sharp breath, suddenly feeling the warmth in his core intensify and spread.
Then, his limbs began to grow weak.
His senses heightened; his eyes grew hazy.
Smelling the young girl's delicate fragrance beside him, a strange, imposed thought arose in him for the first time.
Mirabel...
Is very beautiful.
Very pretty.
Truly very pretty, prettier than any woman he had ever seen.
Sylas fell silent. He felt Mirabel rubbing against his ear. He turned his face slightly, looking at her with dazed eyes.
Her fair little face, with its full, pouty lips like a cherry...
He leaned in obsessively and gave her a gentle kiss.
Mirabel was overjoyed. Seeing the effect appear, her playful heart was stirred.
She pulled back, pretending to be reserved. "What are you doing? How could you kiss me? Don't you like Auntie Gwendolyn?"
"Your Majesty..." Sylas looked at her with deep, unfathomable eyes, then actually gave a foolish laugh.
His shoulders slumped as he said ingratiatingly, "Your Majesty, I... I think you are especially beautiful today."
As he spoke, he leaned closer.
By now, his legs had no strength.
With that movement, he nearly knelt on the floor.
Mirabel hurriedly supported his arm, afraid he might fall, but ultimately let him sink to the ground.
Then...
...
He was very enthusiastic after being drugged.
He seems as if he wants to release all of his suppressed desires.
She even has a hard time coping.
...
"What exactly did you do to me?! What is this sorcery?! How could I be so... base?" Sylas stared fixedly at Mirabel, who was dressing.
Every action from before was etched into his memory, making Sylas unable to believe he could be so debased under this magical influence.
Even with Isolde, he had never felt his own will so utterly subverted.
Mirabel, looking pleased, fastened her buttons. She turned around and smiled. "Do I look properly dressed?"
"I'm asking you, what potion did you use..."
"Being disobedient again, are you? Daring to question me? Do you think your character is noble?
The potion merely lowers your inhibitions, reveals your hidden desires! You've exposed your true nature!" Mirabel snapped her fingers, mentally reinforcing the enchantment.
Sylas once again felt that warm, compelling haze cloud his mind.
He instantly panicked.
Hearing this, Mirabel actually stopped her actions. She triumphantly stroked Sylas's face, brushing aside the damp hair on his cheek.
She said with a wicked smile, "You'll be obedient this time, right? The potion's effects are quite persistent."
Sylas could say nothing more. He stared blankly at Mirabel; the last hope in his heart had been extinguished.
Enchanted by this ruthless girl, there truly was no chance of escape left.
"Obedient..."
"Good. Come on, let's go see Auntie Gwendolyn."
Sylas closed his eyes and slowly dressed.
Mirabel even proactively took his hand and led him towards Gwendolyn's room.
At the door, Mirabel checked his appearance.
"Mmm, good. Still that aloof air. In front of others, maintain this appearance. But with me, you must be like just now—"
"Your Majesty, please don't say anymore." Sylas entered, burning with shame and anger.
Mirabel, however, wasn't annoyed. She bit her red lip, a look of triumphant smile on her face.
The enchantment was already upon him. What else could he do?
Sylas entered the bedroom and saw several maids attending to Gwendolyn.
Seeing him enter, Gwendolyn had the maids leave.
She noticed the shifting emotions on Sylas's face and guessed that Mirabel must have been pestering him.
Feeling deeply ashamed, but forcing herself to be stern, she said, "Lord Byron, His Majesty is very fond of you. You... following me has no future. Let's both be rational about this."
Sylas was dispirited and saddened. He sat beside Gwendolyn and, regardless of what Mirabel might think, took Gwendolyn's hand.
Just then, Mirabel happened to enter.
Gwendolyn became somewhat flustered. She kept giving Sylas meaningful looks, but her arm had no sensation and couldn't move.
But Sylas was beyond caring. He knew that henceforth, even Gwendolyn couldn't save him from this magical compulsion.
He would be trapped, perhaps never truly free again.
But so what?
Would cooperating with her grant him the life he wanted?
The more he cooperated, the more he would ultimately tolerate and nurture this tyranny.
He looked at Mirabel and said quietly, profoundly, "Your Majesty, let me be frank.
I am fond of Lady Gwendolyn.
I wish to follow her for the rest of my life.
I beg your blessing."