The heavy carriage moves with a steady, rocking motion, carrying Mikhail and his new fiancée deeper into the heart of the Great Empire's territory. Two days have passed since the brutal, definitive confrontation in Eldrath. The internal quiet of the journey is becoming a source of intense frustration for Mikhail, who thrives on the constant feedback loop provided by his mind-reading ability.
He watches Miyako, who sits ramrod straight on the opposite seat, her black kimono blending into the deep shadows of the carriage's corner. She's an exquisite study in absolute stillness. It's been two days since we left the capital for the Empire. And she doesn't say a thing. Haa, this is getting boring. Her entire existence seems to be reduced to the bare minimum of being a passenger, offering only single-word replies when absolutely necessary. Just replies a word only when I ask her something. She was always like this, even in the game.
Mikhail focuses his full mental effort on her, staring intently at the pale, stoic face. Hmm, nothing. The silence in her mind is absolute, an impenetrable, echoing void. I can't read her mind at all.
A cold knot of concern tightens in his stomach. Does she have some kind of counter skill? He mentally reviews the previous days. Wait, no. Now that I think about it, I also never got to read Hilowat's mind. The Vice Commander, while fiercely loyal, had always presented the same mental blank slate. Can't be a coincidence. He considers the possibilities. Is this because they don't think anything other than what they're saying? That seems unlikely for someone of Miyako's intellect. Or could it be that they're stronger than me, so the skill doesn't work on them? This is the terrifying, most plausible possibility. Miyako and Hilowat, as top-tier warriors and potential future legendaries, might possess a mental fortitude or innate power that exceeds his current capacity to breach.
His mind momentarily flashes back to the courtroom. In the court, before I killed Ren, I could hear his thoughts. He was scared—not for himself, but for the princess. A faint, sardonic admiration crosses his face. A hero, hero till the end. That's why you're dead, Ren. The weakness of the Hero was his commitment to others; the strength of the Villain is his absolute self-preservation.
Miyako's voice, level and precise, snaps him out of his inner monologue. "Is there anything you wish to speak, My Lord?"
Mikhail blinks, taken slightly off guard. "Hmm?"
"You are staring at me," she states, without accusation or emotion, merely stating a fact.
Mikhail recovers swiftly, deciding to use his inability to read her as a tool for conversation. "Yeah, I was thinking about what you are thinking. You always stay so silent. I like it when I understand the person in front of me. But with you, I only see a human being just alive." He lays his vulnerability—or rather, his claimed vulnerability—bare.
Miyako's response is immediate and without defensiveness. "I apologize, but this is how I am. I don't know how to talk much. I don't know how to express anything."
"Hmm, I understand," Mikhail concedes, his eyes narrowing slightly, accepting her explanation while filing it away as a potential lie. He decides to press deeper into the political context. "Tell me, did you know about the Princess's affair?"
"Yes," she replies simply, confirming the complicity of the Princess's inner circle. Her voice holds a rare hint of judgment. "I always believed Ren was a good person, but he wished to leech off of her status, forcing her into a reckless situation." This is a pragmatic, political view—not a romantic one.
"Hmm, I understand that you are very loyal to the Queen and Eldrath for adopting you." He watches her carefully as he prepares the inevitable, most crucial question. "But tell me, how do you feel about me killing Ren?"
Her dark eyes remain fixed downward, her expression unmoving. "I don't feel anything. The existence of Ren does not mean anything to me." Her loyalty is to the throne, not to the Princess's personal drama. "But I believe that sparing the Princess was not something you did out of nobility. You wished to gain something, but I don't understand why you would take me, a mere bodyguard." She finally reveals the source of her distrust. "That is why I don't trust you, My Lord."
A dark, genuine laugh erupts from Mikhail. He reaches for his wine cup, thoroughly pleased. "Good, good. You'll be a good wife."
The compliment—or perhaps the complete dismissal of her defiance—achieves what hours of observation could not. For the first time since their journey began, she lifts her eyes and meets his gaze directly. Her eyes are deep and assessing, a silent question of challenge and survival passing between them.
Mikhail, enjoying the effect, continues, his voice hardening with the authority he now possesses. "But don't forget, you are not a mere bodyguard anymore. You are my wife. My fiancée. If someone—anyone—dares to disrespect you, or by extension, disrespect the future Empress of the Great Empire..." His voice drops to a cold, thrilling promise. "You have the permission to behead them and decorate the walls of the palace with their heads."
Miyako holds his gaze for another moment, processing the terrifying gift of absolute power he's just granted her. It's a clear, unambiguous command that she's no longer merely a servant, but an executor of Imperial will.
"Understood, My Lord," she finally replies, the single, concise phrase carrying the entire weight of her acceptance and her newfound, lethality.