Tamed Monster - Chapter 120

The women drawn to him had only whispered words of love, enamored by his noble blood, powerful physique, and strikingly handsome face. Yet, those who truly embraced him with their whole heart were few and far between.

Even those women, after only one or two encounters, quickly realized just how despicable a man he really was and erased any feelings for him from their hearts.

“Right? She was definitely acting suspicious, wasn’t she?”

When the Emperor demanded agreement, both the knights and the secretary hastily replied, “Yes, Your Majesty.” After all, he’d already decided what answer he wanted to hear. Anyone who dared disagree—insisting it was just a feeling—risked not just their own life, but their entire family’s safety. He was that petty and cruel tyrant.

“Hmm. Since you all think the same, my intuition must be right. That woman is bound to come see me soon.”

Whether she came seeking help, or like so many others, simply drawn to him in a fit of passion, it was only a matter of time before she showed her face in this place. The Emperor could hardly contain his anticipation, snickering to himself, utterly oblivious to how everyone around him looked at him as if he were mad.

“Ah… I swear, everyone’s always looking for me. I barely get a moment’s rest all day. Maybe I should try to close my eyes for a bit, even now.”

He spent his days boasting to his servants and wasting time in the bedchamber with women, with not a shred of self-awareness. Even when everyone bowed their heads in silence at his empty proclamations, it was obvious to everyone in the room that the empire was doomed.

‘Can he really be allowed to keep ruling like this? He’s worse than the last Emperor. If only… if only something—anything—would happen to upend this country.’

Such treasonous and desperate thoughts, harbored by one of those present, might just become reality in the not-so-distant future.

* * *

Every day felt like another step deeper into despair.

Sylvia, though physically unbound, had not been allowed to leave her room or seek help from anyone else. On the fifteenth day of her confinement, she was finally granted permission to exchange a single letter with her sister.

“Write it here, in front of me. I need to check for any nonsense.”

The monster who blocked her path issued the warning as he loomed in front of her, watching as she stared down at the blank sheet of paper, quill in hand.

Sylvia took a deep breath, quietly sorting out what she wanted to say, then began to write. She opened with polite greetings, lied about her well-being, and then moved on to praise her husband. She figured he would only relax his guard if she filled the letter with such empty, flattering nonsense.

“Hmm. Hmm.”

When she claimed her handsome husband was treating her well, feeding her, and letting her enjoy every luxury, the monster looked genuinely pleased.

If he’d sensed any insincerity, he would have accused her of lying, but instead, he truly believed he was the attentive husband described in her letter. Sylvia was dumbfounded, but she hid her true feelings and calmly moved on to the next part.

‘Sister.’

The last time they’d spoken, her sister had said she was getting settled and no longer needed help from the ducal house. Sylvia knew her sister wasn’t the type to say such things lightly; she must really be preparing to stand on her own.

They might now be royals of a fallen kingdom, but they had once been true royalty. Royals, no matter how freely they are raised, always pick up a few secret skills—like hiding a coded message in their handwriting in a foreign language, right under an enemy’s nose.

‘Sister, it turns out my husband is a monster. I can’t explain in detail. Before you get trapped like I have, take our parents and run far away.’

Even if the code went undetected, any sign of suspicion on her face could give her away. Sylvia forced herself to keep calm, aware that the slightest frown, tremble in her breath, or movement of her shoulders could attract his attention. She had to control every aspect of her body.

Naturally, she blinked, exhaled, and moved her arm, writing swiftly and naturally. Her husband, who had been watching closely, turned away the moment she set down her quill, apparently satisfied and noticing nothing amiss.

‘I can’t help you anymore. I’m sorry, sister.’

That final line, left unwritten, echoed sadly in her heart. She sealed the letter and handed it to her husband with a calm face.