The silence in the Grand Cathedral was so thick you could have cut it with a ceremonial sword.
Emperor Alaric didn't move. His hand remained gripped on the hilt of his blade, his knuckles white. The air around him began to shimmer with a faint, oppressive blue light—the manifestation of his [Star-Crusher Magic].
"A pre-nuptial... agreement?" Alaric's voice was a low, dangerous growl. "Evelyn, have you finally lost your mind? You are a Bismarck. Your only duty is to stand there, look pretty, and provide the dowry your father promised to fund the Northern Campaign."
I didn't flinch. In my previous life, I'd had billionaires scream in my face while the global market collapsed. A handsome man with a glowing sword was just another Tuesday.
"The Northern Campaign?" I laughed, the sound sharp and crystalline. "You mean the war you've been losing for three years? The one that has drained eighty percent of the Imperial Reserve?"
I stepped closer, my heavy silk train hissing against the marble. I leaned in, whispering so only he could hear.
"I've seen the ledgers, Alaric. Or rather, I've seen the lack of them. Your 'Grand Army' is currently eating sawdust, and your blacksmiths haven't been paid in six months. You didn't marry me for my beauty. You married me because the Bismarck family holds the deeds to the iron mines you desperately need."
Alaric's eyes widened. The "original" Evelyn was a vapid girl who didn't know the difference between a gold coin and a button. To hear me talk about logistics and reserves was like watching a house cat suddenly speak fluent Latin.
"How do you know this?" he hissed.
"I'm a quick study," I replied, holding up the parchment. "Sign it. This contract grants me the title of Imperial Chancellor of the Treasury. In exchange, I will release the Bismarck funds immediately. If you don't sign... well, I hear the Northern Tribes are very close to the border. I wonder how they'll feel when they realize your knights have no horses because you couldn't afford the hay."
[System Alert!] [Mental Pressure detected from Target: Alaric von Ravenstone.] [Skill Activated: 'Hedge Fund Poker Face' (Rank S).] [Effect: You are immune to Intimidation for 120 seconds.]
Alaric looked at the document. He looked at the court, who were starting to murmur. He looked at me—truly looked at me—for the first time. He didn't see a puppet anymore. He saw a predator.
With a snarl, he snatched the fountain pen from my hand. He scrawled his name in jagged, angry ink at the bottom of the page.
"There," he spat, shoving the paper back at me. "You have your title, Chancellor. But don't think this makes us equals. You are still my wife. You will still live in the West Wing. And if you fail to produce the gold by tomorrow morning, I will have you executed for obstructing the Crown."
"A deal's a deal," I said, tucking the contract into my bodice.
I turned back to the High Priest, who looked like he wanted to vanish into the floorboards. "You may continue now. Skip the part about 'obeying.' I'm allergic to lies."
The Wedding Night
The "celebration" was a dismal affair. The nobles stayed far away from me, whispering about the "Mad Empress" who had held the Emperor hostage at the altar.
By the time I reached the Imperial Bedchamber, I was exhausted. The weight of the dress was killing me.
The doors creaked open. Alaric was already there, his cape discarded, his white shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest. He was pouring a glass of dark red wine, his back to me.
"The Bismarck funds were transferred to the army's account an hour ago," I said, sitting on the edge of the massive, velvet-draped bed. "Your soldiers will have meat tonight."
Alaric turned, his gaze sweeping over me with a mixture of loathing and intense curiosity. "You've changed, Evelyn. You used to tremble when I entered the room. You used to buy every jewel in the capital just to get me to notice you."
"A poor investment," I said, reaching back to struggle with the laces of my dress. "Jewels don't give a return on investment. Power does."
I groaned as a knot caught in the silk. "Lila? Where is that maid..."
"She's gone," Alaric said, walking toward me. His footsteps were silent. He stopped right behind me. "I sent the servants away. I wanted to see if this 'new' version of you is just an act."
His large, calloused hand brushed against the skin of my back as he reached for the knot. A jolt of electricity—part magic, part something else—shot up my spine.
"If you're looking for a submissive wife, Alaric, you should have married a painting," I said, looking at him over my shoulder.
"I'm not looking for a wife at all," he whispered, his breath hot against my ear as the corset finally loosened. "I'm looking for the person who stole the Evelyn I knew and replaced her with a shark."
He leaned in, his silver eyes searching mine. "Who are you, really?"
[System Prompt: Relationship Quest Triggered!] [The Emperor's Curiosity has reached Level 1.] [Option A: Tell him the truth (Death Flag).] [Option B: Seduce him to distract him.] [Option C: Ask for a 15% commission on the army's next victory.]
I didn't even hesitate.
"I'm the woman who's going to own this Empire, Alaric," I said, pushing him back with one finger. "And as for our 'marriage'? You can't afford me yet. Come back when your credit score improves."
I stood up, letting the heavy dress fall to the floor in a heap of useless silk, standing before the Emperor of the known world in nothing but my slip and a look of pure coldness.
"Now, get out. I have a budget to write."
Alaric stood frozen, a look of pure, unadulterated shock on his face as his own Empress kicked him out of his own bedroom.