CHAPTER 89: CHAPTER 88. EMPEROR’S SECRETS

That night, after Vivianne had finally fallen into a deep sleep, Roxanne slipped from the bed and moved slowly toward the balcony. The moonlight washed the room in silver as she crossed the chamber, each step careful so she wouldn’t wake her wife, and the cool night air felt like a small mercy against the heat of the day’s wounds.

When she stepped out, Marvessa was already waiting on the balcony, shadow-still and alert. The previous emperor’s shadow knight bowed at once, an instinctive salute that spoke more of devotion than formality.

Roxanne watched her for a long moment, the sharp lines of the day still visible around her eyes, and then she spoke in a flat, steady voice. "You heard what my wife said?"

Marvessa’s hands tightened for a beat; the answer came soft and measured. "Yes, Your Grace." Even in the hush of night, fear and a sense of being overwhelmed trembled beneath her words, as if the truth she had heard weighed heavier than any command.

Roxanne stepped closer and asked again, quieter this time, not looking away from the distant lights of the palace courtyard. "But you know, right?"

Marvessa lifted her eyes. "I had a feeling," she admitted. "The spirits have always referred to her as an old soul, the one who beat the death. I never understood what that meant until today. It was only by chance, Your Grace, that I realized the truth; I didn’t mean to eavesdrop." Her voice held both apology and urgency, as though what she had learned could not be unlearned.

Roxanne’s face didn’t soften, but the question that followed carried more responsibility than any other question Marvessa had ever answered for Roxanne. "What should we do about the emperor, Marvessa? Tell me the deepest, darkest thing you know about him." She didn’t just use the blood lineage to control Marvessa, but she also used her alpha dominance over her.

Marvessa took a breath as if to steady herself against that pressure and then answered with conviction that needed no compulsion. "I will tell you, Your Grace, and not because of the bond, but because my loyalty is to my master," she said, her voice hardening into a promise. "Whoever harms her, I will see destroyed—even if it is the emperor himself."

"Excellent, now tell me." Roxanne’s eyes narrowed slightly.

Marvessa took a deep breath, her claws flexing as if the truth itself burned her tongue. "The emperor... He hides far more than what you know, your grace."

She paused, her voice shaking. "He has taken omegas, male and female alike, into his private chamber. He calls it purification, but it’s nothing less than violation. Some didn’t survive. Three of them, I know for certain, died under his hands. He used his royal power to bury the truth, silence the witnesses, and make their families disappear.

Roxanne’s expression darkened, her jaw tightening. Marvessa continued, her voice breaking. "He covers everything with gold and smiles. The chancellor knows; maybe that’s why the duke turned to you at last. And that’s not the worst of it, Your Grace."

Roxanne turned back to her, her crimson eyes glowing faintly in the moonlight. "Go on."

Marvessa hesitated. "Yes," she said finally, her voice low but steady.

"Those omegas—he didn’t mean to kill the first one. It was... during one of his twisted ’rituals.’ He was trying to absorb their pheromones to mix them with demonic essence. The Black Covenant taught him that forbidden magic could grant strength and dominance beyond any alpha’s natural limits. When the first one died, he got addicted. And he kept doing it."

Roxanne’s jaw clenched, her hands tightening on the balcony rail until the stone cracked beneath her grip. Marvessa continued, her words trembling now. "He became obsessed. He believed the power of the omega could make him a stronger alpha. But it only twisted him. Each time, he became more unstable, more violent. The second one... she was a male omega, a servant taken from a foreign envoy. He didn’t survive the night. The third—" Marvessa’s voice broke slightly. "The third was barely sixteen."

"So he used their lives as offerings," Roxanne murmured, her voice low and dangerous. "Their deaths to feed his hunger for control."

Marvessa nodded. "And after the third, he made the Black Covenant erase every trace of it. The families were silenced, their names erased from records. The council turned away, afraid of losing their power. The emperor buried his sins under gold and politics."

Roxanne straightened slowly, her expression hardening as the weight of Marvessa’s words settled in. The candlelight flickered across her face, catching the sharp edge of her jaw and the cold, dangerous gleam in her eyes.

"Did it really help him gain his power?" she asked, her voice quiet.

"Yes, Your Grace," Marvessa replied, bowing her head. "It did. With every omega he sacrificed, his strength grew... But so did his instability. Each death fueled him, yet also fractured his mind."

Roxanne’s hands curled slowly into fists at her sides. The night air felt heavier now, pressing against her chest as realization dawned. "So that’s why," she murmured, half to herself. "Oh, this isn’t good."

She turned toward Marvessa. "Send your falcon to the demon lands. Find out if my father has taken control yet. And have the spies check how many omegas have entered the imperial palace lately. Better yet, I want to know if the empress consort is still alive or if she’s become one of his sacrifices."

Marvessa’s breath caught, her feathers twitching with unease. She bowed quickly, ready to obey. But before she could speak a single word, a familiar voice drifted softly from behind them, gentle yet trembling, laced with shock.

"What do you mean by that?" Vivianne asked, standing in the doorway with her eyes wide. "Is the empress consort still alive or not?" The air seemed to still at once.

Roxanne froze, her heart giving a sharp twist. The night breeze stirred Vivianne’s pale hair as she stepped forward, barefoot, wrapped in a loose nightgown. Sleep still clung to her face, but her expression was alert, fearful, curious, and terrified all at once.

She might hate the Rothschilds with every fiber of her being, but Liselotte was never as cruel as Genevieve. Her cruelty came in quieter, almost careless ways: sharp words, mocking laughter, and little humiliations that cut just deep enough to sting.

But unlike Genevieve, Lisellote always sent a maid afterward, someone to clean the mess she made, to wipe the dirty water or tears before anyone else could see. It didn’t make her kind, but it made her different.

Vivianne still remembered those moments, the soft knock on her door after a long day of torment, a timid servant carrying a tray of tea, and a wordless apology from her stepsister. It wasn’t affection, not really. Perhaps it was guilt, or maybe just the lingering trace of decency Liselotte hadn’t yet buried beneath her Rothschild pride.

And despite everything, despite the bruises and the insults, Vivianne couldn’t quite bring herself to hate Liselotte completely. A small part of her still felt something, empathy, maybe, or pity, for the girl who was trapped in the same poisonous house, only choosing to survive it differently