A Villainess For The Tyrant

ng the cry of hawk soon rang out through the capital.
It was the signal to retreat.
Knights frantically rode their steeds out of the city, as if they were chased by powerful phantom beasts.

Estian watched the backs of the retreating imperial knights.
A gust of wind blew through his hair, carrying a mixed scent of thick smoke and blood.
He clicked his tongue irritably and smoothed his hair back.

“Something is bothering me, huh…” he muttered.
His knight commander was sharp, truly living up to his position as the emperor’s adjutant.
Estian had been in a state of aggravation from the moment he stepped foot into Etia’s borders… no, from the moment he left the imperial palace.

His head unconsciously turned towards the direction of the empire, where his empress remained.
Cecile had pouted and asked why she couldn’t accompany him.
Had the question come from anyone else, he wouldn’t have been lenient towards the asker.
However, the empress was different.
All he could offer in consolation was a promise of a swift return.

‘I’m sure she’s doing well, but I should hurry back.’ Estian was startled by his own thoughts.
Had there ever been a time when he thought about returning early from war? No.
War had always been his reason for living.
He derived joy from the destruction and slaughtering of the targets of his wrath.
He lived to fight.
Those were the moments that made him feel alive.
But why did everything feel annoying and dull this time around?

Estian wondered if Cecile had discovered the gift that he’d left her.
The scepter was one of the emperor’s regalia, but he’d never spared it a thought… until now.

“Bring me the regalia,” Estian commanded.

“Pardon, sire?” the head chamberlain asked.

“I said, bring out all the regalia.”

The head chamberlain rushed out at Estian’s order, and returned shortly with the four regalia of the empire: the crown, the sword, the scepter, and the orb.

‘Which one should I give before I leave?’ Estian wondered.
He spent a long time touching each object, picking each one up to examine before placing them back down.

The first of the regalia that he picked up was the crown.
There was an unsightly stain on the inner fabric lining, which was, without a doubt, a dried blood stain.
Estian pondered when he’d last seen the crown. ‘Ah, I remember.
This rolled alongside that rotter’s head.‘ The ‘rotter’ in question was his deceased father, whose head had rolled on the ground with the crown still attached to it after Estian lopped it off.

When his officials had presented the crown to him, Estian had instructed them, “No need to clean it when this filth suits it perfectly.
Isn’t it great that it clearly shows what happened too?” And so, the crown was stowed away with the blood uncleaned.

Estian frowned and quickly placed it back in its case. ‘I can’t give her something like this.’ Cecile would run away screaming if she caught sight of the crown, and would never come near the case again.
More importantly, there was no way he would give her such a dirty thing.