The Demon of The North-Chapter 151 - 150. Another Day at the Imperial Palace

Chapter 151: Chapter 150. Another Day at the Imperial Palace

Borgia Imperial Palace

The people in the imperial palace can never get used to their empress’s beauty. As Vivianne walked gracefully down the grand corridor of the imperial palace, the air around her shimmered with an ethereal quality. Her beauty is always striking, an exquisite mix of elegance and strength that leaves all who behold her momentarily breathless.

With cascading waves of silver hair framing her porcelain face, she carried herself with regal poise. Each movement showed the beauty of the details of her gown, a breathtaking creation filled with crystals and pearls that reflected her status. The bodice hugged her figure before flowing into a luxurious skirt that whispered against the marble floor with every step.

Behind her trailed two ladies-in-waiting, their dresses matching the soft hues of Vivianne’s gown, showing her as the centrepiece of this elegant display. Four maids followed closely, their heads bowed respectfully, and behind them are four knights, Mara and Marvessa, personally chosen for the empress’s protection.

As she walked, whispers of admiration fluttered like leaves in the wind. The palace staff still struggled to comprehend the allure of their empress. Her crystal-like purple eyes sparkled every time she threw a soft smile, framed by wisps of delicate lashes that cast soft shadows upon her cheeks. Her lips, a soft rose, curled into a subtle smile, emanating warmth and charm.

Morning light filtered through the high windows of the imperial palace as Vivianne made her way toward Roxanne’s office. She had risen earlier than usual. She stopped before the guards. "Is my wife inside?"

"Yes, Your Highness," one of the knights replied at once, stepping aside and opening the door without hesitation.

From the very first day Roxanne had claimed the imperial throne, after dethroning Dietrich and unifying the continent under her rule, she had made one thing very clear: only Vivianne is permitted to enter her office without knocking. No exception. No question.

The door swung open.

Roxanne sat behind her desk, arms crossed, crimson eyes narrowed at a thick stack of documents spread before her. Across from her stood Gerhard, posture straight, hands clasped behind his back.

"So," Roxanne said, voice edged with authority, "this is your plan for the refugees?" She didn’t look up as she spoke, as she hadn’t yet noticed Vivianne’s presence.

Gerhard inclined his head slightly. "Yes, Your Majesty. A long-term solution, meant to stabilise both them and us."

The papers detailed it all. The Aerthysian refugees wouldn’t be absorbed into Kaelindor within ten years. While they can settle on the island near Borough Viscounty, where their bodies wouldn’t be crushed by Kaelindor’s dense mana. Gerhard proposed a structured resettlement: provisional citizenship without political authority, monitored trade routes, and strict limitations on migration to the mainland.

"They will govern themselves locally," Gerhard continued, measured and precise. "But under imperial oversight. No private armies. No unregulated ports. And it’s not like they can step into our land."

Roxanne’s eyes flicked across the numbers. "And taxes?"

"A reduced levy for the first ten years," Gerhard replied. "They arrive with nothing. If we bleed them dry immediately, we gain corpses, not contributors. After stabilisation, they will pay tariffs on exports and docking fees for imperial shipping lanes."

Vivianne stepped fully into the room then, the door closing softly behind her. "There are no minerals on that island," she said calmly. "But the forests are dense. The wood is strong, and the surrounding waters are rich. Fishing will sustain them."

Roxanne finally looked up. The change in her expression is immediate. The tension in her shoulders eased, just slightly, and the sharp edge in her eyes softened. "You’re here. Good morning, sweetheart," she said, pushing her chair back and stretching her arms open in a silent invitation.

Vivianne walked over without hesitation, leaning in to embrace her, pressing a brief kiss to her lips. Only then did she turn her attention to Gerhard, offering him a polite nod. "I see the Duke has been busy. Thank you for assisting my wife."

Gerhard bowed. "It is my duty. Good morning to the moon of the empire, your highness the empress."

Roxanne exhaled slowly, then glanced back at the documents. "Your plan is strict," she said, addressing Gerhard again. "But fair. They don’t drain our economy, and they don’t threaten stability."

"They won’t," Gerhard replied. "Their labour offsets the cost of protection. Their isolation limits exposure. And the island’s nature ensures they remain dependent on imperial trade routes."

"And you’re thorough," Roxanne replied, though her tone remained sharp. She looked back at Gerhard. "You’re confident this won’t destabilise Borough?"

Gerhard nodded. "On the contrary. The flow of imperial contracts will strengthen the empire. Controlled aid, controlled growth. The refugees will survive, and the empire profits without compromising security."

Roxanne exhaled slowly, fingers tapping once against the desk. At last, she nodded. "Very well. Prepare the decree."

Gerhard bowed again and stepped back, already preparing to leave. As the door closed behind him, Roxanne leaned back into her chair, eyes briefly closing. "Sometimes," she murmured, "ruling is more exhausting than war."

Vivianne smiled faintly. "That’s because conquest ends. Responsibility doesn’t."

Roxanne waved a hand, dismissing the aides quickly, and the two of them quickly left the room without questioning anything. The doors closed behind them, the heavy silence of the office settling into something softer, more private.

Vivianne slipped easily onto Roxanne’s lap, as if it were the most natural place in the world. Roxanne’s arms came around her without thought, one resting at her waist, the other sliding up her back. She exhaled, slow and tired, pressing her forehead briefly against Vivianne’s shoulder.

"You’ve been carrying too much again," Vivianne murmured, fingers brushing through silver hair, gentle but knowing.

Roxanne huffed a quiet laugh. "An empire doesn’t rule itself," she replied, though the edge in her voice dulled as Vivianne leaned closer. "But you always seem to find the moment when I’m about to snap."

"That’s because you don’t rest unless someone makes you," Vivianne said softly, her thumb tracing slow circles at Roxanne’s collarbone.

Roxanne tilted her head, lips brushing Vivianne’s jaw. "You’re my unfair advantage," she admitted, voice low. She tightened her hold just slightly.

Vivianne smiled, resting her head against Roxanne’s. "Then sit still for a moment," she whispered. "Let me be your peace."

-

After a few moments, Vivianne felt it, the subtle shift in Roxanne’s breathing, the way the tension no longer sat so heavily in her shoulders. The harsh energy she sensed before now softened into something quieter, more relaxed. Vivianne rested her forehead briefly against Roxanne’s temple before speaking, her voice low and gentle.

"Are we going to the island today?" she asked. "The earlier, the better."

Roxanne exhaled slowly. "Oh yes," she replied, though her eyes lingered on the documents spread across her desk. "We should."

The papers have been sitting in her desk for three days now. It’s about Rothschild and the damage that had taken place in there. Rothschild had paid dearly.

Over one thousand two hundred lives lost—1,208 names reduced to numbers written in careful ink. Vivianne knew them as well as Roxanne did, even if she had not stood on the battlefield herself. Liselotte knew them too. They all did.

They knew, and they carried it. The two sisters bore the weight of those numbers because they had waited. Not because they were incapable of intervening sooner, but because Valdemar needed to face the consequences of his choices.

He needed to learn a consequence by himself, being hated by his own people, seeing his decision turned into a nightmare. A lesson carved in blood and ruin, one that could never be undone. Vivianne and Liselotte accepted that truth even as it weighed on their chests like iron.

The losses went deeper than death alone.

Four hundred and thirty omegas had been taken. One hundred and seventy-eight of them had nearly lost their minds, their bonds shattered violently, leaving fractures that healers would spend years trying to mend. Nearly three hundred and ninety female betas had been dragged away by force, their trauma now a permanent shadow over the territory.

Valdemar himself had been taken alive, claimed by imperial authority, bound, and stripped of all power. The others who had agreed with him, who had enabled his stupidity, were now Rothschild’s burden to judge and imprison. Liselotte, already forced to rule amid ashes, had formally requested imperial assistance: lighter levies, reduced obligations for the coming years, and time for her people to rebuild instead of collapse.

Roxanne intended to grant it. The empire would never abandon its own, especially not after such a price had been paid in blood, grief, and broken lives. But she chose not to speak the decree aloud yet. Some matters required more than authority. Some wounds needed voices, not signatures.

She meant to let Vivianne and Liselotte talk it through. The two sisters had been mending what was broken between them, slowly and without spectacle. There were no grand gestures, no public reconciliations. Only quiet conversations, shared silences, and words that were long overdue.

Since the night Dietrich died, the night the throne was shattered and reforged, Liselotte had apologised. Not once. Not formally. But again and again, whenever they crossed paths.

Each time, her voice was steady, and her gaze was lowered just enough to show sincerity without self-pity. Liselotte never tried to excuse herself. She didn’t ask to be absolved.

"I’m sorry," she would say.

"For what I allowed."

"For what I failed to see."

"For waiting too long." Vivianne never stopped her. Never waved the words away. She listened every time.

She understood now that Liselotte lived with the weight of Rothschild’s people dead just as heavily as she did—the 1,208 lives lost, the omegas whose bonds were shattered, and the beta females taken by force. Guilt isn’t something Liselotte carried lightly. And she intended to keep apologising.

Not until Vivianne forgave her, because forgiveness isn’t something one could demand, but until Liselotte herself is certain she would never repeat the same mistake. Until apology became action, and action became habit.

Vivianne shifted closer, her fingers slipping gently into Roxanne’s hand. She knew where her wife’s thoughts had gone: the numbers, the names, the weight of lives that could never be undone. Vivianne doesn’t interrupt that silence. Instead, she anchored it.

"We’ll make things right where we can," she said softly. Not as a promise to erase the past, because neither of them believed in such false mercy, but as a vow not to waste what remained of the future.

Roxanne finally looked up from the scattered papers, crimson eyes meeting Vivianne’s soft gaze. The tension in her jaw eased, just a fraction. "Liselotte can wait," Vivianne continued, her voice calm but certain. "She knows what she needs to do. And she knows we haven’t turned our backs on her."

Roxanne exhaled slowly. "You’re right," she said at last. "The island comes first. If we can secure a place where the Aerthysians can survive without poisoning themselves on our mana, then we prevent another tragedy before it ever begins."

Vivianne nodded. "We reclaimed our sea," she added. "They can dock safely now. Rest. Finally stand on land without their bodies breaking down." Her fingers tightened slightly around Roxanne’s hand. "Humility is what we can give them. And safety."

Roxanne rose from her chair; the documents on her desk – levies, casualty reports, petitions – suddenly felt less suffocating. There would be time to face them again. Just not now.

"Today," she said, resolve settling fully into her voice. "We go today."