Empress of Self-Ruin

Chapter 46: Fostered Understanding

The Empress' Palace was unbreachable and too intimidating for most people, but for me, there was a presence, a shadow of belonging that I hardly felt anywhere else—not even in my own home in the North.

And here I was, settled comfortably in front of the fireplace, sorting through piles of documents I had yet finished. A silent, still cold hovered over the room. A now cold half-empty cup of black tea laid on the table.

My neck felt stiff and my eyes blurry after reading too much, but somehow it was rather comforting. Mostly because I needed to keep my mind at something.

I'm doing something so mundane—it almost feels normal.

The thought snapped me back into reality—and like all other times, the realization filled me with a peerless agitation. Suddenly, the world was too alive, humming in strange disharmony with the air and the mud and the grass. The clicking noises of the cicada were as loud as sirens. The sky was buzzing with dotted, burnt-out stars.

Before the feeling consumed me entirely, a sound rippled in the scene. The soft creak of the door yanked me back to my senses. And even though I was tired and aches everywhere, I couldn't help but smile as Arsen's shadow came into my periphery.

"How's the friendly sparring with the nobles? Did they give you a hard time?"

"Nah," he said as he threw himself on the couch opposite me. "Nothing eventful, except for Marquess Sloane who had pissed himself and needed to be escorted out by the guards."

"And why is that?" I raised my brows questioningly, even putting down the document I was holding to focus on his rather interesting story.

He looked a bit nervous—and didn't even make eye contact. "Well, I might have chosen him as my sparring partner—and my hand might have accidentally slipped and almost cut his throat twice and when he fell, I might have dropped my sword half an inch from his reproductive organ—scared him shitless, then he peed himself."

The laughter that came out from my mouth was uncontrollable, and I almost toppled to the floor.

Arsen choosing Marquess Sloane as his sparring partner couldn't be a coincidence, and the sword slipping was definitely not accidental. Everyone knew the marquess was rubbish with a sword, and Arsen had never chosen someone—with at least advanced skill for his sparring partner, so it was either to send a message or humiliate him—or both.

"Nice one, Arsen. I didn't know you had it in you," I said when my laughter finally subsided. "Did you say anything to him?"

He cleared his throat. "Nothing much, just reminding him about his place and stuff—though it might sound a bit harsh. I don't think it's right, but I have to admit it was satisfying to see him looking so terrified."

I would be, too, so I nodded in approval, but then I saw his expression. He was silent, his shoulders hunched as if he was ashamed of himself, so I asked, "What?"

"You don't think I'm cruel, do you?" He asked abruptly.

I scoffed. "Is there an angle to this, or am I supposed to take that generally?"

"I'm thinking about—about the things I had said to him, and did—or want to do."

I raised an eyebrow. "And your findings?"

He fidgeted. "I haven't decided, but I have this... suspicion that I shouldn't have think this much," he admitted

"You think it should be easy?"

"No, but I—sometimes, I feel—angry. He hadn't done anything yet, but I didn't care. I was angry, and he was there, and I knew it was alright to hurt him because no one would stop me or care. And sometimes I want to do these awful things to him, or, or to others—and I don't know what to do with it, because I know I'm in the right. I don't know how much that matters, though."