Chapter 67

“Oh my, whatever is the matter?”

Heidemarie gently placed her hand on the arm of Clemens, who stood there speechless and frozen.

“This is an order from the Emperor to the Great Pauper. Won’t you lay bare all those lovely truths you’re hiding?”

“…Only if you promise… not to lay a hand on her… on my wife—”

“Clemens? I am telling you to speak.”

The words the old Marquis finally managed to wring out began to seep with the tone of a plea, but Heidemarie shut him down sharply.

In her eyes—like those of a noble cat—there flickered a cruel light, as if she were savoring the sport of tormenting a mouse.

“Don’t forget, you are our toy. When commanded, you will speak, sing, and dance obediently to soothe our boredom. That is why you are here.”

“…!”

For a man who had once viewed people as mere pawns and manipulated them at will, the irony of the situation was staggering.

Clemens’s cheeks flushed with humiliation, but he forced himself to swallow it down, ceasing his glare. It was partly because he understood that, both physically and mentally, he was no match for those surrounding him, and partly because there were things he prioritized over his own dignity.

However, as Clemens remained tight-lipped, a voice rang out in exasperation.

“Good grief, how long do you intend to play along at this man’s pace, Lust? The sun will be up at this rate.”

It was Morgan, the swindler who bore the name Sloth.

Usually never seen without a gentle smile, his meadow-green eyes were now uncharacteristically cold. Due to his upbringing, he harbored a fundamental loathing for the creature known as an “aristocrat.”

Sensing the dangerous atmosphere, some members of the group raised an eyebrow with interest, while others cast contemplative glances. Heidemarie, however, simply shrugged her shoulders lightly.

“I suppose you’re right,” she said, a bewitching smile playing on her lips.

With her slender, pale fingertips, she traced Clemens’s cheek.

Leaning in until her breath practically brushed his skin, she whispered softly to him.

“When dealing with such a bashful gentleman, I suppose I must be the one to take the lead.”

It was a statement befitting a master courtesan.

Her indigo eyes were now shrouded in an intoxicating allure, and the words spun from her perfect lips were like thick, sweet nectar.

“…!”

Even the veteran Clemens felt his body stiffen.

The courtesan watched with a trace of amusement as he clenched his fists, struggling to keep from being swallowed by her presence. Then, she gave his chest a light tap with her fingertip.

With just that, the strength drained out of Clemens’s body, and he slumped back onto the sofa.

With his eyes wide and cold sweat beading on his forehead, Heidemarie sat down softly beside him. She spoke slowly, as if peeling away his layers of bravado one by one.

“Technically, Lady Fine was ‘foisted’ upon you by King Werner. But in truth, wasn’t her being granted to you a result of your own intense desire for the concubine?”

“…………”

“Despite her family’s heavy expectations, she couldn’t conceive the King’s child and was ultimately chased from her position. I heard she blamed her own constitution terribly—and yet, to her, trembling before her second ‘first night,’ you declared that you had no need for children.”

“How… do you know… that…!”

Clemens choked on his words, reeling from the shock of having private moments exposed—moments no one else was supposed to know.

Heidemarie didn’t answer his question. Instead, she smilingly pulled a second letter from her cleavage.

“Oh yes, and contrary to your image as a ‘rational Prime Minister,’ it seems that during the early days of your marriage, you dedicated passionate poems to the cold and distant Lady Fine every single night.”

“I said, how do you know that!?”

“For the record, this one is my personal favorite.”

Then, in a voice as beautiful as ringing bells, she began to recite the poem of passion.

You, in your shyness, are just like a Fairy.

Those rose-red lips, a singular melody (song) of radiance, they sing.

You’re singing…

Two souls born to this earth, as if by kismet.

Yes, fate… Destiny…

Yeah… To the world, I say… Thank you…

“STOP IT—!!”

Clemens screamed, his face turning a furious shade of vermilion.

Beside him, every single one of the prisoners had died.