Mikhail maintains his posture of betrayed dignity, ensuring every word he speaks carries the profound weight of political disappointment. He delivers his condition not as a simple demand but as a moral mandate rooted in his imperial duty. "The condition being," he announces, his voice steady and severe, "I promised my Father, the Emperor, that I will not return to the Empire until I have finalized my marriage with a woman. A promise that your kind knows nothing about, as you clearly hold oaths so cheaply."
He fixes the weeping Queen Yuehua with a look of withering contempt. "Queen Yuehua, I really thought you were one of the most capable leaders in our Orthodox Factions. I respected you enough that I wouldn't have minded calling you as my own mother. But I was wrong to put so much trust and respect in you. You couldn't even control your own beloved daughter. What else can I expect from you now?"
The calculated public shaming is complete. The Queen is broken, her pride obliterated by the scene of her daughter's treason and the slain Hero. She bows her head deeper, her forehead still pressed against the stone. "Please forgive me, my lord. I know I am not deserving of your forgiveness, but I still beg for it."
Mikhail lowers his hands, placing them gently upon her trembling shoulders and slowly lifting her back to her feet. The sudden, intimate touch is deliberately disarming. "It is hard for me to forgive you, just like that, Queen. You have broken my trust, after all. And yet..." He allows his voice to soften slightly, adopting a tone of noble sacrifice. "I wouldn't dare tell my father what happened here today and risk this alliance collapsing entirely." He makes his next demand sound like a great, personal sacrifice for the sake of the Empire. "But to keep the promise to my father, I will have to take a woman with me to fulfill this contract. A woman of suitable birth and ability."
He then executes the final, strategic move, lifting his arm and pointing directly past the Queen's devastated form, toward the silent, immobile figure of the bodyguard. "Who is she, Queen?"
Queen Yuehua slowly turns her head, wiping away her tears with the back of her hand, following his pointing finger. She recognizes the inevitable. "My lord, she is Miyako. Even if she is not my own daughter, I have raised her as my own from a very young age. She is truly gifted with the sword, perhaps the best in our whole kingdom." The Queen turns to Miyako, her eyes pleading. "Will you, Miyako? For me? For Eldrath?"
Miyako, who'd stood ready to kill the Crown Prince seconds ago, processes the request with the terrifying, cold logic of a true servant. Her stoic demeanor doesn't break. She gives the Queen a rare, subtle nod of acceptance, then turns and offers Mikhail a respectful, if absolutely minimal, bow.
The Queen, clutching at this last shred of diplomatic survival, adds her final plea. "Even if I failed to keep my promise to marry my daughter to you, I hope you take care of her instead, please, my lord."
Mikhail fixes his gaze on Miyako for a long, quiet moment, observing the deadly stillness of the woman he's just forcefully recruited. He pretends to be utterly surprised by her existence, an acting choice designed to convince the court he's selecting her, not claiming her. Then he offers the Queen a genuine, triumphant smile.
"Fine. It is decided then. Miyako will be my fiancée, instead."
The court explodes not in protest but in a massive wave of cheer—a loud, cacophonous mixture of genuine relief that the execution and the threat of war are over, and perhaps happiness that the Crown Prince has chosen a genuinely capable warrior instead of a disgraced harlot. The political disaster has been contained and swiftly replaced with a new, equally beneficial alliance.
The very next day, the Imperial convoy leaves the Eldrath Capital. The grand, gilded carriage is noticeably lacking the frantic urgency of the diplomatic rush, yet it carries an entirely different weight. The entourage returns the way it came, leaving behind the shattered court, the slain Hero, and the hysterical Princess.
Inside the luxurious carriage, Mikhail is reclined, completely relaxed, basking in the glow of his victory. Across from him, perfectly poised, sits his new fiancée. Miyako is the definition of unreadable: her black kimono stark against the crimson velvet, her dark eyes lowered, her expression utterly stoic. She's silent, waiting, a lethal weapon now bound by an oath to the man who just crushed her Queen's family.
Mikhail lifts his cup, swirling the amber wine with a knowing gaze. Now this is going to be interesting. He hasn't just avoided humiliation—he's eliminated the Hero, crippled a hostile political faction, and forcibly acquired the loyalty of one of the most powerful, dangerous characters in the game.