Captured into the Bedroom of the Enemy Emperor (1 Chapters Left to Complete) - Chapter 4
On the morning of the masquerade ball, Patrick went to the main gate of the West Tower with Eden.
“Open the gate.”
“…….”
The two guard knights recognized the crown prince and silently knelt, bowing their heads in respect.
“The vow of silence you swore to my father, His Imperial Majesty.”
“…….”
Patrick had resolved to become emperor while attending the academy—something he’d never cared about before.
Alongside Har Chen, Crown Prince of the Karsik Empire; princes from various duchies that had once been kingdoms but were now the Duchy of Tane under Emperor Kazan’s rule; scions of the Valenti family—the royal house of his mother’s Torun Kingdom—and noble sons of Tane, he had engaged in discussions that stirred hope and awakened his will.
With Viscount Patterson’s assistance, he had grasped the state of the imperial court and administration. The one who reacted most sharply and sensitively to Patrick’s transformation was Empress Pamila.
“His Majesty lies ill, and your vow of silence now passes to me.”
“……?”
Unable to discern Patrick’s intention, the knights tilted their heads and glanced warily at each other.
“Strengthen perimeter security. And you—since you cannot speak—remain silent.”
Both knights lowered their heads even deeper in obeisance.
“Open the gate.”
The knights opened the gate. Eden followed behind Patrick, arms stacked high with boxes.
“What’s all this, Your Highness?”
Eva took the boxes from Eden and looked at Patrick.
Patrick wore a ruffled blouse covering the backs of his hands, paired with a cravat of white muslin layered with lace. His deep violet culottes and waistcoat were lavishly embroidered with silver thread.
His justaucorps matched the deep violet as well. In his hand, he held a lion mask that clashed with his refined attire.
Dressed more meticulously than usual, Patrick took Patricia’s hand and kissed the back of it with a dazzling smile.
“My lady, would you honor me by attending the masquerade as my partner?”
“What are you saying? I don’t want to.”
“Lisha… From the moment I learned you’d worn my armor in my stead, my heart ached.”
“…….”
“It felt as though my heart had thinned into mere mist.”
“Oh, Patrick…”
“Please wear a dress for me today. I’ve been longing to see you in one.”
Eva pulled dresses and shoes from the many boxes, examining each carefully.
Tears glistened at the corners of Eva’s eyes as she touched the crisp fabric of the corset and double panniers, and the cream-colored lace that complemented the violet gown’s hem.
Our princess—how stunning she’ll look in this dress.
“One day, I’ll introduce you officially. For now, let’s just dance one waltz and leave.”
“But we’ve danced the waltz with His Highness thousands of times. Go show off your skill.”
Eva cleared her constricted throat and forced a cheerful tone.
“You’ll attend as Lisha Patterson, borrowing Eden’s family name. Besides, no one will recognize you—especially with a mask.”
“That cat mask is so pretty.”
Patricia fiddled with the white feline mask, its face painted delicately, and finally gave in to Eva and Patrick’s persistent coaxing with a slight nod.
Eva immediately led Patricia to the dressing room. She applied toner to her face, rolled her hair in curlers, made her grip a pillar for support, and tightened the corset taut.
While Patrick sat reading in a wisteria chair in the West Tower garden, Eva used her innate talent to transform Patricia.
When Patricia appeared before Patrick in a violet chiffon dress, cream lace gloves, and a fan embroidered with pink roses, he dramatically gasped and dropped his book.
“You’re so beautiful—you’ll stand out too much.”
Patrick reached into a box resting on his lap, took out a pearl necklace, and placed it around Patricia’s neck.
“My lovely lady, it’s an honor to have the chance to be your partner.”
“Your Highness looks splendid too.”
Patricia grasped the hem of her dress lightly and curtsied.
Standing by the waiting carriage at the West Tower gate, Eden pushed his eagle mask up onto the crown of his head.
The Tane Empire was infamous for its poisons. With frequent poisonings, even small-scale banquets enforced strict entry checks. Invitations were verified thoroughly, and outside hired servants underwent drug screenings.
At the banquet entrance, Eden informed a guard knight he recognized that His Highness wished to enter quietly. Patrick signed the guestbook under “Partner” as “Lisha Patterson.”
Without any announcement, the two figures dressed in matching violet and Eden entered the hall, drawing glances from a few attendees.
“Would you like some champagne? Ah… Oh!”
“Patrick?”
“Your Highness!”
“Wait… I feel dizzy.”
“Patrick, let’s just go home.”
“We can’t. You’ve never looked this lovely before.”
Patricia and Eden both knew: if he felt dizzy now, it meant the pain had already struck the outpost. He’d been enduring intense agony behind that lion mask.
“Eden, I’ll find my own way back. Please take care of Lisha.”
“I’ll go too.”
Patricia and Patrick argued over who should accompany Eden.
“Then I shall escort His Highness back.”
“I’m sorry, my lady. Let’s save the waltz for another time.”
Gritting his teeth against the pain, Patrick deliberately acted cocky.
Eden said he’d keep a horse waiting at their usual secret spot—the one used for academy proxy attendance—just in case.
‘Fine. I’ll stay and watch until the horse is ready, then leave.’
Patricia accepted a glass of champagne from a servant.
Despite the masquerade, ladies who recognized each other clustered together like blooming flower beds.
Leaning against the wall, Patricia sipped her champagne. To the orchestra’s live waltz, the full skirts of the ladies’ gowns swirled merrily.
She found joy simply watching people laugh, drink, and dance. The champagne, mingling with music and laughter, tasted refreshingly crisp.
She spotted the Karsik Crown Prince without difficulty.
Wearing a white formal coat and a mask symbolizing golden wings, he stood out with his unusually tall stature and rigid posture as he danced the waltz. Patricia smiled behind her cat mask.
Compared to Patrick’s flamboyant, rhythmically fluid dancing, Har Chen’s waltz seemed stiff.
‘His waltz skills are… rather lacking.’
Yet he appeared quite popular—Har Chen had no time to rest.
The arrogant, perfect Adonis Har Chen—ladies danced with him, their slender waists entrusted to his hands, faces shyly flushed; some wore double panniers to puff their gowns extravagantly; others donned tiaras and necklaces, their deep-cut gowns revealing milky skin.
Beneath sparkling lights, jewels shimmered amid lively melodies.
These were people who lived boldly with their names and bodies—the fortunate born into gentle fates.
She envied them. Yes, she did.
Yet she felt confused: whom exactly did she envy? Whose gentle fate did she resent?
She wanted to dance the waltz—she felt confident, having danced it countless times with Patrick.
But she gripped her gown’s hem and turned away.
Just then, commotion broke out at the banquet entrance. A servant announced the arrival of the academy headmaster, professors, and imperial guests.
Among the sea of soft, petal-like gowns, Patricia’s gaze fixed on a woman in a striking red dress.
Though adorned with a lavish mask of black lace and feathers, she was unmistakable. It was her—the woman with cascading, crimson curls: Pamila Lasbur, Empress Consort to Emperor Kazan.
The mastermind behind Empress Aldisha’s poisoning. Her mother’s murderer.
Patricia glared as Empress Pamila approached gracefully, escorted by Prince Chris, her face deathly pale.
That the Empress Consort and the Second Prince—a mere academy freshman—represented the imperial family as honored guests was a blatant overreach. Such was Pamila’s influence over imperial affairs.
Noble ladies who recognized the Empress quickly gathered around her guest seat, curtsying respectfully.
Patricia clenched her fists so tightly her nails dug into her palms and walked out onto the terrace. She had no intention of returning through the banquet hall.
She strode down the long stone colonnade to the darkest end of the terrace, far from the ballroom lights. There sat two wisteria chairs. She reached for the railing instead of sitting.
Just recalling Pamila’s face made her breath catch and her pulse race.
An impulse surged—a fierce urge to draw her sword.
She removed her cat mask. As the cool wind struck her face, suppressed outrage welled up, and tears spilled over her cheeks.
“Excuse me, my lady—could you move over just a bit…!”
Startled, Patricia turned toward the voice.
“Huh… Ah!”
Before she could steady her turbulent emotions, she saw a man before her—and her breath seized. Her mind went blank. Dizziness crashed over her like lightning, freezing her limbs.
.
.
.
Har Chen rarely enjoyed balls. Only under Kalip’s persuasion—and threats—had he been pushed into dancing the first waltz with Princess Leac.
Julia Leac had accompanied Har Chen to study abroad under the peace treaty between the two empires.
“Your Highness, if you dance only with Princess Leac, people might mistake you for lovers. Please dance one more song with another lady.”
Following Kalip’s advice, he danced another.
“Your Highness, the ladies of Tane Empire are complaining you only danced with those from Karsik…”
Kalip gestured toward the circle of ladies standing nearby, half-hiding their faces with fans. Har Chen glared at Kalip.
“You dance in my place.”
Just then, the academy headmaster and the Empress’s entourage entered the hall. Fortunately, the cluster of Tane ladies surrounding Har Chen rushed toward the Empress.
“Your Highness, perhaps you should greet Empress Pamila of Tane…”
“Me? Why?”
Har Chen spun around abruptly, removed his stifling mask, and strode down the colonnade.
Having narrowly escaped the forest of noble ladies thanks to Empress Pamila’s arrival, Har Chen grabbed a bottle of Atrajan—the traditional Tane liquor—and headed to the terrace, toward his and Patrick’s usual smoking spot.
Beneath the silvery moonlight, a lady in a violet gown stood at the terrace railing, gazing up at the moon. Of all places, she stood right where his cigar case lay.
Har Chen set down his mask and the liquor bottle on the wisteria chair and asked the lady to step aside. She turned, her golden hair rippling like poured gold.
Tears glimmered on her moonlit white cheeks, yet her blue eyes blazed with venom.
Were you crying, my lady?
Har Chen stood speechless. In that instant, the lady swayed like a petal caught in the wind.
“I… can’t… breathe…”
Plop.
Her mask fell from her hand.
Har Chen caught her by the arm and waist. Her face had gone frighteningly pale.
He’d seen many ladies faint at banquets—starving themselves for parties, lacing their corsets so tightly that blood couldn’t circulate, causing dizziness and collapse.
His three younger sisters had been equally excessive with their corsets.
During balls, whenever they felt faint, his crow-like sisters would drag him behind curtains and beg him to loosen their corset laces. He’d always found it pitiful.
This lady seemed to be in the same predicament.
Har Chen expertly undid a ribbon knot at the back of her dress, slipped his hand inside, and loosened the corset strings.
“Huuuh…”
When the male lead is punished by carrying the female lead’s child and having periods like a woman
“I’ve given birth to two children for you, yet you still think about him.
Was I nothing but his substitute to you from beginning to end?”
Synopsis:
Meng Huan, a scumbag who has dated countless girlfriends, transmigrates to a female-dominated country.
Day 1: Whether it’s female dominance or not doesn’t matter. The beauties here are passionate and amorous. Isn’t it easier to date them than in modern times?
Day 2: After a night, Meng Huan discovers the differences in the female-dominated world. Men here actually have chastity locks and menstrual cycles. This hinders his ability to perform, damn it!
Day 3: What’s wrong with sleeping around? I don’t want you to marry me. I’m meant to be a playboy. I don’t care about male virtues… What? You want to drown me in a pig cage? Marry, I’ll marry!
Day N: Meng Huan inexplicably vomits and receives the shocking news of his life… He’s pregnant.
_____
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Re-reading this chapter, it made realize how little Patricia regarding her life compared to Patrick, all because of her guilt over her twin’s sickness which she assumed caused by her taking away his nutrition during pregnancy (in my opinion, it’s an entirely absurd superstition and baseless theory at best). Glad Patricia has come far by started relying in Harchen until she can trust him and vice versa.
Oh! Harcen made a surf board and have Patricia surfing at the sea? That’s so nice of him! If I were her, I too would be thrilled as I riding the waves.
Could it be the grave with the red hibiscus is the late Empress’ (a.k.a Patricia and Patrick’s mom) grave? Talk about cutting onion.