The Empress's Harem and Other Unwanted Side Hustles

The sound of a blade cutting through the air filled the empty training hall.

Raizel stood frozen at the entrance, his silver hair falling over his sharp blue eyes as he watched the lone figure in the center of the hall.

Diana.

She wasn't supposed to be here.

She wasn't supposed to be doing this.

His sister—the same sister who used to avoid outdoor activities, who once pouted whenever he dragged her to sword practice as a child, who had always seemed so content with her books and embroidery—was now wielding a sword with terrifying precision.

Her golden aura glowed like a flame, clinging to the blade as if it had always belonged there.

But that wasn't possible.

Because Imperial Swordsmanship—the art she was displaying—belonged only to the royal family.

And yet… here she was.

Sweat dripped down her temple as she swung again, her movements sharp but refined. She was pushing herself—too hard, too fast. Raizel could see it. Her breathing was uneven, her grip tightening as she attempted something—something that kept shattering inside of her.

But she didn't stop.

Again.

And again.

Lucien, small and quiet beside him, clutched the sleeve of his uncle's coat. The little boy's gray eyes were filled with something soft—something admiring.

"…Mother's sword is pretty," Lucien murmured.

Raizel swallowed.

Pretty?

No.

It was terrifying.

It was wrong.

Diana wasn't supposed to have that sword.

She wasn't supposed to move like a knight, wasn't supposed to hold a blade as if it had been hers all along.

She wasn't supposed to be like this.

And yet, as she pushed herself forward, swinging relentlessly despite her trembling arms, Raizel knew—this was not a skill learned in weeks.

This was not something she had simply picked up.

This was something ingrained into her very bones.

And that realization sent a cold chill down his spine.

Finally, after what felt like forever, Diana took a deep breath, raised her sword—

And then, a blinding light of golden aura erupted from her blade.

The force of it sent a gust of wind rippling through the hall, making Raizel instinctively raise an arm to shield himself.

Lucien gasped.

The golden light settled, condensing into a steady glow.

Raizel's stomach dropped.

That was a 6th-circle breakthrough.

Before he could even process it, Diana exhaled sharply and—

Thunk.

She collapsed onto the floor, her sword slipping from her grasp as she lay there, utterly still.

Raizel's breath caught.

Lucien hesitated for half a second before darting forward. "Mother?"

Raizel followed, his boots echoing against the floor as he approached her.

Diana's chest rose and fell in exhausted breaths. She didn't move as Lucien knelt beside her, small hands hovering hesitantly.

"…Mother?" Lucien tried again, softer this time.

A tired chuckle escaped her lips.

"I'm alive," she murmured, not opening her eyes.

Lucien sighed in visible relief, slumping slightly.

Raizel, on the other hand, wasn't relieved.

Not in the slightest.

His hands curled into fists at his sides.

He had questions.

So many questions.

But when he opened his mouth, none of them came out.

Instead, all he could manage was—

"…Where did you learn that?"

Diana opened her golden eyes, gazing up at the ceiling as if she were looking at something far beyond it.

"…It's a long story," she said simply.

Raizel clenched his jaw.

That was not an answer.

"Diana." His voice was firm.

She turned her head slightly to look at him.

Something in her gaze made his chest tighten.

Gone was the softness, the carefree innocence he remembered from their youth.

In its place was something… heavier.

Something worn.

Something that had seen things.

His throat went dry.

"You hate swords," he said, as if stating a fact would make it true again.

Diana hummed. "I did."

Raizel's breath hitched.

"…And now?"

She smiled faintly, but it wasn't the kind of smile he remembered. It was small. Distant.

"I don't have the luxury to hate them anymore."

Raizel felt something inside him crack.

Luxury?

What luxury?

His sister—his gentle sister—was speaking like a hardened knight.

As if holding a sword was no longer a choice, but a necessity.

As if it had always been a necessity.

Raizel inhaled slowly, trying to keep his emotions in check. "Diana," he said carefully, "where did you learn Imperial Swordsmanship?"

Diana stared at him for a long moment before letting out a quiet sigh.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," she murmured.

Raizel hated that answer.

Because right now, looking at her, he wasn't sure he would.

His mind raced, trying to make sense of what he had just seen. The techniques, the precision, the golden aura that shouldn't belong to her—

And then, his thoughts stumbled upon something else.

Something Diana had said to him before.

Something he had brushed off as nonsense.

Find the black-haired man with emerald eyes.

A royal.

A royal he didn't know.

He had assumed it was one of his sister's odd whims, another one of her ridiculous ideas.

But now…

Now, he wasn't so sure.

He stared at her again, at this woman who was supposed to be his sister but felt like someone else entirely.

Diana had changed.

And for the first time, Raizel wasn't sure he wanted to know why.

*****

Raizel had always sworn to protect his little sister.

From the moment she was born—small, soft, fragile—he had promised.

He could still remember the first time she clung to his leg as a toddler, babbling his name in excitement. The way she had refused to let go until he carried her around the estate, laughing as she played with his silver hair.

She had been the darling of the family, their treasured flower.

Their mother, a paladin with blazing red hair and golden eyes, often sighed at Diana's dramatics but never scolded her. Their father, a swordsman of the highest caliber, laughed whenever Diana cried over the smallest inconveniences—like when she had stepped into the mud and screamed that it was "unbefitting of a lady."

Raizel had been younger then, barely fifteen, but he had already decided:

Diana didn't need to wield a sword.

She didn't need to fight.

She had them. Their family of warriors. Their stronghold of love.

She only needed to smile, to be happy, to live the life of a noble lady without ever touching bloodshed.

He had sworn it.

And yet—

"Brother?"

Raizel blinked, snapping out of his thoughts. Across the dining table, Diana was looking at him with raised eyebrows.

Lucien, his small five-year-old nephew, was quietly placing a single piece of broccoli onto his plate.

Raizel narrowed his eyes.

Diana cleared her throat and turned away.

Raizel glanced down.

His plate now contained a suspiciously large pile of broccoli.

He exhaled sharply, leveling a glare at his sister. "Diana."

She smiled innocently, resting her chin on one hand. "Yes, dear brother?"

Raizel turned to Lucien, who flinched slightly under his stare. "…Did your mother teach you to sneak vegetables onto my plate?"

Lucien hesitated, then, with the sheer determination of a soldier going to battle, nodded.

Raizel sighed, rubbing his temples.

She was still the same.

Still the same sister who played pranks.

Still the same sister who smiled mischievously over dinner.

And yet…

His gaze flickered to her hands, to the faint calluses forming where a sword had rested too many times.

Not a noblewoman's hands.

Not a flower's hands.

His stomach twisted.

Diana shouldn't have those hands.

He had sworn—

Their family had sworn—

His breath hitched as memories came flooding back.

---

The halls of the Hinsdale estate had once been filled with warmth.

He remembered sitting in the training grounds, wiping the sweat from his brow as his father stood before him, silver hair gleaming under the sun.

"Good work," his father had said, tossing him a water flask. "You're improving."

Raizel had grinned, feeling proud.

And then—

A small voice.

"Brother!"

A younger Diana had run toward them, her blue dress swaying, golden eyes bright as she clung to their father's leg.

"Father! Brother said he'd take me to the festival, but now he's training instead!"

Their father had let out a booming laugh. "Did he now?"

Raizel had groaned. "Diana—"

Their mother, standing at the terrace, had sighed dramatically. "Raizel, go. I don't want to hear her wailing all evening."

Diana had stuck out her tongue, triumphant.

Their father had smiled down at her. "You're quite the troublemaker."

She had beamed. "That's because I'm Father's daughter."

Raizel had rolled his eyes. "You mean Mother's daughter. You're both dramatic."

Their mother had raised an eyebrow. "And what about you?"

Their father had laughed again, shaking his head.

It had been warm.

It had been perfect.

And then, it had all shattered.

---

The memory of their parents' deaths came like a blade through his heart.

The dimensional rift. The battle. The last time he had seen their father's silver hair, their mother's blazing red…

Raizel swallowed, gripping his fork tightly.

He had been twenty. Diana had barely been seventeen.

He had taken on the role of patriarch, had sworn to still protect his sister, even without their parents there.

She had cried so much that first year.

She had clung to him in grief, sobbed into his shoulder, whispered that she missed them.

But even then, she had still been Diana.

She had still worn dresses, still played the part of a noble lady.

Still been the delicate sister he had sworn to keep safe.

Then, Cassian Verdeca had come.

Raizel's jaw tightened.

The moment he had seen the emperor's gaze, he had known.

That man had ambition in his eyes.

Raizel had thrown him out, had refused to entertain the idea of marriage.

But Diana—

Diana had chosen him.

Raizel had been furious. They had fought.

But in the end, he had given in.

Because Diana had wanted it.

Because Diana had never cried in front of him before—except for that day.

So, he had let go.

He had become the emperor's dog for her sake.

And for five years, he had received nothing from her but silence.

Until one day, a letter had arrived.

A simple one.

_

Brother, I miss you.

_

He had stared at it for a long time.

And then, he had gone to the palace.

Not to meet the empress.

Not to meet the woman the rumors spoke of.

But to meet his nephew.

And then—

He had seen her.

His sister.

But not the sister he had known.

She walked with confidence, her steps no longer the elegant glide of a noble lady but the steady pace of a trained fighter.

She wore pants, not dresses.

She didn't pout, didn't whine, didn't call his name in playful exasperation.

She was no longer a fragile flower.

She was a thorned rose.

He hadn't asked what had happened in those five years.

Because he was afraid of the answer.

Because whatever had happened, it had created the Diana in front of him now.

And now, as he sat at the dinner table, as Diana sneakily added more vegetables to his plate while Lucien mimicked her, Raizel felt an ache in his chest.

She was still his sister.

Still mischievous.

Still loving.

Still his family.

But she was no longer the little sister he had sworn to protect.

Because she had learned how to protect herself.

And somehow, that realization hurt more than he expected.