It's good that we know how this story ends because it is one hell of a ride to get there. The Remarried Empress, originally written by Alphatart and adapted to manhwa by writer HereLee and artist SUMPUL, opens with heroine Navier being granted a divorce from her emperor husband and immediately requesting that the church allow her to remarry, and even if you don't enjoy a story that starts in medias res, it's hard to argue with this one. That's because the result is almost a bonus to the story and the emotional hell Navier goes through trying to get there is enough to make you want to throw down the book and storm off if you didn't know that eventually, things will (hopefully) go her way, a point we do reach in volume six, which is the end of the first “season” (storyline).

The story itself is a pure political drama taking place in a fantasy Europe of what appears to be the eighteenth century, likely to call to mind the French Palace of Versailles and other sumptuous empires of the time. Navier is the empress, and most people would agree that she's perfect for the job. She ought to be – she was raised to it from childhood, betrothed at an early age to then-crown prince Sovieshu, who is around her age. The two of them are largely regarded as a perfect match: they've been close since they were children, and they work well together to rule the empire efficiently and kindly. If there's any complaint that can be raised, it's that they remain childless, and that leaves open a crack for the drama to slip in.

It comes in the form of Rashta, a much younger woman Sovieshu takes as his lover. Repulsively, he expects Navier to welcome her with open arms, not seeing (or not wanting to see) that his very public embrace of his mistress is humiliating to her. Things only get worse when Rashta becomes pregnant, which marks the catalyst for the plot to get messy. Sovieshu appears to take Rashta's pregnancy as proof that the problem of childlessness lies solely with Navier while Rashta allows others to convince her that her fertility proves that she's a better woman than the empress. Navier's only solace comes from Prince Heinrey, an emissary from the neighboring kingdom, with whom she continues to communicate via messenger bird after he has left. Heinrey sees what Sovieshu and his cronies have missed, that Navier is hurt and just putting up a brave front to protect herself and her family. Heinrey wants to be the savior who whisks her away and makes her happy, and he's one of the only people who realize that she deserves it.

Although this is a relatively pat setup (people who can turn into birds aside) for a fantasy court drama, what sells it is the characters. Several mustache-twirling villains are lurking about, but the true evil in the story feels like Sovieshu himself, although not because he's tossing puppies off cliffs or anything similar. Sovieshu is “bad” because he can't see that what he's doing to Navier is wrong; he's so caught up in the idea of having his cake and eating it too that he can't be bothered to think about her feelings – or Rashta's, to be honest. When Navier doesn't appreciate his gifts or doesn't want to sleep with him, he's confused; when she refuses to welcome his mistress with open arms, he's hurt. Everything has always gone his way, so why can't they continue to do so now? He lacks self-awareness and that begins to affect his political relationships even as he thinks he's preserving them. By volume five, we can see that all of his poor choices are beginning to snowball into something he won't be able to deal with. Sovieshu's selfishness stands to doom the entire empire and his unwillingness to look beyond his self-righteousness becomes more and more of a knell with every order he makes.

Volume six, interestingly enough, begins to deconstruct this idea of Sovieshu as strictly selfish and evil. While the first five books focus more on him as that self-absorbed twit who wants what he wants and damn the consequences, the final book in the season opens up the possibility that Rashta is just a conveniently fertile uterus to him. At the same time, he's emotionally attached to Navier. Before this book, all we know about his past is that he resented his father's extramarital affairs and what they did to his mother; after it, the door is opened to his inner conflict and feelings of guilt based on his actions both past and present. Does this make him more likable? Not necessarily; he could still have solved a lot of problems by just opening his mouth and actually talking to his wife. But he's also not quite as starkly evil as he appears, even if he's not worthy of Navier's devotion.

Rashta, on the other hand, is the sort of character who is understandable but still terrible. There's no denying that she came from an awful situation, but her sweet naiveté quickly gives way to bratty foolishness when Navier doesn't behave the way Sovieshu assured her that she would. Neither of them appears able to understand why Navier wouldn't want to embrace her husband's mistress and unborn child, and Rashta especially sees Navier as the person causing the problems. She's a bit more self-aware than her lover, or at least less in denial, but her immaturity negates that, and we can see her being manipulated by every bad actor at court in ways that seem certain to damn her. The main difference between Rashta and Sovieshu is that he's bringing everything down on himself and she's allowing others to engineer what will likely be her fall.

Despite being the main character, Navier is a bit inscrutable. That works because it sets her up as the only person actively thinking about the situation and trying to keep the empire politically stable. She's hurt, which Heinrey recognizes when no one else does, but she mostly tries to keep her pain to herself. Her husband may be willing to air their dirty laundry in public, but Navier was raised to be a queen, and she will live up to that, no matter how much she wants to scream. If the old saw about winning by not engaging is true, then Navier is the most skilled player out there. Part of the drama of reading is watching Navier refuse to cave and hold her head up high even when others are doing their utmost to bring her down. She is an empress, and people forget that at their peril…even though inside we see her mourning the turns her life has taken and wishing she could escape.

That's where volume six comes in. It brings us full circle to the beginning of volume one and continues on a bit into the future. In many ways, the end of this arc is about all of Sovieshu's chickens coming home to roost: he learns what his mistakes have cost him and begins to see what the price the empire as a whole will have to pay for his folly truly is. Although I have my doubts that we've fully seen the last of him and Rashta, the book ends on a primarily triumphant note, with Navier proving that she was, in fact, the game master all along, even as both her husband and his mistress were secure in the idea that they were running the show. Rashta and Sovieshu's downfall (if it can be termed as such, that may be too strong a word) comes because they both thought that they were orchestrating everything. In truth, Rashta was merely being manipulated by others and Sovieshu was operating while constrained by his own emotions and blind spots in his vision. Navier's actions don't come without costs, even to herself, but at least she's fully in charge of her destiny.

If this sounds melodramatic, it is a bit. There are a lot of overwrought passages in both art and text that can make it feel a bit soapy at times. But Navier's inner strength and the reassurance that things are going to turn out all right for her make up for it, and SUMPUL's art is vibrant and lush, making excellent use of personal color schemes and fabulous antique fashions. It may lack the twists of Villains are Destined to Die or Why Raeliana Ended Up at the Duke's Mansion, but if you enjoyed either of those but are looking for something without a whiff of isekai, absolutely pick this up.