TLDR - Moral Ambiguity

(This is a re upload because I didn’t know what TLDR meant and didn’t add it. I don’t use reddit often.)

When I read a fictional story with even more fictional characters, I tend to gravitate toward their narrative weight, eccentric personalities, and the moral dilemmas each individual faces, rather than their likability as actual people.

This makes choosing a favorite character in The Remarried Empress incredibly difficult. Every character in the story has flaws and commits questionable acts, but only a select few face persecution for their misdeeds.

The underlying rule of the plot seems to be: if you agree with the female lead, you are considered good and virtuous; if you don’t, then you are evil and irredeemable.

There are multiple examples of what I call moral favoritism—where characters commit serious crimes but never face narrative consequences because Navier directly benefits from it in one way or another.

Two examples that come to mind are Viscount Landre and Navier’s brother, Kosair.

Viscount Landre literally attempts to murder Rashta for spreading a rumor about Duchess Tuania, and fans cheer him on, claiming, “she deserves it,” as if gossip somehow justifies attempted murder.

Kosair sneaks an abortion drug into Rashta’s food, which is also framed as a “what a great brother” moment, instead of being recognized for what it truly is: a serious crime.

While both of them eventually receive punishment, the narrative still shows a clear bias. It refuses to address their actions as wrong, framing them instead as misunderstood or even justified.

These moments weren’t meaningful character arcs. They didn’t serve any deeper purpose outside of deliberate fanservice for readers who already despised Rashta to an extreme degree. Because these actions were never meant to be reflected on in the long run, the reader wasn’t supposed to sympathize with Rashta in these moments—even though that should have been the natural response given the circumstances.

Take Rashta’s name out of the equation. Imagine it happened to any other woman. Would these actions still be considered good, or something to cheer for? Once the context of her role as the “villainess” is removed, the morality of those actions becomes impossible to defend.

But in the story, these actions are presented as a good thing, or neutral at best, because neither the characters nor the plot ever deconstructs them. There’s no space made for true moral ambiguity.

Now, you may ask: “How do you acknowledge a character’s moral greyness, strange internet user?”

Well—

First, let’s define what makes a character morally grey:

A morally grey character isn’t purely good or purely evil. These characters have complex motivations that blur the line between right and wrong. They are often the most human, because no real person is entirely virtuous or irredeemable.

So, how do you recognize and use this trope effectively in a story?

By highlighting both the good and the bad. You don’t gloss over the character’s misdeeds, and you don’t treat their virtues as absolute. Instead, you acknowledge them. Let the character do noble things, but also let them fail. Let them hurt people. Let them be selfish, petty, or cruel—and when they are, let the story reflect on that. Give each character redeeming qualities and fatal flaws.

And that brings me to the novel’s protagonist: Navier.

Navier is a morally grey character, but that was written subconsciously by the author due to how her character is framed.

She is supposed to represent justice, virtue, and power. She’s the female lead we’re meant to root for as she endures hard times. And yet, she simply does not care about the fact that her people are enslaved.

For this section, I want to focus strictly on Navier. I’ve seen many people gloss over her questionable actions—or inactions—because other characters have done “worse.” This is often used to excuse or even pardon what Navier did (or didn’t do).

While the novel tries to keep her views on slavery ambiguous, it is not a stretch to say that she, as empress, actively profits from the enslavement of her people. Navier is aware that slavery exists in her empire, and she does absolutely nothing about it.

While sitting on one’s hands and thinking about how unfair the world is may not be particularly useful, it’s still better than doing nothing at all. Yet Navier doesn’t even attempt to reflect on slavery in any meaningful way. Her only engagement with it is to explain the mechanics of how it works in the world of The Remarried Empress, without ever questioning or challenging the system itself.

I don’t actually blame Navier for this—I fully blame the author.

If the author had wanted Navier to challenge or reform the system, then slavery would have ceased to exist. After all, everything else goes Navier’s way. It’s her story, after all. Every handsome man is in love with her. She can break political promises regarding her brother without consequence (see whatever storyline happens with Kosair and Chalet). She even receives permission to remarry in the middle of her divorce trial. So why, out of everything, is slavery the one thing left untouched?

Before anyone brings up historical accuracy, I have to ask—what else in this novel is historically accurate? Why is this the one thing preserved for the sake of realism? It’s a questionable narrative decision, and it feels like a cheap piece of worldbuilding meant to perpetuate classist ideology by villainizing the lower class rather than exploring their reality.

While I usually avoid comparing entirely different works, I do want to bring up how Game of Thrones approached the topic of slavery through the character of Daenerys Targaryen. No piece of media is perfect, and Game of Thrones certainly has its own issues—especially in the later seasons—but there was at least some degree of moral introspection. (For clarity, I’m referring to the TV series only, as I’m still reading Book 1—please, no spoilers!)

When Daenerys frees the people of Meereen, the aftermath isn’t simplified. Crime rates surge, the former masters revolt, and chaos breaks out among the people. But the takeaway isn’t, “The poor are bad and bring ruin once freed.” Rather, it’s, “These people have been enslaved their entire lives. They have nothing but their trauma, and when systems fail to support them post-liberation, they turn against each other because survival is all they’ve ever known.”

When you watch this unfold in front of you, even though it’s only a TV show, you can feel the dilemma that Daenerys is experiencing in that moment. What is the right action to take? How do you completely reconstruct a society built on slavery and unpaid labor?

If Rashta had been placed in that story, I bet most people wouldn’t hate her as much. Because instead of a scheming mean girl, people would see her for what she actually is: a victim of both the patriarchy and a classist hierarchy, later turned into a perpetrator.

As we’ve naturally slid back into discussing Rashta, I’ll return to my earlier point where people brush over Navier’s doings because Rashta is worse.

Yes, Rashta is also guilty of letting slavery go untouched once she became empress. Yes, Rashta did become power-hungry and actively harmed people of the lower class. But again, I blame the author just as much as I did when it came to Navier.

While this post may have covered a wide range of general critiques I have of the novel, my main point is this: The Remarried Empress would have been a better story if the author were aware of the moral ambiguity they were writing. Instead of trying to present the protagonist as an over-the-top moral figure, let them have flaws. Let them grow and develop as characters. I assure you, dear author, that people will still like your protagonist—even if you throw some character development and criticism their way!