Episode 17
The urge to cast out the empress and crush House Cherie into oblivion surged within him. Yet, without solid evidence, there was no way to confront her. Had he known she was capable of such malice, he would have exposed her infidelity and banished her from the palace long before Voltaire was born.
He shouldn’t have been so lenient. He had thought her merely a vain, immature marquess’s daughter, but who could have guessed that behind that mask lay such a terrifyingly cunning nature?
From the start, he had no intention of having any more princes or princesses with Kiyen, all to ensure the stable succession of the late crown prince, his son with the former empress. That was the agreement he had made with Kiyen before making her empress. But Kiyen had betrayed him spectacularly, striking him from behind with a blow he never saw coming.
He should have cast her out back then.
Regret washed over him, late but relentless. What evidence could he uncover now, even if he decided to expose her?
As Kiyen left, Count Maron, who had been waiting outside, entered the room.
“Your Majesty…” the count called out, his voice laced with concern.
“Fetch me a glass of water,” the emperor said.
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
Count Maron gracefully poured water into a mug and handed it to the emperor. His movements carried a refined elegance, understated yet unmistakable. The emperor watched him silently as he tidied the pitcher, his demeanor exuding quiet dignity.
“Count,” the emperor began.
“Yes, Your Majesty?”
“Voltaire’s…” The emperor let out a long, heavy sigh.
The count, quick to read the room, picked up the thread. “Are you speaking of the matter concerning Her Majesty the Empress and His Highness Prince Voltaire’s birth?”
The empress likely believed the emperor had kept the truth hidden from everyone. But in fact, he had confided in Count Maron, his chief attendant, about the matter. More precisely, Maron knew of the promise made between the emperor and Kiyen before their marriage.
So, when news of Kiyen’s pregnancy with Voltaire reached them unexpectedly, Maron had been as shocked as the emperor. Knowing the emperor’s resolute nature, the count was the first to suspect the empress’s infidelity. Eventually, the emperor confided the truth solely to Maron.
In a way, Maron was the emperor’s insurance policy—a safeguard in case he died before revealing the truth. A witness to ensure that, even if something happened to him, Voltaire would never ascend to the throne as crown prince.
“I need to find Voltaire’s true father,” the emperor said.
My leniency has become poison. By forgiving her, I made myself an easy target.
He had taken the child, innocent of his mother’s sins, as his own to spare him the burden of her crimes. Yet that same mother continued to betray him.
The emperor let out another long, weary sigh.
—
Being young was far more inconvenient than I’d expected. Because of my age, people refused to tell me things, going out of their way to shield me from knowledge, their lips sealed tight.
So, for the first time since my regression, I summoned all my maids after breakfast.
“Speak,” I demanded. “They say the truth about the hunting incident has come to light?”
The palace was abuzz with rumors, yet I was the last to know. I’d overheard palace servants whispering about it by chance while on my way to pay respects to Grandfather yesterday. The sting of betrayal was indescribable.
“How could none of you tell me?”
My sharp tone made them all lower their gazes. Finally, Jeanne stepped forward.
“I instructed them to hold their tongues,” she said. “I feared the news would shock Your Highness. My judgment was shortsighted, and I dared to blind and deafen you. Punish me as you see fit.”
Oh, come on, Jeanne. If you put it like that, what does that make me?
Her words made my heart lurch, a sudden pang of guilt making me wonder if I was the one in the wrong. I couldn’t let my frustration show, so I pursed my lips primly.
“Fine. Now that I know, tell me everything.”
As I pouted, Jeanne spoke in her characteristic calm, businesslike tone. “It was a mistake by a maid in the empress’s palace. The handkerchief Her Majesty gifted to His Majesty during the event was dyed with pink dye made from the blood of a young wyvern. By error, unrefined dye was used, and that caused the incident.”
As she recited the official account, I sharpened every sense, trying to discern if this was the truth.
“Who uncovered this?” I asked.
Surely it wasn’t Grandfather, who was overseeing the investigation. He wouldn’t settle for pinning the blame on a single maid from the empress’s palace. No, he’d have locked her up and torn through the empress’s quarters, searching for the real mastermind.
“Her Majesty the Empress herself caught the culprit,” Jeanne replied.
The empress is the true culprit. Classic tail-cutting.
“Did the maid confess?” I pressed.
“She did…” Jeanne answered, but her eyes kept darting away, as if she were debating whether to say more. She was treating me like a child again.
Yes, eight years old is young, but that’s no excuse to be kept in the dark when time is so precious. If things continue like this, I’ll die in ten years.
Take this incident alone—Grandfather nearly died. In my previous life, he did die. Back then, I thought it was a mere accident, but now I know it was planned, just like my parents’ deaths. Those who failed this time will surely try again. Who knows when Grandfather’s life will be in danger once more?
Of course, now that he suspects this was an assassination attempt, he’ll be cautious. But I can’t help worrying. Having failed once, they’ll be as careful as we are.
As Jeanne continued to hesitate, I finally snapped, “Keep talking. She confessed, so what?”
“The confession was heard only by Her Majesty the Empress,” Jeanne said.
“What does that mean?”
“The maid confessed her mistake directly to Her Majesty, who then cut out her tongue and severed her fingers before presenting her to His Majesty the Emperor the next day.”
The sheer brutality made my stomach churn, but I couldn’t show my disgust. If I did, Jeanne would never speak so candidly again until I was grown.
Swallowing the nausea, I nodded as if unfazed. “She might be innocent.”
At my words, Jeanne and the other maids flinched. I knew my comment didn’t sound like something an eight-year-old would say.
To keep them from dwelling on it, I swiftly changed the subject. “Let’s go to Grandfather. Make me look pretty—cute and adorable as can be.”
I’d charm him with all the sweetness I could muster and ask him to hand over that maid the empress had discarded.
—
A lavish pink carriage, adorned with intricately carved flowers along its edges, rolled out of the imperial palace toward the Serpis marquisate. Ironically, the doors bore the emblem of a dragon, a symbol of the empire far removed from flowers or pink.
This was unmistakably a royal carriage, its garish, flower-wreathed design screaming that it belonged to a young imperial granddaughter.
Not a shred of dignity, I thought. I’d need to replace this carriage soon.
Peeking through the curtain, I saw people pause in the streets, bowing as the carriage passed.
“Just keep walking,” I muttered. “It’s not like I’m going to acknowledge you.”
How inefficient. No wonder royals weren’t supposed to leave the palace so freely. Next time, I’d sneak out.
I clicked my tongue, drew the curtain shut, and sat back. The carriage jolted, my backside bumping against the seat despite the plush cushions. The motion made my stomach lurch with nausea.
When the carriage finally stopped, we’d arrived at the Serpis estate. Grandfather was waiting to greet me.
“It’s been a while, Your Highness,” he said warmly.
“Grandfather!” I leapt from the carriage and flung myself into his arms, unleashing a storm of affection. “I want macarons! The ones your patissier makes are so much better than the palace’s.”
He chuckled. “Very well, eat as many as you like.”
We sat in the estate’s greenhouse, sharing macarons and light conversation. When the mood was soft and warm, I gently broached the real reason for my visit.
“I heard you investigated the incident at the hunting event,” I said.
“Ah, yes,” he replied, his tone softening now that we were alone.
“They caught the culprit, didn’t they? A maid from the empress’s palace made a mistake?”
“You’ve already heard that much?” His expression grew complex, as if weighing how much to tell a child like me.
So, I laid it all bare. “It was just a mistake, but they cut out her tongue and her fingers. It’s awful!” I let my voice tremble with feigned horror.
“Who told you such things?” His eyes flashed, as if he’d throttle whoever had spoken to me. It didn’t matter that I’d pressured Jeanne into telling me.
“It’s all over the palace,” I said, deflecting. “I overhear the servants gossiping sometimes.”
He clicked his tongue. “Tch. Palace staff with such loose lips…”
Fearing the conversation might veer off, I seized the moment as he reached for a macaron. “I want to take that maid in.”
“What?”
“Send her to my estate. Give her a new identity.”
“…Out of pity?” He hesitated. “Amelia, you’re too young to understand, but in the palace—”
“It’s not pity,” I cut in firmly.
“It wasn’t really her mistake, was it?”
His eyes widened, speechless. Before he could recover, I pressed on, words tumbling out like a rapid-fire barrage.
“They cut out her tongue and fingers to silence her, didn’t they? Evidence can be fabricated easily enough. She must know or have seen something dangerous—whether she realizes it or not. And to the empress, she’s probably not worth the risk.”
Grandfather narrowed his eyes, studying me as if questioning whether a child could say such things.
“And if I were that maid,” I continued, “I’d curse the empress for cutting me off. I’d bide my time for revenge. I want to give her that chance.”
Grandfather’s breathing grew ragged. He gulped down water, stared into the distance, and opened and closed his eyes, clearly rattled by my words.
