009
The lime-colored dress and matching ribbon complemented my golden-brown hair well enough. The maids fluttered around me, their excitement spilling over into gasps and lavish praise—*Beautiful, radiant, a vision.* Their words tumbled out relentlessly, as if they couldn’t help themselves.
I met their fawning with a faint, disinterested expression.
There was a time when I, too, had believed I was the most beautiful girl in the world. How could I not? Everyone around me had done nothing but shower me with adoration, their voices a constant chorus of praise. It was only natural that I’d been swept up in the illusion.
Not that I consider myself unattractive now. Objectively speaking, I’d place myself among the prettier ones. But the *most* beautiful? Hardly. Not as they so often insisted. Because I had seen *her*—the woman they called the Empire’s treasure.
Yes… *her*.
The one with hair like the clear morning sky, a serene, luminous blue that made her seem otherworldly, as if she belonged to a realm beyond this one.
—
The official reason for my summons to the palace was the Emperor’s personal condolences to the daughter of the late Marchioness. That was the story they told. But those in the know—those who mattered—understood the truth was far more complicated.
The Emperor had six sons. If you counted his daughters, his brood swelled into the double digits. A man of boundless vigor, he’d taken one Empress, two Imperial Consorts, and a legion of concubines. Among his six princes, two stood out as the most likely heirs: the First Prince, born to the First Consort, and the Sixth Prince, the son of the long-deceased former Empress.
The moment the Sixth Prince drew his first breath, the Emperor named him Crown Prince. Some nobles begged him to reconsider—*He’s too young, too fragile*—but the Emperor’s will was ironclad.
Fate dealt the Crown Prince a cruel hand early on. He lost his mother, the Empress, shortly after his birth. The House of Gapilt, her powerful family, remained his unwavering shield, but her absence cast a long shadow. Worse still, the new Empress hailed from a noble faction that stood in opposition to his supporters.
She was just nineteen when she married the Emperor, a daughter of a humble baronetcy. By then, the Emperor’s older children were already grown, and the court teetered on a knife’s edge, its power split between imperial loyalists and the aristocratic bloc. Neither side wanted a new queen to upset the balance.
So, in a rare moment of unspoken agreement, the two factions settled on a compromise: an innocuous noblewoman from a minor house with no real influence. Upon her coronation, her family was elevated to a countship—a tidy arrangement that satisfied both the imperial faction backing the Crown Prince and the aristocrats rallying behind the First Prince.
The new Empress was young enough to bear children, but the Emperor was far past his prime. Even if she defied the odds and conceived, there was no promise the child would be a son. Her family, once loosely tied to the aristocrats, threw their full weight behind the First Prince—their clearest shot at power.
The First Prince held a sixteen-year advantage over the Crown Prince. The scales tipped heavily against the Emperor’s chosen heir.
And so, the Emperor set about shoring up the Crown Prince’s position.
I was his opening move.
House Eliont, my family, had long clung to neutrality. Even after the current Marquess rose to the rank of Chancellor, that stance never wavered. We weren’t the only house to stay neutral, but Eliont’s influence towered above the rest.
To both the imperial and noble factions, House Eliont was a prize worth coveting. The aristocrats, in particular, saw an opportunity in the Marquess. His frosty, distant marriage to the Marchioness must have looked like a crack they could pry open.
Noblewomen flocked to him. After the Marchioness’s death, their efforts grew shameless—some even showed up at our doorstep. But they never made it past the gate. The Marquess dismissed them all with a cold, cutting indifference, as if they were beneath his notice. Secretly, that ruthless edge of his thrilled me.
The Emperor tried his hand at winning the Marquess, too. From what I heard, he got the same impassive treatment. Eventually, the Emperor turned his gaze to me.
It was a masterful pivot, in retrospect. I wasn’t just an Eliont; through my mother, I carried the blood of the Pison family—wealthy merchants turned nobles, a name that echoed across the Empire. Status, fortune—I lacked for nothing. The Emperor aimed to bind me to the Crown Prince, cementing his son’s foundation.
It all began with that invitation to the palace.
He needed a pretext to call me, and my mother’s death handed him the perfect one. The moment her funeral rites concluded, the summons arrived.
He even sent the imperial carriage—a grand, white coach emblazoned with the roaring golden lion of the royal family. Only those of the Imperial House, or those blessed by the Emperor’s favor, could ride in such a vehicle. The gesture spoke volumes.
I stepped inside.
The interior was as lavish as you’d expect from a royal carriage, spacious and plush. I settled into my seat, and soon after, the Marquess joined me, taking the spot across from me without a word. It was the Emperor’s doing—a courtesy for a young girl stepping into the palace for the first time.
He didn’t speak. Naturally.
“…”
“…”
It was just like before.
The entire ride to the palace passed in silence. I’d harbored a quiet hope that he might say something, anything, to bridge the gap between us. But he didn’t so much as glance my way until we reached our destination.
Looking back, I see I didn’t have to wait for him to break the silence. If I’d wanted to talk, I could’ve spoken first.
Whether he’d have answered—that’s another question entirely.
But I didn’t have to sit there, waiting.
Back then, though, the idea of initiating a conversation never crossed my mind. I craved his approval, his attention, yet he intimidated me. I was still a child, trapped in a confined space with the Marquess. That alone unnerved me more than the thought of the palace itself.
The door shut. The carriage rolled forward, its ride as smooth as a luxury motorcar. The comfort of the vehicle did little to ease the storm churning inside me. The closer we got to the palace, the worse it grew.
This time, it wasn’t the Marquess’s presence that rattled me. I wasn’t that wide-eyed child anymore, nor did I yearn for his regard.
No, what gnawed at me now was the knowledge that *he* was there, in the palace.
I dreaded facing him.
More precisely, I dreaded what I might become when I did.
For now, I could still see things clearly, hold on to my objectivity. But I wasn’t sure that would last once I stood before him.
My love for him had been profound—too profound. A depth that bordered on terrifying.
That love had burned through him, through everyone around him, and nearly consumed me in the flames.
I didn’t know if I could endure that kind of madness again.
Maybe…
Maybe I was overthinking it. Maybe seeing him again wouldn’t be what it once was. I wasn’t the same person I’d been back then. Too much had changed.
But as long as I lived in this world, avoiding him wasn’t an option. Sooner or later, I’d have to confront him. Whether I’d break or stand firm—that would be decided in the moment.
Not before.
Even so, understanding that didn’t stop my mouth from going dry. I swallowed hard, flexing my chilled fingers to steady the faint tremble.
“Do you, too… hope to become Empress?”
I was truly taken aback by the Marquess’s question—it had never even occurred to me. I lifted my gaze and met his eyes. He was watching me with a seriousness that left no room for jest. In the depths of his pupils, I could see my own reflection staring back.
It was strange. Back then, he hadn’t even spared me a glance, let alone spoken to me. I had no idea what had prompted this change.
“Does what I want really matter?” I replied, echoing the same words I had once said to him in his office.
The Marquess let out a quiet sigh. He looked a little worn down. For all his steel-like composure, the past few days of mourning must have taken their toll. He’d lost weight, and his already sharp features had grown even more severe.
“If your thoughts didn’t matter,” he said softly, “I wouldn’t have asked.”
That surprised me even more than the question itself. The thought that he might care enough to ask for my opinion had never crossed my mind. In truth, not once in all those years had he ever inquired about how I felt.
“Why ask now? You’ve never cared before.”
“Because this concerns you,” he said, as if it were the most natural answer in the world.
And yet, I couldn’t understand him. That time too—it had concerned me. Even when I was chosen to become Crown Princess, and eventually Empress, he had never asked me what I wanted.
Had something changed in him? Or was there something I didn’t know?
From where I stood now, I couldn’t say.
“What if I don’t want it?” I asked.
“You don’t wish to be Empress?”
“What if I said I didn’t? Would that make any difference?”
The truth was, the Emperor had already made his decision. Barring some disqualifying scandal, I would be named Crown Princess. Back then, I hadn’t known that. But now, I did.
I had been too foolish to understand. Too busy chasing after the Crown Prince to notice the world around me. I thought I’d earned my place at his side because I wanted it. Back then, I believed I could have anything I desired, simply because I desired it. I only realized later how many interests were entangled in our union.
He didn’t marry me because he loved me. He married me for what I represented—for the power I brought.
It had all been an illusion.
The betrayal, once uncovered, was devastating. The pain, indescribable. And yet… I couldn’t let him go.
Even if I declared that I didn’t want to marry him, the Emperor would make sure the wedding happened anyway. He would stop at nothing.
Because for the current Crown Prince, there was no better match than me.
There were plenty of noblewomen closer to him in age. But daughters from families powerful enough to support his claim? You could count them on one hand. Unless the Emperor lost his mind, I wouldn’t be removed from the list of candidates.
“It would be difficult,” the Marquess admitted without hesitation.
If the imperial palace formally requested a marriage alliance, House Eliont would have no grounds to refuse.
On this matter, I had already accepted the inevitable. No matter how hard I struggled, I couldn’t escape marriage to the Crown Prince—unless the Marquess openly defied the Emperor or I went mad. It would take one of us breaking.
The first was unthinkable. The second would destroy me.
Only when I had been pushed to the brink—only then would that become an option worth considering.
“Then why ask me?” I said. “If it’s impossible, what’s the point?”
Had it been anyone but the Marquess, I would have thought they were toying with me. But he wasn’t the kind of man who joked.
He turned his head toward the window instead of answering. The carriage was now passing through the gates of the Imperial Palace. The white carriage bearing the golden lion crest—symbol of the royal family—was waved through without inspection.
We passed the outer palace and rolled into the inner court. No one, not even royalty, could ride through the inner court. Not even a carriage bearing the golden lion.
I prepared to disembark.
The Marquess rose first as the door opened. I stood behind him.
He stepped out and turned to offer his hand. A simple gesture, ingrained from years of noble etiquette.
I took his hand and began to step down. The carriage was slightly too high for someone of my size, and I stumbled a little. The Marquess moved closer, steadying me with his other hand.
For a fleeting moment, we were far too close.
“It may be difficult,” he murmured, just above a whisper, “but it’s not impossible.”
“…!”
His low voice brushed past my ear. I looked up at him, startled. His face gave nothing away—expressionless, as always. I had no idea what he was thinking.
Once he was sure I had both feet on the ground, he turned away as though nothing had happened and began walking. I followed quickly, dazed.
If not for those words still echoing in my ears, I might’ve thought I’d imagined the whole thing.
I couldn’t decipher what he meant.
“Not impossible.”
Did that mean he’d help me? That he’d support me if I didn’t want this? Or had he meant something else entirely?
I didn’t know. I couldn’t read him.
While my mind was spinning with questions, we arrived at the Emperor’s audience chamber. A palace attendant bowed his head at the sight of the Marquess. The Marquess acknowledged the gesture with a slight nod.
“Your Majesty, Marquess Eliont has arrived.”
“Let them enter.”
The voice from within responded immediately to the attendant’s call. He opened the doors and ushered us in.
“Please, go ahead. His Majesty is expecting you.”
The Marquess entered first. I followed closely behind. The palace was no stranger to me, nor was this audience chamber. This was the place where I had first seen him. And now, I would see him again.
I swallowed hard against the tension tightening my throat.
Inside, only the Emperor and the chief chamberlain were present. The Marquess approached the throne and bowed.
“Gabriel Cruter Eliont, in service to the Empire’s Sun, pays his respects.”
As always, his manner was concise, efficient. Most nobles would wrap their greetings in flourishes and flattery, dragging on for ten minutes or more. Many believed that the more embellished the words, the greater the show of respect.
But the Marquess offered no such excess. His greeting was pared down to the essentials—courteous, but stripped of pomp. To others, it might’ve seemed brazen, even disrespectful.
The Emperor, however, didn’t seem surprised. He received the Marquess’s greeting without remark and immediately turned to me.
I gathered the hem of my dress in both hands and knelt.
“Bionne Rossa Eliont, first daughter of House Eliont, greets the Empire’s Sun.”
