003
“…You’ll need to repair the outer wall, Your Highness.”
“Hm?”
“There seemed to be a rat hole.”
A flicker of interest, absent until now, passed through his otherwise indifferent eyes. Both the prince and the grand duke’s attendants knew well—such interest was rarely a good sign.
“I’ll bring back the little rat. In the meantime, stay by His Highness’ side.”
Adrian’s command was brief. Before anyone could intervene, he had already turned on his heel. Ricardo merely let out a sigh as he watched his back.
***
There’s a doghole in the palace wall.
A place where the sun of the Empire rests—how could such a thing exist, you ask? Exactly. It’s not even a rat hole. A dog hole.
In the original novel, the existence of the hole was revealed around this time as well. It was when a man, disgruntled over the Crown Prince’s ascension, committed arson during the coronation ceremony. Fortunately, the arsonist was quickly apprehended, but the palace guards received severe punishment.
…Well, it works out for me.
If there hadn’t been another way to enter the palace, I would’ve had to wait until my probation was lifted. And even if I had received permission to enter, would I have been allowed anywhere near the rear garden?
My clothes were a bit soiled, but I had successfully made my way into the imperial palace. The rear garden, teeming with trees and thick grass, was a perfect place to conceal oneself.
Carefully scanning the surroundings, I moved forward step by step. The statue of the goddess wasn’t far now. With each step closer, my frayed nerves slowly began to calm. I had just about reached the statue, no interruptions in sight, and stretched out my hand—
Step.
A sudden footstep. A chill raced down my spine. I froze mid-motion and held my breath. The moment I turned my head, I was rooted to the spot.
“D-Duke…”
Standing before me, towering and imposing, was none other than Adrian Lepinar. A genius who had manifested sword energy at the age of eighteen. The ruler of the frigid North. A bloodthirsty madman who’d go insane without spilling blood.
His blue eyes stared at me—not with open hostility, but neither with warmth. His gaze was indifferent, as if looking at something utterly worthless. Just like yesterday. That same gaze—as though looking at a wretched insect.
“You’re supposed to be under disciplinary confinement.”
For a noble lady, the way he addressed me was plainly rude. But I couldn’t even think to object. My mouth merely opened and closed without sound.
When had he gotten here? What do I say? In my growing panic, I instinctively took a step back. But with each of my steps, Adrian closed in with one of his own.
“Does Count Blandot know?”
“…”
“That his daughter takes the Emperor’s command so lightly?”
Shing.
The steely ring of metal sent a shiver down my spine. I froze again. A sharp blade was pointed at my throat. It was so close, it felt like even a swallow would cut me open. I tried not to collapse, but I couldn’t stop my knees from trembling.
“Did you come again today to throw yourself at His Highness?”
“That’s not—”
I scrambled to find an excuse, but the cold blade touching my skin stole my voice. Was this how I’d die? Not only failing to change the story, but dying earlier than the original?
“T-the arsonist…”
The words tumbled from my quivering lips—completely unplanned. Adrian’s thick brows lifted slightly. I swallowed hard.
“Someone’s going to set the palace on fire. Or, well—is supposed to…”
“Who? You?”
Apparently finding the excuse absurd, Adrian curled his lips into a crooked smile. I shook my head furiously. Of course it wouldn’t work. I knew that…
“Fire!”
A scream echoed from the distance.
Adrian’s brows furrowed. He turned toward the direction of the voice, seemingly not expecting an actual fire. I didn’t miss the chance. I spun on my heel.
“Hey, you—!”
He called after me, but I didn’t look back. Without hesitation, I reached toward the statue of the goddess. A firm hand grabbed my forearm, and at the same time, Etas’s blade brushed my fingers.
A blinding white light burst forth. So bright, it felt like it could engulf the world.
“Leticia Blandot!”
His voice, laced with fury, grew fainter and fainter.
“If You Could Turn Back Time…”
“If you could turn back time, when would you want to return to?”
Lucia had come to visit Leticia in her prison cell and chatted on about trivial things. In the solitary confinement cell, where loneliness gnawed so bitterly, Leticia would simply watch her with a weary expression as she rambled on.
“And you?”
Leticia had asked back, not out of genuine curiosity, but more as a passing impulse. Caught off guard by the unexpected question, Lucia widened her eyes slightly, then quickly forced a smile, as though trying not to show it.
“To before my mother passed away.”
She wasn’t referring to the Countess of Jimenez, but to her birth mother, the woman who had once served as Leticia’s wet nurse. That answer, Leticia thought, was so very like her.
“What about you, Leticia?”
Lucia asked again, her voice tinged with a bashful smile.
To think—the Crown Princess herself, crouched inside a prison cell, asking such a question. Leticia inwardly scoffed but said nothing, instead watching Lucia silently.
Truly, she was a woman who was foolish, frustrating, and endlessly irritating. The fact that she continued visiting Leticia like this, even knowing she would die soon—that alone was aggravating enough.
“…I don’t know.”
And yet, Leticia spoke, if only faintly.
If she could turn back time.
If she could get her hands on a sacred relic.
Then perhaps she would…
***
Smack!
With a sound all too familiar, I snapped back to my senses.
The first thing I felt was the stinging pain in my palm. But this wasn’t the moment when I had slapped Lucia. What had struck my hand wasn’t a cheek—it was a switch.
“Hold your hand out properly, young lady.”
The stern voice jolted me fully awake. Standing before me was a woman holding a birch switch. Her black hair was neatly pulled up, and under her brows, her green eyes were wide with sharpness and fury. And yet… there was something exhausted about her gaze, too.
“…Nanny.”
My nose stung—so I must’ve been crying from the beating. My trembling voice made her falter briefly before she took in a deep breath. Then she slowly lowered the switch.
“I told you not to strike others.”
“…”
“It doesn’t matter that it was Lucia. It would be the same even if it were someone else. How many times have I said this…”
Her voice quivered slightly, as if overwhelmed. But after a few breaths, she calmed herself and smoothed over the emotion. Her hand, rough and warm, gently stroked my stinging palm. Her coarse fingertips brushed against the tender skin, and the pain flared anew.
“…You won’t do it again, will you?”
There was a strange desperation in her voice. I hurried to nod. But before I could, the door burst open.
“Marianne Alonso!”
A shrill voice rang out, and both I and my nanny turned at the same time. Standing at the doorway were the estate servants—and Branda, her face much younger than I remembered it.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
Behind her stood the head butler and other staff, all watching us with confused, uneasy expressions. Branda, standing proudly as if putting on a show, marched forward and rushed to me.
“Oh, Leticia!”
Branda embraced me and quickly opened my hand. When she saw the red mark left by the switch, she glared daggers at Marianne, her face twisted in outrage.
“How dare you do something like this…!”
“Discipline falls under the nanny’s authority, madam.”
“Discipline? You call this ‘discipline’—after turning my niece’s hand into a rag?”
Branda held up my hand to show the servants—too soft and delicate to ever be called a rag.
“I told you, didn’t I? That woman needs to be dismissed. A mere nanny, laying hands on her charge just to protect her own child—how dare she touch one she’s meant to serve!”
Her voice cut through the room like glass.
She clutched my fingers tightly. My small hand, caught in her adult grip, crumpled under the pressure. I flinched, a flash of pain furrowing my brow.
“…I-It hurts.”
“Oh, what do we do? Leticia, this is all my fault. I should never have left a woman like her as your nanny…”
“…”
“It’s alright, Leticia. You don’t need to say a thing. From now on, your aunt will protect you.”
Branda looked as though she might burst into tears at any moment, her voice trembling with emotion.
But Marianne said nothing. She only stared at me with hollow, distant eyes. I reached out toward her instinctively.
“Nanny—”
“What are you all doing just standing there? Take her away at once!”
Branda barked orders as if she were the Countess of Blandot herself.
Hesitant at first, the servants finally stepped forward and took hold of Marianne’s arms. She bit her lip lightly but did not resist. She allowed herself to be led away without a word.
