When she first saw Cornelia approaching, Empress Mercedes expected what she always did: for her daughter to bow her head, scurry forward, and beg for a scrap of attention.
But instead, Cornelia walked with her head held high, her gaze distant as if the Empress were merely part of the palace architecture.
*You dare to ignore me?*
To the Empress, Cornelia had always been a "dirty blot" on her otherwise perfect life. She felt she had been more than generous to the child—she hadn't exiled her, she had allowed her to keep a royal title that should have belonged solely to her son, Franz, and she had even arranged a marriage into a prestigious ducal house.
Seeing that same daughter, who used to grovel for affection, now treating her like a stranger in front of Madeleine was more than Mercedes could bear.
“Stop right there, Cornelia!”
I stopped and turned slowly, my expression one of polite, hollow confusion. “Did you call for me, Your Majesty?”
“What do you think you’re doing?” the Empress hissed, her voice rising toward hysteria.
“I’m sorry? I don't understand the question.”
“Why are you ignoring your own mother!”
I tilted my head slightly. “Ignoring you? I offered a proper greeting to the Empress of the Empire.”
“You think a mere nod is a sufficient tribute?”
“It is against the protocol for a lower-ranking noble to speak before the Empress acknowledges them. Besides, didn't Your Majesty once tell me that my greatest virtue was staying out of your sight?”
The Empress’s face flushed with a mixture of shock and rage. It was true—she had said those words years ago. But in her mind, a daughter’s role was to be perpetually available for the mother’s whims, regardless of how she was treated.
“Since when have you cared so much for protocol?” she spat. “Come here and greet me properly!”
I dropped into a deep, flawless curtsy. “Cornelia Odile Brant greets the Moon of the Schwanherd Empire. May Your Majesty’s light never fade.”
It was a perfect, textbook greeting. And because it was so perfect, so devoid of any personal warmth, it was the ultimate insult. It was the greeting of a stranger to a sovereign, not a daughter to a mother.
The Empress’s eyes turned feral. *She’s mocking me.*
“If Your Majesty has nothing further,” I said, rising from the curtsy, “I shall take my leave.”
“I have not dismissed you! How dare you be so arrogant!”
I looked at her with a calm, unnerving steady gaze. “I assumed you would ignore me as you always do. I apologize if my assumption offended you.”
The apology was empty, a verbal formality that only served to stoke her anger. Mercedes raised her hand, her palm itching to strike the cheek of her "naughty" daughter.
“Auntie, please,” Madeleine interrupted, stepping forward to catch the Empress’s arm. “Cornelia seems to be having a difficult day. Please, for my sake, forgive her.”
“How ridiculous! Did you see how she was treating me?” the Empress snapped.
Madeleine leaned in, whispering urgently into the Empress’s ear. “Remember why we’re here. You had something important to discuss with her.”
The reminder settled the Empress’s nerves. She had a reason for this meeting—a reason that involved her son’s future. *I have to be patient. Everything I do is for Franz.*
She forced her features into a mask of cold patience. “I will overlook your rudeness for now, but later—”
“That’s a strange thing to say,” I interrupted, a small, sharp smile touching my lips.
“What?”
“I can't recall committing any offense that requires your forgiveness.”
The clear, mocking laugh that followed was the final straw. The Empress raised her hand again, ready to deliver a blow that would teach the girl her place.
But her hand stopped in mid-air as I leaned in, my voice a cold whisper.
“What do you think you're doing, Your Majesty? You were the one who told me on my wedding day that the moment I married, I was no longer a member of your family.”
“So? You think being a Duchess protects you from a mother’s discipline?”
“I’m saying that you should be careful,” I whispered, loud enough only for her. “I am carrying the Brant heir. If you strike me and word reaches the Duke—or the Emperor—do you think the fallout will be worth your pride?”
The Empress’s brow furrowed. *Pregnant?*
She hated Cornelia, but she wasn't a fool. A Brant heir was a powerful piece on the political board. If she played this right, she could use the child to secure the Brant fortune for her son, crushing the influence of the Dowager Duchess who had been so high-spirited lately.
But my next words were the ones that truly stayed her hand.
“If I am delayed further and keep His Majesty the Emperor waiting, I will be forced to tell him that it was the Empress who held me back. Will that be alright?”
To Mercedes, the Emperor was not a partner; he was a god to be appeased. If she interfered with his schedule, it could have dire consequences for her and her son. She slowly lowered her hand, her fingers trembling with suppressed fury.
“Go to the Empress’s Palace the moment your meeting with His Majesty is over,” she commanded. She didn't wait for an answer, turning and sweeping away with Madeleine in tow.
***
I sat in the middle of the Imperial greenhouse, surrounded by the scent of exotic blooms, and let out a long, weary sigh.
*I should have held my tongue,* I thought. I had tried to be civil, but the habits of my youth—the defensive, sharp-edged tone I’d developed to survive this palace—were hard to break. Every time I opened my mouth, the Empress’s face had grown more contorted.
But I realized that I no longer cared about her hatred. The fear that had once defined my life was gone. It had taken me thirty years and a lifetime of misery to realize that she never loved me, and she never would. I was done begging for scraps.
*But why does she want to see me at the Empress's Palace?*
I knew she loathed my presence. For her to practically demand a meeting meant something significant was happening. I tried to recall my fragmented memories of this time. *What happened seven years ago... oh. It must be that.*
“His Majesty the Emperor has arrived.”
The garden doors swung open, and I stood up immediately.
A man with platinum-blonde hair and a face that was a mirror image of my own walked toward me across the bridge. Leopold VIII, the Great Sun of the Empire. He was the most powerful man on the continent, and to him, I had never been anything more than an instrument of state.
“It’s been a long time,” he said, his voice as smooth and cold as marble.
I offered a bright, hollow smile. *It’s time to start the real trade.*
I dropped into a deep curtsy, the fabric of my skirt pooling around me. “Greetings, Your Majesty. Long live the Great Sun of the Empire.”
He gestured to a chair across from him. “Sit.”
He called me "Duchess," or sometimes "Princess," but never "daughter." To him, titles were the only things that mattered. He despised the House of Brant, and the only reason he had allowed our marriage was to place a spy in their midst.
*If he hates Eric as much as I think he does, he’ll be more than happy to help me secure a divorce.*
The Emperor didn't waste time with pleasantries. “Tell me why you requested this audience.”
He was a man who ruled as an emperor even in his own home. In my past life, he had never listened to my pleas. He had ignored me, made me wait until my very blood felt dry before granting even the smallest favor.
I remembered the time Damian was dying of a fever. I had begged him for the leaves of the World Tree—a sacred medicine kept by the Imperial family. And all he had said was: *“If I save your child, what will you do for me?”*
But this time, I wasn't the one begging.
*You’ll fulfill my request, Father. Because this time, I’m the one with the upper hand.*
The Emperor watched me with a gaze full of suspicion. He knew I had once been hopelessly in love with Eric Brant. He had never believed my claim that I was marrying for the sake of the Empire. He had simply used my obsession to his advantage, placing me where I could find a weakness to exploit.
“Well?” he prompted. “I'm waiting to hear what is so urgent that you’ve come to me after all this time.”