“I believe I’ve told you not to call me that, Franz,” I said, my voice tight with irritation.
Franz, my younger brother and the Crown Prince of the Empire, only shrugged. He was nineteen, yet he carried himself with the petulant, entitled air of a toddler.
“And what else should I call the Crow?” he asked, leaning in close until I could smell the faint scent of wine on his breath. “Surely you don't expect me to call you *Sister*? You’re a defective product, Cornelia. A flaw in the Imperial line.”
*If I’m a defective product,* I thought, staring at his mocking face, *what does that make you? A man who can't pass a basic history exam despite the best tutors in the world?*
Franz was a classic bully—domineering, narrow-minded, and possessed of a memory that only worked when it came to holding a grudge. I knew that engaging with him was like rolling in the mud, but he was blocking my path to the carriage.
I tried to step around him, but he reached out and clamped a hand around my wrist.
“Where are you going? I haven't given you permission to leave. Did marrying into House Brant make you forget your place?”
“Let go of my wrist, Franz,” I said, my voice low and steady. “I’m still speaking nicely.”
He let out a sharp, ugly laugh. “And if I don’t? What will a useless, flawed thing like you do about it?”
I looked around the courtyard. The Brant knights stood by, their faces masks of professional indifference. The imperial servants looked away, feigning sudden interest in the garden hedges. It was a familiar scene. In this palace, I had always been the one no one cared to defend.
Just as I was about to deliver a well-placed kick to his shins, someone stepped forward.
“Your Highness, your behavior is unbecoming of a gentleman.”
The Brant knights, who had been statues only moments ago, were now standing in a protective semicircle behind me. It was Sir Chester, the leader of the escort, who had spoken.
Franz’s eyes widened in disbelief. He enjoyed mocking me, but he usually did it when he thought no one of consequence was watching.
“What is this? I’m having a private conversation with my sister. Is that a crime now?”
The knights didn't move. They looked uncomfortable—caught between their duty to protect me and their fear of the future Emperor—but they stood their ground.
“Holding a lady’s wrist against her will is never appropriate, Your Highness,” Chester said, his voice firm.
Franz’s face turned a mottled red. If there was one thing that triggered his legendary tantrums, it was being told he wasn't acting like a proper gentleman. He wrenched his hand away from my wrist as if he’d been burned.
“Do you dare to lecture me? Me, the Crown Prince!”
His mood shifted in an instant. His eyes took on that bloodshot purple hue that always preceded his most violent outbursts.
“You insects... you dare to insult the Imperial bloodline?”
Franz reached for the hilt of the ceremonial sword at his waist. “I’ll kill you all! I’ll have your heads for this!”
I didn't care if he cut down a few knights; they had treated me with nothing but contempt for years. But I was pregnant, and a bloodbath in the middle of the palace courtyard was the last thing I needed. More importantly, I knew Franz wouldn't stop with the knights.
As he began to draw the blade, I brought my heel down with everything I had onto the bridge of his foot.
“AHHH! You crazy bitch!”
Franz doubled over, clutching his foot and hopping in a circle. I stared at him, my expression one of cold amusement.
“How was that?” I asked. “How does it feel to be bested by a 'defective product'?”
“You Crow! Have you finally lost your mind?”
Franz was an idiot, but he wasn't a complete fool. He knew that if this reached the Emperor’s ears, he’d be the one in trouble. He didn't attack me—at least, not in the courtyard where witnesses could see—but his voice was a hissed threat.
“You think you’re so brave because Father is still on the throne. Just wait until I’m Emperor. I’ll ensure you and that brat in your womb rot in the deepest dungeon.”
I leaned in, my voice a whisper that only he could hear. “You’re very confident for someone who’s been dipping into the Emperor’s personal treasury to pay off his gambling debts.”
Franz froze. “How... how could you...”
“Go ask the Empress for the details,” I said, pulling back. “She knows exactly what I’m capable of now.”
I looked at him, my eyes hard. “And if you ever touch me again, it won't be your foot that I break. I don't consider you my brother, Franz Riessen Schwanherd. Don't expect me to treat you like one.”
Franz grit his teeth, his fury warring with his fear. But he wasn't finished. He looked past me at Sir Chester, a cruel smile returning to his face.
“Fine. I’ll let you go for now. But that knight... he was rude to me. He insulted the Crown Prince. I think he needs to be taught a lesson in humility.”
Franz looked like a cat that had found its next victim. He was going to demand Chester’s tongue, or worse, and the knights knew it.
*Slap!*
Before Franz could say another word, I delivered a stinging blow to Chester’s cheek.
The sound echoed through the courtyard. I didn't stop. I delivered two more, my palm burning with the force of the strikes.
“How dare you!” I shouted, my voice dripping with "royal" indignation. “A knight without a title, speaking so frivolously to the future Sun of the Empire? I will not have my house disgraced by your lack of manners!”
I turned back to Franz, my breathing heavy. “I’ve punished him for his insolence. Are you satisfied now, Your Highness?”
Franz stood there, stunned. He’d wanted to be the one to inflict the pain, to show his power. By taking the "punishment" into my own hands, I’d effectively robbed him of his entertainment.
“You...!” he sputtered. “I’ll remember this, Cornelia. Don't think I’ll forget what you did today!”
I simply raised my fan, shielding my face as I watched him storm off, his bloodshot eyes full of a promise of future revenge.
I turned back to the knights. Chester was standing perfectly still, his cheek a deep, bruised red. The other knights were kneeling in unison, their heads bowed.
“Sir Chester,” I said, my voice returning to its cold, distant tone. “Why are you kneeling? Are you protesting the discipline I gave you?”
Chester looked up, and for the first time in five years, I didn't see contempt in his eyes.
“It was not a protest, my lady. We... we realize what you did. If you hadn't stepped in, the Prince would have had my life.”
“I only did it because a bloodbath would have been a nuisance,” I said, dismissing his gratitude.
“And... we wish to apologize,” Chester continued, his voice steady. “For our past mistakes. We have failed in our duty to you.”
I looked at them—these men who had spent half a decade ignoring my existence, who had never once addressed me as "Duchess" or "Madam." They were begging for forgiveness, their hearts finally "reacting" to the truth of the woman I was.
In my past life, this moment would have brought me to tears. I would have felt a surge of validation, a sense that I was finally being accepted.
But now, I felt nothing.
*What’s the use of an apology now?* I thought. *One day soon, I’ll be gone from that house. Whether you respect me or not is of no consequence.*
I looked down at them and spoke, my voice devoid of emotion.
“You’ve done nothing wrong. There is nothing to forgive.”