Chapter 10
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 10
Following the great upheaval, Thalia retreated into the isolation of the Annex Palace.
Yet the maids—whispering incessantly as if they had never known a day of silence—ensured she learned the bitter truth: the boy who had assaulted her was the Crown Prince of the Empire and her own half-brother. The black-haired girl she had seen in the birch forest was her half-sister.
She also discovered that it had been less than six months since the siblings had lost their mother.
It meant she and Senevia had moved into the Imperial Palace a mere three weeks after the death of the former Empress, Bernadette. To make matters worse, Senevia had moved to erase every trace of her predecessor the moment she set foot in the palace. Thalia began to suspect the small garden tucked behind the Main Palace was a lingering remnant of Bernadette that her mother simply hadn’t managed to tear out yet.
She gazed out the window.
Summer rain lashed the garden her mother had so meticulously redesigned. To Thalia, the plants—heavy with moisture and reeking of thick, cloying grass—looked like hideous monsters.
She drew the curtains shut. Huddling on her bed, she recalled the Crown Prince’s hate-filled eyes and her half-sister’s terror-stricken face. And then there was the blue-eyed boy who had glared at her while shielding the girl in his arms...
“Barkas Raedgo Sieorkan...”
She stared blankly at the ceiling, murmuring his name.
She had finally learned who he was, but the knowledge brought her no joy. She realized then that he would never, ever smile at her.
The former Empress Bernadette had hailed from the House of Marquis Oristein, one of Osiria’s most prestigious families, but her mother had been of the Sieorkan bloodline. In a sense, the deceased Empress and Barkas were distant relatives. Furthermore, Bernadette had tenderly looked after Barkas when he first entered the Imperial Palace as a young child to begin his rigorous education. To him, Senevia was likely a mortal enemy.
‘And me, too...’
Recalling the ice-cold eyes that had looked down at her, Thalia felt a surge of resentment for being Senevia’s daughter for the first time. Even her appearance, which mirrored her mother’s and had always been her pride, now felt like a mark of shame.
Thalia didn’t want to feel this way.
I’m the one who was beaten so terribly. Why do I have to feel guilty? The Crown Prince was the one who did something bad.
I really didn’t know anything. What did I do wrong? I’m not bad. I haven’t done anything wrong.
Thalia repeated these thoughts to herself like a mantra. But whenever she was subjected to the cold gazes of the servants, her resolve vanished without a trace.
She understood perfectly the malice behind the hands that touched her.
They brought ice-cold bathwater and scrubbed her skin until it was raw and beet-red. They subtly pricked her with pins every time they changed her clothes and brushed her hair so violently it left wounds on her scalp. They served her cold, congealed scraps at every meal. It was their own way of punishing her.
She knew she was hated. But since things hadn’t been much different during her time with House Taren, she tried not to pay it much mind. Whenever she felt dejected, Senevia would pull her into a tight embrace and whisper that she was the product of true love—that she needn’t care what anyone else said.
Thalia had believed those words and tried to carry herself with confidence. But now, her mother was no longer by her side. Her world was filled only with whispers of how kind and virtuous the former Empress had been, and how much pain she had endured before she died.
Thalia became visibly despondent. Her head, which she used to hold high and proud, sank into her shoulders like a tortoise retreating into its shell, and her gaze naturally drifted toward the floor. Sensing this change, the servants grew even more cruel. Since neither the Emperor nor Senevia paid her any attention, any fear of punishment had evaporated.
To them, Thalia was never an Imperial Princess. She was merely the creature who had broken the heart of the Empress they had served with lifelong loyalty—a living piece of evidence of a foul affair.
Every time she walked down the hallways, Thalia could hear them whispering such things. It felt like she was going mad. Every accusation sparked a flare of injustice and resentment within her. Yet, hearing that so many people had suffered simply because she was born, she felt as though she ought to endure this level of sorrow.
However, their harassment eventually reached a level she could no longer bear.
It was about two seasons after she had entered the Imperial Palace. When Thalia came down to the dining room for breakfast, she was overcome by a strange sense of anxiety. An unusual number of servants were present to wait on her that morning. Seeing the maids lined up along the wall, she felt an ominous premonition.
But contrary to her fears, the servants were polite, and an exceptional spread was laid out on the table. Thalia stared down at the silver plates as if possessed.
Instead of the usual stale, hard bread, the kitchen maid brought out freshly baked, golden-brown loaves and butter. Soon after, roasted quail and a steaming hot stew were placed before her.
For the past few months, she had eaten nothing but garbage. Seeing the hot stew filled with rich ingredients instead of the usual thin, watery soup that was as cold as rainwater, she felt like she might cry from the sheer shame of her relief.
Thalia looked around at the servants. Dozens of pairs of eyes were watching her.
Maybe they don’t want to punish me anymore? Maybe they’ve decided to forgive my existence and show me kindness.
Thalia lifted her spoon. She scooped up the steaming broth and tasted it. The flavors of butter, milk, and fresh vegetables, along with a gentle sweetness, spread across her palate. The taste of warm food for the first time in so long triggered an intense, primal hunger. Forgetting her dignity, she began to eat the stew ravenously.
She had been eating for a while when she suddenly noticed a very strange taste. It was a scent too foul to be the gaminess of meat. Frowning, she stared intently into the bowl.
At that moment, she heard a snicker from behind her.
Thalia whipped her head around. The maids all wore expressionless masks, their eyes cast down. But Thalia could clearly see the corners of their mouths twitching. Suddenly, a cold sweat broke out down her spine.
After hesitating for a long time, Thalia poked around the bowl with her spoon. When she pushed aside the large chunks of vegetables, she saw something heavy submerged at the very bottom of the deep bowl.
It wasn’t a lump of meat.
When Thalia lifted the dark object with her spoon, she froze. A bloated gray rat lay limp in the thick broth, its mouth agape. She couldn’t even scream.
She scrambled off her chair and retched the stew onto the floor. Even after she had thrown up everything she had eaten, the nausea wouldn’t stop. The foul stench hitting her nose grew stronger. It felt as if the taste of the dead rat was stuck to the tip of her tongue, refusing to leave.
She shoved her fingers down her throat and scraped at her tongue, painfully squeezing out bile when there was nothing left to vomit.
As she lay prone on the floor retching, a pair of feet moving around the table entered her tear-blurred vision.
Thalia blankly raised her head. The maid in charge of the kitchen was calmly clearing the plates as if nothing had happened. The other servants also busied themselves, clearing dishes and wiping the table. It was as if they couldn’t even see her, collapsed there in her own vomit.