Chapter 3
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Translator: Wjin
Chapter: 3
Chapter Title: There Is No Place for the Fake
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'What... what should I do?'
Philomel blankly turned her head. Then her gaze met a pair of red eyes staring at her from a few steps away.
"...Your Highness."
It was her fiancé, Nassar Averyden, born a year before her.
"Nassar, this isn't the time. Let's go back for now."
At that moment, his father, Duke Averyden, grabbed Nassar and pulled him away.
"Father, but..."
"Now."
The boy hesitated at the duke's firm tone but reluctantly started walking.
Unlike his drenched fiancée, the boy, who looked completely dry without a drop of rain on him, walked away.
Philomel was soon led back to her chambers by the maids.
Even after soaking in a bathtub filled with warm water to thaw her body, her heart remained ice-cold. All she could picture was Justis's retreating back.
"What? While Her Highness the Princess was causing that scene, what were you all doing?!"
The nanny, who hadn't accompanied her to the event due to her waist pain, flew into a rage upon hearing the story. But Philomel didn't even register it.
When she emerged from the bath, the nanny was standing there with a switch in hand.
"I can't just let this slide. I didn't want it to come to this, but you need a good thrashing to learn your lesson."
Crack! Crack! Crack!
The thin switch struck her white calf repeatedly.
It hurt. It hurt so much.
Philomel let a few tears trickle out, using the stinging pain in her calf as an excuse. But the real pain was elsewhere, a pain she couldn't complain about to anyone.
Once the punishment ended, the nanny muttered loudly enough for all to hear, "So stubborn. So stubborn. Not even a single word of apology."
"House arrest doesn't seem to be enough, so from now on, you'll be under special supervision. Brace yourself."
"...Okay."
"Do you understand? I'll be watching Her Highness every moment!"
The nanny repeated herself several times before leaving.
"Her Highness, really. What on earth got into you?"
"Just apologize unconditionally to the nanny. That way, Her Highness and we won't get in as much trouble."
"......"
Philomel stared blankly at the floor, feeling the maids' hands applying ointment to her calf.
When Philomel didn't respond, the flustered maids exchanged glances before offering words of comfort.
"Don't take it too hard. The nanny's moods pass quickly."
"And I heard from the chief attendant earlier—the postponed Founding Festival will be held in a week. By then, the nanny should let Your Highness attend the festival, right?"
"...A week? Isn't that too late? They could do it in three or four days."
"Well... the High Priest collapsed in his carriage on the way back."
The maid wore a worried expression.
"It's never happened before, and it happened on his watch. With the sacred event halted due to rain, he must be devastated."
Another maid chimed in.
"People are whispering that the empire's divine protection from the gods might be waning."
The legitimacy of the Belleroph imperial family stemmed from the gods' power. Questioning that blessing could be seen as denying the imperial lineage.
"Hey, no rumors are off-limits for you!"
Catching her colleague's glare, the maid who spoke made excuses in a ramble.
"...No, I didn't mean anything by it! I just said ignorant fools are saying that..."
Philomel weakly waved her hand.
"Enough. Leave."
Once everyone had gone, Philomel limped to her desk.
In the drawer lay the book with a brown cover titled Princess Ellensia, just as she'd left it.
What were the odds that the Founding Festival, never once postponed since the empire's founding, would be delayed this year of all years?
And what were the odds that a random novel would predict it?
On top of that, everything that followed matched perfectly—the High Priest's collapse, the week-long delay.
A cruel realization spread like ink. It looked like any common romance novel on the outside, but this was no novel.
'A prophecy.'
Her hand trembled violently as she held the book.
The emperor was not her father.
She was a fake.
The next morning.
Having gotten caught in the rain the day before, Philomel had come down with a nasty cold.
"Your Highness. Time to wake up."
The nanny shook her awake.
"...Nanny. I can't get up. I feel sick. I think it's a cold."
Philomel said in a small voice, holding back a cough. Her head spun, and her throat burned so much even swallowing saliva hurt.
But the nanny didn't budge at Philomel's plea.
"Playing sick again? You won't get away with it today. His Majesty summoned Your Highness because of yesterday. If you're scared now, why cause such a huge scandal?"
She had skipped classes a few times before, claiming illness because the daily lessons were too hard and boring.
"...It's not pretend. I really feel sick."
Philomel replied in a hoarse voice. It was her fault for skipping before, but now that she was truly ill, being suspected of faking made her feel wronged.
"I said get up... Oh. You really do have a fever."
The nanny placed a hand on Philomel's arm and widened her eyes.
A short while later, the court physician summoned by the nanny diagnosed it as a simple feverish cold. He said she'd recover with medicine and rest.
Philomel had no appetite and struggled to swallow anything, so she barely managed some thin soup.
As she lay back down after taking her medicine, the nanny said,
"I told His Majesty you've caught a cold. But you know he's not the type to excuse you just because you're sick."
"......"
"After yesterday, all those people must think Your Highness is so immature. I can't even show my face. Over some festival."
People seemed to view Philomel's outburst as a childish tantrum.
'If only it really were.'
Philomel thought dazedly.
"Rest for now. Call the maids waiting next door if you need anything."
With that, the nanny left.
Philomel fell asleep quickly from the medicine.
How much time passed? Her eyes opened on their own. Cold sweat drenched her body.
She'd had a terrifying dream. In it, she was executed, and Justis indifferently watched the fake daughter die alongside his real one.
Her small body trembled.
I want to live.
I'm scared of dying.
I absolutely don't want to die.
'Would Father really kill me?'
She knew the answer already, yet she desperately wanted to deny it.
What if she lived properly from now on? What if she became the daughter her father wanted?
Maybe the future could change. Even if she was fake, he'd raised her as his daughter for nine years. There might be some affection there.
She wanted to confirm it right now. Ask him outright.
"I have to go..."
Her body was still heavy, her head ached, but she could move.
Philomel quietly slipped out of her room.
It was nearly noon already. The nanny had said lunch would be prepared two hours later than usual to let her sleep.
No one would notice her absence right away.
As she crept down the corridor to avoid detection, voices leaked from the next room where the maids stayed.
"What a hassle because of Her Highness."
Philomel froze at the irritated voice and pressed her ear to the door without thinking. Four or five people were chatting inside.
"Shh. Someone might hear."
"It's just us. Her Highness is out cold from the medicine."
"She's not wrong. If she didn't cause trouble every day, our pay wouldn't get cut."
The speaker was Knight Marteng, Philomel's guard knight. Shirking duty to gossip with maids—clear negligence.
One maid agreed.
"That's true."
"The nanny picks on us like we're rats for nothing!"
"Her Highness messes up, but we're always the ones who get scolded."
Marteng chuckled.
"The woes of the lowly, eh? If you're unhappy, get reborn as His Majesty's daughter next life."
A particularly loud maid shouted,
"Ugh! I really want to. If I were the princess, I'd act cute and get all His Majesty's love!"
"What? Big dreams."
Laughter filled the room. Everyone seemed amused.
"Ah, I really hate Philomel."
Someone's casual remark stabbed Philomel's heart.
"Are you crazy? Calling her by name like that..."
"Why? Because she's the princess? A princess who isn't even treated like a daughter by His Majesty— is she really a true princess?"
"Still..."
"Besides, they say Philomel has no divine power, the symbol of the imperial bloodline?"
"Even collaterals aside, she's the first direct imperial to be born without it."
"Just a figurehead royal."
Philomel's small shoulders hunched.
"Still jealous. Some of us get slapped by the nanny for not attending properly, while she's leisurely sleeping."
"Throwing a fit in front of all those nobles because she wanted to see the festival."
"The Averyden ducal house might call off the engagement."
"She's no match for the young duke, who's already famous for his brilliance."
"Ah, did you see his face when Her Highness fed him cake last time?"
"He looked openly disgusted. Poor Her Highness didn't even notice."
"If she had that kind of awareness, His Majesty wouldn't despise her."
"True. Well, last time..."
That was enough.
Philomel no longer wanted to listen. She pulled away from the door.
Tears welled up as she recalled their faces, so caring earlier as they fussed over her well-being.
She had no allies here.