Chapter 31
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Translator: Wjin
Chapter: 31
Chapter Title: No Place for the Fake
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Whoosh!
With a burst of light, the emperor suddenly appeared in the middle of the room. Startled, Count Polan rushed over.
"Your Majesty! Where have you—"
"Call the court physician! Now!"
Polan recognized the figure cradled in his arms.
It was the princess who had vanished just days ago, utterly limp.
Quick on the uptake, the count dispatched a servant to fetch the physician.
Having laid Philomel on the bed, Justis couldn't bear even those few moments of waiting. He paced anxiously around the room.
"Damn it, the kid's half-dead and he's taking his sweet time!"
The count stole a glance at the princess. Her complexion was poor, but her breathing was steady and her pulse even. Half-dead was an exaggeration, but the emperor's fury kept him silent.
The physician arrived in minutes, only to be unfairly berated for his "slowness," then proceeded to examine the princess.
"It's simply exhaustion from accumulated fatigue and lack of sleep. She must have suffered some intense stress on top of that... With ample rest and nutrition, she'll recover her strength soon enough."
"Stress?"
"Yes. Perhaps she encountered some shocking news or sight just before collapsing..."
Considering the timing—Justis vanishing after Young Duke Averyden's report and reappearing—the cause of her stress was almost certainly him. His words, his actions, or simply his presence.
The physician promised to prepare medicine for when she awoke and withdrew.
One might expect curiosity about the princess amid all the rampant rumors lately, but the physician showed none. That was the way to survive long in the silent battlefield of the imperial palace.
"I'll have a bed prepared in another room. Your Majesty should rest there as well."
Polan lowered his voice to avoid waking the sleeping princess.
"No need. I'll stay here."
"It was just the other day you collapsed yourself, and you've already used teleportation magic twice. If you collapse again..."
"I'm fine."
Justis irritably waved him off, leaving Polan no choice but to retreat.
As he turned to leave the room, he glanced back to see Justis pulling a chair up beside the bed.
Princess Philomel had returned. The emperor and the palace would return to normal as well.
Polan walked down the corridor with a glad heart.
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The soft, smooth feel of the bedding was so pleasant that Philomel burrowed deeper under the covers.
What time is it? I need to get up, get ready, and prepare for lessons.
She was so tired. Just a little longer like this.
But she couldn't. She had her daily schedule to keep. Besides, the economics tutor today was quite strict. Showing up late would earn her a pointed complaint.
Her eyelids felt unbearably heavy. She forced her eyes open with effort.
A ceiling that was familiar yet not. After blinking a couple of times, she realized it wasn't her room.
The bedding carried a cool, heavy wooden scent.
This is the scent from the emperor's body...
Her mind was a jumble; she couldn't recall why she was here.
Turning her head slightly, her eyes fell on Justis's closed-eyed face.
Wait, Justis...?
Philomel bolted upright, scanning her surroundings.
This was the emperor's bedroom, and she was lying in his bed.
It all came flooding back. She had fled, met her birth father, been thrown in a dungeon, gone to Saint-Gen with Nassar.
Justis had shown up unexpectedly in Saint-Gen... And after that, her memory blanked.
She must have fainted from shock, but she couldn't imagine how she'd ended up here.
Getting back to the palace must have been by Justis's power. But why was she in the emperor's bed, while its owner dozed off in a chair—clutching the hem of her filthy skirt, no less?
Her tension drained in an instant.
Once caught, it doesn't matter where I am.
Through the grand window stretched the imperial palace where she had been born and raised.
Philomel's beautiful prison.
Her brief escape had ended in futility. No matter how desperately she ran, it was all within the emperor's grasp.
The villainess couldn't change her fated role. Accepting that brought her strange peace. Struggling against the inevitable was foolish. She'd played the fool every single day for seven years.
"Philomel."
She sat blankly on the bed, motivation gone, when her name was called.
"Your Majesty."
Dark, shadowed blue eyes fixed on her.
"You're awake. How do you feel?"
He rubbed his furrowed brow, looking weary. He should be the one lying down, not her.
"I'm fine. I'll move so you can rest here, Your Majesty."
"No. You stay in bed."
Philomel obeyed. There was no special reason. She was tired of scrambling to survive, of racking her brains. Everything felt like a hassle now.
Unlike her empty-headed calm, Justis looked troubled.
"Why... did you leave?"
It took him a while to voice the obvious question.
Philomel answered flatly.
"Because I'm not Your Majesty's real daughter."
He already knew that, yet his face showed shock all the same.
The interrogation continued with a barrage of questions. Answers flowed easily from Philomel's lips. Strangely, letting go of everything made even Justis far less frightening than before.
"Did you write that letter?"
"Yes."
"Where have you been all this time?"
"Here and there around Saint-Gen."
She had no desire to mention Angelium.
Nassar would surely report it formally anyway, making it obvious, but that was just how she felt.
"Why go to Saint-Gen?"
"I've always wanted to visit again. I thought the city was so pretty when Young Duke Averyden and I went before."
Not an outright lie.
"Any incidents along the way?"
"Incidents..."
"Like encountering thugs. Or falling seriously ill."
"Nothing."
Facing the truth of her birth, getting slapped for the first time in her life... Oh, and the dungeon was a novel experience.
"Then why does your face look so pale? You've gotten so thin."
"The beds and food didn't agree with me, I guess."
Philomel gazed at him indifferently.
I can buy that after roughing it outside, but why has he lost weight?
She was just a tiny bit curious. A tiny bit.
Justis, who had roughly washed his face, met her eyes seriously.
"Philomel. Not being my blood daughter doesn't mean you have to leave. Even without shared blood, you're my daughter."
It made no sense.
How could she be his daughter without blood ties? Some families were bound without blood, like adoptions, but that didn't apply to Justis and Philomel.
Philomel was a cuckoo's egg foisted into another's nest by Katrin. She'd pushed out the original egg and pretended to be the parents' chick.
Strictly speaking, Philomel hadn't done the pushing, but Ellensia had still grown up separated from her parents. No real difference.
As she looked at him expectantly for an explanation, Justis declared solemnly.
"I will formally adopt you."
Adoption.
Philomel silently mulled over the word. He meant to make her his official daughter.
Confusion reigned. How had he arrived at that conclusion?
"...Why?"
"Because you're my daughter."
The answer only deepened the mystery. Her head began to ache again.
She had just resigned herself to accepting any ending.
Even death. But this was utterly unexpected.
Philomel went straight for her most pressing question.
"Um... so you have no intention of killing me?"
"...Why would I kill you?"
Justis gaped back at her, as if she'd said something absurd.
"Then why were you so desperate to find me?"
"Because you vanished suddenly."
"To punish me?"
"Why punish you for crimes you didn't commit? The one who swapped you and Ellensia is your birth mother, not you."
"..."
It was irrefutable logic. Hearing common sense from Justis of all people felt bizarrely awkward.
"If not to punish me, why search so hard?"
"Because my daughter was gone."
Thinking she'd misheard, she asked again—only for an even more shocking reply.
Daughter? Did he just call me his daughter?