“Then, I’ll come to escort Her Majesty in time for the meal.”

As promised, Elizabeth gained true freedom.

When the time for her walk arrived, Marianne left her alone and disappeared.

Could it be that Burke is beginning to trust me, even a little?

The thought that she might have taken a step closer to him made Elizabeth’s heart flutter.

If she could keep closing the distance like this, perhaps one day she could even bring up the matter of the child.

Burkhardt’s anticipation for a child had been so great that he had already chosen a name in advance.

Having been left alone in the world without a family, perhaps he longed all the more to have a child and build one of his own.

That was why she could not bring herself to speak of the child’s death.

Because it was a child he had so desperately wished for, Elizabeth feared that if Burkhardt learned the truth, he would be unable to endure the grief and would lose his reason.

She feared he would never forgive the woman who had driven that child to death.

Though she knew she should tell him the truth, Elizabeth hesitated.

Today, she missed the child who had left this world more than ever.

No—that longing was with her every day.

Each time she swallowed it down, her heart reacted before her mind could, and she had to endure a pain so sharp it felt as though her chest were being torn apart.

This too must be my karma.

The karma of failing to protect her child.

Whenever she thought of the little one who had gone before her, guilt pressed mercilessly down on Elizabeth’s heart.

A pain both familiar and yet impossible to grow accustomed to.

Elizabeth sank down where she stood, pressing her hand firmly over her heart.

The grief of losing her child was so suffocating that she could do nothing but curl into herself and wait for time to pass.

Perhaps this, too, was a form of penance for the child.

“Are you unwell? Oh dear… this is a place even the palace staff rarely come to…”

At the sound of a voice she thought she had heard before, Elizabeth slowly lifted her face to look at the person before her.

Through her blurred vision, the outline of a child came into view.

Starting with the child, the scene gradually sharpened, revealing a familiar figure.

“Lady‑in‑waiting?”

So the child had thought of her as a lady‑in‑waiting all this time.

Elizabeth considered correcting the misunderstanding but soon decided against it.

Perhaps it was better for the child to go on thinking that.

After all, this was a child who grew frightened at the mere mention of Burkhardt’s name.

If she knew Elizabeth was the empress, even a simple conversation like this might become difficult.

Elizabeth had many questions about the child, but she didn’t want to risk driving her away by revealing her true identity.

If she remained in the guise of a lady‑in‑waiting, perhaps these meetings could continue.

Feigning ignorance, Elizabeth asked the child gently,

“Who are you? This isn’t a place you can just wander into.”

“Oh? Haven’t you heard the rumors? Or have you only just arrived here?”

The child tilted her head, as if it were strange that Elizabeth didn’t know.

It seemed bringing children into the palace had been a major event.

Surely she wouldn’t be found out over something like this…

Hiding her unease, Elizabeth mumbled an excuse.

“Mm… I haven’t been here long.”

“Then it makes sense you wouldn’t know. I… well, the children from my monastery, including me, were brought here by His Majesty during the war. The monastery I was in was near the border. During the fighting, the adults—including the abbess—abandoned us and fled, so we had nowhere to go.”

Elizabeth hadn’t expected Burke to still have such a gentle side.

Then again, the Burke who had granted her free time had been as kind as he once was.

She thought of Burkhardt for a moment—then suddenly found something odd.

“Hmm… children? I haven’t seen any others.”

“You haven’t seen them outside the garden either? They should have been assigned all over the palace. Unless… their work locations have changed.”

The last part was almost muttered, but Elizabeth, listening closely to the child’s voice, caught it clearly.

Had all contact been cut off the moment she arrived?

Even so, she couldn’t bring herself to ask.

The child’s face looked as though she might burst into tears at any moment, and Elizabeth couldn’t bear to press her.

Just then, an excuse to change the subject came to mind.

“We haven’t even introduced ourselves. I’m Beth. What’s your name?”

Perhaps she shouldn’t have asked.

When the child’s face turned ashen, Elizabeth realized her mistake.

“I don’t have one. Just call me ‘hey’ or ‘red‑head,’ whatever you like.”

A name was the first gift parents gave their child.

If she hadn’t even been given that, she must have been unwanted from the very start.

Elizabeth was about to speak words of comfort, but before she could, the child—perhaps uneasy with the silence—continued.

“I was abandoned the moment I was born. The abbess gave me a sword my father had left with her, saying he would surely come back for me… but even by the time I turned eight, there was no word from him.”

Elizabeth couldn’t bring herself to offer comfort to the sullen‑faced child.

Before she could even share in the girl’s pain, an emptiness welled up inside her first.

Because the form of her dead child had not been whole, Elizabeth had entertained the foolish thought that perhaps this girl might be her own.

Perhaps that was why she had been all the more affectionate toward the child before her—

even knowing such a thing was impossible.

A strange sense of loss kept her from fully focusing on the girl’s words.

“Lady‑in‑waiting?”

“Ah… sorry. Did I say something unpleasant?”

“It’s fine. There are children who don’t even know their fathers exist, so I can understand why you might think that way. I was lucky, at least—the abbess had seen my father.”

“Have you heard anything else about him?”

Seeing Elizabeth’s despair, the girl seemed to mistake it for pity toward her.

As if trying to appear composed, she went on.

“They say he had hair as red as mine—like it was ready to catch fire.”

The last fragile thread of hope snapped.

If she had heard that the girl didn’t resemble her father, Elizabeth could have at least clung to the fantasy that this child might be hers.

Now, there was no room for doubt.

A single tear slid down Elizabeth’s cheek.

“Don’t pity me. Most of the children at the monastery don’t have names anyway.”

The girl spoke matter‑of‑factly and rose to her feet.

Elizabeth moved to stand as well, but just then, raindrops began to patter against her head.

When the light drops quickly turned into a steady shower, Elizabeth spread the shawl from her own shoulders wide and draped it over the child.

Scanning the area for shelter from the rain, Elizabeth’s eyes landed on a pergola.

“Let’s move over there. We can stay dry under it.”

She wrapped an arm around the child’s shoulders and stepped toward the pergola.

With each stride, her feet splashed into puddles, sending muddy water up to dampen the hem of her skirt—but Elizabeth didn’t care.

For some reason, her chest swelled with emotion in this moment of running alongside the child.

Beth, just a little more! We’re almost there.

It felt like a voice in her head—an echo from the past.

Had something like this happened before?

Just as on the day she remembered, raindrops fell in a slow tok, tok, as if granting them time to reach the pergola safely.

The moment they stepped beneath it, the fine drizzle turned into a downpour that blanketed the world.

Taking back the shawl from the child, Elizabeth smiled softly.

“Any later and we’d have been soaked through.”

“But you’re already soaked, my lady.”

Elizabeth soothed her in a gentle voice.