Chapter 1.1

She was a villainess. 

She did not hesitate to poison the soup of the Crown Prince, who possessed the qualities of a wise ruler, nor did she falter in strangling his beloved woman. 

Dreaming of eternal love, she beheaded the Crown Prince as he sat in a daze, holding the corpse of his beloved. 

If he had become king, this land would not have been drenched in blood. 

She was a witch. 

She falsely accused a knight, who served the Crown Prince and upheld the Empire without hesitation, of coveting his liege’s woman. 

That proud knight was abandoned by his family, forsaken by his liege, and ultimately suffered the most humiliating punishment—having his name erased from the noble registry. 

Watching his disgrace, she believed she could hide all her flaws. 

To get what she wanted, she drove countless people to their deaths. 

She laughed atop rivers of blood, and she walked over the corpses of those who starved to death without fear. 

Amid the deaths of countless people, ironically, what she desired was ‘love.’ 

As a villainess, she laughed; as a witch, she ruled. 

Yet, like a dog, she submitted, and like a beggar, she pleaded. 

All for the gaze, affection, and love of just one person. 

And finally, when he sat in the position he desired, she thought she would receive the love he had promised. 

Her thoughts were deceit toward the Crown Prince she had beheaded, mockery toward the knight she had erased, and arrogance toward the people who bled to protect her love. 

Even so, she shamelessly sought salvation. 

What came back to her, of course, was betrayal.

* * * 

“Could you lift your foot just a little?” 

At the cautious request of the maid kneeling at her feet, Frances, seated in a chair, lifted her foot. 

The soft slipper slipped off, and a pristine white wedding shoe, adorned with white camellia corsages and pearls, slid onto her foot. 

“Oh!” 

A small gasp escaped Frances’s lips as she looked at the shoes. 

They were beautiful shoes, befitting a new life. 

This was Frances’s day. 

The wedding dress made of the white silk of the Kingdom of Benita, the lace veil woven over several days by an artisan, and the stunning wedding shoes were all prepared solely for Frances. 

“There! All done.” 

As the maid who had put on the wedding shoes stepped back, the maids who had been bustling about since dawn all bowed their heads in unison. 

Their gazes toward Frances held a subtle sense of pride. 

“Would you like to see yourself in the mirror?” 

Frances swallowed dryly and nodded her head a beat late. 

With her permission, a young maid standing before the mirror pulled away the white cloth. 

Frances, who had briefly directed her gaze at her clear, bright skin, shut her eyes tightly. 

“Please trust us and open your eyes.” 

“Haa…” 

Despite the maids’ encouragement, Frances couldn’t open her eyes easily. 

Her sigh spread widely through the sharp morning air. 

“Don’t do that. Trust us and open your eyes. You’re truly beautiful.” 

At the urging of the maids who had been by her side since dawn, tirelessly helping her dress, Frances slowly lifted her eyelids. 

“Oh…” 

Her soft exclamation brought satisfaction to the maids’ faces. 

She was beautiful. 

The white dress, exposing her collarbones, clung tightly to her upper body, revealing her slender waist. 

Below, the skirt flared out like a bell, fluttering delicately like fragile petals with even the smallest movement. 

Even the wedding shoes, whose tips peeked out slightly from beneath the hem of the dress, were perfect. 

Except for one thing. 

Frances, staring deeply into the mirror, slowly reached out toward her face. 

Her long, slender fingers brushed against the white half-mask that completely covered the left side of her face. 

‘If only this weren’t here, I would have been the perfect bride.’ 

It felt as though blue flames flickered before her eyes. 

Her hand trembled slightly as it traced the mask, said to have been crafted from ground pearls. 

Knock, knock. 

At the sound of a gentle knock, Frances, who had been staring into the mirror, turned her body. 

“I heard my lovely bride was here?” 

“Your Majesty the Emperor!” 

The sudden appearance of the Emperor caused a small commotion among the maids. 

“They all told me not to see the bride’s face until the wedding, but how could I possibly hold back my curiosity?”

The other protagonist of the wedding, the groom Otis, peeked halfway through the open door, making excuses. When Otis spotted Frances, whose face had turned bright red, he froze in place. The maids quickly stepped back toward the wall, careful not to obstruct the Emperor’s view.

Frances, seeing Otis suddenly stop speaking, parted her lips slightly. Her hand still rested on the white mask.

“Otis?”

“Sorry, you’re so beautiful I forgot what I was going to say.”

At Otis’s joke, Frances let her shoulders drop. Her mouth, which had been stiff with tension, curved into a smile. Although it was a half-smile hidden by the mask, Otis’s face was filled with love as he looked at her.

“You look so handsome. Enough to make me fall for you all over again.”

Unlike the pure white Frances, Otis was dressed in a black formal suit. If one didn’t know he was the groom getting married today, they might mistake the event for a funeral, as he was covered entirely in black.

“No way! I looked in the mirror and thought a crow was standing there.”

“That’s ridiculous. You look so dashing.”

Frances shook her head at Otis’s playful complaint. Her deep green eyes were full of pride for him. Although she had scattered the blood of many for him, Frances did not regret it. Even if she had to go to hell and face punishment, she could not give him up.

Otis wanted to become Emperor, and Frances made him Emperor. He was the only savior who had reached out to her in her dreadful life.

“Yet, our bride looks rather gloomy for such an important day.”

At Otis’s words, the forced smile on her lips faded. Frances buried her face in Otis’s large palm. The hard half-mask brushed against his hand. At the cold sensation, Otis’s violet eyes flashed sharply.

“…You’re worrying unnecessarily again.”

Otis embraced Frances and lightly patted her back. She let out a gentle sigh in his arms.

“People will be disappointed.”

Frances murmured quietly; her face buried in Otis’s chest. Her uncertain tone made Otis chuckle softly. Frances Wiblow was the most capable strategist in the Empire of Baien. Otis, who was merely an illegitimate child, could only ascend to the Emperor’s throne thanks to Frances’s brilliant strategies.

Without her help, he would never have become Emperor. He could never forget the thrill of surpassing Noah, the son of the Empress, to take the throne. With her exceptional schemes, she drove the Crown Prince Noah to his death and falsely accused Duvel, the loyal sword of the North, of the prince’s murder, erasing him from the Empire’s history.

Whenever Otis recalled those times, he still got goosebumps. Seeing such an extraordinary woman crave his affection filled Otis with pride.

“Does it matter?”

At Otis’s question, Frances looked up at him. Her green eyes blinked beneath the white half-mask.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m asking if their opinions are more important than me standing before you right now.”

Otis lifted Frances’s chin and met her eyes. After he proposed to her and publicly declared her as his woman, her hair had grown just enough to touch her shoulders. As he stroked her wavy hair, Otis leaned down to kiss her mask.

The maids fretted that the dress might wrinkle due to the Emperor’s actions, but neither Otis nor Frances cared.

“Otis. I’m just worried I might become a burden to you. That’s my biggest concern.”

“You will never be a burden in my life, so rest assured. I’ll never let that happen.”

At Otis’s resolute words, Frances’s lips curved slightly. His words washed away all her anxieties. She wasn’t afraid even when accused of murdering the Crown Prince or when she drove Duvel, the guardian of the great sword, into a corner.

As long as Otis was by her side, Frances feared nothing. She sent him a gaze full of infinite trust and then shrugged her shoulders.

“I should have worn a wig.”

With Otis’s constant stroking of her hair, Frances blushed. She wanted to look even more beautiful to him. She had hoped to braid her long hair and wear an elaborate veil while standing by his side, but Otis had been quite eager to rush Frances into marriage. It had been half a year since Otis ascended to the Emperor’s throne. With the nobles protesting that the Empress’s seat could not remain vacant any longer, Frances could no longer hold out.

“Are you planning to become even more beautiful? That would be a problem.”

Otis spoke with feigned seriousness, stroking his chin. Frances beamed at his words.

“You’re the only one who tells me I’m beautiful.”

“Thank goodness. I’m the only one who recognizes your beauty.”

“…Otis.”

Otis looked down at Frances, who hid her flushed face in his embrace, and stroked her hair.

‘Was it a little softer than this?’

Otis tilted his head at the feel of the hair in his hand. Though he held Frances in his arms, his mind drifted to the events of the previous night.