1.

As far as I can remember, my husband always had women.

Women who could always lift their abundant dress skirts to reveal smooth calves. Women who could take off their chemise and rub their br*easts at his slightest gesture were scattered all around him.

The reason he chose me is only one.

Because only I could continue his bloodline. Because only I could bear his child.

I was destined for this from the womb, and after nineteen, I proved that prophecy to be true.

Nevertheless, I was not the Empress.

***

Jeanne’s hair resembled her mother’s, with gentle curves like waves. Even without applying rose oil daily like the young lady of the house, her beautiful chestnut hair was luscious, and her white face was small and pale like the moon risen during the day.

But what made young Jeanne stand out most was her eyes, beautiful like jewels. The girl uniquely possessed amethyst-colored eyes.

Beautiful but unusual, like her mother, her eyes sparkled like shattered sunlight under thick lashes, enough to make even the most eccentric romantic, so excessive praise and admiration for her beauty often upset those in high positions.

“Darling, our lovely cotton candy…”

One day it was. The mother with a frail expression gestured towards Jeanne, who was running around with her hair flying like sheep’s wool. Jeanne turned to her dazzlingly beautiful mother and smiled innocently.

“Mom!”

Jeanne, wearing a worn apron and loose shoes with soles falling off, ran like a squirrel and fell into her mother’s arms. The woman with a weary face tightly embraced her young daughter. Her bruised fingertips combed through her daughter’s hair braided in two.

The neatly tied ribbon came loose, and the pure chestnut hair imbued with summer light fluttered in the wind. Two thin, white arms hugged the emaciated woman.

“Jeanne, our baby.”

The mother, with a faint smile, caressed her daughter’s two cheeks tinged with rose color. Her hands were rough like sandpaper, covered with eczema and scratches, but Jeanne was simply happy.

There was a basket placed next to her mother, who had bent her knees, probably having finished work.

“Did you forget what Mom gave you? I told you to apply it every day.”

Jeanne, who had been looking at her mother with clear eyes, moved her lips at the not-so-light admonishment.

Her mother rummaged through the basket and pulled out a small bottle. Inside the bottle was a black, sticky solid substance. Jeanne stepped back at the unpleasant smell and form.

“Jeanne.”

Jeanne, who had unconsciously retreated from her mother’s touch, stared at her mother’s stern face. The girl, who had been repeatedly puffing her cheeks like a toad, finally walked over on her own and tightly closed her eyes.

“You must remember to apply this when you leave the hut.”

“But…”

“This is something you must not forget, no matter what.”

Her mother, cutting off her words as if telling her not to argue, withdrew her hand. Jeanne opened her eyes and touched her cheeks. Even without rubbing hard, soot came off.

Jeanne looked at her mother with a tearful face. Her mother looked coldly at her, who was blinking with wet eyes. No matter how much she cried and fussed, this was something that couldn’t be given up. Because…

“Uhuhuung… Jeanne doesn’t like this. I don’t want to do it.”

Jeanne sniffled, shaking her head. But her cold mother just pretended not to hear and stood up, holding her hand. Jeanne, who had sniffled until they reached the lodging, barely swallowed her tears at the words that she would reapply the soot if she cried.

Although her mother was kind in everything, she was colder than frost in strict moments. Jeanne loved her mother even in such moments. But what was sad was sad. Especially when she was pushed for things she couldn’t understand, tears came as if she was left alone in the world.

It was when she was fiddling with the ribbon given by Aunt Laura, with her gaze dropped to the floor.

“Who gave you the ribbon?”

“Aunt Laura gave it to me.”

Aunt Laura was a kitchen maid working at the Braims’ house, the employer, and was the wife of Dirk, the cook. She was famous for her generous nature as much as her kind impression, and had consistently helped the mother and daughter since the year they had settled in the Braims’ house until now.

“What if you accept everything they give you?”

Elaine, holding the red ribbon, looked at her daughter with an upset face. Jeanne, frightened as if she had done something terribly wrong, stiffened and whimpered.

Elaine sighed, put the ribbon in the drawer, and opened her arms towards her daughter. Jeanne, who had been fidgeting with both hands while fixing her gaze on the ground, cried “Waaah-” and fell into her arms.

“Shh- our little sunshine. If you cry this often, goat whiskers will grow on your bottom.”

Elaine, hiding her tired face with a smile, patted her lovely daughter.

Surprised by the mention of goat whiskers, Jeanne wiped her eyelids with her sleeve to stop crying. Soot smeared on the sleeve, turning it black. It was a dress with frills that she had liked… Jeanne became upset again and tears came.

“Mom…”

Jeanne looked up at her mother, whimpering. Elaine, who had her daughter sitting on her lap, had a sad face. No less than herself…

She was at a loss for words because of her mother, who looked sadder than herself. Her mother, who looked like she was about to cry but couldn’t, seemed thinner and sicker than ever.

The woman, pale even in the sunlight, was withering like a thorn every day. Jeanne thought it was because she couldn’t cry.

Adults… Adults can’t cry even when they want to. Mom said that horns grow on adults’ bottoms if they cry.

Jeanne wanted to cry a lot before becoming an adult because she was too scared, but she couldn’t cry often because they said that even children would grow goat whiskers on their bottoms if they cried too often.

“I’m sorry, my daughter.”

White fingers combed through Jeanne’s thick hair. The hand, marked by hardship, was rough and prickly, but Jeanne wanted to kiss her mother’s hand.

Mom was more beautiful than the lady of the house. Every morning, the lady meticulously applied fragrant white powder up to her neck and then ironed each strand of her hair, but her mother was like a rose ripened in the summer sun without such exhausting efforts.

It was too much beauty for a lower-class woman to possess. However, just as innate absolute beauty is not a virtue that can be obtained by polishing, it is not something that can be discarded by throwing away.

Jeanne raised her maple-like fingers and fiddled with her mother’s curly hair. The hair, covered in dust, curved like a distant flowing river.

Jeanne knew how beautifully this hair bloomed under the summer sun.

Brighter than her own, the wavy hair colored in soft hazelnut was incredibly beautiful in contrast to the rosy, pure cheeks.

Suddenly, soft lips touched Jeanne’s round forehead. She didn’t close her eyes and wrapped her arms around her neck. The scratch on her cheek caught her eye. Jeanne moved her lips with a pained face. It was probably a mark left by Lord Braims, the owner of the mansion and the employer of the mother and daughter.

Lord Braims was the 5th cousin nephew of Viscount Palavor, one of the Emperor’s chamberlains, and as the landowner of this village, he was a long-standing local magnate of Ellimere, the empire’s breadbasket. He lost his wife ten years ago and married the daughter of a wealthy banker a month later to form his current family. Outwardly, he pretended to be generous and a caring head of the family to his wife and daughter, but in reality, he was a womanizer.

Is it necessary to flirt with young maids every day? Even though he had a young and slender beauty as his wife, he had a bad reputation for his inappropriate behavior.

“Mom, does it hurt a lot here?”

Jeanne, who had been carefully touching around the red, swollen scratch, carefully opened her lips. Her frail mother shook her head with a faint smile.

“It doesn’t hurt at all.”

“…It would be nice if we had a dad too.”

Jeanne, looking across at her pale mother, muttered in a gloomy voice. Her eyes, which were a bit redder like a fully bloomed pink peony, darkened like the evening air settling in. Jeanne buried her face in her mother’s white nape, moving her lips.

Why doesn’t Jeanne have a dad?

Is it really because Jeanne is a child conceived by sunlight? She doesn’t know.

Jeanne bit her lip in resentment. From a very young age, her Mom had said that Jeanne was a child conceived by sunlight.

One summer. Her Mom, who was picking mushrooms in a lush forest, put down her basket to rest under an oak tree, and the pieces of sunlight through the light green leaves gathered into one and shone on her flat belly, she said.

Surprised, her Mom grabbed the basket and ran away in a hurry, but that yellow sunlight grew stronger and clung closer, she said. Eventually, her Mom tripped over a tree root, dropped the basket, and fell, and the sunlight gently rubbed her flat lower abdomen, she said.

‘So Jeanne just popped into existence?’

The story of the sun impregnating a virgin was something that would only appear in ancient legends.

However, Jeanne, who was more of a baby then than now, was innocent and lovely enough to believe even if her mother said ashes were chocolate.

But now….

“…Do you miss your dad?”

Elaine asked. Jeanne didn’t nod. The story of a pure virgin conceiving a child of god was as absurd as the ancient parthenogenesis myth.

And now Jeanne knew that her mother also lied.

Even if such a thing happened in the world…. Jeanne couldn’t possibly be a child of god. Jeanne recalled what the village children had said, laughing.

‘You fool! How can the sun be your dad?’

‘Yeah. You look like a sparrow, and you talk like one too!’

‘No. My mom said… My mom said that my dad is…’

Jeanne shook her head, whimpering. Dad was definitely the sun, she said. That’s why Jeanne sparkles, she said. Mom said Jeanne was the most sparkling child in the world. That’s why she’s so pretty and lovely.

But….

‘No, your mom is just a shameful woman!’

The girl at the center of the group opened her lips.

Jeanne looked up at the protagonist of the cold strike. She was said to be the same age as the other children, but the girl was much taller. She might have been the daughter of the village head…

Or maybe her father was a famous carpenter in the village, trusted even by the landowner. At the words ‘shameful woman’, Jeanne looked up at her, fidgeting with her fingers.

The freckled blonde girl had quite a pretty face. Jeanne was secretly envious of the girl who seemed quite sophisticated for a village commoner child.

Although not nobility, she seemed to come from a wealthy and harmonious family. Unlike the village children wearing aprons made of cloth and clothes with frayed sleeves, the girl was wearing a good quality apron made of clean linen.

‘What do you mean by shameful woman?’

A short, skinny boy asked the girl. The girl, who had been scrutinizing Jeanne while keeping her arms crossed, opened her mouth with a smirk.

‘What else could it mean? It means you’re a bastard.’

‘What’s a bastard?’

‘It means a child without a father. Your mom had you by sleeping with a man without getting married!’

It was a th*rny exclamation. She looked proud, glaring with her eyes as if wanting all the children to hear. Jeanne pulled in her chin, whimpering.

‘I-I’m not a bastard. My dad is the sun. Mom said so. Mom really said… Mom, Mom said Jeanne’s dad is…’

It was the first time she heard the word ‘bastard.’ Therefore, she didn’t know the miserable meaning it implied.

But she could tell it wasn’t a good word. Jeanne’s face suddenly contorted in bewilderment, then she sniffled. But the girl, seemingly unconcerned, added fiercely.

‘She must be some filthy tramp from somewhere. My mom says all women who look like her mom are like that. She probably seduced a married man and got pregnant with a bastard. That’s why they’re running away.’

The girl twisted her face as if disgusted. Jeanne burst into tears at the hostile attitude. She cried with her shoulders shaking, but none of the children watching the girl approached to comfort her.

It didn’t matter. Jeanne didn’t want to be friends with those kids anyway.

But she was curious. What kind of person her dad was. Why her mom wouldn’t talk about her dad.

However, she couldn’t ask. It was something that had to be covered up because she dared not ask. Jeanne was only eight years old, but she could read the sadness on her mother’s face when she said her Dad was the sun.

***