Shock was etched in Amaryllis’s eyes. Even if she were to be reborn, she would never be able to match even the tips of Madame Marguerite’s toes.

It wasn’t something she didn’t already know. But confirming the reality before her eyes, the impact carved into her heart was far greater than she had imagined.

“Your Majesty, though it must be sad…”

Amaryllis desperately spoke while clenching her trembling fists.

“That woman is not Madame Marguerite.”

“Empress.”

“She has no scar.”

At the word ‘scar,’ Cassian’s eyes narrowed. At the same time, he recalled the back he had unintentionally witnessed earlier.

That purely smooth and white curve. Yes, if it had been Valentine…

“Yes, the scar that Astaire boasted about every day as the glory of saving himself. The one that appeared the day Your Majesty offered Madame Marguerite to Astaire III!”

Cassian did not deny Amaryllis’s outburst.

Valentine de le Blumir was a raw gem discovered by Cassian Pendragon.

Overthrowing the tyrant Astaire had been a long-discussed matter. But perhaps survival was an instinct for humans.

Astaire valued his own life as much as he cheapened others’. The more tyrannical he became, the more he worried about his own safety. Thus, he protected himself with ironclad security and powerful military authority.

Those who dreamed of rebellion needed someone who could penetrate that security.

Meanwhile, Astaire was a greedy nephew who coveted anything his uncle of similar age, Cassian, possessed. Even if it was smaller and more trivial than what Astaire himself had, he would desire it and eventually seize it.

Women were no exception.

Therefore, they chose a woman to penetrate Astaire’s defenses. Cassian spent quite some time searching for the right candidate.

Valentine of Blumir was discovered this way.

Valentine was perfect in every aspect. Outstanding lineage that wouldn’t lose to anyone. Purity and innocence different from others in the empire. The submissive attitude that Astaire desired.

Even to Cassian’s eyes she was dazzlingly beautiful and lovable, so how much more so in Astaire’s eyes?

Astaire’s history with women was colorful. Nevertheless, the raw gem Cassian had discovered was the perfect ideal Astaire had dreamed of.

There existed no one more perfect to throw into Astaire’s arms.

Knowing this fact, he carried out everything without hesitation. Because he acted without hesitation, everything painted the perfection that Cassian Pendragon had dreamed of.

Because it painted perfection, Valentine had to leave this world. The jewel that Cassian had carefully polished had to be shattered miserably.

The remains of the broken jewel were sorrowful and miserable, yet eerily beautiful.

“Though you cherished her so much, you thought to let her fall into your nephew’s arms?”

Amaryllis sneered. Finally, Cassian’s perturbation showed on his lips.

“That’s enough.”

“What if I can’t stop?”

Cassian let out a small sigh. At his wavering, Amaryllis drew a fragmented smile.

The always calm man finally shows a reaction. A cruel satisfaction bloomed in her chest.

“Your Majesty. How long will you remain trapped in the shadows of Astaire and Madame Marguerite?”

Cassian didn’t answer. Amaryllis continued to prattle.

“Is the reason you can’t escape their shadows of guilt? Or is it love?”

Had she struck a nerve? For a moment, Cassian’s eyes changed.

“Empress.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“If it were Belle whom you so desperately seek, if Belle had experienced what happened today…”

Cassian rarely mentioned Valentine directly.

“How do you think Belle would have acted?”

Amaryllis echoed the words she had heard from Cassian earlier.

“Why should I think about such things?”

“Because the Empress’s dignity is hitting rock bottom.”

Cassian took a step closer to Amaryllis. His hot breath drew very close.

“My sister has doubted the Empress’s level of refinement. Hence, I offer this advice.”

Two firm hands landed on Amaryllis’s shoulders. He brought his red lips close to her ear.

“If it were Belle, she would never have raised her voice to me.”

Amaryllis’s face burned bright red.

Though she knew she had acted thoughtlessly and inappropriately, this kind of comparison was more humiliating than anything.

“Therefore…”

“She was someone who knew well when to add or withhold words. She would quietly listen and observe, then speak only the necessary words to perfectly persuade me. She was like that with me, so how do you think she handled Astaire?”

How did she handle Astaire? At this sudden question, Amaryllis’s lips trembled.

Her mind flashed to the time before Astaire III’s Empress, Solice de le Ingrid, was executed. Until then, Madame Marguerite’s reputation had been good. Surprisingly, everyone praised her.

Only because Astaire’s actions because of Madame Marguerite were too cruel. Because that terrible incident might become their future. From then on, those who swallowed their fear began to gradually criticize her.

“That’s why Astaire couldn’t help but yield to Belle.”

At these following words, Amaryllis blinked once. It meant that to get what you want, you must first give what the other person wants.

‘Your Majesty and I… we can’t do that anymore.’

Her eyes, filled with humiliation, trembled.

Even Amaryllis herself knew. Madame Marguerite was Astaire III’s maîtresse-en-titre. But unlike typical maîtresses-en-titre, she was neither a courtesan nor a demi-mondaine¹a demi-mondaine was typically a woman who led a lavish lifestyle, often supported by wealthy lovers or benefactors, and was associated with scandal or unconventional relationships, but the true master of Blumir.

Though she mockingly called her Madame Marguerite, she knew she was lacking in many ways compared to her. Even in innate bloodline.

Of course, the Sehera Empire was a country that did not disadvantage unions between those of different social standings.

Originally, Sehera too was a country that strictly adhered to social hierarchy. However, since the Holy Father submitted to Sehera and, unable to protect the sacred territory, moved his residence to the south of Sehera, the attitude had become considerably more relaxed.

As long as it was a marriage recognized by God, they would acknowledge succession rights even to children of royalty and commoners in extreme cases.

Nevertheless, Blumir, which used the blue dragon as its family emblem, was one of the few families recognized as nominal royalty even in other countries. Valentine de le Blumir possessed the most perfect bloodline to stand beside the Emperor.

That was a fact no one could deny.

“Empress, if you wish to remain in that position and fulfill your duties and responsibilities to the end, you must constantly think and learn. Especially about Belle’s image that you keep dwelling on.”

“……”

“If Belle were alive, she would have made a truly ideal Empress.”

Cassian, who had spoken coldly, turned away from Amaryllis. As he moved with cold steps, the image of the woman he had just seen flashed in his mind. He rolled a single word on the tip of his tongue.

‘Belle.’

Cassian Pendragon’s la belle laure, the most ideal woman.

‘The fact that Your Majesty still hasn’t forgotten Madame Marguerite… Everyone knows it, no matter how much you deny it.’

Amaryllis’s resentful cry echoed in his ears. Unable to forget?

It was obvious. No, he had never even tried to forget in the first place.

The day he vowed to live loving only Valentine still lived and breathed within Cassian. That too was natural.

Valentine was not only perfect for Astaire, who needed someone who wouldn’t go against him. It was the same for Cassian, who tended to be indifferent to romance.

He loved her beautiful appearance, her kind heart that tried to save even Astaire, and her unwavering gaze that looked up at him. He loved her purity that couldn’t be found anywhere else.

In Cassian’s lifetime, he would never find a woman more ideal than Valentine.

Thus, though he didn’t show it outwardly, he always missed her. When he went to places where she had stood, even now, it felt as if her voice could be heard like a fantasy in his ears. Only when he walked under the moonlight where they had been together did he realize he was alone.

But now…

Instead of the longing he always carried, the day he first saw Valentine in the Blumir territory flashed before his eyes. That moment when he had unconsciously breathed out, “Belle.”

The image of her from earlier appeared before his eyes.

She was eerily similar to Valentine from that day.

* * *

Count Glastia stepped into the salon.

Rumors without legs had spread rampantly among the nobles. The Duke of Blumir, whose eyes were still rolling at the story of his sister with whom he shared not a drop of blood, would soon be in pursuit.

‘Still.’

Count Glastia secretly clenched his fist.

He had confirmed Valentine de le Blumir’s corpse with his own eyes. Cassian had personally dressed the cold body in pure white burial clothes. It was Count Glastia himself who had disposed of it in a secluded place.

The colorless cheeks, blue lips, the nose that had ceased breathing, even the body that had stiffened. He remembered everything vividly.

Thus, Count Glastia was more certain of Valentine de le Blumir’s death than anyone else in the world. The dead cannot be resurrected.

Nevertheless, the talk of a lookalike roaming the capital made him uneasy. Cassian had asked him to bury Valentine, but Count Glastia had disobeyed that order. The karma of the sin he had committed was such a thing.