Ophelia gently stroked Veronica’s trembling cheek as she looked toward Renoir.

‘What could you possibly be thinking?’

As always, his face gave nothing away. Not today, not ever. Since the day they got married, he had never displayed a single discernible emotion.

He was terrifyingly and disturbingly consistent.

‘…Fine. Let’s say the affair was my misunderstanding. Cassandra forged the letters, after all.’

Still, there was one thing she could never forget.

The day Veronica died.

Even when her tiny body was placed in the coffin, Renoir remained completely unmoved.

He hadn’t cried.

He hadn’t twisted his face in grief once.

Even when Ophelia collapsed repeatedly, he behaved as though he were attending the funeral of a stranger.

‘When I died, what reaction did you show?’

He must have thought she was crazy when she jumped from their daughter’s bedroom window. He probably found her pathetic or even revolting.

He probably ordered the servants to dispose of her body and then turned away.

Even if there had been no affection between them and their marriage had been nothing more than a political duty, they had still lived as husband and wife for years.

She had borne his child.

There had been a time when she had genuinely wanted to lean on him.

A time when she might even have liked him, back when she was ignorant of so many things.

There was a time, right after the wedding, when she was pregnant with Veronica and her body ached constantly, day and night. Caroline and Rosalyn’s cruelty became unbearable, and there were long periods when her husband didn’t come home at all.

Nevertheless, she believed that if she tried hard enough, he might eventually open his heart to her.

She held on to that fragile hope until the very end.

‘How foolish…’

Renoir hadn’t changed at all, then or now.

Truly, she couldn’t blame him for being who he had always been.

But Veronica needed a father.

‘…She must have hidden the moment she saw Renoir because she was afraid.’

Ophelia steadied her breath and took a step forward. She reached out and caught his arm just as he attempted to walk past her in silence.

“Renoir.”

“…Why are you calling me.”

His dry voice drifted out slowly. He sounded faintly irritated, and Ophelia hesitated before speaking.

“…Veronica and I are going to eat in the garden. I’d like you to join us.”

There was a brief silence.

Renoir turned his head towards Veronica. The child raised her tiny hand and shyly waved at him.

“Veronica, greet your father properly.”

Ophelia whispered, finding the gesture endearing.

“H… hello, daddy…”

Veronica murmured shyly, her voice small.

She was so afraid of him, yet it was obvious she wanted to get closer.

“…There is work I must attend to.”

Renoir hesitated for a moment before looking away.

Veronica pouted in disappointment, hurt that he hadn’t acknowledged her greeting.

“Is it… so difficult to spare even a little time?”

“My apologies.”

She sensed it instantly, the irritation lurking beneath his curt reply.

His refusal was unwavering and meant only one thing: he found the child a burden.

He didn’t want to spend any time with her.

Perhaps today’s rejection was unavoidable, given how abruptly she had asked.

But Veronica was still so young.

She needed her father.

No matter how hard Ophelia tried, she could never replace Renoir.

“Renoir.”

“…”

Even when she called him again, he gave no reply and simply ascended the stairs.

Ophelia exhaled and stepped out toward the garden.

“Mm, I want to stay with Mommy.”

Ophelia tried to put Veronica in a chair, but the child clung to her and refused to be put down.

Seeing no other option, Ophelia sat down with Veronica on her lap. Gently, she poked the child’s soft, round cheek, being careful not to hurt her. It was warm and soft.

“My love. Can I untie your ribbon and fix your hair?”

“Yes.”

Ophelia loosened the pale yellow ribbon to tidy the slightly mussed strands.

“You know… I… no, Mommy. Mommy, do you… dislike daddy?”

“…Hm?”

Caught off guard by the sudden question, Ophelia froze mid-motion.

“Earlier… I thought you fought, so daddy didn’t come with us…”

Her careful, trembling voice held traces of sadness.

Was she trying to read the mood because she knew that Ophelia and Renoir didn’t get along?

Ophelia forced a small smile and shook her head.

She didn’t want her feelings about Renoir to affect the child.

“It’s not like that, Veronica. Mommy just forgot that your Father had work to do, which is why he had to

say no.”

“…Mm.”

“There. All done.”

Ophelia finished braiding Veronica’s hair neatly.

“Hehe, thank you.”

The child exhaled softly through her cheeks and smiled sweetly.

And the guilt crashed into Ophelia again—wave after wave—for having ignored her for so long.

“Mommy, look!”

Veronica suddenly pointed ahead.

“Your Highness! Out here in bare feet? What if you get hurt?”

Meryl approached, holding a pair of shoes.

‘…I forgot something important.’

At some point in the past, while Meryl and Veronica were still alive, she had to determine exactly when she had returned.

She had to prepare for events that she knew would happen in the future.

Meryl placed the shoes at Ophelia’s feet and helped her put them on.

“Meryl.”

“Oh my, you’re with Princess Veronica. I was startled when you suddenly stepped outside.”

“…Meryl. I’m confused, so could you remind me—what day is it today?”

“Today? It’s March 12.”

March 12.

Around the time Lady Margaret was first brought in as a governess.

“…And Veronica’s governess?”

“Governess? Do you already have someone in mind? Your Highness said you would think about it slowly since the princess is still young.”

Seeing Meryl’s puzzled expression, Ophelia felt relieved.

‘…So Margaret hasn’t become Veronica’s governess yet.’

“Bebe is four now! Not little at all!”

Veronica’s answer made it perfectly clear when she had returned.

A year earlier.

‘Back then, Margaret’s scheming had driven me away from Veronica… but now, I can still stop it.

She also remembered Cassandra asking whether there were any marks from the cane on Veronica’s legs.

‘Pretending it was from a fall… then secretly beating her.’

This time, she would refuse Cassandra’s suggestion before Margaret was ever introduced as a governess.

“Come to think of it, the Crown Princess sent you a letter.”

Meryl pulled out an envelope. The red wax seal bore Cassandra’s crest clearly.

[To my dearest little sister, Lia.
The weather is wonderful today, so bring Veronica over as soon as you receive this. I miss you—it’s been too long since I last saw your face.
Always waiting for you,
Your sister, Cassandra.]

Even from the affectionate beginning, Ophelia felt uneasy.

She frowned slightly as she debated what to do.

She didn’t want to bring Veronica to the palace. However, she couldn’t avoid Cassandra forever.

‘…First, I need to make sure Cassandra has no reason to see Veronica as a threat. If Veronica seems too flawed to inherit the throne, she won’t pay her any mind.’

Otherwise, even if she rejected Margaret as governess, Veronica’s death might happen again.

“Veronica.”

Ophelia gently placed her hands on Veronica’s waist and turned her around to face her. The child’s bright, clear violet eyes lifted to meet hers.

Violet eyes — the unmistakable mark of the Quilche royal bloodline.

A color that Cassandra did not possess.

It was the very reason Veronica had a rightful claim to the throne.

‘If only she hadn’t inherited these eyes…’

If only they had been blue, like Renoir’s.

“Shall we play a game, my love?”

“A game? What game?”

Her pure, sunlit expression sparkled.

“When we go to the palace, you have to pretend you can’t see. It’s a game where we trick the other person.”

“Mm… whyyy?”

The child’s big eyes blinked up at her.

“People in the palace don’t like violet eyes. They might try to harm you.”

“Gasp…”

“That’s why we play this game.”

She explained in the simplest way she could, so Veronica would understand. She hid her fear in her voice, though the trembling at her fingertips betrayed her.

“But why don’t they like violet eyes?”

“…Because—”

“Bebe loves having the same eye color as Mommy!”

Veronica beamed and pointed to Ophelia’s eyes.

Ophelia’s throat tightened. Although she had felt guilty about passing these eyes on to her child, her child’s innocent voice made her heart burn with love.

“Still, Bebe doesn’t want to make Mommy worry. So I’ll do it.”

The soft smell of her warm little body soothed Ophelia’s pounding heart.

“…Thank you, my love. When we meet the Crown Princess, look somewhere else and don’t eat anything they offer. All right?”

“Mm! Bebe can do it well.”

“My darling… is there anything you want to do after we return from the palace?”

“Bebe doesn’t want anything. Mommy is enough.”

Veronica wrapped her arms around Ophelia’s waist and burrowed deeper into her embrace.

‘How can you give love if you’ve never experienced it yourself?’

Ophelia hugged her tightly and closed her eyes.