The next morning, a palace attendant came from the princess’s quarters to request an audience with the Emperor. Atlion, who had been brooding in his study, unable to calm his uneasy mood, left the office after meeting the apologetic attendant, who bowed deeply.

“The princess was inconsolable. She cried endlessly…”

Since the previous morning, Mirabella had been crying all day. Atlion left the study with a troubled look on his face. It was said that even an experienced woman like Lady Ritsol had trouble with her. Atlion couldn’t help but wonder how Theodor had managed to calm her daughter.

The thought brought back the bitter, angry memory. It was enough to make his teeth ache. The fact that Theodor had stolen both his newborn daughter, who didn’t even recognise her father, and his wife… ….

Atlion steeled his face as he entered the room where his daughter sat, refusing to eat anything since waking that morning. Since arriving at the palace, it was said that crying had become a habit for her. Though she kept her lips closed like a seashell, the servants mentioned that her manner and insight showed that she was exceptionally clever for her age.

He was well aware of this. It was hard to dismiss the praise for Mirabella as mere flattery. It wasn’t as if Lady Ritsol was fabricating lies just to ease his troubled mind. Compliments about the child’s intelligence were surely more valuable than the disheartening reports that she was wetting herself daily because she hadn’t adjusted to life in the palace.

Moreover, he had never considered Mirabella as a potential heir.

“Mirabella.”

The bedroom door opened. Mirabella, dressed in white silk pyjamas, was cuddled in her nanny’s arms. Seeing him, Lady Ritsol rose and bowed. Atlion shifted his indifferent gaze from her to his daughter. Judging by her swollen eyes, the reports of her crying and fussing seemed accurate. He felt as if the saltiness of her tears would cling to his lips as he kissed her swollen eyelids.

“Your Highness, the Emperor has come to see you. Do you remember how I taught you to show respect?”

Lady Ritsol whispered to the child sitting on the bed.

Mirabella stared blankly at her nanny before wringing her hands in the air. Her feverish face, visible at a glance, looked unbearably fragile. She seemed thinner than she had been outside the palace, probably due to poor eating habits. Atlion’s face contorted with fear.

In front of his young daughter, he felt no need to hide his anxiety. He approached her.

“Mirabella.”

He spoke to his daughter, who refused to look at him. She hadn’t looked at him since the incident – since the day he had forced the word “father” on her. It was perhaps an even more perfect rejection than Swan’s. The child had completely shut him out of her world.

And yet she was only two and a half years old. It was amazing that rejection from such a young child could feel so cold. He had longed for her for so long. How could he not? She was his daughter, after all….

Yet the child knew nothing of him. She had called another father and clung to him. Even if she never met him, it seemed she would not miss him in the least. Fighting back the fear that twisted his expression, he knelt before his daughter.

“Why won’t you eat your food? Shall I feed you?”

“Your Majesty…”

Lady Ritsol, who had been watching from the sidelines, approached Atlion cautiously. The princess was afraid of him. What child wouldn’t be afraid of someone who had kept her parents from her for more than ten days? The Emperor’s love for her meant little in the face of her fear.

The princess was just a child. To her, the people she had grown up with were her parents, and the place she opened and closed her eyes every day was her home. The splendour and opulence of the Imperial Palace was irrelevant to her. The fact that the Emperor was an Emperor had no bearing on her reality. She didn’t fear or resent him because of his title, but the Emperor was hurt because he felt rejected by his daughter.

Perhaps it would have been better to return the princess to her mother and let her correct the idea of who her father was, of course. That might have been a less intrusive way to approach her. No, it was almost certainly the right thing to do. But still… ….

“Bring the princess her food.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

The servants replied, moving in perfect synchronisation. Lady Ritsol watched the father and daughter with anxious eyes before she let out a soft sigh.

The emperor lifted the princess in his arms. She remained frozen, stiff as ice, without so much as a twitch. It was a stark contrast to the summer retreat, when she had fought with her small hands to push him away. This new reaction worried Lady Ritsol even more, for she feared it would cause the princess to close her heart even more.

At the Emperor’s command, maids entered, carrying silver trays and setting the table with meticulous care. Lady Ritsol could only watch with trepidation as the scene unfolded.

The princess’s already lavish bedroom was made even more vibrant and colourful, with tiny flowers arranged in glass bottles and a pink tablecloth draped over the table. It was a charming scene, full of the things the children of the palace were known to love. However, the princess’s complexion turned pale at the sudden influx of unfamiliar people into her room.

“Let’s eat together.”

The emperor said softly, kissing the young princess on the cheek.

The frightened child curled up into a ball, her eyelashes beginning to tremble. Lady Ritsol feared that the princess would scream and cry again, as she had before, but she could not bring herself to say anything.

The Emperor sat at the table, holding his little daughter in his arms. Mirabella took small, shallow breaths, her lips parting weakly.

“Mama… Mama…”

“If you eat your meal, I promise I’ll show you your mama.”

The idea of rewarding a child with what he wanted in exchange for compliance did not sit well with the Princess. She was already a child who had lost everything she knew. Everything she wanted had been taken from her, and there was no certainty that what she wanted would ever be returned to her. For a child like her, this method of discipline was far from appropriate.

“Mm….”

As the Emperor brought a spoonful of thin soup to her lips, Mirabella turned her pale face away sharply. Lady Ritsol looked at Raoul with a shadowed expression, and he, too, averted his gaze with an equally troubled expression.

“Mirabella.”

“Mm-mm….”

Mirabella carefully pushed the spoon away from her mouth, her eyes filling with tears. She had already cried once that morning upon waking, leaving her weak and exhausted.

“Your Majesty, perhaps it would be best if the princess saw her mother.”

Lady Ritsol cautiously suggested.

The Emperor raised his eyes to meet Lady Ritsol’s. His piercing, icy stare instantly silenced her. Tight-lipped, she said no more as he turned back to the child and tried again to feed her.

But Mirabella forcefully pushed his hand away and began to wriggle and resist.

“Mama… Mama… I want to go to Mama!”

She cried, her small voice trembling with desperation.

The small mouth that had been mumbling indistinct words opened wide in a wail. Atlion, struggling to control the flailing child, held her tightly, visibly trying to force her to calm down.

“If you eat, we’ll go to Mommy’s with Daddy.”

“No! No! You’re not my dad!”

At the word daddy, Mirabella reacted violently, throwing her head back and bursting into loud sobs. Atlion’s blue eyes wavered as he watched her. Mirabella struggled weakly in his arms. With a tense expression, Lady Ritsol stepped closer to the Emperor.

“Your Majesty, allow me to calm the princess.”

She said quietly, cautiously stretching out her arms.

But Atlion ignored her words. Instead, he stood and began to stroke the child’s back, trying to calm her. Watching the scene, Lady Ritsol turned pale.

Atlion, still gently stroking Mirabella’s back, finally laid her down on the bed. He knelt down to meet her gaze directly, his face a mixture of despair and determination.

“Look at Daddy.”

“You’re not my daddy.”

“No, I am. I’m your daddy.”

“Mm-mm… no, no…”

Mirabella, now too weak, couldn’t even shake her head in refusal. Lady Ritsol quietly left the bedroom and called for a maid. Leaning close, she whispered softly into the maid’s ear before returning to the room.

“The person you called daddy is fake.”

Atlion said coldly, whispering to his sniffling daughter. He gripped her arms tightly to keep her from squirming away. At the word ‘fake’, Mirabella turned her gaze to him, her flushed face as red as a ripe apple.

“I still don’t like you… don’t like Mister.”

She murmured, her trembling voice filled with stubborn defiance.

Fat tears streamed down Mirabella’s cheeks as she clenched her tiny fists in a feeble attempt to strike. Atlion caught her small hand and pulled her gently towards him. She was as light as a wisp, without the weight to resist him. Even if she wanted to fight, she lacked the strength to scream, having survived for days on nothing but soup.

“Why don’t you like me? I’m your daddy. I missed you so much, Mirabella…”

“Hic… sniff…”

Mirabella whimpered, her frail voice trembling with exhaustion and sadness.