Chapter 2

“From now on, I am Olga Ryabova, the Marquis’s wife, who will serve you, My Lady. I was once the head maid of the late Queen Anna.”  

Before Nadia, who had unexpectedly ended up in the Queen’s palace, stood a middle-aged woman with soft wheat-colored hair neatly pinned up.  

Nadia lifted her head and gazed at the noblewoman with deep brown eyes. Although her appearance was gentle, her gaze was strong, fitting the expression ‘tough on the outside, soft on the inside.’  

Because of Olga Ryabova’s history as Queen Anna’s head maid, Nadia sensed a sharp chill and iciness behind her calm gaze.  

“I will serve you with my utmost sincerity.”  

Olga Ryabova bowed her head to the daughter of the woman who had brought death to the one she served.  

Nadia instinctively bowed as well. It felt necessary.  

Queen Anna had passed away not long ago. Shamefully, she was found hanging.  

Nadia knew why. King Ivan had declared he would make the son of his mistress, not his legitimate only son, his successor.  

The Queen’s opposition meant nothing. Ten years ago, she sent her beloved son to the North, and since then, suffered from depression, ending her life so tragically.  

“……I’m sorry.”  

Nadia wanted to apologize for the sins of her dead mother. When she lifted her head, Olga’s expression was somewhat peculiar—her brows were furrowed, as if surprised, yet she kept her real feelings to herself.  

Olga seemed to swallow the cliché ‘You shouldn’t do this’ rather than say it aloud. Likely, her true thoughts were along the lines of ‘So you do have a conscience, after all.’  

“His Majesty the King has commanded you to be Queen, so I will not harm you, My Lady.”  

It was a rather rude remark, but Nadia preferred it and was even grateful.  

Someone who spoke like this would not betray her behind her back. Olga quietly continued.  

“I don’t know His Majesty’s intentions, but I will live quietly—as if I were dead.”  

Olga still looked at Nadia with an unreadable gaze. Nadia added in a whisper.  

“I won’t trouble you, Madame.”  

Unless one was foolish, it was impossible to believe there were good intentions in marrying the daughter of one’s enemy.  

That was likely why no one opposed this absurd marriage. Or perhaps…  

‘Maybe it’s because someone already stays by His Majesty’s side.’  

Nadia briefly recalled the woman seated to the king’s left at the execution ground that day.  

“I will make Nadia Turik, daughter of Agnesa Turik, my Queen.”

While everyone was shocked by that declaration, only one person calmly accepted the king’s decision.  

The new king stood up after that single sentence, and the woman to his left immediately followed, making her identity clear.  

Her first impression was like seeing the moon in broad daylight.  

The woman, with her dazzling silver hair braided into two long plaits, had an arrogant air, her skin so pale she seemed a perfect match for the king’s cold demeanor. She was quite tall, her shoulder reaching the king’s when standing beside him.  

Her body was almost devoid of excess fat, but unlike most noble ladies, she was not soft or lacking muscle. Her figure was firm and well-balanced, with voluptuous curves at her chest and hips.  

As she left the hall with an expressionless face, her eyes met Nadia’s. In those deep violet eyes was unmistakably…  

‘Hatred and contempt.’  

She soon linked arms with the king, and he accepted it naturally. Their relationship was easy to guess.  

‘What I don’t understand is why he makes me Queen when he has her…’  

If his purpose was to humiliate her, there were options other than the noble title of Queen—he could have made her a mistress, a maid, even a sl*ve.  

In a situation where it would not have been strange for her to be executed, she could not comprehend why he granted her such a noble status.  

Meanwhile, it seemed he intended to keep the woman who looked like his lover as a mistress. For a man who, because of her father, should detest mistresses, this was unexpected.  

‘Anyway, he won’t want to be close to me.’  

He would not desire the daughter of his enemy, so she would likely live as a Queen in name only. If the purpose was to make her endure humiliation, it would not be a hardship for her.  

Obeying her mother’s command, she had been pushed abroad to marry, and before that, came here. Here or there, loneliness was her fate.  

Thus, Nadia thought she could only be grateful to Lev Arbat, who spared her life and granted her the status of Queen, not hate him.  

It was a rather naïve thought.

***

Lev returned to his palace immediately after the execution ceremony ended.  

Albina, who had stayed by his side with her arm linked through his, let go only after entering his room.  

Albina fidgeted awkwardly, as if unable to adapt, while Lev, unconcerned, allowed his attendants to help him change clothes.  

“Do you have anything else to say to me?”  

When the attendants began to unbutton his shirt, Lev asked. Albina looked at her lord with a worried gaze that bordered on solemnity and asked,  

“Are you sure you won’t regret this?”  

“Yes.”  

Lev’s answer was indifferent, even insincere. Albina knew it was genuine, but still felt uneasy about the situation.  

The attendants unbuttoned his shirt further, exposing his chest, and Albina turned away, sighing.  

“I understand your intentions, Your Majesty, but the position of Queen is sacred.”  

“If you dislike it so much, you can be Queen, Dame Albina.”  

Albina waved her hands emphatically, as if the thought made her shudder.  

“Ah, no thank you. Just acting as your lover is overwhelming, Your Majesty.”  

“I don’t think you’ve done much.”  

At his dismissive remark, Albina let out a huff.  

“I stood up right after you rose at the execution ground! I even linked arms with you!”

Lev smiled at her indignant words, but his expression faded at her next comment.  

“More importantly, I glared at that woman—the daughter of Agnesa—for you. What more do you want me to do as your lover?” 

“No matter how I think about it, it was a good choice.”  

At his abrupt statement, Albina looked puzzled.  

“Marrying a woman you hate, you mean?”  

Lev clearly remembered his father’s last days, when he had grown weak and foolish during the ten years Lev had not seen him.  

He had aged greatly, his eyes lost their sharpness. So weakened by years of hatred, Lev felt nothing but deep contempt for him.  

Because of this man, he lost his mother. Because of him, Lev spent ten harsh years in the North. He never wanted to repeat his father’s mistakes.  

The deposed King Ivan had become foolish, blinded by love for his mistress. Love makes a man weak.  

But Lev?  

Ten years of hatred had made him strong. Now, having completed his revenge, he needed to keep sharpening himself, like a blade, by continuing to hate.  

Hatred makes a man powerful. At his side, there must be a Queen he hates, not one he loves.  

The daughter of the woman he hated, Nadia Turik, was perfect for that role. He could hardly find someone he hated more.  

“As soon as you mentioned that woman, my mood soured. It feels like my blood runs cold.”  

“There is only one person in the world who would choose a partner by such bizarre criteria—you, Your Majesty.”  

“Then, should I marry someone I love?”  

Lev gave a dry laugh. He absolutely had no intention of getting close to something like love.  

“Unless you wish me to become like my father.”  

“Even if you don’t love her, you could just choose a lady from a suitable family…”  

Oops. Albina closed her mouth belatedly. That was how Queen Anna, Lev’s mother, became Queen. Everyone knew the result was tragic.  

A brief silence fell. Both recalled their mothers, sacrificed because of the deposed king’s worthless love.  

Then,  

“If not, you could cast her out at an appropriate time. Miserably.”  

Albina broke the silence in a low voice.  

“How could you spend your whole life with a woman you hate? Even if you don’t want to become weak from love, Your Majesty…”  

“……”  

“Your Majesty, you still have a very long life ahead of you.”

Lev smiled faintly.  

“Is that so.”  

“Of course.”  

But Albina was wrong.  

He was, after all, a man whose time was limited—never knowing when he might die.