Chapter 1.9

The last stop on the harem tour was Thea’s research lab. Her lab was a greenhouse larger than the mansion itself. The glass walls of the greenhouse, fogged with steam, glowed in the setting sun. 

“I’m looking forward to being co-youngest with you, Miss Bianchi.”  

Thea said as she opened the door.  

“But I also understand why you might still be uncertain, Miss Bianchi.”  

‘Ugh!’  

As Lucia stepped inside, she was hit not with the expected floral fragrance but with the stench of sewage.  

“Sorry. I forgot that the smell might be unfamiliar to someone entering for the first time.”  

Thea handed her a thick handkerchief. Lucia quickly covered her nose and breathed through her mouth.  

The two walked side by side between tall flower beds.  

“Do they still perform ‘Tommaso’s Kite’ every week in Hofkin? My little brother loved it, so we used to go see it at least once a month.”  

‘Tommaso’s Kite’ was Lucia’s favorite play when she was a child.  

Talking with Thea, Lucia found they shared the same favorite book, similar views on current events, and even identical food preferences.  

It had been a long time since she felt so comfortable talking to someone.  

Thea stopped in front of a long-stemmed plant. Using tongs, she held a meaty lump—hopefully not actual meat—near the plant’s head.  

The plant opened its mouth, revealing thorn-like fangs, and swallowed the lump whole.  

Lucia took a step back, while Thea, as if expecting this, calmly jotted something down in her notebook.  

Lucia looked at Thea’s peaceful face, framed by her light brown hair. It was the face of someone who had lived a normal, uneventful life.  

No matter the benefits, she didn’t seem like someone who would choose to live under the title of ‘concubine.’  

“Have you ever regretted it?”  

Thea gazed at Lucia with deep blue eyes before rolling up her sleeve.  

She revealed a burn scar on her arm.  

“A gift from my father.”  

Lucia was speechless. Thea rolled her sleeve back down.  

“No, I’ve never regretted it.”  

***

On her way back through the city, Lucia asked the coachman to let her off before crossing the bridge.  

As she walked across the bridge, her eyes caught the nameplate engraved with the architect’s name. She rubbed off the rust with her foot until she could read the name.  

‘Bartolo Retierre.’  

The busiest bridge in the city, built several years ago. Lucia had crossed it at least a thousand times.  

She stared at the nameplate for a while before being pushed forward by the crowd behind her.  

***

The next day at the bookstore, one of her regular customers—or rather, Emperor Aristide—was inspecting Lucia’s toys. Lucia shoved Aristide into a secluded alley.  

“So, how was the Moonlight Palace tour?”  

Aristide asked with an expectant look.  

Lucia tried to calm her trembling heart.  

“I am deeply grateful for the opportunity you’ve given me, but I must respectfully decline.”  

Aristide nodded slowly, as though he had anticipated her answer, and didn’t seem too disappointed.  

“May I ask why?”  

“No matter how much of a researcher I am, I simply cannot live as a concubine. It’s because of my petty pride. Please forgive my foolishness.”  

“Haha, if you’re foolish, then I must be the idiot of the century! Anyway, the doors of the Moonlight Palace will always be open to you, so let me know anytime you change your mind.”  

Lucia bowed her head in gratitude.  

“Hmm, but your face looks like it’s about to explode.”  

Aristide said.  

“…Pardon?”  

Lucia raised her head and asked.  

“You’re the type of person who has to say what’s on your mind, but you’re holding back now. That’s why your face looks like it’s about to explode. Haha!”  

Lucia touched her cheek.  

She hadn’t realized it was so obvious.  

“Go ahead, speak.”  

If she swallowed her words one more time, everything would end smoothly.  

But Lucia couldn’t do it.  

“May I speak honestly?”  

“Have you ever been anything but honest?”  

“I don’t understand why your are doing this, Your Majesty.”  

Lucia couldn’t hold back her outburst.  

“I understand your intentions to support talented women, but does that really change anything by fostering just a few researchers, Your Majesty? Women in this country are still denied any educational opportunities beyond basic education. Supporting a handful of researchers in your harem doesn’t change the fact that countless women in this nation are being neglected, does it, Your Majesty?”  

Of course, Lucia acknowledged that the world had improved.  

Compared to the past, women’s rights and status had undeniably risen. At least now, girls could receive basic education until the age of ten, and women could walk outside alone without a chaperone. Social taboos were gradually loosening. For instance, recent newspaper articles featured doctors and entrepreneurs with the title ‘the first woman.’  

But to Lucia, the current state of affairs still felt suffocating.  

When she questioned unfairness and inequality, she was mocked for never being satisfied. If she said it wasn’t enough, she was criticized for trying to ruin society.  

In this situation, she couldn’t comprehend how an Emperor could feel satisfied with merely supporting a few female researchers.  

“And you’re hiding those researchers under the name ‘concubines.’”  

“What else can I do? If I openly call them researchers, everyone will protest.”  

At Aristide’s question, Lucia answered without hesitation.  

“Then you must fight back. You stand above all, higher than the sun itself, as the Emperor of a nation. Are you so afraid of a little backlash? If you anticipated opposition and gave up so easily, it means you either don’t care about equality or are a coward.”  

After pouring out her thoughts, Lucia bit her tongue hard in regret.  

‘Cowardly,’ following ‘disgusting.’  

Her tongue would drag her to an early grave someday.  

Would today be the day?  

However, his face brightened with a smile instead.  

“I agree. Entirely.”  

…But he said no more. He didn’t promise to fight or make an effort.  

Lucia followed Aristide as he headed toward the bookstore.  

He stopped in front of Lucia’s window display.  

“Miss Bianchi, may I continue visiting as a customer? I can’t live without your inventions!”  

“It would be my honor.”  

Aristide whistled and left.  

Both Aristide and Lucia thought the matter was settled.  

If not for Lucia’s parents, it would have been.  

***

When Lucia returned home, she leaned against her room’s door and closed her eyes. Her life, which had been limited to her house and the bookstore, had spiraled into chaos over the past week.  

By tomorrow morning, she hoped everything would fade away like a dream.  

Just as she was catching her breath—  

Marisa pushed open the door Lucia was leaning on and entered.  

“Come downstairs.”  

Her mother was dressed in a dark green silk gown, the same one she wore whenever a suitor came to visit.  

Until now, she had always informed Lucia ahead of time, allowing her to prepare for the visits. But now, she deliberately ambushed Lucia to prevent any scheming.  

Lucia had anticipated this day would come.  

As she followed Marisa out, she discreetly slipped the flat compact containing sticky ointment from the drawer beside the door into her sleeve.  

In front of the drawing room, Marisa ordered Lucia to enter. As she passed her mother, Lucia secretly smeared the sticky ointment onto her face.  

Almost instantly, several grotesque warts appeared.  

Inside the drawing room sat a tall, broad-shouldered young man on the sofa. His sleek black hair and shining dark eyes matched the elegance of his finely tailored clothes. Sitting deeply in the chair with one arm resting on the armrest, he exuded the dignity of someone seated on a throne.  

It was the man who had been with her mother at the ball.  

The man quietly observed Lucia.  

Surely, he was startled by the warts—  

“How old is she?”  

The man asked toward the door without directly looking at Lucia.  

Were the warts so repulsive he couldn’t bear to look at me?  

“She’s twenty-three years old.”  

Marisa, standing by the door, answered on Lucia’s behalf.  

The question had been directed at Marisa.  

“Isn’t that a bit old?”  

Once again, the man addressed Marisa rather than Lucia. Despite discussing her marriage, Lucia seemed excluded from the conversation.  

Marisa replied in a slightly firm tone.  

“That’s the perfect age for childbirth. If she were younger, her body might not endure, and she could die from difficult labor.”  

“That’s true. My two previous wives both died giving birth before they turned twenty.”  

His tone was utterly devoid of emotion, cold and detached.  

Even if a horse he raised had died, he might have expressed more sorrow.  

Lucia let out a derisive laugh.  

Marisa, flustered, tried to cover up Lucia’s scoff with hurried words.  

“And as you can see, she’s very healthy. She goes outside every single day and walks for hours.”  

Lucia tilted her head deliberately, ensuring the warts were visible to the man.