The day of the wedding dawned in an instant.

When the rain that had fallen through the night finally stopped, a suffocating stillness took its place.

Clodine sat on the edge of her bed, her complexion pale, staring at the faint light of dawn beyond the window. The darkness she had relied on all night fled the moment the sun began to rise.

With it, she felt the urge to disappear somewhere forever. But it was a temptation she did not dare entertain. Her lips twisted bitterly.

‘Do not entertain any foolish thoughts. There is no other way to save your people except through marrying me.’

Was there truly no way to avoid the foolishness of waiting for salvation from a plunderer?

No matter how desperately she struggled, even if she clawed at death itself, everything would proceed flawlessly according to Ahazan’s will. In this moment, the only emotion Clodine could feel was helplessness.

She had sat unmoving for so long she might have been mistaken for a corpse. Slowly, she rose to her feet. Her entire body ached as though she were suffering from a severe fever, yet she did not so much as frown.

Her steps finally stopped before the red candle that had bathed the room in fragile light all night.

Before the darkness completely retreated, Clodine clasped her hands before her chest and closed her eyes.

Though shameless, she wanted to offer at least a prayer for her dead maids. It was the only thing she could do for those pitiful girls who, having served such a worthless queen, could not even be granted a proper funeral.

The moment their faces rose in her mind, tears surged once more, threatening to spill over. She forced them back down.

When her prayer ended, Clodine suddenly rolled up one sleeve. With her other hand, she lifted the brass candlestick, the flame still burning. Without a moment’s hesitation, she tilted it and poured the hot wax over her slender forearm.

The red wax flowed down like blood.

An unbearable heat clung to her thin, delicate skin, but she did not flinch. She considered it pain she deserved. In truth, she wished it would burn longer, hotter. She hoped it would leave an ugly scar.

If nothing else, she wanted to ensure that, for at least today, she would not forget the maids who had died in agony.

Perhaps because so many tasks that should have been completed the day before still remained undone, the corridor outside was already bustling. Clodine stared blankly as the room gradually brightened, then reached up and pulled the cord hanging from the ceiling.

The bell had scarcely chimed more than once before the servants entered as though they had been waiting.

“You are awake, Lady Ramier.”

Merian Bennett, who usually wore a white gown, was dressed in red today. The other attendants standing behind her wore garments of the same color, differing only in design.

“For the wedding at noon, shall we begin preparations now?”

Though she knew Clodine had no right to refuse, Merian still maintained her courtesy.

Clodine, her face drawn and exhausted from a night of relentless sobbing without sleep, gave a slight nod.

“Then we shall assist you with your bath first.”

Merian stepped close behind her as Clodine stood rigidly by the window. Gently, she pulled the nightgown down from Clodine’s shoulders.

“My lady…!”

As the fabric slipped down her slender frame, the forearm coated thickly in hardened red wax was revealed.

Merian gasped in horror and turned sharply to the servants behind her.

“Fetch the physician at once!”

The attendants hurried off, their movements suddenly urgent.

Clodine looked at Merian with a firm gaze.

“Leave it. Do what you were doing.”

“But you may have been burned.”

At Merian’s worried tone, Clodine let out a cold, faint laugh.

“It won’t kill me.”

With that, she dropped the remaining nightgown from her hips. Steam rose thickly from the bath as she stepped inside.

***

Cecilia Ramier fluttered her lashes, thickly darkened with soot-black kohl, as she surveyed the imperial palace.

When she had been young enough to be carefree, she had often accompanied her father, Count Helario Ramier, on visits here. After coming of age, however, she had no reason to enter without formal invitation. It had been a long time.

In her memory, the palace had always been grand and dazzling. Today, it felt almost excessively so.

Red banners draped the fortress walls. Fresh flowers of every color adorned every visible space. The number of ceremonial guards assembled alone was staggering. Even from the entrance, the overwhelming display of splendor was enough to make one shrink.

Cecilia swallowed dryly.

“They certainly know how to make a spectacle of a wedding.”

The capital had been in an uproar for days over this imperial marriage. To think that such unimaginable manpower and resources had been expended merely to crown Clodine Ramier as Empress, it was enough to make her teeth grind.

And not even a maiden bride.

It was absurd beyond reason.

‘I wonder if our most hypocritical Empress is calmly adorning herself with flowers even now.’

Cecilia despised her half-sister with all her heart.

Clodine, who had never lifted a finger in effort, had always enjoyed the finest things simply by virtue of being the eldest daughter of the House of Ramier.

Though they shared the same surname and were sisters by blood, Cecilia had always felt as though she survived on the scraps Clodine left behind.

Without exception, there had been only one person in this world who had ever looked at Cecilia Ramier with a truly just gaze.

‘The one who should sit on the Empress’s throne isn’t Clodine—it’s you, Cecilia.’
‘Doesn’t it infuriate you that, simply because you’re the second daughter, every opportunity is handed to Clodine?’
‘You’re not someone meant to rot in the mud like this.’

He was the only man who had pulled Cecilia, always overshadowed and buried in Clodine’s shadow, into the light.

Whenever she listened to him, all the years of comparison and suppression she had endured because of Clodine felt like merciless violence inflicted upon an innocent soul.

She could not bear to consider Clodine family, Clodine, who had spent her life strolling through fields of flowers, unaware that such suffering even existed.

“It’s only reaping what you sow. You have no right to resent me, Clodine.”

Cecilia muttered the words in a trembling voice as she looked up at the sharp spire rising high above the imperial palace. The tremor came from rage, and venom.

‘We’ll need to kill a few women, Cecilia.’

When she had received that request from him a few days ago, the first in a long while, she had not once considered how far it strayed from reason, nor what harm it might bring upon her house. She had simply been too delighted, too thrilled to sleep.

After Clodine left the Empire as O’Neil Penelope’s wife, he had distanced himself from Cecilia as though by magic. Though it had been Cecilia who carried that scheme to success, he had not easily given her his heart.

By then, she had already fallen for him completely. It felt as though her chest were being torn apart.

It had been a dreadful time. She had breathed, yes, but it was no different from living with a dead heart.

‘I cannot be abandoned by him again… I truly won’t survive it this time.’

Her complexion drained of color. Like someone tormented by severe anxiety, Cecilia began biting at the tips of her nails.

‘He said they were killed properly. I lent him the knights of our house as he wished…’

Then why has he not summoned me yet?

Closing her eyes, Cecilia took a slow breath. She tried to recall the him from the past, the one who had gently caressed her face in places unseen by others.

She was determined to win back his attention.

No matter what horrific deed it required.

Having resolved herself, Cecilia slowly opened her eyes and resumed walking. Her expression had completely changed, calm, almost faintly flushed. The thought that he was likely already somewhere in the banquet hall made her heart race with longing.

But only for a moment.

Through the large arcade in the distance, Cecilia noticed a procession of women walking with soft, synchronized grace.

All of them wore similar red gowns. Only one woman, at the very front, stood out—clad in a striking white dress.

“Clodine…?”

Even with her face entirely veiled in pure white, it was unmistakable that she was the bride of the day.

Since access to this part of the palace was restricted to those closest to the bride, Cecilia was close enough to observe her.

“Still that insufferable girl who lives for her own self-importance.”

Seeing Clodine firsthand, marching toward the wedding hall with a trail of attendants behind her as though she were already something grand, made Cecilia’s stomach twist with resentment.

She found herself wishing Clodine would stumble gracelessly and roll across the floor in humiliation.

And astonishingly, in that very moment, Clodine’s body swayed.

She lost her balance and tilted sideways. Just as she was about to fall, her hand shoved against a large statue nearby.

Crash!

The statue toppled with a sharp, shattering noise, scattering fragments across the ground. The attendants behind her gasped in alarm, rushing forward to check whether she was injured.

Cecilia’s eyes narrowed.

‘What was that? It looked deliberate.’

From afar, what might have seemed accidental appeared strangely intentional.

Without realizing it, Cecilia quickened her pace, drawing closer to the commotion. Soon, she frowned deeply and muttered under her breath, as though she had witnessed something unmistakable.

“What are you doing…?”

With assistance from the attendants, Clodine rose from where she had fallen. For a while, hands moved busily around her, adjusting the bride’s disheveled attire.

A young woman who appeared to be a senior attendant exchanged a few words with Clodine, then swiftly reformed the procession. As though nothing had happened, they resumed their march, gradually disappearing from Cecilia’s view.

Yet Cecilia could not tear her gaze from Clodine’s retreating figure.

Moments earlier, the sight of the pure white bride walking with perfect posture had only irritated her. Now, however, something else unsettled her.

She wanted to grab someone and ask, Did you see what I just saw?

But she could not.

Because it seemed that she alone had witnessed the sharp, pointed fragment of the shattered statue slipping into the bride’s grasp, hidden within the bouquet she held.