“I’ll tell you this one last time, so listen carefully.”

“……”

“You and the child in your womb are alive only because I am the father.”

“……”

“I spared you both not as an emperor, but as a father showing mercy. So don’t presume to step forward and demand anything from me. That’s arrogance.”

In other words, she had to keep her head bowed and rely on his mercy for survival. He would decide everything, and until then, she might as well be dead.

At that moment, Anita realized that talking to Cedric was pointless.

The spark that had kept her alive, her purpose had flickered out in an instant.

As he watched her sit there, lowering her lashes like a beautiful doll that had stopped moving, Cedric felt a strange sense of unease.

There was something about her unfocused eyes, eyes that no longer looked at him that made him anxious for reasons he couldn’t explain.

“…I haven’t decided yet whether I’ll place the imperial crown on your head or not.”

“I don’t want to see that face!”

Cedric said sharply, unable to hide his impatience. Not only did he want to keep her caged with broken wings, he also wanted to ensure that she ate the food he provided.

“But if you insist on wearing the imperial crown…”

“…..”

“Then give birth to a son.”

Hearing those words, which demanded the child’s gender so decisively, Anita’s expression twisted in silent anguish.

Was he suggesting that the child’s value would depend on their gender?

Unlike in Callithea, only a son could inherit the Laxion throne. Sons were openly treated as more precious than daughters within the imperial family. Yet, for Anita, who was carrying that life inside her, hearing him speak of the child’s value in terms of gender was unbearably painful.

“Why the look? You might not realize it, but if you have a daughter, you will be in danger. In Laxion, women cannot inherit the throne. A princess who cannot be named heir is as useless as you are. A useless child would be of no more use to you than I am. You must have your own ambitions, so what use would a worthless princess be to you?”

Anita turned her head slightly, clutching her stomach as if to shield it. How many more times would he call their child useless? If she could, she would have covered her ears.

Cedric knew, of course, that he had gone too far with his words, especially since the child hadn’t even been born yet. When his wife averted her gaze, he let it pass. However, as there was more he wanted to say, he clenched and released his fist slowly before giving her what sounded like advice but was actually a command.

“If I were to give you a word of advice, the next time you make a request, you’d better kneel first.”

“…”

“Your knees still hold no worth less than before, in fact. At least back then, you were the wavering princess of a crumbling kingdom. Now… you’re not even that.”

“….”

“So, from now on, whenever you ask me for something, you should start by kneeling. Whether or not it has any value, the difference in attitude is clear to see.”

A hollow ache carved itself deep into her chest. Cedric’s deliberate insults to her very existence sent a chill through Anita’s body. Her shoulders trembled.

And yet, if humbling herself in this way could win her even a shred of mercy or give her just the smallest glimmer of hope…

Then so be it.

Admitting that her knees were the only thing she could offer, Anita slowly began to rise.

Cedric’s eyes widened when he saw her move. He nearly shouted, ‘Are you insane?’, but before he could, she hesitated. Her swollen belly made kneeling difficult. Any sudden movement might cause her to lose her balance or, worse still, hurt the baby.

“Tch! You really have no sense.”

Cedric seized the opportunity to strike again. With that curt remark, he turned on his heel and walked away. Though he quickened his pace, as if trying to escape her, he was followed by a strange emptiness, an absurd disappointment that her hand hadn’t reached for his sleeve.

“Ah…”

Anita couldn’t bring herself to stop the Emperor as he fled the room. All she could do was watch his retreating back in stunned silence before lowering her head in defeat. When she saw Renee approaching from afar, she couldn’t even raise her head.

That afternoon, a new imperial decree was issued. Anita was forbidden to set foot anywhere in the palace except a small, secluded garden within the Crown Prince’s residence.

··· ✦ ···

The traitors had finally been captured. They were the ones who had spent the past several months fleeing in desperation and scheming for a future that would never come. But no one can remain hidden forever beneath the sun. Ultimately, loyal knights who obeyed the Emperor’s orders and opportunists eager for reward tracked down the deposed Empress Dowager and her son, Gérard, the late Emperor’s illegitimate child.

Even at the end, the deposed Empress Dowager’s resistance was formidable. She endured fifteen full days in the infamous Mount Tesserum, a place known for its brutal terrain and savage winds, surviving alongside only a few of her closest attendants.

Those who captured her mocked her mercilessly for her tattered clothes and hair matted with dirt and twigs. ‘Look at her now,’ they sneered. Did she really think she could cling to life by hiding in a mountain that even knights found perilous? It would have been better for her to have met her end on the plains, facing an army head-on, or to have surrendered with her dignity intact.

However, when a few priests and scholars heard where the former empress had been captured, they exchanged uneasy glances.

Mount Tesserum, which is high, rugged and remote, is home to the oldest Asteria temple in Laxion.

According to legend, the temple had existed long before the empire was founded. It once flourished to such an extent that any devout follower of Asteria was expected to make a pilgrimage there at least once in their lifetime. But as the centuries passed and the faith’s influence waned, more travellers than converts were claimed by the perilous mountain path. Fewer and fewer people came until, at last, only a couple of ageing priests and their young apprentices remained. Now, the temple was regarded as little more than a relic, visited only by villagers from nearby mountain hamlets.

“So the traitor remembered that old legend, did she?”

Murmured one distinguished scholar upon hearing the news of the deposed empress’s capture at Tesserum.

It was a legend found only in ancient texts: deep within the Temple of Mount Tesserum, it was said, there was a chamber where one could turn back time. Long ago, an unnamed knight, believing the tale to be true, had ventured there in the hope of reviving his dead lover. But, as with most legends, no miracle ever came to pass, and the story of that knight was forgotten.

“How fitting that a traitor should cling to a fool’s dream and chase an illusion, only to meet a pitiful end. It is a disgrace that such a deluded woman was once Empress of Laxion.”

The new emperor of Laxion did not bother to hide his scorn. He publicly announced the tale of the former empress’s futile faith, turning her desperation into mockery so that the whole empire would laugh at the fallen traitor and her doomed cause.

Most people agreed with the emperor and mocked the downfall of the traitors. Yet a few felt faint, unspoken pity for the deposed empress, who clung desperately to an illusion even in her ruin. Although they would never have dared to admit it, some remembered that she had once sat on the highest throne in the empire, radiant and untouchable.

The downfall of the mighty was always wretched to witness. The higher one soared, the closer one came to heaven and the more pitiful the subsequent descent. Even worse, her desperate struggle on the way down had stripped her name of any dignity whatsoever.

“I, the Emperor of Laxion, proclaim that the traitors who sought to devour this great empire have been subdued beneath my authority. Their vile plots and threats have been utterly destroyed. Henceforth, I shall tolerate no act that dares to undermine the sanctity of the crown or the order of the realm. To make this known to all, the traitors are to be escorted to the capital. Let the citizens witness their wretched state and the disgrace their crimes have wrought.”

The new emperor showed no mercy. The prisoners were dragged to the capital in chains, their bodies battered and filthy. At certain crowded crossings, the emperor ordered that they be displayed for all to see, a spectacle of defeat intended to enforce obedience.

The people cheered the emperor’s justice, even though fear was taking root in their hearts. Such ruthless retribution left them with one indelible thought: never oppose the throne.

A rebellion was crushed completely. Traitors were stripped of all honor.

Even Anita, confined within the Crown Prince’s palace, often heard about it. Reports arrived in abundance, more than necessary, almost deliberately so. The Emperor himself had commanded that news of Gerard, the late Emperor’s illegitimate son, be relayed to his wife in full detail. He added a quiet, chilling instruction: “Tell me how did she react when she heard it?”

“His Majesty’s orders, you say? Then could it be true? That Her Highness and the traitor once shared a secret affair?”

“If you consider the Emperor’s own command, isn’t there more than enough reason to suspect it?”

“Then what about the child she’s carrying? Could it be…?”

“Hush! Don’t be ridiculous. If that were true, do you really think His Majesty would have held back?”

Such whispers spread swiftly through the palace, carried by the tongues of servants and attendants. With every passing day, Anita found herself becoming increasingly isolated.

And that was precisely what Cedric intended.

By tarnishing her reputation just enough, he tightened his grip, ensuring that she could rely on nothing — or no one — but his so-called mercy. It was an act of domination, cruel beyond measure.

Now, Anita was like an uprooted tree, left to wither in a merciless desert, barely clinging to life. Just when she reached out towards the faintest glimmer of hope, Cedric seized her hand and forced her to depend on his permission alone.

When someone holds your life in their hands and is this merciless, you live each day as if half-strangled. She instinctively came to loathe necklaces, her fingers often brushing the hollow of her throat as if to ease an unseen pressure.

Today was no different.

After hearing the latest reports about the captured traitors, she lifted a trembling hand to her neck and stared blankly out of the window. The Crown Prince’s garden, beautiful in every season, gleamed in the soft daylight.

The flowers bloomed in vivid colors and the air carried the faint, refreshing scent of grass.

But to Anita, neither the sight nor the fragrance meant anything. Everything felt hollow — beautiful, yet unbearably distant.