‘The sun is already scorching hot. The journey to the capital is going to be even more unbearable.’

When the former empress and Gérard left the palace, Anita foresaw their fate. Had the mother and son prepared themselves for what was to come? The situation was unfavorable for them in every respect.

Nevertheless, there must have been a reason why they chose to step outside the palace and defy Cedric, driven either by emotion or by a situation from which they could no longer escape, however slim their chances. Whatever the cause, they had made their choice, and now it was time to face the consequences.

There was no escaping execution.

Death was always a sombre thought, but imagining the death of someone she knew carried an even heavier weight, so heavy that she could scarcely bring herself to speak of it aloud.

There was nothing Anita could do about their deaths. Nor should she. Her own circumstances were far from secure.

‘So this is how I end up owing a debt I can never repay.’

But there was nothing she could do to stop her heart from aching.

This was particularly true when she thought of Gerard, who had shown her a little kindness for a short while. The pain in Anita’s chest deepened.

It wasn’t affection, as others might have suspected. It wasn’t romantic or rational. It was simply grief for someone who had once treated her decently, coupled with an ache of guilt, sorrow, and helpless regret for their cruel fate.

Her downcast eyes fell upon a single leaf by the window. It had fallen and dried into a brittle husk under the harsh sun, losing all trace of green.

For a moment, Anita considered pleading with Cedric, begging him to show mercy for his half-brother’s sake.

But she turned away from the window almost immediately.

He was not a man who would listen. Even worse, Cedric was hypersensitive to anything that tied her to his half-brother. One wrong word might provoke him and endanger her already vulnerable niece further.

Although many of Callithea’s loyalists supported her niece and were strengthened by Laxion’s aid, there were still factions backing distant royal relatives and some who wanted to replace the imperial line altogether.

In such a fractured land, where loyalties were as splintered as shards of glass, her niece’s survival was all she had. She could risk nothing that might jeopardize it.

‘Pathetic.’

She was disgusted by her own helplessness, by the way she trembled for her own safety and was unable to act for anyone else.

“No, Your Highness.”

The voice cut through her thoughts. Renee, who had been silently watching her, suddenly spoke.

Her tone was sharper than usual, startling Anita. She flinched, her hand jerking slightly as she turned towards her.

“Don’t think the traitors. That’s their affair.”

They had spent many years together. Renee could usually tell who Anita was thinking of just by looking at her face.

“It has nothing to do with Your Highness. No — be careful. A few months ago, you were suspected of being closer to him than the emperor.”

Her voice was blunt but clearly born of concern. But why did it feel like pressure?

“Petitioning for their execution is one thing—I could understand that. But you wouldn’t do that, would you? Even if you choose to do nothing, don’t step forward for them. Don’t say a single word.”

Petition for execution? Watching Renee, Anita felt a chill creep over her. She hadn’t even considered such a thing. Asking someone to be killed…

She had noticed that Renee had seemed different since returning. Perhaps it was because she had started adopting Laxion fashions, replacing the Callithean accessories she used to favor. Or maybe she’d lost weight. Or perhaps she no longer spoke of the goddess or offered prayers.

“Keep an eye on Your Highness and the princess in Callithea. And…”

“…”

“You’re not alone anymore.”

Renéee’s gaze slowly drifted downwards until it came to rest on Anita’s stomach.

Perhaps it was because of the chilling remark she had just made, but the gleam in Renee’s eyes suddenly felt unsettling. It was a feeling Anita had never experienced towards the handmaid who had grown up with her like a sister.

Yet Renee seemed unaffected by whatever unease Anita felt. Her eyes remained fixed and unwavering as she spoke again, her voice clear, deliberate, and sharp.

“At the very least, no harm must come to the child.”

··· ✦ ···

The former empress had taken her own life.

More precisely, she had managed to slip past her guards’ vigilant eyes and smash her head against the wall. Once the radiant mistress of the palace and resplendent consort to the emperor, she had vanished behind a curtain of darkness by her own choice and drenched in her own blood.

Compared to the glory and honor she had once possessed, it was a pitiful end. And yet, for a woman who had lost everything, her crown, her power and her name, it might have been the best ending she could have chosen. Perhaps, in her own mind, it was mercy.

After all, what future awaited her? Would she die in disgrace at the hands of her enemies, mocked by the public? Or would she live on, confined to a windowless tower, her life reduced to nothing but breath and shadow?

When her son heard of her death, he collapsed with a sound that seemed to tear through his chest. Between his sobs came choked, broken gasps, and like his mother, he threw himself against the wall. But the guards, now more vigilant than ever, seized him before he could take two steps. The choice granted to the mother had been denied to the son.

“They say he’s stopped eating altogether. However, the physician says there are ways to keep him alive, so…”

As Gerard was such an important prisoner, reports on his condition reached the palace almost daily. Count Heren, who served as both the Emperor’s aide and the Chief Secretary of the court, waited for his turn in the meeting and began reciting the latest update from that morning.

But before he could finish, a solemn voice cut him off.

“Count.”

Heren turned his head at once, and all eyes followed, landing on the man seated at the Emperor’s right hand: the Duke of Colbert. Unmoved by the attention, the duke fixed Heren with a calm yet reprimanding gaze.

“Does His Majesty have the leisure to concern himself with the welfare of a mere traitor?”

“… My apologies. I spoke out of turn.”

Though his bow was slow, Heren’s eyes, lowered beneath his lashes, held a faint chill. As one of Cedric’s closest aides, he and the duke had never seen eye to eye, and their estrangement was no secret.

“No. The Count is right. I should be informed.”

The emperor’s voice cut through the tension.

“After all, he was the late emperor’s son and, in a sense, my own blood.”

At these words, a subtle unease rippled across the table. The crease between the Duke of Colbert’s brows deepened ever so slightly.

“Your Majesty, do you intend to keep the prisoner alive?”

Unlike the others, who flattered him, the Duke kept his expression composed as he addressed Cedric. Although he phrased his question as if he were asking, his intent was clear: he was urging that Gerard be executed.

Some of those not close to the emperor argued that, since the former empress had taken her own life, mercy should be shown to her son. They were less motivated by pity for the illegitimate, fallen prince than by a desire to curb the duke’s growing power. Opposing the duke’s stance was a way to keep him in check.

The duke cast a quick glance around the assembly. Then, facing his silent lord, he spoke with measured courtesy and unyielding firmness.

“Even if others are spared, Gerard, the traitor, should be publicly executed in the square. Was he not the rallying point for those conspirators? Moreover, he carries the late emperor’s blood. If he rebels again in the future, it would be disastrous for Laxion.”

“Do you truly think a mere illegitimate son could lay claim to this throne?”

Cedric interlaced his fingers, his many ostentatious rings catching the light as he reinforced his imperial dignity. The seasoned duke noticed the emperor’s displeasure, but feigned ignorance.

“I speak precisely because this must be prevented. If there is even the slightest breach in your security, Your Majesty, the prisoner — emboldened by the late emperor’s blood — might once again rally reckless men to his side.”

“There will be no such thing, I assure you, Duke.”

“But, Your Majesty, you have yet to name an heir. Should something—”

“Enough!”

Cedric’s eyes narrowed slightly at the mention of his own safety, but it was the word ‘heir’ that made him cut the duke short. His long finger, adorned with a striking ruby ring, tapped lightly against his chin. The movement was languid, yet his presence carried an unmistakable weight.

Feeling that pressure, the duke swallowed his words and stared up at his sovereign.

“I find your words unpleasant. You sound like you expect something to happen to me.”

“Your Majesty!”

It was a dangerous slip. The moment the duke raised his voice, several courtiers gasped and fell silent. The air in the chamber froze.

“That was never my intent! I merely wished to suggest that potential threats should be—”

“Then tell me. Why do I have no heir?”

No heir? The duke’s thoughts immediately turned to the emperor’s unborn child, the one he disapproved of.

“You are not unaware that my wife is carrying the imperial heir?”

The empress in name only, the duke thought, but he held his tongue.

The marriage had been lawful. Whatever one thought of the mother’s status, it could not affect the child’s legitimacy. The only weakness lay in politics, not law, a weakness that might tarnish the heir’s standing, but could never entirely strip it.

How infuriating, the duke thought bitterly.

“Tell me, Duke. Are you so certain my first child will be a daughter? Or is it that…”

“…”

“…you doubt my firstborn will live to be born at all?”