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Chapter 10
The enormous doors, inlaid densely with gold ornaments, reached nearly all the way to the ceiling.
It was impossible for a single person to open them. Only when two strong men pushed at once would the heavy structure finally move.
It was a place where not even an ant could enter freely. The only ones allowed passage here were the Crown Princes throughout history.
His father, and his father’s father. For twenty-six generations, his seat carried a meaning beyond simply being an heir of the imperial bloodline.
“Your Majesty—”
“His Majesty awaits you inside, Your Highness.”
The attendants who answered him had bloodshot eyes.
That was the result of serving under the Emperor for long periods. The Emperor loathed with a near-pathological hatred the idea of words leaking out.
So he often hypnotized his attendants. When the hypnosis lasted too long, the blood vessels in their eyes would rupture.
Passing those hollow, unfocused people, he went inside to find a long corridor. At the end of it stood a door with no guards.
There was no need. Only he and the Emperor himself could open it. It was a door that only the Emperor’s bloodline could pass through.
The closer he walked toward the door, the more it felt as though something was pressing heavily against his shoulders. Pavel tilted his head from side to side, trying to shake off that pressure, but it was impossible.
The moment he set foot there, he too was nothing more than one of the Emperor’s chess pieces.
“Your Majesty.”
At his sigh-like voice, the door opened. Pavel stepped inside.
The room was filled with white smoke. The Emperor was a relentless smoker. Without someone to air the room, it was always clouded with haze.
As soon as Pavel entered, he reached toward the nearest window to open it.
[Cease.]
Pavel’s body froze in midair against his will.
No matter how many times he experienced it, the sensation never became familiar. The feeling of his own body moving apart from his own will was always unpleasant.
The Emperor’s word-command was absolute. Pavel had tried resisting it before, but nothing had ever succeeded.
“I only meant to ventilate the room, Your Majesty.”
“Does it smell that bad to you?”
“Why not take in some fresh air as well? You’ll feel much better.”
At that, the Emperor fell silent. It meant he would release the word-command.
Pavel’s hand finally opened the window. As time passed, the hazy view in the room grew clearer.
The Emperor lay half-reclined on a one-person couch in the center of the room. His long hair hung over the backrest.
“I’m so very tired.”
“That’s inevitable, when you never leave this room.”
The Emperor laughed, as if amused by Pavel’s words. With the laugh, his greying hair shook faintly.
“There’s a lot of talk about Erdonas lately. About the fake one.”
By “fake,” she meant only one person: Saya Erdona.
“…Yes.”
Though the Emperor acted as though she was confined in the room, she knew nearly everything happening within the Empire.
Even Pavel had no idea where her sources of information came from.
“That old fox, Norman Erdona, has been playing some amusing games. That fake is worth watching, too.”
“I’ll keep a close eye on her.”
For Pavel—the Crown Prince—there was a duty passed down for half a millennium: to discern who the true one was.
The Emperor was searching for the reincarnation of the mage who had once granted her immortal life.
Norman Erdona, as prophet, was obliged to find out who that mage was for the Emperor. But when it came to that matter, his prophecies were always vague.
Now that Norman Erdona lay in a coma, all they had left were the prophecies he left behind.
“Greedy prophet, tch.”
The Emperor clicked her tongue. Looking out the window, she could see the sun dimly through the clouds. It must have just passed noon.
“What was the name again?”
“Saya Erdona.”
“Yes, Saya. She needs to be watched more closely.”
“I will do so.”
The firmness in his voice made the Emperor smile with satisfaction. The pressure that had eased now crept back over Pavel’s skin.
The Emperor turned around. A long diagonal scar stretched from her forehead across her face. Without that scar, she would look as young as her late twenties.
The wound never healed, always remaining the same—not bleeding, but painful enough to remind her constantly.
[You may leave now.]
Whenever enough time passed for him to forget, she would seize Pavel’s will again. A reminder never to forget. It was a kind of relentless brainwashing.
* * *
“Young Lady, an imperial carriage is approaching the estate.”
“His Highness Pavel? There was no notice of his coming?”
“No, my lady. Shall I prepare tea?”
“Do so.”
It wasn’t unusual for him to come without warning, but today it was unexpected.
Outwardly, he seemed to grant Giselle more of his presence than others, but even then his boundaries were clear.
The incident at the party a few days ago had been Giselle’s mistake. No one knew how Redic Vangager had managed to break through Erdona’s guards, but it should have been foreseen.
In the end, it was Pavel who resolved the matter. Strange. That kind of action was not like someone so indifferent to others.
“I should go down before he arrives.”
Giselle always took care never to overstep his lines. Though he seemed interested in her, she never felt that it carried true emotion.
Perhaps she had only barely managed to catch his attention.
The carriage slowed and stopped at the front of the mansion. Giselle, her hair tied low and a light shawl draped over her shoulders, went to greet him.
Pavel stepped out of the carriage with a smiling face and approached her at once.
“Your Highness, I came out so hastily I didn’t even know you were coming.”
“Giselle, forgive me for leaving early the other day.”
“Please don’t say that. Thanks to you, we avoided an unfortunate incident.”
“I appreciate you saying so.”
There was an unusual gentleness about him, but it wasn’t unpleasant. Giselle placed her hand on his arm and entered with him.
“Gotman, where is the tea prepared?”
“In the rear garden, my lady.”
Just as they were about to walk there together, Pavel stopped abruptly.
“No. I came for something else today.”
“…Pardon?”
Giselle, caught off guard, foolishly repeated herself—a rare slip for her. Pavel’s lips curved faintly.
“How unusual for you not to know. Did you hear nothing from your sister?”
“…My sister?”
Giselle tried not to let even the faintest trace of offense show. With a forced smile and calm tone, she asked:
“You came to speak with her?”
“Yes. I’d like you to yield this time.”
His kindness always had limits—it was only as long as she complied. Giselle nodded before he could grow displeased.
“Of course, Your Highness. Please wait, I’ll bring Saya.”
“Thank you.”
As he headed to the rear garden, Giselle paused, her brows furrowing.
“You’re really lucky.”
It was what Giselle always told Saya. But never had she meant it more than now. No one knew how much she had worked to gain even a shred of Pavel’s attention.
She hated looking like she tried. She wanted to seem natural, for the public to believe it. That was the only thing that mattered.
But that wretched Saya gained his attention without effort, even while tarnishing Erdona’s name. If that wasn’t luck, what was it?
Clicking her tongue, she ascended the stairs.
* * *
“His Highness is here. Get ready.”
Giselle’s voice was calm, as if Pavel’s visit had been her doing. But inside, she must have been burning.
Kyril hadn’t asked for it, but Pavel—her male lead—had fallen into her hands, and Giselle had to fight for it.
People thought Giselle had easily won his favor, but that wasn’t true.
Even in the book, Pavel had first treated Giselle formally. It was Giselle who pined after him, until she was hurt and stopped giving him attention—then their roles reversed. But that was still in the future. Her efforts had yet to bear fruit.
I calmly checked my clothes.
“What are you doing?”
“What do you mean? His Highness is waiting. Hurry.”
When I turned, Giselle was still there waiting for me. She seemed to have been lingering near the desk earlier… but the desk was bare.
I set aside my uneasy feeling and followed her.
As we reached the rear garden, Pavel was waiting, drinking tea with the utmost ease, as if he were in his own home.
“At last, you’ve come.”
“My apologies for the delay, Your Highness.”
“It’s I who was late, so no need to apologize.”
He gestured to the chair across from him. Three seats were prepared. If Giselle stayed, at least I wouldn’t have to carry the conversation alone.
“Ah, today I wish to speak with the Red Erdona lady alone.”
At his words, Giselle’s face stiffened visibly—though only for an instant.
“Then I wish you a pleasant conversation.”
“Thank you.”
With the utmost grace, Giselle kissed Pavel’s cheek before retreating.
