RALMH 77

Chapter 77

If someone finds this, it must mean that I’m already dead. I swear, I never wanted to harm Her Majesty the Empress. To commit such a sin against the person who treated me better than anyone else in this world…

The hurriedly scribbled lines stopped abruptly. It seemed the note had been written in great haste, then hastily buried in the ground.

Rustle.
Flipping through the pages quickly, it became clear that this was a diary.

If her guess was correct, this belonged to the maid who had failed to poison the Empress and then taken her own life.

“Where did you find this? You haven’t told anyone else, have you?”

“I saw a strange mound of dirt inside the flower bed. I was about to dig it up and tidy the area, but this came out instead. I was on my way to bring it to one of the maids when I happened to run into you, miss. I haven’t told a soul.”

“Then keep it that way. No one—absolutely no one—can know this was found. Tell me exactly where you dug it up.”

At Betty’s stern tone, the elderly gardener wiped the sweat from his brow and nodded hastily in agreement.

A short while later, after telling the old man to take a break—he’d been sweating profusely—Betty stood before the pit where the diary had been unearthed.

She lifted her head. In front of her stood a window belonging to a certain room.

The sunlight reflected off the glass, making it hard to see inside, but she could make out a nearly empty space with only a few pieces of furniture left behind.

A few windows further down was the room Betty currently occupied.
That meant this section was the maids’ quarters.

‘If that’s my room, then this must be…’

It had to be the room of the maid who’d died.
Not untidy—simply barren, as if someone had cleared out all her belongings after her death.

The diary, buried in the corner of the garden visible from that room’s window, practically screamed that its owner and the occupant of that room were one and the same.

Today was my first day entering the Imperial Palace. It’s magnificent. I still can’t believe I’ll be serving Her Majesty the Empress here. I hope she’s a kind person.

I made a big mistake today, but Her Majesty personally smoothed things over and told me to just go. She’s such a good person. I’m so lucky to be serving someone like her.

The early entries were nothing more than brief, everyday notes—simple impressions filled with gratitude and admiration for the Empress.
It was hard to believe this woman would ever attempt to poison her.

Her Majesty must’ve noticed the state of my dress. Without saying a word, she left several dresses in my room. When I asked, she just said they no longer fit her. But they were bought only last year. I have no way to repay this kindness.

Even a poor baron’s daughter should’ve been able to afford a few dresses, yet this woman seemed to be in dire straits.
The reason soon became clear.

My family keeps asking me to send money. I already give them most of what I earn here. What has Father wasted it on this time? We’re in no position to help others, but Mother and Father keep lending and spending money as if we’re rich.

While the diarist lived frugally, her family clearly did not.
Betty could imagine it easily enough.

‘Once their daughter became a maid in the Imperial Palace, they probably grew even more arrogant. Showing off and spending recklessly…’

Even noble families sometimes went bankrupt from poor management. This one must have been the same.

I never should’ve given in to their demands. All because of money… How could I have sold information about Her Majesty’s every move? How could I do such a thing?

The closer the dates drew to the present, the more fragmented the entries became—
and subtle hints began to appear about the true culprits behind the poisoning attempt.

I shouldn’t have gotten involved with them. Please… no more. There are lines that must never be crossed.

As the final entries approached, the maid’s mental state seemed to deteriorate.
Her words lost coherence.

I can’t do this anymore. How could they ask me that? Should I tell someone? But who? I don’t even know who they really are. Who are they? They don’t seem to be from the capital. What have I gotten myself into?

The last page was half-torn, covered with frantic scrawls.

Please forgive me. This was the only way. They were too frightening. But I can’t hurt Her Majesty. I have to bear it all myself. If I do, my parents will be safe too…

And there it ended.
Only the torn scrap of paper that had fallen out at the beginning remained.

Judging from the contents, the maid had been ensnared by some shadowy group for money and had been selling them information.
But when their demands escalated—when they ordered her to poison the Empress—she couldn’t bring herself to obey and chose to end her life instead.

Betty turned the diary over carefully, hoping for a clue to who “they” might have been.

Then she noticed a peculiar scrap of paper pasted inside.

‘Is this… evidence?’

On the paper were strange symbols—almost like a cipher.

They might not even have been letters; the shapes were so unusual that Betty couldn’t guess their meaning.

Judging from the ragged edges, it looked like something secretly torn off or hastily picked up.

The page it had been glued onto was filled with scribbles and question marks, as though the maid herself had tried and failed to decode it.

“…First thing’s first—Lord Ian.”

Snapping the diary shut, Betty came to a single conclusion.

She had to see Ian immediately. This could be a crucial clue—and he was the one person who might decipher it.

She tucked the small diary securely inside her dress and set off quickly.

‘At this hour, his meeting should be over. If I’m careful, I can get there without running into anyone…’

She planned to stop by the Grand Duke’s office and leave right after.

She knew today was a day for the noble council, but it was already late in the afternoon—surely the meeting would be finished by now.

However, the closer she got to the council chambers, the more she realized her mistake.

‘What happened here?’

The area was still in disarray.
There weren’t many people, but small groups stood around talking in hushed, tense voices.

None of them paid her any attention.
Her plain clothing helped; anyone unfamiliar with her face would never guess she was the Empress’s maid.

That was fortunate—considering the sensitive object she carried.

“Even so, isn’t this too extreme?”

“They’re forcing everyone to take sides.”

“We’ll have to tread carefully.”

“That’s what I’m saying. If it goes against House Sharte…”

Betty froze mid-step.

The name of House Sharte—clear as day.

So the matter Vivian had mentioned was indeed raised at today’s meeting.

That explained why things seemed so prolonged; there must have been disputes, testimonies, and evidence thrown back and forth.

‘How did it end?’

From the mood, it was clear that House Sharte had taken a serious blow.

‘His Grace will tell me what happened.’

But that wasn’t the immediate problem. Betty forced herself to refocus, her steps steady once more.

As she entered the building and climbed toward the third floor—just as the Grand Duke had instructed before—

“Hey. Who are you?”

The familiar voice sent a chill down her spine.

The arrogant tone was unmistakable.

She knew exactly who it was, and that was precisely why she didn’t want to turn around.

Betty pretended not to hear. She wasn’t somewhere she wasn’t allowed to be.

“I asked who you are.”

A hand grabbed her shoulder roughly and spun her around. The gesture was as rude as ever—but this time, Betty didn’t hesitate to slap his hand away.

“How impolite. Shouldn’t you introduce yourself first before demanding mine?”

For a brief moment, the blue eyes before her flickered with confusion—then recognition dawned.

“You’re…”

Standing in front of Betty was a blond man—
none other than Felix Sharte.