Chapter 12 ….
Zevushia’s eyebrows shot up, as if surprised by the unexpected request.
Since Zevushia rarely showed surprise in the original story, seeing her eyes widen stirred an unusual sense of pride in me.
“You said such a small thing makes you happy, and now something as trivial makes you upset?”
“But—”
“You really are troublesome.”
Even as she uttered the word “troublesome,” Zevushia’s expression showed no annoyance at all.
Looking at the faint smile on her lips, I clicked my tongue inwardly.
‘How twisted must your mind be? I can’t figure out what you’re thinking at all.’
Determined to push a little further, I leaned closer, raising my upper body toward her and continued.
“I’ve heard that other children receive beautiful names from their parents. I want a name that Your Majesty gives me too.”
Whether I liked it or not, I would have to live in the royal palace for a few years, so a name personally given by her was essential.
Not receiving a name from the emperor meant a lack of affection toward me, and not gaining affection implied weakness.
This could be inferred from the budget allotted to us while staying at Parnaso Castle.
‘Someone must be pocketing it on the side. There’s no way it would be that meager otherwise.’
Since I had already come to the palace, I could deal with those scoundrels later.
It was my fault for being so easygoing that someone even dared to embezzle the princess’s budget unofficially.
A tragic princess hidden away in a separate building without ever being held by her mother.
If it weren’t for Klein and Senya, I might have suffered abuse like the other young heroines in romance novels.
Anyway, I believed Zevushia also bore some responsibility for my extremely low standing in the palace, so today, I resolved to get a name from her no matter what.
I liked the name “Lira” that my father had given me, but… unless someone actually called me that, it was just a “dead name.”
Clutching that thought, I pressed Zevushia once again.
“Please give me a name as a gift for my sixth birthday, Your Majesty.”
Her face frowned slightly at my cute request.
But I didn’t back down as I might have before.
The more her brows furrowed, the more I made my eyes sparkle in response.
“Ye-yes?”
Zevushia finally spoke after staring at me, who was boldly whining, with a strange expression.
“Will you accept whatever name I give you without complaint?”
“Yes! Anything Your Majesty gives me is fine.”
The moment I met her eyes and saw her sly smile, I had a bad feeling—and sure enough.
“Then, Troll.”
“…Excuse me?”
My only daughter’s name… “Troll”? Not an elf, a troll?
With so many beautiful names in the world, why that one…?
“Why, it suits your small, petite self perfectly.”
Unbelievable. The reason was even more absurd.
‘I won’t be this size for a thousand years!’
I was speechless at such otherworldly naming sense.
“Why the face? You don’t like the name I personally gave you?”
“N-no, it’s not that, but I’m bad at pronouncing ‘T’ sounds. Since Your Majesty went to the trouble of naming me, I’d feel so guilty if I mispronounced it.”
A good excuse.
I made a face that expressed regret, opposite of my inner thought, “Absolutely never retract it.”
Just as I felt Zevushia’s smile grow a little deeper, the second option was revealed.
“Alright, how about Cerberus?”
“…It sounds s-strong. But it’s too long for me to memorize.”
“Then Hydra?”
She must be joking.
After that, more ridiculous names followed—names so absurd I couldn’t even speak them aloud.
The more I sulked, the more Zevushia’s face glowed with mischievous delight.
I wanted to obediently follow the crazy emperor’s words for the sake of a good mother-daughter relationship, but the moment she suggested I be called “Lady Hydra,” I felt my will to live drain away.
‘Should I just ask to be called Lira?’
If I left out the part that my father gave me the name, it wouldn’t upset her.
Clenching my hands tightly, I was about to ask, “What about Lira?”
“Your expression is priceless. Then I’ll tell you the final option.”
“I-I absolutely don’t dislike the name Your Majesty gave me, but I read a name in a book before, and could you call me that…?”
“Lira.”
“Ye-yes?”
How did Zevushia…?
“Orphelira Norn la Kishutvan. That will be your name.”
The emperor, as if intrigued, scrutinized my stunned, wide-eyed expression, then pinched my cheek again.
“I want to tease you more because your face keeps changing, but if I push too far, you might attack me like last time.”
“….”
“You’ll cry and faint all over again, won’t you?”
“T-that time!”
“This is the first and last time I extend my kindness. Take care of yourself. There will be no next time.”
It was essentially a warning that if my life became endangered again, he would just leave me be.
Breaking the silence with a calm voice, Zevushia spoke, her fingers brushing my neck.
“Do you remember your promise not to cry in front of me?”
“I-I remember.”
“Whatever happens, it’s best to keep it if you want to live with me as you wish. I dislike sniveling. And a child crying, even more so.”
I didn’t particularly want to live with her, but under her overwhelming presence, I didn’t dare argue.
“I will. I absolutely, absolutely won’t cry, Your Majesty.”
Her expression was peculiar when she heard my vow.
I think there was a second promise after that, but honestly, I don’t remember it at all.
‘If she finds out I don’t remember, she might kill me. Act like you know nothing!’
Fortunately, Zevushia didn’t press the matter, and I quietly looked up at her, deciding not to stir trouble.
“You dared say you’d protect me?”
Her cool fingertips touched my neck.
I shivered reflexively, but instead of tightening her grip, she brushed my tangled hair back.
“Good. Now do your best.”
Lira.
“Beloved Lira.”
Over the pronunciation of my name in her voice, the voice of Calliope Diloheim overlapped.
Zevushia and Calliope—two people who looked and acted nothing alike—were Orphelira’s parents.
For the first time, that obvious truth hit me clearly.
At the same time, at the entrance of the imperial palace, where a solemn atmosphere prevailed, an incongruously cheerful voice rang out.
“Father, hurry! Come quickly!”
A boy with light honey-blonde hair jumped from a luxurious carriage adorned with golden lions.
Ignoring the cold wind, he ran ahead with movements as lively as his voice.
A man with the same hair color followed him.
“Saffy, slow down! I’ve told you many times not to run in the palace!”
“I’m not running, I’m walking fast!”
“If the Duke of Cheste sees you running like that…!”
“Hehe, the Duke of Cheste is at the border! No one else can scold me, so it’s fine!”
…Who did our son get that quick tongue from?
Not realizing it was himself, Duke Lipchik, Vanilla, sighed deeply while watching his son disappear into the distance.
No parent can win against their child, and after much coaxing, Saffran had finally followed into the palace.
“Whatever happens, make sure Saffy never talks to that illegitimate child, understood?”
Vanilla’s sigh deepened as he pondered his wife’s words, repeated one last time.
‘He’s still just a child, yet she’s so wary. She’s too meticulous.’
Naturally, he didn’t realize that it wasn’t his wife who was meticulous—it was him who was too carefree.
Since his wife gave birth to Saffran three years before Zevushia, the unnamed young royal must now be six years old.
Already six.
That meant it had been over six years since Calliope had last seen him.
‘We promised to be good husband and father, yet here we are…’
