Chapter 96
The room was pitifully shabby.
For Cleo—who hadn’t lived frugally a single day since entering the imperial palace, and who had only known the luxury of the Marquis of Rand’s estate—this chamber looked no better than a beggar’s den.
No, even the tiny servant’s quarters she’d used while waiting on her elder sister at the Rand estate had been better than this. Back then, the Marquis had merely wanted to humiliate her by forcing a noble-born lady to serve her own sister, not physically torment her. And serving a highborn lady meant at least decent clothing and basic grooming were guaranteed.
But this place—
Cleo’s brows furrowed instinctively.
A damp, musty odor filled the air—thick with dust, mold, and the faint sting of medicine. Anyone with a weak stomach would have gagged.
And amid that stench, Empress Elaine sat motionless on her bed, her eyelids fluttering faintly. Her green eyes looked like withering leaves, ready to fall.
‘…I thought I’d find her looking half-dead by now.’
Cleo bit her lip in frustration.
The woman hadn’t stepped outside the Lycoris Palace in years, sickly and frail. Her eyes were sunken, her collarbones protruded sharply, and her wrists were thin as twigs. She looked like a sugar doll that would shatter if touched.
And yet—she was beautiful.
No, it was almost unnatural how captivating she looked. Like a dried flower perfectly preserved, or a porcelain doll unearthed from ancient ruins—fragile, but mesmerizing. A child would have mistaken her for an angel, or a snow fairy.
“What brings Your Majesty the Empress to summon me?”
“May I call you my sister?”
Elaine didn’t answer—just looked at Cleo.
Cleo wrinkled her nose at the sight of the worn furnishings, then pulled up a rickety chair to sit beside the bed. Had it been any other day, she would have mocked Elaine for such pitiful hospitality. But today, she hadn’t come to sneer.
“Look at yourself.”
With a sigh that almost sounded sympathetic, Cleo reached out and took Elaine’s hand from atop the blanket. It was icy cold—so cold that for an instant Cleo thought she was touching a corpse. She suppressed a shiver and forced herself to speak.
“The second empress of the empire, mother to a princess, living like this? His Majesty has treated you shamefully.”
“…His Majesty has done me no wrong.”
The voice was soft, fragile—like a dying flame. And for that very reason, Cleo doubted her words.
Empress Elaine had nothing left to live for.
Her family, the Count’s house, despised her. Her daughter, Princess Titania, had turned colder than any stranger. And the Emperor? The man was born a ruler; he had no heart to spare. He would never look twice at a woman who had rejected him—no matter how beautiful she was.
Still, at imperial banquets, he always left one seat open—her seat. A sign, perhaps, that she still haunted his thoughts.
But everyone in the palace was a creature of desire. No one truly lacked it—they just learned to hide it.
If she wanted to, Elaine could paint her face, smile sweetly, and win back the Emperor’s favor. He would rejoice as though gifted a diamond mine. But she’d cast all that away and chosen a living death instead.
“So then, who wronged you?” Cleo asked softly.
Elaine gave no reply.
“Was it Titania? The daughter who nearly killed you in childbirth, the one who chained you forever to this palace?”
“…”
Elaine’s silence was answer enough.
“Well, I suppose I can understand,” Cleo murmured smoothly. “After I gave birth to Brian, I was in poor health myself. But you—why, you almost died. No wonder you can’t stand the sight of the child.”
Titania would no longer be Cleo’s pawn.
That poor, love-starved girl had finally realized the “affection” Cleo showed her had always been an illusion.
But once—
‘Mother… is it because I’m a bad girl? Is that why you hate me?’
Cleo’s lips twisted.
Before she turned ten, Titania had been sickly. Every rare visit from Cleo would make her eyes sparkle with hope. Comforting a crying, feverish child had been the easiest manipulation in the world.
‘Oh my, Titi. Why would you say something like that?’
‘Because… because it’s my fault you got sick after I was born…’
Children sense things—animal instinct. Titania had long realized Cleo disliked her seeking her real mother’s affection. But even so, Cleo was the only one who ever answered her cries.
‘So if I’m… good, if I become a good girl… will Mother love me?’
Cleo had Brian.
Titania had no one.
The imbalance was absolute. The child longed for someone—anyone—who would always be on her side.
And Cleo, smiling sweetly, let that longing fester.
If Elaine were foolish enough to react… well, that would be her chance to strike.
But Elaine hadn’t reacted. Not even when her little daughter lay dying. She hadn’t come. Hadn’t opened the door, even when Titania cried herself hoarse outside Lycoris Palace.
Cleo remembered holding the child, limp with dehydration, thinking how convenient it all was.
No effort needed. The child was hers to mold.
Titania would’ve died for her if asked.
And now that same child had changed—come back from the edge of death a new person. Cleo’s jaw tightened as she forced a gentle tone.
“I heard the story of your childbirth. That beautiful little girl who looked just like you—His Majesty was overjoyed. But the moment he decided to send her to House Castrine, you fainted dead away. Well, people did say your health was fragile to begin with…”
When Titania was born, the Emperor hadn’t yet discarded Elaine completely.
He was a man who loved women, and Elaine had been the empire’s greatest beauty. It made no sense for him to lose interest so easily.
But after giving birth, Elaine had seemed to abandon life itself. Both mother and child were weak, hovering near death several times. Even the Emperor could not drag a bedridden invalid into court life by force.
“You hate the child, don’t you?”
Cleo was certain now.
Not every parent loves their child.
Not every mother loves her daughter.
That so-called “bond of blood”? Worthless.
People said even unwanted children eventually earned love just by being born. Lies.
The world was full of parents who sold their children for a handful of coins.
“If no one had been watching, you might’ve smothered the girl yourself. But too bad—she was destined from birth to bind the Castrine family to the crown. You couldn’t touch her.”
“…What exactly are you implying?”
There.
Cleo almost laughed. Even now, with words that all but screamed You wanted to kill her, Elaine didn’t flinch or deny it.
That blank composure—proof enough.
Titania, poor fool.
You used to beg for this woman’s love.
‘Oh, you’re going to kill Her Majesty, the Empress? Then I’ll truly become the Empress’s child, won’t I? The Duchess of Castrine will be my mother.’
Yes.
That foolish girl might suspect Cleo’s involvement, but she’d never believe Cleo would actually enlist her real mother.
“Let me be direct,” Cleo said finally, eyes gleaming. “If you cooperate with me, I’ll see to it that you leave the palace.”
Elaine blinked rapidly. It was the first real reaction Cleo had gotten from her.
Women the Emperor kept for a night or two were free to leave once he lost interest. Childless consorts were often forced out when power shifted.
But an empress—or a consort who had borne the Emperor’s child—was trapped here forever.
That was why Elaine had given up on life. She wanted nothing but freedom—and it was the one thing she could never have.
“…And how, exactly, do you propose to do that?”
Her voice trembled faintly, colored with something new: desperation.
Cleo smiled.
“His Majesty already has two healthy sons and a strong, capable empress. He needs no more wives. The princess was meant for a political marriage, yes—but your health won’t allow more children, and you’ve long since given up raising the one you have.”
“You think I don’t know that?”
Her tone was sharper than expected.
Good. Cleo quietly adjusted her mental assessment.
“I intend to help you escape.”
“…”
Elaine’s pupils quivered faintly.
