Chapter 111
“…I heard that Her Highness Consort Elaine’s health is very, very poor. The sacred dish I presented to His Majesty — even a man as strong and dignified as His Majesty must take it in moderation. I was told it could be burdensome to those whose vitality has waned…”
“There’s been quite a lot happening in the palace lately, hasn’t there?”
Consort Cleo interrupted me with a smile as serene as ever.
“It’s all because of my shortcomings. I’ve made His Majesty worry… yes, I’ve reflected deeply. No matter how much I tried to care for you, I still have Brian. In the end, you must have been so lonely, Tithania.”
“……”
What in the world is she talking about?
“So, Your Majesty,” Cleo continued, her voice syrupy and soft, “I’ve gone to the Licorice Palace so many times, pleading in tears. I told them I could no longer manage the duties of an imperial consort alone in this vast palace.”
In the imperial palace, where even having a second consort was already absurd, she said this as though it were a simple confession of duty. But—Licorice Palace?
“By the blessing of the gods… Lady Elaine’s health has improved to the point she can leave the Licorice Palace.”
My face froze.
The Emperor’s face, in contrast, was one of astonishment — genuine, unguarded surprise. Even the Empress stiffened at the words.
“W–What is this, Consort Cleo? What are you saying?!”
Cleo blinked slowly, her lips curling into a placid smile.
“Why, it’s just that…”
She lifted her silver spoon and gently tapped her glass.
Ching, ching—
The clear, ringing sound echoed through the dining hall. The doors opened. All eyes turned toward them. And in that moment, I realized something dreadful — Consort Cleo was frighteningly efficient.
A woman entered slowly. A maid, visibly uneasy, supported her by the arm.
Her body was completely covered — an opaque white veil draped from her head to her collarbone. She was wrapped in white from neck to wrist to ankle, leaving not a single patch of skin visible. Long gloves, trailing sleeves, a high-necked dress, the heavy veil… Perhaps it was all to hide how emaciated she had become.
Yet no amount of fabric could conceal the pale platinum hair and faded green eyes that mirrored my own.
“Oh… oh, Elaine, this—how long has it been?!”
The Emperor literally leapt from his seat. His face flushed crimson, his chin trembling with excitement, and his voice cracked like a young boy’s. The woman approached the empty seat — the one the Emperor had insisted remain open at every dinner. Then, she sank slowly to her knees.
“…Your Majesty… sinner Elaine offers her greetings.”
The voice was so thin, so frail, it was almost inaudible.
But the Emperor was overwhelmed.
“O–Oh, sinner? What nonsense! You’re ill, you shouldn’t be kneeling on cold marble! Come now, rise, rise!”
He rushed forward, grasping her hand — her narrow, fragile hand vanishing in his large one like a twig clutched by a bear. The image was almost grotesque. The Emperor’s face glowed as though he were beholding his first love returned from the dead.
He guided Elaine to her seat himself, beaming. Across the table, the Empress and Prince Adrian sat rigid, their faces pale. Prince Brian looked indifferent, even bored.
And the empty seat — “Consort Elaine’s seat” — was beside me.
As I sat frozen, a soft voice reached my ears.
“Tithania.”
Through the milky veil, dull green eyes met mine. And in that instant, I understood.
“How have you been?”
At one time—
There was once a part of me that had prayed for this moment more than anything in the world.
Would she come to my funeral if I died?
Would she mourn me?
Would she… remember me at all?
It’s because she was sick, I told myself.
Because she was too weak, too tired to care.
I was sick too. I understood.
So I told myself—when she gets better, she’ll come to see me.
Then maybe… maybe I’ll finally be able to call her “Mother.”
The ghost of a dead child whispered in my ear.
In the original story, Consort Elaine had slowly poisoned herself—measured doses over years, crafting her own death with chilling patience.
She could not love her daughter. She despised the palace. Yet she lived, barely, so that Cleo’s faction wouldn’t claim total victory. And when “Princess Tithania” finally came of age, she died.
That woman?
This woman?
Those lifeless eyes—
Yes.
The Elaine of that tale had taken her poison when her daughter was still a naïve, helpless fool, dancing on Cleo’s strings.
But what if things changed?
What if her engagement to that wretched man somehow improved?
What if she escaped Cleo’s puppetry?
What if she became unpredictable—a woman wielding a sword that disrupted everything?
“Why so silent, Tithania?” the Emperor laughed. “Ah, I see—you’re too happy to speak! Just look at her, the very image of you! Your mother, Tithania!”
The Emperor laughed heartily. My lips trembled but would not part, as though glued together. My chest felt heavy, like stones pressed into my lungs.
The words I could not speak turned to lead inside me.
“…Your Highness, Consort Elaine.”
I know.
“I cannot tell you how overjoyed I am to see you looking so well.”
Even if no one else does, I know.
“How I prayed for your recovery, My Lady.”
Her gaze, fixed upon me, was cold. There was no warmth in it. No flicker of recognition. Only polite detachment — the kind one reserves for strangers.
“Is that so?”
Her voice was soft. Too soft — fragile, like paper about to tear.
She was beautiful. Terribly so. And I realized then: I bore no trace of the Emperor. I was entirely her reflection — her smaller, paler copy. The kind of woman men worship from afar. The kind who never clings, who never begs, and whose silence drives them mad.
Even the Emperor, who had once exiled her for years out of spite, was now grinning like a fool just because she’d appeared before him.
“My health has not fully recovered,” she said quietly.
A child’s love can be absolute.
When the world is small and cold, the child clings to any light it can find.
Even if that light burns.
The young Tithania had longed to be loved.
But I know now—it will never happen.
“Then you must still be careful, Your Highness!”
I smiled. Brightly. Radiantly.
“Your Majesty! It must be my birthday today — so many blessings at once!”
Like a child bursting with joy at the return of her mother.
“The Rose Palace is overflowing with blooms, and now Consort Elaine is well enough to leave the Licorice Palace! It’s all thanks to you, Your Majesty!”
“Ha-ha! What nonsense! I’ve done nothing! Consort Cleo, this is your doing!”
“Consort Elaine only lacked the courage to face Your Majesty,” Cleo said sweetly. “She felt unworthy of your grace. I merely persuaded her to come.”
The Emperor’s eyes gleamed with delight.
“Yes! You’ve done splendidly, Cleo. What good is an Empress who never bothers to check on her own household? You, at least, know what truly matters.”
His eyes flicked toward the Empress with disdain, then back to Cleo with affection.
“Whatever you desire, you shall have it. And see to it that Consort Elaine is well cared for.”
“Of course, Your Majesty. And I shall see that Princess Tithania is cared for as well.”
I smiled. My lips trembled from the strain.
“I did it for you, you know.”
Consort Cleo’s eyes glittered with mockery as she gazed at me.
The Emperor had personally escorted the swaying, pale Elaine back to the Licorice Palace. The Empress and Prince Adrian had left soon after, their faces ashen.
Now, with no one else around, Cleo could speak freely.
“I don’t know what meaning you tried to wrap into those little gifts of yours, but bringing Elaine here today clearly earned me His Majesty’s favor. Whatever schemes you have, they’ll amount to nothing.”
She smiled, cold and triumphant.
“My ‘care’ may have been lacking, and you must have suffered much because of it. Wouldn’t it be far better for you to receive the help of your real mother?”
“Your care, Your Highness? Everyone in this palace lives under the care of the Empress, as we all know.”
Her face stiffened. That sharp tongue of mine—
The girl she thought a meek, foolish child was no longer backing down.
Through clenched teeth, Cleo glared at me.
