Chapter 4. Contact
“I can’t believe this…”
Lacilia couldn’t take her eyes off the mirror. It had already been thirty minutes.
The woman in the mirror, Empress Cartagena, was beautiful. As if someone had gathered all the beauty in the world and sculpted her with utmost devotion.
Her voluminous, sleek black hair, marble-like skin, and vivid violet eyes—like iolite gemstones—came together to form an unreal beauty. Even her earlobes and fingernails were lovely.
But that wasn’t all.
She was the woman from the dream. That woman was the Empress of the Empire.
The woman dying with blood pouring from her chest in the dream was the very one in the mirror. Now, that face was said to be hers.
Only after taking several deep breaths could Lacilia begin to accept this absurd reality.
She had become the Empress.
“Then that dream… maybe it was a prophecy.”
There was no mention that the real Empress had died. That meant her death hadn’t happened yet—it was something that would happen in the future.
The Empress had died before the Emperor who didn’t love her.
The Emperor had watched her die without a trace of emotion. The Empress had cried out her love desperately, but the Emperor was chillingly indifferent.
“Does that mean… I’ll fall in love with the Emperor and die like that?”
Her unstabbed chest felt a terrifying chill.
Lacilia shut her eyes tightly and rubbed her chest.
“No. I can’t die like that.”
Being betrayed and killed by Plota had already been the worst possible death.
Before the betrayal, Plota was the closest person in Lacilia’s world. The one she loved most was the one who killed her.
If she had to meet the same kind of death even after being reborn as someone else, it would be too cruel.
“That’s why I have to escape. No matter what it takes.”
Just because she had come back to life didn’t mean she had become someone else. To herself, she was still a prophet.
A prophet was someone who set right the twisted events of the world on behalf of the gods.
Prince Ricardo’s rebellion was one such thing. Since the gods had shown her his betrayal, it was her duty to stop it.
“I have to return to Dellarta. Time must have passed by now, and Prince Ricardo has probably already started the rebellion. The king might even be dead… But I have the means to reverse the rebellion.”
In Dellarta, where prophets were real, the next king must always appear in the dreams of the prophet.
Even if Ricardo had used rebellion to take the throne, if the gods had acknowledged him, they would have shown Lacilia a vision of him becoming king.
If Lacilia said she had no such dream, Ricardo couldn’t have a coronation.
The problem was how to return to Dellarta.
“It would seem suspicious if the Empress suddenly said she wanted to visit a small, distant kingdom with no diplomatic ties.”
Lacilia closed her eyes and thought for a long time.
“What if I told them I was a prophet…? No, that’s too dangerous. And no one would believe me. Then what…”
Her eyes suddenly lit up.
There was a way. Not to make others believe her, but at least to get her to Dellarta.
“In any case, the Empress has lost her memory.”
So her duty should be to try to regain it.
The temple in Dellarta earned money by performing healing prayers. Few priests actually possessed healing powers, but the prayers did have effect.
“Let’s say I need to receive a healing prayer.”
Conveniently, the Emperor had said he would see her again in the evening.
She had planned to avoid it somehow, but now she had to treat it as an opportunity.
If she claimed that a healing prayer was necessary to regain her memory, the Emperor wouldn’t be able to refuse her request to go to Dellarta.
A faint smile crept across Lacilia’s lips.
She could go back.
* * *
“Sleepy.”
Back in his office, Rescal casually picked up his pen as if nothing had happened—then suddenly muttered.
“Huh?”
“Oh dear.”
Lying on the floor as usual, Liyan, and Serben, who was practicing swordplay beside him, immediately reacted.
When Rescal put down his pen, Serben was already holding up the Emperor’s cloak in preparation.
“Will you go to the bedroom?”
“Mmm, that sounds… no, the sofa is better.”
Rescal walked over to the long couch in his office and lay down on his side.
Seeing this, Liyan tilted his head.
“That’ll be uncomfortable. The sofa is shorter than Your Majesty.”
“It’s better if it’s uncomfortable.”
Rescal murmured with his eyes closed.
“Better if it’s uncomfortable?”
“I’m meeting her tonight. I need to be awake before then.”
“Her… Ah, the Empress.”
“……”
His breathing evened out—it seemed he was already asleep.
Serben muttered, half in disbelief.
“His Majesty is deliberately taking an uncomfortable nap… just to see the Empress again? I can’t believe this.”
Over the past four years, there had been nothing remotely marital about Rescal and Empress Cartagena’s relationship.
Rescal didn’t like the Empress. More precisely, he felt nothing toward her—just as he did toward all people.
Yet it was Rescal who required physical contact. So he had to tolerate the Empress’s manipulative use of it as she stirred up the palace at her whim.
The Empress, on the other hand, desired Rescal. More precisely, she wanted him to recognize her as his fated partner. She didn’t hesitate to stage suicide attempts to gain his attention.
Unfortunately for her, Rescal had no interest in her at all. Even during his most painful Blue Moon episodes, he never tried to force contact with her—he simply said he didn’t feel like it.
So what happened today was shocking.
“You don’t have to believe it. But it happened. And this must be… what do you call it?”
Liyan, now seated near the sleeping Rescal, spoke.
Serben pulled up a chair and placed Rescal’s leg—which hung off the couch—on the armrest.
“What do you mean?”
“The sudden nap. It must be his body trying to recover, right?”
“Seems like it.”
Liyan carefully lifted Rescal’s sleeve.
“Incredible. It’s already gone.”
“What? That fast?”
“Yeah.”
Serben came over to look. No trace of the scales remained.
After every Blue Moon-induced mutation, Rescal would fall into a deathlike sleep.
It was the necessary price for forcing demonic energy to coexist with a human body.
“But it’s never disappeared so quickly and without pain before.”
“True.”
“Then… was I wrong in thinking the Empress was faking it?”
Serben stroked his chin at Liyan’s question.
“Who knows… I have no idea what Her Majesty is thinking. Just that she’s cruel and twisted.”
“No one can understand her anyway… But if she wasn’t faking, that’s even more frustrating. That means she could make contact all this time but just didn’t. Why?”
“Maybe… because it was the only power she had left?”
“Huh? What do you mean?”
Serben furrowed his brow and explained.
“I’m not sure, but the Empress wasn’t like this at the beginning. Remember? Early in the marriage, she kept coming to the imperial palace. But His Majesty showed no interest, so she changed her behavior. If you think about it that way, maybe she withheld contact out of spite. It’s all she had left. If not for that, there’d be no reason for her to exist in the palace.”
“Oh? That actually makes sense. You’re smart today.”
“Thanks.”
“Then maybe the cold, sinister Empress was actually just love-starved? And now she’s changed her mind? But wait…”
Liyan suddenly caught onto something.
“No, she tried to avoid contact again today. His Majesty forcibly stopped her.”
“Oh, right. That’s true.”
“Before today, His Majesty never even tried. He used to avoid even a brush of clothing.”
“Maybe the Empress was genuine all along… and His Majesty is just realizing it now.”
“Hmmm…”
Serben fell into thought.
“Could that be? Fated mates are said to recognize each other at a glance. Could they really have gone four years without knowing? That’s why we thought she was a fraud.”
“Whatever it is, it must be connected to the memory loss.”
Liyan’s eyes sparkled.
“Think about it. She faked all sorts of illnesses during the Blue Moons before—but never amnesia. Why now? Amnesia is too far-fetched to be a lie.”
“I was wondering about that too.”
“Plus, she looked different today. She showed up in a nightgown. Even during her suicide stunts, she was always immaculately dressed. Wasn’t she the kind of person who couldn’t stand revealing anything less than perfection?”
“Totally agree.”
“So the memory loss is the key.”
Serben frowned after a pause.
“But seriously, who suddenly gets amnesia in their sleep?”
“I didn’t say it’s real. I said there must be a reason she’s pretending to have it.”
Liyan grinned and stood up.
“Anyway, I’m going to step out for a bit.”
“What? Where to?”
“To check on Her Majesty. I’m so worried about her memory.”
Serben clicked his tongue.
“Worried, my ass. You just want to snoop.”
“Someone’s already reporting her every move to His Majesty anyway. One more pair of eyes won’t hurt.”
Liyan tapped Serben on the shoulder.
“You want to know too. Just go along with it.”
“…Damn it. Fine. Be careful. Don’t forget, Her Majesty hates your guts. If she catches you, His Majesty will have a headache.”
“If we’re comparing hate, I can’t match her. She can’t catch me anyway.”
Liyan jingled the sword at his waist and left the office.
* * *
Shrrrrr!
Clothes filled the room in endless rows.
Lacilia looked at the mountains of dresses hanging before her with slightly parted lips, appalled.
“All your new dresses are here, Your Majesty. Please choose.”
Everyone in the Empress’s palace knew that the Emperor of Eliazen was not a husband who made kind remarks like “Let’s have dinner tonight.”
The maids had watched for four long years—sometimes with dread—as the Empress raged, wept, resented, and shut herself in during the Blue Moon, when the Emperor actually needed her.
Her desperation was obvious. But the Emperor had never looked at her, not even once.
So with their dinner meeting scheduled tonight, every maid in the Empress’s palace was so tense it hurt to lift their shoulders.
Even a tiny mistake in grooming today would bring down an uncontrollable storm of the Empress’s fury.
“There’s too many. I’d appreciate it if someone just picked one.”
But strangely, the Empress—who should’ve been terrorizing everyone—was calm.
“You want me to choose?”
The chief lady-in-waiting, Marchioness Pashard, asked, her voice slightly faltering.
“I’d like that.”
“B-but… how could I possibly… I couldn’t dare… That would be most inappropriate, Your Majesty.”
The Marchioness quickly backed off.
If tonight’s meeting went badly, the Empress would surely blame the dress. She didn’t want to be responsible.
“So… you don’t want to?”
Lacilia caught the flustered expression.
Whatever the Empress had been like before, Lacilia had no intention of forcing anyone into something they hated.
“Then I’ll wear this one.”
She pointed to a dress.
Honestly, all the Empress’s clothes were so flashy it was hard to choose. Lacilia picked the one that looked the least decorated—one that didn’t suffocate the waist or overemphasize the chest.
“Y-you’re going to wear that?”
The maids turned pale when they saw what she had chosen.
“T-that dress is…”
