Chapter 11
‘The Emperor, huh.’
It suits him disgustingly well.
Almost at the same time that thought surfaced, an unpleasant memory rose sharply, like the cold edge of a honed blade.
“So you say you understand why I dislike you, Beatrice Ricardt?”
The memory begins with a young, dazzling face—bright golden hair unique to the imperial family, still bearing traces of boyish youth.
Even thinking back on it now, he was truly extraordinary. It wasn’t just the face that drew attention wherever he went. His most distinctive trait was that he had inherited the dragonkin blood mixed into the imperial line more strongly than anyone else.
Most dragonkin vanished from the earth with the end of the Golden Age, but one survived—the First Emperor. Not only did he live, he left behind a bloodline that continued to this day.
In the early days of the Empire, dragonkin were occasionally born into the imperial family. But over time, their appearances became rarer, until—three hundred years ago—they disappeared entirely.
The beautiful boy before me, who looked no older than six or seven—Rakiel Roengrantz—had actually been born the same year as I was, even ten months earlier.
The first dragonkin born into the imperial family in three centuries.
People often called him, with reverence, “The Pure Gold Crown Prince,” as if he were the reincarnation of the First Emperor himself.
“How utterly arrogant.”
At those completely unexpected words, I lifted my head without realizing it. His radiant smile and sparkling eyes seized my vision in an instant. I stood frozen, as though bound by invisible chains, unable to move while the boy approached me with movements so graceful and agile that no ordinary person could hope to imitate them.
When he came close, he grabbed me by the collar. His golden lashes framed eyes that filled my vision like sharpened spears of light.
“Do you think I need your understanding in order to dislike you?”
“Your Highness, I—”
“You might say the disability you were born with isn’t your fault. And deceiving the measuring device—well, you were only a hundred-day-old infant. It would be unreasonable to call that intentional. It was simply bad luck… for both of us.”
He always spoke like that—coolly, objectively.
For someone like me, battered and torn by countless accusations, even that much felt like sweet rain in a drought.
I was happy.
Looking back, that was the worst part. Even as I denied it, I allowed a foolish little hope to take root in a corner of my heart.
A completely empty… hopeless expectation.
“But that’s as far as it goes.”
This was where the real point began.
“You’re the one who made it known to the entire world, who let it grow large enough to be mocked to the ends of the earth, and who dragged dishonor upon yourself.”
“Your Highness—that—”
“Because of you, I became a laughingstock. I am one. And I will continue to be.”
As he let out a light, cutting laugh and stepped back, I stood there stunned—wounded and exposed before the one person I had secretly admired more than anyone in my miserable life. The brightest, most brilliant presence I had ever known.
“And yet you dare to say you ‘understand’ me?”
He laughed sharply, as if the whole thing were absurd.
That laugh shattered my heart. The ground had turned into cliffs beneath my feet. I had wished desperately that some demon would open its jaws and swallow me whole instead.
Remembering that moment now—
“So annoying.”
…I suddenly felt a surge of anger.
I hadn’t realized it back then, but thinking about it now—
“The way he talked was honestly just insane.”
Unbelievable. Who was calling who irredeemable? The truly irredeemable thing was his twisted personality and the way he spoke!
…I wanted to say that. But the chance had long since passed.
Back then, as Beatrice, I hadn’t just failed to respond—I had burst into tears the moment he finished speaking, earning even more ridicule.
I carried that pain in my chest until the day I died. And afraid of causing him even more trouble, I reduced my outings—already minimal—until people started calling me the “Shut-In Duchess.”
All for someone who had never once intended to think kindly of me or show even a shred of mercy.
“I must have been crazy.”
I shouldn’t have lived like that. The regret hit me hard.
It was strange. Those words had been a wound that bled until my death, but now, instead of sadness, I just felt—borrowing Mom’s words—“so furious I could lose my mind.”
And at the same time, I understood why.
‘Because I’m Asha now.’
Three years might be short compared to the twenty I lived before, but that time had turned me into Asha instead of Beatrice.
Raised by a mother who was rough with her words and actions, who tossed me around playfully enough to make even knights panic, I had grown up a little too free-spirited for a princess—and entirely confident from being loved constantly.
From Asha’s perspective, the old me was…
‘A sucker. A once-in-history, heaven-sent, legendary sucker. The giving tree of all giving trees.’
There was no other evaluation possible.
‘There has never been a sucker like that before. There never will be again. A monumental sucker. No matter how you look at it, a catastrophic-level sucker!’
The most infuriating part was that the legendary sucker in question had been me.
“Grrr…!”
Unable to contain my anger, I grabbed Momo and kneaded him roughly, imagining that if Rakiel were in front of me, I’d yank out every strand of that golden hair and make him bald.
‘I was way too nice back then.’
I shouldn’t have just cried like that.
‘“Pure Gold Crown Prince”? I should’ve turned him into the Shining Bald Crown Prince!’
My teeth ground together, tears threatening to fall for entirely different reasons—but regret, no matter how swift, always comes too late.
Finally unable to contain myself, I flopped backward onto the bed and started kicking the air wildly.
“So annoyingggg!”
“Princess! You’ll fall!”
The nanny hurried over in alarm and gently restrained me. I stopped kicking, but my breathing remained rough with lingering anger.
‘What a complete mess of a life I lived.’
Every memory from that time was awful. I tried to think of something good, but the only thing I could salvage was my first birthday party.
A sunny day. A beautiful garden. My family gathered together, no one in a bad mood. The first and last memory of such harmony.
But then I remembered—it was before I had been declared “irredeemable.” A fleeting dream from when everything was still good.
The memory faded instantly, like something trampled into the mud.
‘Ugh. It just ruins my appetite.’
Remembering how good it once was only made what followed feel more miserable.
…I quickly shook my head, driving away the memories trying to drag me into darkness. Then I thought rationally.
‘Come to think of it, Ricardt is disgusting—but having to go to the Imperial Palace and see that man’s face again would be just as unbearable.’
