Chapter 4
“I can’t eat any more.”
Cotton covered her mouth and turned her head away from the approaching fork.
“I’m feeding you myself—why won’t you eat? Are you trying to make everyone worry again?”
“It’s not that… my stomach just feels…”
“You still have to eat. The physician told you to keep up your meals, didn’t he? If you keep this up, it’ll only put me in a difficult position.”
Shaildy pointed at the remaining food as if to scold her. Then she once again lifted a forkful toward Cotton’s mouth. Cotton glanced between her and the fork before reluctantly taking a bite, but after only a few chews, she shook her head.
“Honestly, what a hassle.”
The irritation in her muttered words pierced sharply. Cotton tried to force herself to chew and swallow what was already in her mouth, but her throat felt painfully tight.
The appetizing roast duck, richly coated in sauce, was barely touched as it was moved back onto the tray. After clearing the plate, Shaildy dusted off her hands and looked Cotton up and down.
“Let’s pull your hair up tighter. You should at least look the part.”
At Shaildy’s gesture, the maid arranging her hair tightened it firmly. Cotton’s eyes squeezed shut involuntarily. Her scalp throbbed as if it might be torn out, but if she so much as moved, sighs of annoyance would surely follow from all directions.
While she endured the pain, Shaildy clapped her hands. The maids who had been attending to her scattered at once. Circling around Cotton and inspecting her from every angle, Shaildy finally seemed satisfied and prepared to leave.
“Let’s go.”
As Cotton followed, the vivid purple dress Shaildy had chosen swayed noisily with each step. It was a rare, permitted outing—her first time outside in a long while. Yet Cotton left the palace with a dark expression, as if being dragged against her will. The large jeweled necklace weighed heavily on her, and the thick rings on her fingers kept them from even touching. Everything felt suffocating.
The carriage brought them to the Empress’s Palace—the very place where Cotton was originally meant to reside. When she stepped down, people were already gathered in the garden, chatting warmly.
As Cotton made her way toward the empty seat of honor, the chatter ceased and all eyes turned to her. Forcing an awkward smile under their uncomfortable gazes, she watched as they rose one by one to greet her. Elegantly dressed in fine gowns, these women were influential figures who dominated high society and held considerable sway in politics.
Several sharp gazes swept swiftly from her hair to her toes before settling on her glittering jewelry.
“You are as beautiful as ever. That must be the secret to His Majesty’s favor, isn’t it?”
“Indeed. Those extravagant accessories suit you remarkably well.”
“It seems even if you drape yourself in jewels from head to toe, His Majesty turns a blind eye. How enviable.”
Women who were more sensitive to information than anyone else could hardly be unaware of the rumors circulating the imperial palace. They knew—and chose to mock her anyway.
Aside from her face, what was there to see? How did she ever catch the Emperor’s eye? She doesn’t even receive his affection—what’s with all that lavish adornment? Does the Emperor simply not care what the Empress does?
Shaildy, who had pulled out her chair, let out a stifled giggle. Cotton, newly aware of the effort Shaildy had put into her appearance, quietly took her seat.
“Have you heard? This time, at the Anton household…”
“Oh my, was that true? It just goes to show—you really have to talk to people…”
Like a well-rehearsed routine, the tea party unfolded just like every other. Only after the compliments disguised as insults ended did their interest drift away. As always, conversations continued without including Cotton. She was treated as though she weren’t there—but perhaps that was better. If the topic turned to her…
“Come to think of it, how curious—Lady Alfrt hasn’t attended again this time.”
The attention shifted to Cotton. Under their urging gazes, she felt her breath tighten as she spoke.
“She has urgent matters to attend to. She said she would certainly join the next tea party.”
“Yes, of course she would.”
Soft chuckles slipped from behind fans covering their lips. The faint sound pierced Cotton like shards of glass. She fell silent. There was nothing she could say.
At first, she had tried to take part in their conversations. But these gatherings, though they seemed like casual chatter, were in truth exchanges of information. Confined to her room most of the time and never taught the duties of an Empress, Cotton had no place in discussions that intertwined politics and noble affairs.
Whenever she mustered the courage to speak, the response she received was a cold stare—as if she were no more than a stone on the roadside—and a heavy silence that felt almost violent. Though the tea party was held in the Empress’s Palace and hosted by her, they treated Cotton as someone who should not even be present.
And yet, she continued to host these gatherings and attended every time. She listened carefully, hoping she might catch something useful for Rictun.
But today, she wanted nothing more than to escape.
“Don’t be too hard on her. It must be difficult to watch Her Majesty after she’s lost her memory.”
“We ought to help her, but I wonder if she can even understand us… Her memory must return.”
“All the more reason for her to attend. Once her memory returns, wouldn’t Asven prosper even further? Though of course, His Majesty is managing quite well on his own for now.”
Normally, she would have ignored them as if she hadn’t heard. But today, their condescension disguised as sympathy weighed heavily on her. Her stomach churned as though she were seasick, and her chest felt tight. A surge of emotion washed over her, draining the color from her already pale face until she looked like a lifeless doll.
“Then… wouldn’t it be better if I weren’t here…?”
It was a faint murmur, barely audible even to herself. But at that exact moment, one woman picked up her teacup, another unfolded her fan, and the others adjusted their clothing and hair—leaving a brief silence in the air.
It felt as though waves were crashing inside her stomach. Overcome by a sudden surge of nausea, Cotton shoved her chair back and stood. Leaving the startled noblewomen behind, she hurried toward the palace, ignoring the manicured paths as she pushed through the garden woods.
Before long, she clutched a tree and bent over.
“Ugh…!”
Her mouth opened involuntarily, and watery bile splattered onto the grass. Her stomach heaved as she retched several more times. Among the soaked grass, chunks of undigested meat were visible—the food she had forced down clearly hadn’t sat well.
Even after nothing but yellow fluid came up, she felt no relief. If anything, the nausea worsened. Wiping her mouth, Cotton left the garden. Shaildy remained behind, and seeing that she didn’t follow, Cotton guessed she was likely still chatting with the noblewomen—perhaps even gossiping about her.
Alone, she took a carriage back to the main palace and returned to her bedroom. Struggling, she removed her dress and lay down on the bed. She had done nothing but move around and sit still, yet both her body and mind were exhausted. Closing her eyes, she longed to escape, even if only into sleep.
[Then… wouldn’t it be better if I weren’t here…?]
But the words, etched deeply into her mind, tormented her and kept her from drifting off.
[Her memory must return.]
Memory. It was the one thing Cotton most wanted to find—and the one thing she feared the most.
Only occasionally did Cotton visit Rictun’s bedroom. When she endured for as long as she could but the pain became unbearable, when anxiety swelled until it suffocated her, she went to her husband. Today had been no different.
Late at night, with darkness settled over everything, Cotton stood before a door, holding a lantern. She raised her hand as if to knock, only to step back again, repeating the motion over and over.
Knock, knock.
After hesitating for a long time, she finally knocked. A low voice from inside granted permission to enter. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door.
Inside the dim room, only a candle on the desk flickered, casting a faint glow. And within that light, a pair of clear eyes watched her.
“Rictun, I…”
His gaze seemed to ask what she wanted. She tried to speak but found her lips wouldn’t move. Heat gathered in her face, flushing it red. In the end, she gave up on words, stepped inside, and closed the door. Her heart felt as though it might burst from her chest. Her mouth was dry, and she swallowed hard, though there was no saliva to ease it.
Setting the lantern down on the floor, she reached for the ties at her shoulders and slipped off her cloak.
The fabric fell softly to the ground, revealing a thin slip that left the lines of her body fully exposed. Even to herself, the intent was obvious, and shame flooded over her. Her body trembled, but she clasped her hands together to steady herself.
Rictun rose from his desk and approached her. Cotton looked up at him, blinking. His gaze—no longer something she could read—rested on her.
Please accept me. Don’t reject me. Don’t push me away. Please.
A cruel stretch of time passed, enough to bring tears to her eyes, before Rictun finally took hold of her arm.
The moment she felt his warmth, all the tension left her at once. Unsteady, she followed him. One of the Emperor’s most important duties was to produce an heir. Perhaps because of that, Rictun never refused her when she came to his bedroom.
At moments like this, she was almost grateful that her husband was the Emperor.
‘If he weren’t… wouldn’t he have coldly turned me away?’
Leaving her there, Rictun moved around the room. Starting with the lantern by the door, he extinguished the lights and candles one by one. With each step, the darkness deepened, and Cotton’s breathing grew faster.
Soon, not a single trace of light remained. The room was engulfed in complete darkness.
