CYGD 01

Episode 1

A marriage worse than death.

My father, who didn’t want to give up the honor of being the Queen’s family nor the prestige of being part of the empire’s only ducal house, constantly beat and threatened me, yelling at me to endure. The king, on the other hand, treated me coldly, saying I was merely a spy for my family.

One day, after over a year of never summoning me to his chambers, the king suddenly called for me. But instead of the king, I was greeted by an assassin.

“I was thinking about divorcing you, but Beatrice suggested something better. Why not just kill the queen and inherit her fortune? I might buy her a castle with it.”

As I lay there bleeding out, I could still see the king laughing. But why was I still alive?

That very day was the one when Beatrice entered the palace as my maid.

This—this was the damn plot summary of that cursed novel.

But I had fallen into that very novel.

On the day I finally got a job offer after failing five public service exams.

I’d gone drinking with friends who were congratulating me on my employment, staggered out of the bar, and remembered nothing until I woke up—here.

Of all the days in that novel, it had to be that day.

The day Beatrice came to the palace as Hestia’s maid.

Beatrice, daughter of the conquered Felmon Kingdom, was a stunning woman with silver hair that shimmered like moonlight and deep green eyes. Duke Rotron, Hestia’s father, brought Beatrice into the palace as her maid. That moment was the beginning of all the tragedy.

The duke had foolishly believed that Hestia, seeing such a beauty, would feel threatened and try to win the king’s affection.

I quickly grasped the situation the moment I found myself inside Hestia’s body.

What had happened to me.

Whose body I was in.

“Ah…”

I cursed violently, mixing the worst kinds of language, until I realized something: if I just stood by, I wouldn’t be able to avoid the fate laid out for this character.

“No. Better to have those two fall for each other right away and live happily ever after. There’s no need for me to get involved.”

As Beatrice approached and greeted me, I returned her bow politely, thinking to myself:

“Yeah. Let’s get divorced. If I suggest it, the king might just go along with it—especially once he lays eyes on Beatrice. I’ll make the path smooth for them and then quietly vanish.”

It felt like a solid plan.

After all, I wasn’t actually Hestia, and I’d never had feelings for the king, so I didn’t hate him either.

When reading the novel, sure, I’d gotten emotionally invested. But now, living here, I had nothing to gain or lose in that regard.

The only one I truly resented was Duke Rotron. Every time he came to the palace for council meetings, he made a point of visiting the Queen’s residence to spew his nonsense. In the novel, his appearances always heralded frustration and suffering.

Whenever Rotron appeared, readers braced themselves with a deep sigh, knowing trouble was about to start.

And now that wretched man was my father.

Knowing how he abused Hestia, and unfortunately being Hestia now myself, I made up my mind: I wouldn’t let him enter the Queen’s residence again.

In the original novel, Hestia had been in constant conflict with Beatrice, but I had no reason to be.

Beatrice had also been a victim of that bastard Rotron, and honestly, I pitied her for getting caught up with the dull king.

Now that I knew I was in the novel, I was determined to change my fate. First step: divorce the king as soon as possible.

I hadn’t met the king yet, but I felt confident I could handle it.

If Rotron started talking about family honor, I’d tell him to go eat dirt. With that attitude in mind, I started laying out my plans.

That’s how my awkward first meeting with Beatrice began.

“Your Majesty the Queen. A new maid has arrived.”

The head maid, knowing I had fallen out of the king’s favor, treated me with the bare minimum of courtesy.

I remembered a scene in the novel where, after Rotron would beat Hestia and leave, the head maid would silently come in and apply medicine—so cold and detached.

Now, I was seeing that very head maid in front of me.

I realized that if I wanted people’s attitudes toward me to change, I’d have to deal with Rotron properly—and quickly.

I nodded at the head maid.

“Bring her in.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

When she returned with Beatrice, I was momentarily speechless at her appearance.

She looked just like a model I had adored—taller than I imagined, more androgynous. Very different from how I had pictured her in the novel.

Beatrice seemed to be trying hard to conceal her instinctive hostility toward me, and I just stared silently at her for a moment.

She wore a scarf over her head, but it clashed oddly with her outfit.

Only when I noticed a corner of the scarf lifting did I realize—her hair had been hacked off.

It was obvious. Rotron’s doing.

Looking closer, it wasn’t just her hair. Her face had bruises and scratches, badly hidden with makeup, and her gait was stiff—like her whole body was sore.

“Show proper respect before Her Majesty!”

The head maid snapped at Beatrice, and I scoffed.

She had no respect for me, but was using this moment to assert authority over Beatrice.

“Leave us. We’ll speak privately.”

When I said that, the head maid looked shocked and protested, saying training the new maid was her responsibility.

Her tone was so even and scolding that it was hard to tell who was superior.

“I think it would be better if I trained Beatrice myself. A head maid who criticizes her queen’s orders in front of a new maid isn’t someone I want her learning from.”

“Y-Your Majesty…”

As she hesitated, Beatrice glanced at me.

“And send in the hairdresser.”

“The hairdresser? For yourself, Your Majesty?”

“I plan to trim the ends. They’ve gotten coarse. So prepare them.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“And bring some refreshments. I don’t want to be disturbed. Turn away all visitors—except for the King.”

“Duke Meidern is expected after the council meeting, Your Majesty.”

“Is the Duke my husband?”

“…No, Your Majesty.”

“Then you heard me.”

“Understood, Your Majesty.”

The head maid left with a puzzled look.

“Sit comfortably, Beatrice. And stop using that cream. It might hide bruises, but it’s bad for your health.”

In this world, cosmetics were notorious for containing toxic metals. Many noblewomen died in agony from prolonged use.

“Yes… Your Majesty.”

“Was it Duke Meidern? Is he the one who hit you?”

Beatrice looked shocked and then lowered her head, not wanting her expression to give anything away.

“So it was him. I’ll make sure he doesn’t lay a hand on you again. At least while I’m here.”

Beatrice looked up at me, curiosity in her tilted face.

“While you’re here… Your Majesty? Are you going somewhere?”

“Just think of it like that. Who knows what the future holds, right?”

Her eyes were truly mysterious.

Like stepping into a misty forest for the first time. I felt like I could fall into them.

I tried to remember the name of the model she reminded me of. What was it again?

Back in my world, I would’ve just searched online. But here, that wasn’t an option, and it frustrated me.

Soon after, the hairdresser arrived.

She was skilled, but her attitude wasn’t much better than the head maid’s.

“You want your hair trimmed, Your Majesty?”

Still, she was polite. I shook my head and pointed at Beatrice.

“She’s the one getting her hair trimmed.”

“But Your Majesty, I am your personal—”

“Yes, you are. But that doesn’t mean you can disobey me. Does it?”

“You are correct, Your Majesty.”

The hairdresser seemed to think I was suddenly being authoritative.

Readers of the novel had always complained about how frustrating Hestia was, always swallowing her words. The hairdresser was probably used to that version of Hestia.

They had likely lived comfortably under that docile queen—but things were about to change.

“Beatrice. Remove your scarf.”

With hesitant fingers, she did as told.

Her hair had been randomly chopped—clearly with a sword.

Rotron hadn’t appeared yet, but after seeing what he had done to Beatrice, I knew for certain:

He was not someone I could coexist with.