~Chapter 10~
Eliana’s radiant smile went unanswered. Verkley remained perfectly still, his gaze unfocused as he continued to feign blindness.
“This is the attendant I mentioned last time,” Hera said smoothly. “I hope she pleases Your Majesty.”
At her voice, Verkley tilted his head toward the sound, his lips curling faintly.
“I trust Your Majesty Mother’s judgment,” he murmured languidly.
“How grateful I am that you still place your faith in me,” Hera replied with a gracious smile.
“I will serve you faithfully, Your Majesty,” Eliana added, bowing deeply.
Still, he did not respond.
“Seeing him up close… he truly doesn’t look human. How can a person be this beautiful?”
Her eyes lingered helplessly on his features, caught by a beauty so precise it felt unreal.
Then Hera turned to Verkley once more.
“This child’s powers awakened late. Marquis Demeter has been sponsoring her.”
“Marquis Demeter?”
Verkley’s tone shifted at that name.
“Demeter—the man who publicly took me as his ward on Hera’s behalf…”
Eliana listened in silence, her thoughts uneasy. The marquis had never appeared in the original novel, and yet his name kept surfacing like an unwanted ripple.
“I heard he found out she was being mistreated by her father and took her under his care,” Hera continued. “A man of the cloth—his compassion runs deep.”
“Mistreated…” Verkley echoed softly.
Eliana stiffened. Even if it wasn’t truly her past, hearing it laid bare like gossip left her unsettled.
When she said nothing, Verkley spoke gently.
“You must have suffered much.”
“It’s all behind me now,” she said with a faint smile.
Had she stayed in House Musieux, perhaps she would have truly experienced the abuse that once belonged to this body.
Verkley’s lips curved slightly.
“Then rest easy. I will see that you are treated kindly from now on.”
“You have my deepest gratitude, Your Majesty.”
“It seems His Majesty takes quite a liking to you,” Hera said, satisfaction curling her voice. “As a mother, that pleases me greatly.”
Eliana smiled politely, though unease coiled in her chest.
Both of them were smiling, yet neither felt trustworthy. Behind their civility lurked blades waiting to turn.
Their warmth was not meant for her.
That evening, Eliana Musieux officially moved into the chamber adjacent to the Emperor’s—close enough to come at a single call.
Thus began her perilous cohabitation with the man who could, at any moment, end her life.
Chapter 3 — The False Golden Thread and the True One
Life in the palace proved easier than she had expected.
Her position outranked the Emperor’s ordinary maids, so she was spared all menial labor. She had no attendants of her own, but that hardly mattered; Eliana had never been the sort to rely on others.
Her sole duty was to attend to the Emperor alone—to serve as his eyes, his hands, and his silent shadow.
Whenever he needed her, he would ring the small bell that connected their adjoining rooms.
It didn’t happen often; she was, in essence, an assistant on constant standby.
Though Verkley had ascended the throne at eighteen, even after ten years he had yet to escape Hera’s shadow. Most matters required her approval before his.
And still, the court whispered, mocked, and tested him.
“You’ve stumbled again, Your Majesty. At this rate, we’ll run out of fabric before winter.”
“Truly, how fragile our Empire’s future looks when its ruler cannot see the stone before his feet. How can a man blind to the floor see to the affairs of a nation?”
The snide remarks came often. Verkley’s response was always the same, calm and unchanging.
“I am sorry.”
Eliana, observing quietly beside him, could only marvel. To bear such humiliation with serenity—what kind of restraint did that take?
He hid his strength flawlessly.
Sometimes, in the dead of night, she would hear muffled groans from his chamber—signs of pain he refused to reveal.
“He’s still struggling to control that demonic power.”
Though he bit down hard to conceal it, the thin wall between their rooms betrayed every sound.
Pity stirred within her. Perhaps it was foolish, but the sound of his quiet suffering drew sympathy she couldn’t quite suppress.
The next morning dawned bright and clear.
“It’s a lovely day, Your Majesty. Did you rest well?”
“I did, thanks to you.”
He smiled faintly, though his complexion was pale. The devil’s power was still taking its toll.
Eliana recalled the novel’s depiction: each use of his power tore him apart from the inside. Eventually, he had separated a fragment of that energy into a clone to survive.
Thinking of it now, she couldn’t help feeling a pang of sorrow.
Verkley extended his hand, and Eliana took it automatically.
Since he posed as blind, he reached for her often—sometimes to guide himself, sometimes, it seemed, simply for the comfort of touch.
After holding her hand, he would trace her fingers, her palm, even the curve of her wrist—like a man searching for warmth he could not see.
“At least he hasn’t been writhing in pain lately,” she thought.
Lost in thought, she asked without thinking.
“Does it ever… feel stifling?”
“What do you mean?”
“Ah—being unable to see, I mean.”
“You think me pitiable?”
“No, not at all! I was just curious what it feels like…”
She wanted to bite her tongue. That wasn’t what she had meant to ask. What she’d really meant was—Isn’t it suffocating, living like this? Waiting, pretending, sharpening your blade in silence?
Of course, he couldn’t know that.
In truth, Eliana had never understood the extremity of his vengeance in the novel—the way he destroyed not only Hera, but also her innocent daughter, Mary.
Yes, revenge begets revenge. One tragedy multiplies into seventyfold.
But could anyone truly live on that alone?
She wondered what kind of smile he would wear at the story’s end—if, after all his vengeance, he would laugh in triumph… or in madness.
Verkley’s calm voice drew her back.
“It isn’t without frustration,” he said quietly. “But I find peace in it.”
“Peace?”
“When one cannot see the near, one learns to see the far.”
Eliana fell silent. “The far,” he said—did that mean the future? His revenge?
When she made no reply, Verkley shifted the subject.
“Still, having you beside me makes the days less lonely.”
“There are many maids far more capable than me, Your Majesty.”
“None who speak to me so freely.”
“Oh dear… have I been too talkative?”
“No,” he said with a small chuckle. “It was a compliment.”
Then, slowly, his hand found her hair. His fingers brushed through it lightly, lingering as they fell away.
Her heart fluttered. Perhaps it was pity; perhaps something else entirely.
Few dared approach the blind emperor. At twenty-eight, Verkley still had no empress. Hera had ensured that—if he ever sired a son, her daughter would lose her claim to the throne.
“Were you lonely?” she asked softly.
“It’s a feeling I’ve grown accustomed to,” he replied with quiet melancholy.
Whether the sorrow was real or a mask, she couldn’t tell.
Still, Eliana met his desolation with warmth.
“Then I’ll stay with you, Your Majesty. I’ll hold your hand every day if I have to.”
“…Thank you.”
His hand withdrew at last, sliding slowly down her hair before falling away.
That day passed like all the others.
The morning council. A brief walk. The return to his chambers.
And yet, every meeting of nobles felt the same—chaotic, infuriating, and utterly absurd.
“Honestly, the imperial council isn’t much different from the National Assembly back home,” Eliana thought grimly as nobles shouted over one another.
They bickered endlessly, shoving papers at the blind emperor as though daring him to object. Some even handed him unsigned decrees without explanation, expecting his seal.
It was both tragic and laughable—an empire led by a man who could see everything, yet pretended to see nothing.
