Chapter 85
‘He’s being favorable?’
She had lost count of how many times Owen’s house had sent envoys to kill Theodore, all to secure Crown Prince Alfred’s succession.
‘But why?’
“Your Majesty…”
At Geshitian’s loyal voice, she suddenly realized she was twisting her thumb with her front teeth like she did as a child. She quickly lowered her hand and folded her arms.
“Thanks to the efforts of the Empress Dowager and the Grand Duke, all of these events will be concluded as merely a result of the Emperor’s worsening illness. You need not worry.”
“Yes… that’s how it should be.”
“And Alfred?”
“He has gone to the training grounds.”
“…I see.”
Kenneth slumped into her chair, burying her face in her hands. The wounds must have been deep. She had heard that after she was dragged out, the Emperor’s guard had struck him in a vital spot.
It would have been unbearable for a seven-year-old child. Yet perhaps it was for the best. He would have learned that no one could truly guarantee his safety.
The position of the Crown Prince… the throne… It was always a cruel, merciless seat, and now he would understand that fully.
“What will you do?”
Geshitian remembered the bloody tears Empress Kenneth had shed when losing children to miscarriage or illness. After countless pregnancies and childbirths, she had become physically unable to bear more children.
From the beginning of her marriage, knowing that he would take other women, she had desperately tried to secure a child as his successor, risking her health in the process.
Geshitian, Kenneth’s royal guard and Yan’s academy peer, reached out to steady her trembling shoulder, but quickly withdrew when Kenneth looked up.
He had almost crossed a line. If his feelings were discovered, Kenneth would surely cast him aside to protect her own position.
“What is it?”
She looked at him calmly. His chest tightened. From the time he had come of age, he had held her in his heart, but her heart belonged entirely to the Emperor.
Even with an eleven-year age gap… her devotion was to the Emperor.
“Isn’t it that you are supposed to attend the <Numitor Study> group and watch a play at the Heather Marquis House?”
The face of the perceptive Marchioness Cecil Heda flashed in his mind. Kenneth’s head throbbed.
Creak.
The side door opened, and behind the masked knights, a black carriage with windows painted dark emerged.
“Move out!”
Clatter, clatter.
Cloaked knights of unknown allegiance increased their speed. Fine dust seeped into the dark air. The loud clamor of the carriage masked the groans from inside the pitch-black darkness.
Yet even in the northern palace’s black night sky, the stars twinkled. Faint, delicate light, yet enough to serve as hope and determination for someone.
Inside the carriage, there were no seats. Straw covered the floor, making it look like a livestock transport cart for cows or pigs.
“Huh…”
Still, the groans were unmistakably human. Women in black cloaks sat crouched against the carriage walls in two rows.
The sour, rotten smell was so strong that one woman gagged and quickly covered her mouth.
In the narrow space between the women lay a young girl, unconscious and moaning in pain. Her cheeks were flushed like azalea flowers, showing she had a high fever.
The women, struggling to support their own bodies, tried to prevent the child from being hurt, holding her gently with their hands.
Clatter.
“Ugh…”
Every time the carriage bounced, the maids moaned in pain.
“It’ll be alright.”
“Thank you, Daisy.”
Daisy’s comforting words did little to hide the truth—the women’s faces, like Daisy’s, were covered with large yellow blisters, proof of their suffering.
Rattle, rattle!
The carriage lurched violently, tossing them across the floor. Blisters burst, eliciting screams.
Still, they tried to hold on to the walls or floor with one hand, and to support the child in the middle. But it was nearly impossible.
The carriage rolled like a bowling ball down a slope, throwing them to the back with terrifying force.
“Ugh!”
“Ahhhh!”
The carriage echoed with screams. When it finally stopped, the doors opened.
“Out!”
But no one rose immediately. Balancing themselves was difficult, and they had no idea where they were being taken.
Daisy stepped out first, prompting the others to prepare to follow.
The largest woman inside lifted the feverish girl. Both moaned from the pain of contact, supported by other women at her sides.
The scene was heartrending—human touch could be so excruciating. They helped each other out of the carriage, eager to escape the terror.
Yet they froze at the sight before them: a large pit carved into the high hill overlooking the palace. Cold wind lashed Daisy’s face, stinging as if stripping away her tender skin.
“Ugh…”
The woman holding the girl bent to her knees. Others supported her as she forced herself upright. Daisy aided her, tears streaming.
The other maids were similarly frozen or stunned at the sight of the pit. But Daisy tightly grasped the hand of Shailot, who carried the girl, supporting her.
From the moment they were summoned, from the moment they were sent to the secret room, they only had each other. Even drugged and abused by the terrifying Emperor, they had sisters, comrades, and acquaintances from the debutantes’ circle. They were bound closer than blood.
Being drafted to the secret room meant disappearing from existence. Entering it meant the family would mark them as soldiers or as missing persons.
The Emperor offered lands, titles, or mining rights in exchange. After all, these daughters were destined to marry out eventually. Having one devoted daughter serve the family was considered natural.
Just being raised as treasured daughters was enough.
Then, a maid about ten years old began crying aloud:
“Mother… Jerome.”
It was the maximum expression of emotion she could muster in this horrific reality.
Of course, they had tried to help. When the illness appeared, they secretly sought medicine, asking house heads for assistance. Yet no family provided even a single dose or a line of care.
Yet, perhaps because of shared flesh and saliva…
The Emperor had been merciful. He was taking them away quietly for treatment until recovery, unseen, because they were considered nonexistent. They did not suspect anything while boarding the carriage.
However, the meaning of that “recovery” became clear when they saw the pit—it was meant to cover the Emperor’s faults with their graves.
It was dreadful.
Daisy clenched her jaw to avoid crying, but tears streamed uncontrollably as if her tear ducts were broken.
Then a commanding knight shouted:
“By order of Heralis, Emperor like the sun, eternal rest!”
At that, the maids jumped into the pit.
They sat cross-legged, hands clasped in prayer.
The knights drew arrows from their quivers, aiming at them.
Daisy shouted:
“The Imperial Bow! How dare you waste such a sacred weapon on girls?”
“…!”
“Just bury them. Surely you can show that much mercy?”
The knights hesitated, looking at one another.
“We will not beg for our lives. Please grant us a painless death. We could be your sisters’ future, could we not?”
Shailot clasped her hands and began reciting a prayer:
“O great Orlesion, have mercy upon us, and grant us peaceful death. May the glory of the Biatria Empire never fade…”
The maids followed her, kneeling and praying. Despite their bodies being covered in yellow blisters, they looked more holy than saints at that moment.
“What shall we do?”
A junior knight looked to his superior. The senior knight’s head ached. He had executed secret-room maids before, but never this many at once. Though ordered by the Empress Dowager, it still troubled his conscience.
If these girls were guilty, it was only for being abandoned by their families, for being too beautiful to be the Emperor’s playthings.
“Cover them!”
“Yes, Your Command!”
The knights loaded arrows into their bows and began shoveling earth over the girls.
Thud, thud!
Earth fell over the living maids. They closed their eyes, praying that their desperate pleas would reach someone beyond the black sky.
