Chapter 12
Ern passed the two of them with a brief nod.
Once he was gone, Anel took Giselle and headed somewhere more private.
There were too many eyes on them—
she didn’t want to attract any more attention than she already had.
At last, they entered an empty room.
Anel placed a hand on Giselle’s shoulder.
“Giselle. Don’t take the Marquis’s words too—”
“No.”
Giselle shrugged off Anel’s hand.
“I was wrong to forget my place.”
With her head bowed low, Giselle clasped her hands together in mock apology.
“How dare a lowly maid use that kind of tone with a lady—no, with the future Empress herself. Please forgive me, my lady.”
But the smile tugging at the corner of her lips told a different story.
Status.
What did that even mean?
They had been born on the same day, in the same place—
the only difference was that Giselle hadn’t been lucky enough to be born in the Grand Duchess’s womb.
Blood welled in Giselle’s clenched hand.
“Giselle…”
Anel pressed her fingers to her temple.
This wasn’t what she’d wanted.
The Imperial Palace already had enemies enough;
she didn’t want Giselle to become one of them.
So she took Giselle’s hand firmly.
“Giselle. When I become Empress, I’ll take responsibility for your marriage. I’ll make sure something like today never happens again.”
“…”
“I think of you as my own sister. You know that, don’t you?”
At that, Giselle’s grip loosened slightly.
Relieved, Anel exhaled and felt the tightness in her chest ease.
But then Giselle pulled her hand away.
“And what will that get me? Some rich merchant’s house, maybe?
Ah, if I’m lucky, a third son of a baron teetering on ruin—if I bring enough dowry to buy him, that is.
Does that even count as nobility?”
“…!”
“No matter what I do, I’ll always be filth. Someone who could never even dare to speak to Her Imperial Majesty.”
The venom in Giselle’s eyes made Anel speechless.
She had known—vaguely—that Giselle resented her birth,
but she hadn’t realized that resentment was aimed at her.
“Giselle. How could you—how could you say something like that?”
Now Anel’s voice trembled with anger.
She had always treated Giselle sincerely.
She had truly thought of her as a sister.
And yet, Giselle took that heart and crushed it.
Giselle turned her back without another word and walked away.
That night—
the eve of the coronation.
Johannes and Ern were drinking together in the Potentia Palace.
Johannes only ever drank when Ern was with him.
Ern could never quite understand why.
“Since Your Majesty refuses to move, I must, mustn’t I?”
“You’ve been moving through all the wrong places.”
“Are you… keeping tabs on me?”
Johannes only smiled faintly.
Of course he was. Ern cursed himself for asking such a foolish question.
“Why do you only drink when I’m here? I’ve never met anyone who can handle alcohol like you.”
He’d even suspected once that Johannes was pretending to drink—
but no, the man never got drunk.
He simply liked to drink.
And no one who didn’t like alcohol would drink that much.
Ern clicked his tongue as he eyed the empty bottle.
“So, how was your meeting with the lady?”
“The lady?”
Ern frowned slightly at the odd phrasing.
“You mean Lady Morata.”
“Who else would I mean?”
“You have plenty of ladies, don’t you, Your Majesty?”
Johannes didn’t even blink at the jab, and Ern didn’t expect him to.
“You’re the one who planned the scandal.”
“And Your Majesty told me to make one.”
“Don’t twist words, Ern Lars.”
Boring, Ern thought, pouring Johannes another drink with a faint smirk.
“She was far better than I expected.”
He said it lightly, watching Johannes’s face—
but there was no reaction at all.
Was it just his imagination?
“I don’t think Your Majesty will have to worry about her.
She’s the ideal empress for us.”
Ern knew Johannes hated “troublesome” things.
And Anel Morata was a woman who would never cause trouble.
Her eyes, when he’d met them, had only one thing in them:
the desperate wish to escape reality.
A strange woman—
she loathed everything about her situation,
yet endured it all with perfect composure.
No ambition, no rebellion—just silent endurance.
Wise, perhaps. Or pitifully foolish.
“I rather liked her, to be honest. You didn’t, Your Majesty?”
Ern had only met her briefly, but he thought highly of her.
She was, by every measure, the perfect match for Johannes.
“Not particularly.”
Johannes stared into his cup for a long moment before downing it in one gulp.
Not particularly?
Ern frowned at the evasive reply.
“Well, if there’s anything that could be troublesome for Her Majesty—”
Probably that maid, Ern thought.
Better to get rid of an insolent servant before she caused a problem.
The Empress’s palace must remain perfectly quiet—
utterly still, like a mouse that didn’t dare squeak.
In this empire, the only chaos allowed was that which came from the Emperor himself.
“Never mind.”
Ern didn’t mention the maid.
It wasn’t worth bringing up before the Emperor.
“Ern Bayerzen Lars.”
But Johannes’s voice sharpened slightly, deliberately drawing out his full name.
Ern sighed; there was no hiding it now.
“It’s about the maid the Empress brought with her. I can handle it myself.”
“The maid.”
Johannes tapped his finger against the rim of his glass, thinking.
“What about her?”
“I looked into it. She and Her Majesty grew up together—they’re close, perhaps too close. She doesn’t seem to know her place.”
Johannes’s finger stilled.
“A woman who doesn’t know her station, hm.”
The interest in his tone caught Ern off guard.
Johannes rarely cared about such trivial matters—
in fact, he rarely cared about anything.
“It’s hardly something for Your Majesty to bother with.”
“The Empress… does she let that woman sway her?”
“…Pardon?”
Ern frowned, unsure of the question’s intent.
Johannes didn’t look insane, though.
So after a pause, Ern replied reluctantly:
“She did seem… influenced.”
A slow smile curved Johannes’s lips.
No—that smile.
“…This might be interesting.”
Ah. Ern sighed.
Disaster.
The morning of the coronation.
Anel stared into the mirror of the toilette room.
The woman reflected there wore a coronation gown that had taken dozens of hands to prepare.
Her hair was piled high and adorned to emphasize majesty and grace.
Soon, a crown would rest upon that head.
Not a detail was out of place—
except for the despair she couldn’t hide from her own face.
“We’ve styled Your Majesty according to the latest fashion. Do you approve?”
“…”
Anel looked at the rouge covering her pale cheeks and let out a dry laugh.
“I wonder.”
Such things could never hide what she felt inside.
“Your Majesty, it’s time to proceed to the Solis Palace.”
Sandman approached quietly.
“…Let’s go.”
Anel rose, feeling the weight of the dress drag on her shoulders.
When she turned, a dozen maids stood behind her, Sandman among them.
Though the day was meant for celebration, every one of them looked grim.
Even servants couldn’t smile when their mistress looked so miserable.
Anel reminded herself of her place once more—
and took her first step forward.
Then she stopped.
The maids halted as well, startled.
“Where is Giselle?”
