※ Words enclosed in 「 」 are in a foreign language according to the standards of the Phaelon Empire.
*****
Empress Annette of the Phaelon Empire was originally from the Taran Kingdom.
She was the fourth wife of Emperor Truga III, nearly twenty years his junior.
Not because the emperor was particularly lustful—on the contrary, he was so indifferent to women that his disinterest became the problem.
The three empresses before Annette had all been cast out for infidelity.
The first had fallen in love with a visiting prince from a neighboring kingdom.
The second had betrayed her vows with her childhood knight.
And the third—almost comically—had an affair with the emperor’s own cousin.
When questioned, all three women had given the exact same answer, as if rehearsed:
“I was just so lonely… unbearably lonely…”
Even then, the emperor remained indifferent.
Rather than feeling jealous or outraged, he had calculated how much compensation he could extract from their lovers.
Saying the empresses were cast out was misleading—Truga III had merely ensured he got his due before waving them off to live as they pleased.
Two years ago, this same emperor had taken Annette as his new wife.
The reason was simple:
The Taran Kingdom, frequently engaged in border conflicts with Phaelon, was on the verge of economic collapse.
To secure its survival, it offered a portion of its territory in exchange for one of its princesses becoming empress.
Truga III, who had previously declared he was done with marriage, immediately changed his mind upon hearing the word territory.
And so, Annette became his wife.
Now, like the empresses before her, she spent her days idly wandering the vast imperial palace, drowning in boredom.
Her only real source of entertainment was tearing up the relentless letters from her homeland—letters urging her to ensure that a child of Taran blood would inherit the Phaelon throne.
She shredded them with particular enthusiasm.
What child?
The emperor was nearly impossible to meet, let alone share a bed with.
Their ambitions were foolish.
Greedy.
And yet—
Whether they were truly ignorant or simply pretending not to understand, another one of those letters had arrived today.
“Tsk.”
Annette clicked her tongue, genuinely pitying her homeland’s persistence.
Just as always, she began ripping the letter to pieces, filled with the usual absurd demands.
Even this was growing tiresome.
Her mind felt as stagnant as her monotonous days.
And then—
A bit of news reached her ears.
A single piece of gossip, sharp enough to cut through her deep-seated boredom.
“What did you just say about the Bilton girl?”
Annette immediately crumpled the letter in her hands and tossed it aside.
The letter no longer mattered.
Nothing else mattered.
“Wasn’t Lady Bilton’s nanny recently made a duchess?”
The maid, thrilled to see the perpetually bored empress finally showing interest in something, spoke eagerly.
“Well, it seems that same Lady Bilton was punished by her former nanny. The entire Bilton estate saw her being dragged away, and she was so out of it that the maids had to carry her back out. No one in the mansion missed the spectacle.”
“…Ha. Ha… Ha-ha-ha-ha!”
For a moment, Annette only blinked.
Then—
Laughter burst out of her, unstoppable, like a dam finally breaking.
Her usually sharp features softened, her expression utterly delighted.
“Hah… Is this real? That Angela Bilton?”
Annette laughed so hard that tears welled in her eyes.
She wiped them away with her fingertips, still grinning.
“This isn’t just some wild rumor, is it?”
“Of course not, Your Majesty. Everyone already knows. The only place that hadn’t heard yet was the imperial palace. Now that the Bilton family finally has a proper mistress, people are saying Lady Bilton’s reign is over.”
“Ha-ha! Serves her right.”
Annette chuckled.
“Absolutely serves her right.”
—
Angela Bilton.
There were plenty of people in the Phaelon Empire who recoiled at the mere mention of her name.
The servants of the Bilton estate, who had to endure her cruelty daily.
The noblewomen of high society, who had approached her in hopes of forming an alliance, only to be met with insults colder than ice.
If she was going to behave so monstrously, why was she so beautiful?
It was almost unfair.
Despite her vicious nature, Angela was breathtaking.
Her sharp green eyes, always filled with disdain, shimmered like a summer forest.
Her lips, which knew only how to spit out scorn, were as red and mesmerizing as precious jewels.
Her golden hair, shining like scattered grains of sunlit sand, carried an almost fragrant beauty when it caught the wind.
She was often compared to an angel—ironically, of course.
Even those who despised her couldn’t deny her beauty.
That, in itself, was a deception.
Two years ago, even the current Empress Annette had fallen under Angela’s spell.
It had happened on the night of Annette’s welcoming banquet.
—
The emperor had not attended.
Annette hadn’t been surprised—she had heard countless times back in Taran that her future husband was indifferent to women.
What did surprise her, however, was how quickly the nobles’ attitudes shifted.
At first, they had eagerly approached her, smiling with curiosity, introducing themselves, welcoming her warmly.
But when it became clear the emperor would not be joining them—
Their expressions changed.
They realized she was just some foreign princess who had traded her homeland’s land for a marriage contract.
That she had no real power.
Some nobles quickly found excuses to leave.
Others openly let their boredom show.
Annette was no fool.
She noticed everything.
In Taran, no one would have dared behave this way toward a princess.
But here?
Here, it would be her everyday reality.
Had the previous empresses gone through this too?
Sitting alone at the highest seat in the banquet hall, Annette suddenly understood something.
Perhaps the loneliness her predecessors had spoken of wasn’t just because of the emperor.
Perhaps it was the entire court that made them feel abandoned.
She was expected to choose her own ladies-in-waiting from among these people?
The thought alone was exhausting.
But she couldn’t exactly go without them…
Her sea-blue eyes, a trait of the Taran royal family, swept across the hall.
Pointless.
There was no way to tell who would be loyal.
Finally, she turned to the only person in the room she could trust.
「Marchioness Chartier.」
The noblewoman standing a few steps behind her immediately stepped forward.
「Yes, Your Majesty?」
Marchioness Chartier had been assigned as Annette’s attendant for one simple reason—
She spoke Taran.
That alone made her the only Phaelon noble Annette could rely on.
Annette couldn’t be sure of the woman’s true intentions, but her poised hands and respectful gaze offered some comfort.
「Is there anyone you would recommend as my lady-in-waiting?」
Unless something drastic happened, Marchioness Chartier would be appointed as the Grand Mistress of the Ladies-in-Waiting.
It wasn’t a bad idea to hear her opinion.
The marchioness scanned the room, as if in deep thought.
But not for long.
Her lips parted quickly, suggesting she had already made her choice.
“「Who is that?」”
However, before the Marchioness of Chartier could name the person, Anette’s urgent voice came first.
“「Pardon?」”
“「The woman who just entered the ballroom. The one walking toward us right now—who is she?」”
Anette muttered in a daze, staring down at the vast ballroom.
Golden hair that shimmered with every step, a body that curved with graceful elegance, skin as pale as shattered moonlight. A face so small it was almost unbelievable that it could contain eyes, a nose, and a mouth all at once.
Even in the Kingdom of Taran, famous for its many beautiful men and women, Anette had never seen such an unparalleled beauty before.
Her back, wrapped in a demure lilac dress, was held impeccably straight—her movements precise and unembellished, as if she were a knight rather than a noblewoman.
“「Wow…」”
A pure, unfiltered exclamation escaped Anette’s lips.
“「…She is Angela Bilton, the eldest daughter of the Duke of Bilton.」”
The Marchioness of Chartier answered after a slight pause.
A subtle hesitation. A vague unease woven into her short reply.
Failing to notice it at the time would become one of Anette’s greatest regrets.
But at that moment, she was too preoccupied, blurting out another foolish exclamation simply because the name sounded familiar.
“「Oh…」”
Bilton.
One of the great noble families of the Phaelon Empire, whose name had been drilled into her memory by her imperial tutors, just as relentlessly as they had emphasized the Emperor’s detached nature.
The House of Bilton was so powerful that even her tutor, normally so composed, had practically spat as he spoke of them with fervor.
“「The Phaelon Empire is both strong and weak in its imperial power. That is thanks to Bilton—and also because of Bilton.」”
When Anette had frowned in confusion, pausing her note-taking, her tutor had elaborated.
Bilton was the Emperor’s most loyal vassal, ensuring that no one dared challenge imperial authority. But precisely because Bilton held such immense power, people often whispered that Phaelon had two emperors.
Moreover, since the family had no male heir, it was expected that Angela Bilton, the eldest daughter, would become the next Duke of Bilton.
Maintaining a favorable relationship with the Bilton family was paramount.
So that formidable family’s daughter is that girl?
Then… what if I took Angela as my lady-in-waiting?
Lost in thought, Anette tapped the armrest of her chair with her fingernail.
The decision didn’t take long.
By the time Angela reached the steps leading to the high seat where Anette sat, her mind was already made up.
“「Lady Bilton, present yourself before Her Majesty the Empress.」”
The Marchioness of Chartier addressed Angela.
Unfamiliar with the Phaelon language, Anette assumed it was an instruction to pay respects, so she simply observed Angela.
“「The wedding is still a month away. It’s a bit early to be calling her Her Majesty the Empress, don’t you think?」”
“「I am Angela Bilton, Your Highness, Princess of Taran.」”
Angela spoke fluently, her words flowing effortlessly—words Anette could not understand.
With that, Angela lightly grasped the ends of her gown, bending into a poised curtsy before straightening with a radiant smile.
She was so dazzling that Anette never once considered the possibility that Angela might be looking down on a princess from a weakened kingdom.
“「…I am Angela Bilton, Your Majesty.」”
The Marchioness’s translation came a beat later.
Anette had a faint suspicion that Angela had spoken more words, but she trusted the Marchioness’s interpretation completely.
She was a fool.
“「Nice to meet you, Lady Bilton. You are truly beautiful. As I looked down from above, I couldn’t help but be drawn to you.」”
“「She says she is pleased to meet you. That your beauty was so striking from above that she couldn’t help but look your way.」”
“「Oh my, how delightful.」”
Angela coyly covered her lips with a folded fan, her eyes curving into a gentle smile.
Even the slight tilt of her head was breathtaking.
Enchanted by the warm gaze directed at her, Anette eagerly voiced her next thought—a proposition that spilled out with little hesitation.
“「I would like to have Lady Bilton as my lady-in-waiting. What do you think?」”
She then waited for the Marchioness’s translation.
But before that could happen—
“「How unfortunate.」”
Angela’s voice rang out.
In a language Anette understood perfectly.
“「But I must refuse.」”
It was at that very moment.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ✧: *. ꕥ .* :✧ﾟ. ───
