#92. You Are Not the “Chosen” One
“An audience request?”
Bonita froze, teacup in hand.
“Yes.”
“Do you really need to do that?”
As she said, Greta had no real reason to request an audience with the princess.
If she had come to the Empire as a diplomat, meeting the Emperor was an obvious duty. But meeting the princess was not required.
What’s more, whenever one saw the princess and that person together—in other words, how closely and tenderly they treated each other—Bonita’s brow instinctively tensed, trying not to furrow.
“Is it such a terrible thing for a diplomat to meet the princess?”
“No. In fact, meeting Princess Jeonha, who is clearly the next empress, is usually encouraged. But—”
“Right, next empress or not, in the end—”
“Let’s stop there. They say even the walls of the palace have ears.”
Before Greta could say aloud ‘a royal of a nation doomed to fall anyway’, Bonita cut her off.
Greta’s face immediately hardened into a frosty mask, but Bonita did not flinch. She merely added in her usual flat tone:
“If you wish to meet him, I’ll arrange a separate time.”
“I wouldn’t trouble him like that.”
Greta rubbed her perfectly manicured nails and continued:
“I want to see the princess with my own eyes.”
“You met her in Norden already.”
“I didn’t expect she would become such a nuisance. If he hadn’t told me to spare her, I would’ve dealt with her long ago.”
“As I said, the palace has ears. And… never mind.”
Bonita had been about to speak further, but seeing Greta nervously biting her thumb, she shut her mouth.
Nothing she said would reach Greta right now anyway.
Turning a king or crown prince of Norden into a puppet was one matter, but eliminating the Empire’s only royal and future sovereign was on a completely different scale.
The former was already a tremendous, perilous undertaking. The latter would be like a moth throwing itself into fire.
Of course, everyone would eventually burn in that fire. But until she and the Ancient God’s will were fulfilled, there was no need to rush into reckless danger.
Still, Greta, blinded by love—so much so that her very reason seemed inverted—would never listen to such logic.
Bonita, who never wasted strength on useless things, kept silent and waited for her to finish.
Greta’s eyes gleamed madly as she muttered to herself, but soon she calmed. Or rather, her eyes glistened with something nauseating, though outwardly she seemed composed.
“By the way, Bonita.”
“Yes.”
“You’ve always seemed reluctant for me to meet the princess, haven’t you?”
“If there’s no need, it’s wise not to stir royals.”
In truth, it was because she disliked Greta’s reaction when she had once seen the princess and him together. But Bonita lied smoothly, without batting an eye.
“Is that the only reason?”
“What other reason would there be?”
“Hm.”
Greta’s stare grew more probing, but Bonita’s mask never cracked.
“Regardless, I’ve already agreed. The princess answered immediately.”
So it was already too late.
Since Greta wasn’t under her command, Bonita couldn’t blame her for not informing her beforehand.
Perhaps it was better to be blunt, to warn her that his relationship with the princess seemed far deeper than expected.
He claimed to stay near the princess to topple the Empire. But when Bonita recalled the way he had looked at her, she quickly lifted her teacup to hide her tightened lips.
That gaze hadn’t been one of seeing a mere “necessary tool.”
Rather, it reminded her of that long-ago love of hers, now reduced to nothing but ashes…
“…Nita. Bonita? What are you thinking about so deeply?”
“Ah, forgive me.”
“Forget it. Answer my question instead.”
Though she obviously hadn’t heard it, Greta pressed her for a reply anyway. Bonita brushed it off without reaction.
Ever since losing the two things that had mattered most to her in this world, her emotions hardly stirred at anything.
Perhaps everything inside her had burned out back then.
“I apologize. I didn’t hear the question.”
“If you’re sorry, shouldn’t your face look more remorseful?”
Greta picked at her with pointless criticism, but Bonita merely lowered her head in silence.
Staring down at her bowed crown, Greta clicked her tongue openly.
“I asked how the recruitment of nobles willing to serve the God is going.”
Though Bonita had warned her countless times to watch her words, Greta paid no heed. Even with the servants dismissed and guards stationed outside, one never knew when rumors might slip.
Still, Bonita resigned herself and answered.
“That will be difficult.”
“Recruiting imperial nobles? Or finding servants of God?”
“Both are difficult, but the former is practically impossible.”
“If something is lacking, we’ll provide support. If bribery fails, then it must be a matter of money.”
But Bonita still shook her head.
“Money is not the issue. The nobles you mentioned—the ones we ‘must’ recruit—are not swayed by wealth in the first place.”
“Then power? Promise them the Empire.”
Greta spoke of treason as casually as breathing. After all, even if they were promised the Empire, all they would gain in the end was ashes.
But Bonita denied her again.
“No. None would risk such danger.”
“You can’t know unless you try.”
“They’ve already all been eliminated. There’s no one left.”
To Greta, the Empire might look no different from Norden. But in reality, the Empire was on a completely different level in every respect.
The continent’s one and only Empire was far sturdier than anyone imagined, far more terrifying than any could expect.
Especially the bloodline of Volsheik that had founded and built it until now.
“The buds of such dreams were all plucked long ago. Approaching that way would only endanger us.”
“So it won’t work this way or that way. In the end, you’re saying it’s all failure?”
“In this situation, there’s no need to add more tools. There was never such a plan to begin—”
“Since when did you speak of plans?”
Greta’s lips twisted grotesquely as she cut her off.
“You are not one of the Chosen. You crawled here on your own.”
It was a deeply insulting remark, but Bonita lowered her gaze.
“To talk of plans when you weren’t even chosen by God.”
Even as Greta mocked her, Bonita felt no anger—only a sudden question.
If Greta spoke of the “Chosen,” she must mean those with the Mark.
Did Greta herself bear a Mark?
She had never once shown signs of wielding that strange magic said to come with God’s blessing.
If she lacked even the Mark that proved God’s choice, then how was she any different from Bonita?
She knew magic wasn’t all-powerful.
And without that incomplete magic, did Greta really have the ability to carry out God’s will?
Was it only because she had met God first, before Bonita?
Doubts piled upon doubts. But Bonita did not ask if Greta bore the Mark.
Push too far, and this conversation might not end with words.
Bonita knew better than anyone how Greta dealt with those she disliked. She buried her rising suspicion deep inside.
Between the two most vital servants of the Ancient God, a hairline crack had formed. Invisible, so faint that no one noticed.
It was Bonita who broke the silence.
“I have safely placed servants inside the princess’s palace.”
“Good. At least you can do that much properly. I’ve nothing more to say. Go. I’ll summon you if needed.”
“Yes.”
Bonita bowed and left quietly, her face half in shadow. Greta’s expression as she watched her back was twisted like that of a fiend.
“Shu—”
“Hyahh!”
At the sudden appearance of a hooded figure by the darkened window, Shuga nearly fainted.
The suspicious figure hastily uncovered their face, revealing an awkward expression.
“Ah, I startled you again. Somehow it happens every time we meet.”
“P-Princess Jeon—!”
Even in the dim moonlight, those blue eyes were unmistakable. Shuga’s eyes grew wider than when she had first screamed.
“Shh.”
Olivia pressed a finger to her lips. Shuga quickly clamped her mouth shut and scrambled to open the balcony door.
Cool air drifted in with the faint scent of roses, soon overwhelmed by a sharp winter chill.
Only then did Shuga notice Cryer standing behind Olivia. She instinctively hunched her shoulders, and Olivia jabbed her elbow into Cryer’s firm stomach in reproach.
“Our first meeting wasn’t great, but he’s not someone scary.”
In truth, he was terrifying. But not to Shuga—so Olivia wasn’t exactly lying.
“Y-Yes…”
The reason Shuga had recoiled wasn’t Cryer himself, but rather because they had been testing whether she could sense those branded by the Mark without Olivia’s knowledge. Of course, she couldn’t explain that.
Answering meekly, Shuga felt her conscience prickle under Olivia’s worried, apologetic gaze. She quickly changed the subject.
“W-Would you like to sit down?”
“Shall we? Come, sit here.”
Gestured over by Olivia, Shuga sat across from her, eyes darting nervously.
“Don’t just stand there, sit. You’re making me dizzy.”
Perhaps for her sake, Olivia scolded Cryer, who was leaning against the wall nearby.
He shrugged lightly and sat right beside Olivia. She didn’t mind at all, but Shuga swallowed a sigh.
Sure enough, they were the only ones who didn’t realize they looked like lovers…
Olivia’s voice pulled her wandering thoughts back.
“It’s late, and you need to rest, so I’ll keep it brief.”
