ILTDAMH|CHAPTER 101

Chapter 101

Don’t You Want Revenge on Those People?

“This is the Crown Princess’s palace.”

Marican stepped into the gilded hall with Petrica’s hand in hers, eyes wide as she took in the splendor.

“Wow. It’s so beautiful.”

“Hmm. Right? I like this palace too. But why did His Majesty summon you?” Petrica asked the moment they sat down.

“He asked whether I would consider holding my wedding at the palace,” Marican answered, hesitant for a beat as she considered how to relay Viseluc’s proposal.

She did not want to deceive Petrica, so she told her exactly what Viseluc had said.

Petrica listened, startled at first, then nodded.

So His Majesty knew all along.

“But, Your Highness has only been here a year. In time—” Marican began.

“No, Marican. That’s not it. If I become Empress without any family backing, I’ll be a figurehead with no real power,” Petrica said, her expression twisting with complicated feeling.

She had worked tirelessly for a year, yet she could not outmaneuver Bianca, the head lady-in-waiting, who enjoyed Antwatte’s long-standing support. Bianca’s influence reached into every corner of the court, and even now, with Antwatte fallen, Bianca’s power remained intact. Petrica had no noble family to claim as allies; even the palace maids no longer heeded her without hesitation.

She had thought to involve Harmon, but even his intervention would be only a temporary patch. Petrica had been waiting for the right opportunity.

If Viseluc’s plan played out—if Marican, officially treated as Allomand royalty and recognized as the Crown Princess’s sworn sister, were to marry Ruan at the palace—then the Canolup ducal house would become Petrica’s official natal family. With the might of the Canolups at her back, no one would dare treat Petrica with disrespect again.

It would change her standing at court in a meaningful way. Yet Petrica also knew that Viseluc’s suggestion was a maneuver to secure Marican’s recognition by the nobility. Petrica didn’t want to use Marican for her own advantage.

“Marican, decide what makes you comfortable,” Petrica said, squeezing her hand.

“Huh?”

“Whether the nobles accept you or not, you’re my sister. Don’t bother with what they think. Once you marry the Duke, no one will be able to look down on you. If any house dares to slight you, I’ll see that they’re ruined.”

“Your Highness—”

“So choose for your wedding as you wish. The Emperor cannot coerce you. If you’re uncomfortable speaking up, I will speak for you.”

“But—” Marican began, torn. Viseluc’s proposal weighed on her: the idea of marrying in the palace felt enormous and intimidating, yet she could see how it would help Petrica. That duty made refusal difficult.

Petrica seemed to understand her hesitation.

“Forget all this troublesome business for now. Come with me and I’ll show you the palace. We’ll tour, have lunch and dinner here, and you can think about it afterwards. Agreed?”

“Really? Are we allowed free reign in the palace?” Marican asked.

“It’s fine. I’ve already told Harmon. Even if I’m only a powerless Crown Princess in name, no one will stop me from moving about the palace.” Petrica grinned. “Just kidding—don’t be so shocked. We had tea with His Majesty, so lunch is a bit early. Let’s just start with a tour.”

Marican nodded. The imperial palace consisted of more than ten separate palaces. The largest were Viseluc’s own and Antwatte’s now-empty residence. Petrica showed Marican her own palace, the vacant Empress’s residence, and the garden that connected them.

“It’s even more magnificent inside than it looks from outside. This garden is gorgeous,” Marican said, looking around in awe.

“I got married here.” Petrica drifted through the garden with fondness and a vague unease. “The gardens in Allomand aren’t this large. When I first proposed having the ceremony here, people thought it odd. But once you see it, your mind changes. Remember the day Diamond attacked with intent to kill Harmon?”

“Prince Daimond attacked?” Marican echoed.

“Yes. It was the Duke who saved us that day.” Petrica’s voice softened. “If the Duke hadn’t come when he did, things would have been very different.”

Marican nodded, remembering Ruan’s part in that story. “Ruan told me some of that.”

“If he hadn’t saved us, history might have shifted. Maybe that’s partly why I felt such affection when I heard you were the Duke’s duchess.” Petrica looked at her companion, then shook her head. “Still, with Viseluc’s abilities, couldn’t you manage without the Duke?”

Petrica dismissed the idea with a wave. “Marican, even if I’m a skilled swordswoman, taking on trained knights isn’t simple. The Duke brought his men and rounded up the hidden prince’s guards; only then could the wedding proceed safely.”

“I see.” Marican watched the garden as Petrica spoke. The sunlight dappled the paths and flowerbeds; the place felt almost unreal to her.

“If you and the Duke were to wed here, it would be fitting,” Petrica mused. “But, Your Highness—”

“Not decided yet,” Marican said softly.

“Just think positively,” Petrica urged. “Oh, and I’ve sent invitations—can Harmon come to the home party?”

“Hmm? I don’t see why not, but would the Crown Prince even attend? He’s very busy.”

“I’ll handle that. I’ll make sure he can come. I’ll bring Harmon.” Petrica’s certainty comforted Marican more than she expected.

They strolled westward through the palace. Marican pointed toward a tower where she had glimpsed the maid earlier.

“Your Highness, what’s over there?” she asked.

Petrica’s smile faltered; the west tower was a delicate subject. “That place is… taboo in this palace. I’ll tell you about it later.”

“If it’s taboo, you needn’t tell me.” Marican did not want to pry.

Petrica squeezed her hand. “I can’t explain the taboo, but I’ll take you to a place you’ll really want to see.”

Marican cocked her head. A place I’m curious about? She followed, but glanced back toward the western stair as they walked.

The west tower rose tallest and most secluded of all the palace spires. It was where empresses or imperial consorts who had committed grave wrongs were confined—supposedly until death. No empress had been imprisoned there before Antwatte.

It was a place where sunlight rarely reached; dampness and cold lingered year-round. The stairs creaked. The only sound in the silent tower was the slow groan of Antwatte’s bed.

What had once been a splendid, beautiful woman was now gaunt and hollow-eyed, sitting motionless at her bedside. When Antwatte first arrived, she raged and cast curses at Viseluc and Harmon—convinced the whole tragedy was a plot by Ruan, Harmon, and Viseluc rather than the deeds of Diamond and Kymon. She screamed that she had been fooled, that she had been wronged.

She lashed out at the maids who brought her food; the maids changed daily until one day they stopped coming at all. Those who did deliver meals would push them through the door and leave quickly.

Officially, after the executions of Diamond and Kymon, she went on for days in a wailing, almost bestial cry. Her voice was so harrowing that people avoided the west wing altogether. Then, one day, the screams stopped; Antwatte ceased cursing. She sat in a stupor, staring at the small tower window as if life had been stripped of meaning.

“Empress, it’s meal time,” a maid announced, placing a tray of food before her. Antwatte’s face was expressionless.

“Leave it there,” she said flatly.

The maid set the tray down. “Please, Your Majesty—at least take a little.”

Antwatte looked at the steaming soup and soft bread laid out before her as if it were an insult to her misery.

Would that it contained poison, so that I might die in peace, she thought, but the words were on the tip of her tongue.

“Keep it there. I will eat later,” she said, averting her face.

A new maid, gentle and persistent, stepped forward. “Your Majesty, I know you are grieving and it is unbearable, but you must eat. You must regain your strength, so you can seek justice for the prince who died unjustly.”

Justice for my dead son? Antwatte’s eyes fixed on the maid.

“Bok-su?” she whispered.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” the maid replied. “Prince Daimond and Sir Kymon were wrongfully killed, and while Your Majesty languishes here, those responsible live comfortably. Don’t you want revenge on those people?”

“Do they live well? My son and father are dead and they live well? Of course I want revenge! I’ll avenge my son and my father!” Antwatte howled.

Lucianne, who had been at the foot of the bed soothing her, placed a spoon in the Empress’s hand and said in a coaxing tone, “Please eat, Your Majesty. Regain some strength and I will help you find vengeance. I will help you, Empress.”