#134. I Came for My Sister
The palace, which had been silent as if no one lived there, was thrown into turmoil when a woman knocked at its gates.
She revealed the royal family’s traditional silver hair and introduced herself as Princess Blanche.
Her carriage had broken down, so although she had originally planned to arrive the next day after sending word ahead, she had changed her mind. Considering that preparations to welcome her would already be in place, she left her entourage behind and rode alone to the palace.
After confirming her silver hair and the identification she presented, the steward admitted her inside.
When Blanche heard that the king had dismissed his attendants, she apologized deeply, saying she would personally go to him and beg forgiveness without needing a guide.
The steward, remembering the king’s displeased expression, agreed.
Blanche claimed to remember the location of the great dining hall and was left to go there alone. The steward returned to his duties—and less than thirty minutes later, the palace was thrown into the greatest chaos since its founding.
Inside the tightly shut dining hall lay a ghastly scene.
All but one of those present had collapsed across the dining table, vomiting blood.
Half-eaten dishes were scattered across the table, stained by the blackened blood tainted with poison.
Some had died with their eyes still open; others still let out faint, dying groans. Together, they painted a vision of hell itself.
Amid the carnage, the only one left unscathed, Langrisha, sat trembling violently.
She had run countless simulations of this day in her mind, but the reality was nothing like she had imagined.
—Langrisha had been preparing for this moment for a long time. Not three years, but more than two.
She first realized she would have to seize the throne herself when she learned that if Blanche failed to win over the Grand Duke before graduating from the academy, she would be forced to take Blanche’s place.
Through a servant Blanche had left behind, Langrisha learned much about the empire’s atmosphere and Blanche’s efforts, as well as her current standing there.
And now, was all of that supposed to be thrown away simply because Blanche had failed to win one man’s affection? Blanche may have fallen out with the Grand Duke, but she still enjoyed the Empress’s favor.
For Blanche, who had lived her whole life in the empire, and for Langrisha, who had lived her whole life in the kingdom, such a decision felt deeply unfair.
Langrisha, who had once been full of family affection, began from that time to look upon her family more objectively.
She borrowed the crown prince’s books and began studying the principles of kingship on her own.
Blanche, having heard of her progress, secretly sent her a tutor disguised as a servant, who opened her eyes to how hopeless the kingdom’s situation truly was. She realized, too, that what she had mistaken for parental affection had in truth been neglect.
So she resolved that she herself must ascend the throne.
When she expressed her dissatisfaction in letters, Blanche cautiously replied that if there was a way she could help, she would.
Thus, for more than two years, Langrisha and Blanche discussed the plan for seizing the throne—what Langrisha must prepare, and what Blanche would provide. Their plan gradually took shape, communicated in coded letters.
Langrisha believed herself ready.
Recently, even her family—once outwardly harmonious—had grown hostile in the throne struggle.
Everyone still treated her kindly, since Blanche’s time at the academy was nearly at an end and Langrisha’s journey to the empire seemed certain. But Langrisha could not stand even that.
So I don’t even count to them. Just wait and see. I’ll be the one to ascend the throne. I’ll be the one to bring life to this kingdom you’ve abandoned…
Her affection for her family had faded. The preparation had been long. She believed she could face any scene calmly.
The sooner it was done, the better—before everyone’s minds had written her off as someone bound to leave.
Blanche suggested it would be best if she helped handle the aftermath, so the date was set for Blanche’s return.
On that day—the day of Blanche’s return—though in truth, just before she set foot in the palace.
That way Blanche could avoid suspicion, and Langrisha could manage the aftermath together with her. It was perfect for both sides.
So Langrisha gave the poison Blanche had sent to a maid, instructing her to mix it into the meal. But—
Reality was different. In her imagination, there had been no groans of dying kin, no acrid stench of blood filling her nose.
In her imagination, Blanche had been by her side, encouraging her in letters, helping her plan.
Now, alone in the dining hall where the groans were slowly fading, Langrisha desperately wished Blanche were there.
“Sis…”
And as if in answer to her prayer, the doors to the dining hall opened.
The moment the doors opened, the stench of blood spilled out.
I stepped firmly inside and shut them behind me.
Amid the corpses and the blood, the only one still whole, Langrisha, looked up at me with confused eyes.
“Sis.”
“B-Blanche.”
Of course it must have been the first time she had ever seen death. Her eyes swam with confusion and fear.
I hurried to her side and knelt.
“Calm yourself, sister.”
I gently took the cutlery from her trembling hands and clasped them tightly.
The pressure of my grip seemed to bring her back a little, her unfocused gaze finally finding me.
“I came for you, sister.”
“I… I…”
Langrisha’s lips trembled, unable to form words. Surrounded by blood and corpses, there was no calming her here. So I reached into my cloak and pulled out a small vial.
“Drink this all at once, and leave everything to me. When you wake up from a short sleep, everything will be taken care of.”
Her hands shook so violently she couldn’t even remove the stopper, so I opened it and lifted it to her lips myself.
For an instant, instinctive dread flashed across her eyes. Catching it, I soothed her softly.
“There’s nothing to fear. What could I possibly not do for my sister’s sake?”
Her gaze wandered over the corpses. But her instinctive fear gave way to the desperate desire to escape this horror.
As her lips parted at last, I spoke firmly, driving in the final wedge.
“So, please, sister—rest easy, and leave the burden to me.”
I poured the liquid into her mouth. Her throat worked, and her eyes closed.
I caught her sagging body and carefully laid her down.
“Good. Now for a little staging.”
This was the plan I had perfected over four years—the fastest way to seize power without losing influence.
Kill every direct royal heir in a single stroke, leaving only Langrisha, who would become the next monarch.
And the perfect stage for this was my return day.
That very day, the king was to scold me and announce that Langrisha would be sent to the empire as a hostage in my place.
So, of course, every direct member of the royal family would be present at the dinner.
And since the king often dismissed attendants during family disputes, there was a good chance this meal would be held without servants as well.
If I had attended the meal myself, suspicion would fall easily on me. So I arranged for the carriage wheel to break, preventing me from attending. Yet I still had to be the first witness, so after sending a letter ahead, I galloped to arrive just after.
I would then put Langrisha to sleep with a sedative, and to those unfamiliar with medicines, it would seem she too had been poisoned.
A massacre of the entire royal line. And I, who by rights as a semi-imperial princess should also have been there, conveniently absent.
The narrative would naturally become: the poison was meant for me.
And I had once already survived an assassination attempt by poison.
The story would be simple: the poison meant for me instead claimed my family’s lives. Burdened with the duty of the last surviving heir, I would remain to rule in place of the next king.
On the surface, it was convincing.
The empire would leave me be, and the smaller states would not stir up trouble.
But the Kartian Kingdom, which shared a border with Lamore, would certainly point out the flaws.
That diplomatic dispute could then be twisted until it appeared Kartia had declared war first, providing the excuse for a war of conquest.
But first, it was crucial that Langrisha’s survival not seem suspicious to the servants.
I pulled out the false blood I had prepared and dabbed it on her lips.
It blackened convincingly, no different from the blood around us.
Her face, pale under her makeup, looked suitably stricken.
Kneeling beside her on the floor, I drew a deep breath and let out the loudest, most panicked scream I could muster.
“Fetch the royal physician! Seal the kitchens at once!”
