Episode 1. The Empress Who Went to the Slave Market
“Wouldn’t it be better for the Empress to take a lover as well? You won’t even live to thirty anyway.”
Those were the words I heard from my husband, Emperor Clifford, before I died.
Coming from a man who never attended state council meetings because he was busy rolling around with the women in his harem, it was hardly surprising.
Soft reddish-brown hair reminiscent of wheat fields.
Chillingly cold, yet mysteriously beautiful gray-blue eyes.
You were my first love. Though it was a political marriage, you were my only one.
So I gave you everything I knew.
While my legs stiffened like rotten tree roots,
while my life crumbled away on a wheelchair,
you alone were my sun.
“I say this because I pity your life. It’s sad to see you die young, chasing nothing but power.”
“Are you telling me to take in sex slaves like Your Majesty?”
“Now you’re finally making sense.”
“Do you pity me, or are you insulting me?”
“Does it offend you that a puppet emperor pities you, the symbol of the Angel Empire?”
Clifford sneered.
“Well, I suppose it would. After all, you’re the chosen woman, blessed with the goddess’s love.”
“Please, stop.”
“You’re still looking into my future right now, aren’t you? Deciding which woman I’ll take tonight. Heh.”
Why did the goddess Ahalla grant the Eyes of the Stars to a daughter of the Landesta family, rather than the imperial bloodline of Angel?
Because my body becomes paralyzed every time I see the future?
Because I die before turning thirty?
A disgusting blessing. A filthy fate.
Because I possessed the Eyes of the Stars, I was betrothed as Crown Princess from birth.
At six, I entered the palace and was raised as an empress.
At twelve, I married Clifford, who was one year older than me.
I was created solely for him.
Forced to become the perfect empress,
forced to devote myself to the empire, no matter how my body broke.
No one cared about my life, my youth, or my happiness.
I wasn’t resentful.
I had been brainwashed too thoroughly to even think it was unfair.
“As the Empress, you must endure.”
“You’ve done well. But next time, you must be more perfect.”
“This is for His Majesty and the empire. Please try harder.”
From the moment I was born until I died at the young age of twenty-six,
I was bound by the shackles of responsibility.
So why did I come back to life?
No—why couldn’t I die?
The goddess Ahalla, who governs life and death, foresees the future, and punishes evil—
what exactly has she done to me?
When I opened my eyes again in the imperial palace at the age of twenty-two,
I swore I would curse her for the rest of my life.
“Why did you turn back time? You didn’t even send me back to before that happened! You didn’t save that child! Why are you punishing me like this when I obeyed you all my life?!”
The goddess gave no answer.
And so, I began my second life in this golden cage.
Nothing had changed.
With my frail body, I worked myself to death in Clifford’s place.
Even if I hated him, I couldn’t let the empire collapse.
I had to endure being called a power-crazed empress, a cold-blooded woman with no heart.
I was always lonely—more than that, I was despairing.
Because I knew exactly when and how I would die.
If there was anything different from my previous life…
it was that Michelle, the daughter of the emperor’s nurse and my childhood friend, refused to become an imperial consort.
She had once schemed endlessly to become one, even committing evil deeds with Clifford’s favor.
Why had she changed?
I found it strange, but didn’t ask.
Even without becoming a consort, Michelle still enjoyed all kinds of privileges as the emperor’s close attendant.
Clifford was desperate because he couldn’t have her.
Should I take revenge on the empire and Clifford, who sacrificed my life?
Should I kill myself before the Eyes of the Stars devour my heart?
But what if I regress again?
I wanted to leave the palace—but I couldn’t move without a wheelchair.
I never learned how to be happy, or how to live freely.
Six months passed like that…
and then something unimaginable happened.
Clifford entered the empress’s office without knocking and sneered:
“Wouldn’t it be better for the Empress to take a lover as well? You won’t even live to thirty anyway.”
My hand froze mid-writing.
It was the exact same words I had heard in my previous life.
His mocking face, his vulgar gaze waiting for me to react—everything was the same.
But the timing was different.
He had said that right before I died…
Does that mean I’ll die even earlier in this life?
“Why? Don’t you like my suggestion?”
When I didn’t respond, he asked again.
I calmly observed him.
He frowned and glared back.
Those were not the eyes of a man looking at a wife he had grown up with—
but of someone whose pride had been crushed, twisted with stubborn resentment.
“Every time you make that face, it feels suffocating.”
In my past life, I was always sensitive to his gaze.
I believed it was just a phase, that one day he would look back at me.
It was a foolish, meaningless life.
“You could still walk until the year before last, couldn’t you? Though you waddled like a duck.”
He mocked, glancing at my legs hidden beneath my dress.
I swallowed my rising anger and answered flatly:
“I only used the Holy Eyes for the sake of the nation and Your Majesty.”
“Sometimes I find that hard to believe.”
“Did Michelle say that? That I’m pretending not to use my legs?”
“Don’t speak ill of her. She only ever worries about you.”
At the mere mention of Michelle, his expression softened.
But there was a strange cruelty in his eyes as he looked at me.
Something had definitely changed.
“Why are you suddenly acting like this?”
“I’m saying it because I pity your life. It’s sad to see you die young chasing power.”
“Are you telling me to take in sex slaves like Your Majesty?”
“Now you’re finally making sense.”
In my past life, I thought he said that just to insult me.
But what if there was another motive?
What was he plotting?
“I’m just advising you to enjoy life. It’s not like you’ll live forever.”
“I’m fine.”
“Buy a male slave or a gigolo to bring to your bed. I permit it in the emperor’s name.”
“I said I don’t need it.”
“Ah… is it that the Empress is incapable?”
A woman who cannot accept a man, who cannot bear a child—
to Clifford, I was nothing more than a defective woman.
How could a husband—no, a human—say such cruel things?
I clutched my flat stomach with trembling hands.
“Get a strong one. Maybe it’ll bring back your lost sensations.
If you have a toy to play with, you won’t have time to nag me! Hahaha!”
I wanted to kill the version of myself who had loved him.
To cut away the life he mocked.
I would never again give my emotions to anyone.
I would not be shaken, would not cry, would not even smile because of anyone.
Endless rage burned through my bones.
If that’s what you want, I’ll enjoy it to the fullest—until the moment my life ends…!
I called for Joan, my secretary and right-hand.
“Prepare yourself. We’re going to the slave market.”
“Your Majesty… please wear this…”
Joan offered a black mask, clearly troubled at escorting the noble empress to such a place.
“What use is a mask? I’m the only woman in the capital in a wheelchair.”
“There are many watching eyes.”
“This is an imperial order. His Majesty will take responsibility.”
I pushed my wheelchair with calloused hands.
Unlike my previous life, I intended to follow Clifford’s advice.
The manager hurried over in shock.
“Allow me to assist you, Your Majesty!”
Just before his hand touched my wheelchair, I spoke coldly:
“Who gave you permission to touch it?”
“Y-Your Majesty?”
“Step back. Before your wrist is cut off.”
The palace guards drew their swords.
The manager turned pale and fell prostrate.
“P-Please show mercy!”
He must have remembered the men who had lost their wrists for touching my wheelchair.
No one was allowed to touch it.
It was the last shred of pride for a crippled empress.
The slave market was decorated like a luxury boutique—yet it was revolting.
The fact that humans were still bought and sold disgusted me.
But slavery, which had existed alongside the empire’s history, couldn’t be abolished overnight.
Instead of persuading people that slaves were human too,
it was more effective to impose heavy fines on those who violated slave laws.
“How about a pure young boy, as innocent as first snow?”
“?”
“We also have trained ones for noble ladies.”
Right. I wasn’t here to inspect—I was here to buy.
“This season’s trend is slender, refined boys like cosmos flowers.
We’ll offer a special discount.”
I pressed my aching temple.
I had no interest in slaves—but I didn’t want to return empty-handed.
That would only invite Clifford’s ridicule.
Ignoring the manager’s protests, I rolled my wheelchair forward.
“The place I choose to go is where I will go.”
“Your Majesty, please stop!”
“Silence.”
Passing through a black stone arch, the suffocating perfume smell disappeared.
It was hard to watch young boys with dull eyes begging to be chosen.
Even young men, forced to smile as scraps of cloth covering them were removed—it was unbearable.
“The arena is too brutal for someone of your status!”
Only then did I realize there were different kinds of “entertainment.”
Some people were thrilled by watching flesh tear, blood spill, and men kill or be killed.
Like my father. Like Clifford.
“Your Majesty, let’s return. It’s dangerous,” Joan urged.
“Where is safer than the imperial palace?”
It had only been two years since the war ended.
Assassins were everywhere.
From enemy empires… from noble factions…
even from my husband, or my childhood friend.
I had many enemies.
But no friends. No real family.
A cold wind brushed through my hollow chest.
“Let’s go back.”
To my castle full of rivals.
To the husband who hated me.
As I turned my wheelchair—
The black curtain covering one wall suddenly parted.
Cheers erupted.
“Black Worm! Black Worm!”
Confused, I looked to the manager.
“He’s the most popular slave in the arena.”
“That’s his name?”
The manager pointed toward the man standing in the center of the arena.
And that alone was explanation enough.
