20.
Silence pooled within the Emperor’s chambers.
Count Polan, the Emperor’s secretary, felt cold sweat prickle his skin, the silence stretching into an agonizing weight.
“……”
“……”
The man and the young girl, both possessing eyes of the same striking hue, sat facing each other.
The Emperor had stared blankly at the girl’s face from the moment he entered, only finding his voice once prompted by Polan. Polan had witnessed the flicker of shock cross the Emperor’s features when she answered the question of her name with “Ellensia.” After a long, stifling pause, he had asked for her surname and the names of her parents.
Ellensia Hesam.
There was no one among Isabella’s close relatives with such a name. The girl claimed she didn’t know her father and that her mother was Katherine Hesam. It was an unfamiliar name, yet it struck a vague, dissonant chord in his mind.
*It’s not a common name, but I’ve heard it somewhere…*
Polan pushed the fleeting memory aside and glanced at the Emperor. Eustis had been unable to look directly at the girl for some time, his gaze fixed at an oblique, downward angle.
It was no wonder. Even to Polan, the resemblance was chilling—as if the deceased Isabella had returned to life. How much more so for the Emperor? There were times when Eustis, drowning in the grief of losing his wife, had wished to see a woman who resembled her, but this was different.
“Excuse me. You are His Majesty the Emperor, aren’t you?”
Ellensia broke the quiet. Polan was struck by her boldness; she looked bewildered, yet she didn’t seem intimidated. He found it curious that her expression, which had been quite bright, was beginning to fade as the silence dragged on.
“……That is correct.”
Eustis replied after a heavy pause.
“This may sound very impudent of me, but…”
Her soft cheeks flushed a deep, agitated red.
“Are you, by any chance, my father?”
“……”
“……”
At the sudden bombshell, both Eustis and Polan froze.
“As I said before, I don’t have a father, so my mother raised me all by herself. Whenever I asked about him, Mom said he was a very wonderful person. She said he had hair as black as pitch and eyes as deep and blue as mine…”
The girl looked up at Eustis with eyes full of desperate expectation.
“Could it be that Your Majesty is my father?”
Eustis parted his lips, but no words came. Instead, he abruptly turned his head away.
“Your Majesty?”
He was staring at nothing but a bare wall.
“Just now, my power…”
He looked as if he were peering at something through the stone, something beyond the reach of others.
“Your Majesty the Emperor! We have a crisis!”
Countess Deles burst through the doors, her usual composure shattered. The knights who had tried to restrain her followed, breathless.
“Countess, what is the meaning of—”
The panicked woman cut Polan off.
“Princess Philomel…”
She paused to gasp for air, then shouted, “The Princess has disappeared!”
Eustis stormed into the room where the Princess had been staying. He was walking, yet his pace was so lethal that Polan and Ellensia had to break into a run to keep up. Countess Deles, exhausted, trailed behind.
Eustis scanned the dark room, which lacked even a shred of warmth.
“What happened?”
Polan could feel the simmering volatility in that brief, sharp question.
The Countess, half-sobbing, recounted her story: when she returned with the iced water the Princess had requested, the room was empty. Assuming the girl had stepped out, she waited, but the mistress of the room did not return. Growing anxious, she paced until she discovered a letter on the desk. On the cover, only *To Father* was written.
If the Princess had intended to send a letter, she would not have left it on the desk in such a way. Sensing something was wrong, the Countess had dared not touch it. She had searched the nearby halls, asked the maids, but not a single soul knew the Princess’s whereabouts.
Polan bit his lip. Too much time had already passed. Whether she had been kidnapped or fled of her own volition, the probability of finding her diminished with every passing moment. Furthermore, the Princess possessed the Solar Flare Ring; if she had used it, the search range could cover the entire continent.
As soon as the Countess mentioned the letter, the Emperor snatched it from the desk. He tore the seal, revealing a single sheet of paper. The straight, elegant handwriting was hauntingly familiar.
[To my dear Father.
Father, Ellensia is your biological daughter. During our last outing, I visited a nearby village and happened to spot her on the street.
Her appearance was so strikingly similar to Mother’s that I followed her, and I met Ellensia’s mother. Her name is Katherine Hesam. As you know, she was Mother’s friend and maid. When she saw my face, she confessed everything to me in tears.
She was there when Mother gave birth in her hometown, and out of jealousy, she switched her own child with the Princess.
That’s right. I am not your biological daughter. I am the child of Katherine and an unknown man.
I am sorry for informing you only now. I wanted to tell you immediately, but I didn’t know how. The fake daughter is leaving, as I have no face to see you. Thank you for raising me all this time.
I will repay the various graces I have received as a Princess by doing work that will be of maximum help to the Belerov Empire in the future.
I have unavoidably taken the Solar Flare Ring, but I will make sure to send it back within a few months. I am sorry.
I pray for your health and for your happiness with your biological daughter.
—From Philomel]
That was it. There was no mention of her destination.
Eustis’s arm fell, heavy and lifeless. The letter crinkled in his grip.
“Release the soldiers immediately. Mobilize every available resource.”
His voice was deathly low, but when he delivered the final command, it cracked like a whip, a volcano erupting.
“Find my daughter!”
Polan and the knights bowed, their heads touching the floor. They would search the entire continent if they had to.
* * *
At that hour, Philomel walked through the crowded streets.
“A loaf of freshly baked bread for just 2 Bels! Special discount!”
“Did you see the new dress at Jina’s Boutique? It’s a design by the genius Margaret!”
The market streets, bathed in the bruising glow of sunset, were a cacophony of merchants and travelers. She was in Sangen, a city in the north of the Empire and one of its five most prosperous hubs.
She had wanted to use magic to arrive at her destination instantly, but the Solar Flare Ring only allowed transport to places the user had already visited. Since Philomel had never been to her destination, the best she could do was reach the nearest region.
Her goal was Angelium, the city of magic located at the northernmost tip of the Empire. Past the border lay the Magic Tower.
And there, her biological father resided.
The Great Mage Leguin, Master of the Magic Tower.
As her thoughts centered on him, she tightened her grip on the bundle she carried. The very first thing she had wanted to do upon leaving the palace was find him. On nights when she felt particularly hollow, she would read *Princess Ellensia* and daydream about her biological parents.
What were they like? Why did they give birth to her?
She knew much about her mother, Katherine, who appeared from the beginning of the novel as a malicious woman who tormented the protagonist. Katherine eventually repented, but her sins and that very repentance had shattered Philomel’s life, turning her from a Princess into a criminal in a single night.
Consequently, her hope gravitated toward Leguin.
Yet, compared to Katherine, information on Leguin was nonexistent. He was a recluse, a freak of immense magical power who never appeared in public. In the book, the only mention of him came when “Philomel” escaped prison and threw herself upon his mercy. But after she used his power to commit further evil, he abandoned his biological daughter as well.
The novel, told through Ellensia’s perspective, depicted Leguin as nothing more than another weapon for the villainess.
*Since there’s nothing written, I have no choice but to find him and see for myself.*
Regardless, Leguin had made an effort to protect the “Philomel” of the book. Perhaps there was a shred of warmth left for her.
Philomel shifted her gaze toward the northern border and moved forward.