26.
Having left the Magic Tower and returned to her lodging in Angelium, Philomel collapsed onto the worn-out bed. It was well past lunchtime, but her appetite had vanished.
A storm of thoughts raged in her mind: biological father, experimental subject, a failure, an older brother, wanted posters, the desperate need to run.
Philomel closed her eyes, trying to shut out reality, but sleep proved elusive.
Hunger eventually jolted her from a shallow, restless slumber. She checked the clock; it was dinner time. She had slept through the day.
“I’m hungry…”
*Grumble.*
Even in the depths of sorrow, the body demanded sustenance.
Philomel forced her heavy frame off the bed. To survive, she had to eat. She made her way to the lodging’s dining hall, where a bowl of warm soup and bread provided a meager surge of energy. As her physical strength returned, her thoughts sharpened.
A child born of an experiment.
The truth of her origin was shattering. To think that ‘Philomel,’ a mere villainous side character in a novel, was the byproduct of such a dark endeavor.
Once the truth was laid bare, the disjointed pieces of her past clicked into place.
A woman chased from the Imperial Palace returning to her hometown, a talented man who was a mage—the pieces of a life she could never fathom now formed the cold, clinical picture of an experimenter and his subject.
Looking back at the novel’s descriptions of Ellensia’s childhood, the girl had never seemed to suffer from financial hardship. The standard of living Philomel had witnessed a few days ago confirmed this; neither Katherine nor Ellensia showed any sign of struggling for their daily bread.
The compensation Katherine must have received for her role in the experiments explained everything. Philomel had always assumed Katherine’s family sent money out of pity after the estrangement, but she had been wrong.
“Haa…”
She hadn’t expected a fairy-tale reunion with her biological parents, but knowing she was created merely as a necessity left a bitter, hollow feeling in her chest.
Neither Katherine nor Leguin had wanted her. Unlike Ellensia, who bathed in the adoration of others, Philomel had been denied even the basic affection of her own kin.
She felt adrift, unsure of her next move.
Rationally, accepting Lexion’s proposal was the best path. Despite her hesitation to live under the same roof as Leguin, the sanctuary of the Magic Tower offered safety. The Tower was vast; surely she could avoid him if she tried.
In truth, fleeing to a foreign country, as she had originally planned, offered no guarantees. She had entertained the idea of using the knowledge she’d acquired as a successor to become a tutor for a noble family—a vague, flickering hope for a future.
But the search for her was far more thorough than she had anticipated.
‘At this rate, acquiring a false identity or even boarding a ship will be impossible.’
Even if she reached foreign soil, she would spend her life looking over her shoulder, terrified that her true identity would surface.
‘When will Eustis stop looking for me?’
She hoped that once he was wrapped in the joy of his real daughter, he would forget all about her. Yet, even as she prayed for that, the image of father and daughter in a loving embrace made her fingertips turn ice-cold.
Philomel rubbed her hands together, seeking warmth, and her eyes fell upon the Solar Flare Ring.
“I have to return this, too…”
She couldn’t part with it until her safety was absolute. Besides, the light within the gem had clearly dimmed. The Divine Power fueling it was running out.
It was an artifact forged for the Emperors and their successors, endowed with defensive magic, detoxification, and a fail-safe to protect the wearer during life-threatening crises. The current Emperor didn’t require it—he was strong enough on his own—but Philomel had worn it constantly since it was gifted to her.
Only the Divine Power of the Sun God, held by the Belerov royals, could recharge it. Without a royal willing to aid her, the ring was destined to become a useless trinket.
Leaving her meal unfinished, Philomel rose and asked the innkeeper for directions.
“Excuse me, where is the most reputable magic tool shop around here?”
With the location secured, she stepped out into the dark streets. Her plan was to find a replacement for the ring, or at least something to bridge the gap.
‘It’s okay. I was alone from the beginning. Nothing has changed.’
She had survived until now, and she would survive in the future. She had to.
Even surrounded by passersby, the weight of her solitude pressed in on her, and she repeated the mantra like a prayer.
***
Rozanne, the prized daughter of Viscount Manon, possessed a confident air and a striking face. She preferred to introduce herself not as Lady Manon, but as the niece of Duchess Muriel.
The House of Manon was well-known in Sangen, but they were provincial. They lacked a capital mansion and were shut out of the central nobility’s social circles. Associating herself with the prestigious Duchess Muriel was the only way to soothe her vanity.
But her days of hiding in the shadows of others were over.
Her father had finally secured a foothold in central politics through back-breaking effort. In a few days, they would be moving into a grand capital estate. The curtain was rising on Rozanne’s glittering social debut.
She had spent these past few days in a frantic blur of preparation. She refused to be looked down upon by the haughty ladies of the capital. Her trip to Angelium, a city on the outskirts of the empire, was a strategic move to secure the latest accessories.
“I don’t like any of these. Bring me something better.”
Rozanne snapped at the clerk, who scurried toward the back of the shop.
“My lady, they all look so exquisite to me. Oh my, look at the brilliance of that one!” her maids cooed, distracted by the shelves of charms.
Rozanne hissed at them, “What would you know of taste? Stop your chatter and hold my dress so it doesn’t drag.”
The maids fell silent, dutifully attending to her hem.
Her cousin, Lady Muriel, had hinted that wearing necklaces and bracelets adorned with magic-infused charms was the height of fashion in the capital. Rozanne, who demanded only the best, had traveled all this way to find them.
There was, however, one thing that soured her mood.
Rozanne glared at a woman on the other side of the shop. A commoner was questioning the clerk, who shook his head in frustration.
“I apologize, but magic tools for disguise or concealment require government authorization. They are far too easily misused for criminal intent.”
The woman lingered, despite the rejection.
‘To think I have to shop in the same space as a commoner!’
Rozanne’s mood soured. Angelium was a city of importance due to the Magic Tower, but it lacked the exclusivity of the capital’s high-end boutiques. Anyone could walk through those doors.
Moreover, anyone looking for tools of concealment was undoubtedly shady.
Rozanne narrowed her eyes. The woman had a nondescript face—entirely forgettable. Her interest flickered and died.
“My Lady! We’ve brought more charms.”
As the clerk returned, Rozanne turned back to the counter, but a flash of brilliant red caught her eye. It was the ring on the woman’s finger.
As a collector of fine jewelry, Rozanne knew the look of real treasure. The stone’s luster surpassed any ruby or garnet, yet it was no cheap imitation. It was impossible for a commoner to possess such a piece.
‘She must have stolen it.’
Nothing infuriated Rozanne more than the lower classes coveting jewels beyond their station.
Without caring for her hem, she strode over and seized the woman’s wrist.
“Ouch! What—what are you doing?”
Despite the pain, the woman’s voice retained a poise that stung. She sounded almost noble.
“You lot! Hold her!”
The maids lunged, pinning the woman’s arms.
“Let go of me! Please, just tell me what this is about…”
“Stay still!”
“No!”
Rozanne ripped the ring from the woman’s hand. The woman struggled violently, but the maids held fast. Rozanne tucked the ring into her bag and turned to deliver a sharp rebuke, but stopped.
“Huh?”
The woman’s face, which had seemed so blurred before, now hit her with a sudden, startling familiarity. A slender jaw, upward-tilted eyes, harmonious, beautiful features.
She had seen this face. Recently. Constantly. It was plastered on every wall in the empire and printed in every newspaper.
“Pri—Princess Philomel!”
At Rozanne’s shrill cry, the entire shop froze.
“…You have the wrong person.”
The woman bowed her head, desperate to hide, but Rozanne was certain. The greatest con artist in the empire—the fake Princess.
“Hey! Someone call the guards!”
The woman began to tremble, denying it with the frantic desperation of a cornered animal.
“My Lady, please, let me go! We just look alike, I am not that woman!”
Rozanne’s heart was made of stone. “Look alike? That shameless face is burned into everyone’s mind.”
“We really just look alike…”
*Slap!*
Rozanne delivered a stinging blow to the woman’s cheek.
“How dare you talk back. Do you still think you are a Princess?”
The woman’s head snapped to the side, a crimson welt blooming on her skin. She fell silent.
“If I had my way, I’d see you finished right here, but I shall show restraint.”
The type of human Rozanne hated most was a fraud who dared to reach for the stars. She handed the woman over to the guards, who arrived in a flurry of armor.
Rozanne followed them to the station, demanding that the captain document her role in the capture. She wanted every word of her contribution reported to the Emperor and the real Princess. She would have stayed to see the official report written, but the sight of the guard station’s filth made her stomach turn.
She boarded her carriage with a racing heart.
Thanks to this foolish girl, she had the perfect talking point for her social debut. She might even secure an audience with the real Princess. Her father had been badgering her to build such a connection for years.
“I really am so lucky.”
Rozanne hummed, the same words she had whispered to herself since she was a child.