1.
“How… how should I handle this?”
Philomel stared blankly ahead. Her gaze met a pair of red eyes watching her from a few steps away.
“…Your Highness.”
It was her fiancé, who was a year her senior: Nasar Abridon.
“Nasar, now is not the time. Let’s go back first.”
His father, Duke Abridon, abruptly pulled Nasar away.
“Father, but….”
“Let’s go.”
At the Duke’s firm tone, the boy hesitated for a moment before reluctantly turning to leave.
Unlike his fiancée, he looked perfectly pristine, untouched by a single drop of rain as he walked away. Philomel was soon collected by her maids and returned to her chambers.
Even after sinking into a tub of warm water to thaw her body, her heart remained icy. She could think only of Eustis’s retreating figure.
“What? What were you all doing while the Princess was causing such a scene!”
Even the sight of her nanny—who had skipped the event due to back pain—throwing a tantrum upon hearing the news failed to register.
When she stepped out of the bathroom, the nanny stood waiting, a switch in hand.
“I cannot let this slide this time. I didn’t want to go this far, but it seems you won’t grow up unless you learn the hard way.”
*Smack! Smack! Smack!*
The thin switch whipped against her pale calves, over and over.
It burned. It hurt so much.
Philomel shed a few tears, using the searing pain in her legs as an excuse to cry. Though her true anguish lay elsewhere, there was no one she could voice it to.
After the punishment ended, the nanny muttered loud enough to be heard. “Stubborn girl. So stubborn. Not a single word of apology.”
“Since confinement hasn’t been enough, we will institute a special management system from now on. You’d better be prepared.”
“…Okay.”
“Did you understand? I will be watching the Princess constantly!”
The nanny repeated her warning several times before leaving.
“Honestly, Princess. Why on earth did you do that?”
“You should just apologize unconditionally. That way, both you and we will get scolded less.”
“….”
Philomel stared blankly at the floor as she felt the maids’ hands applying medicine to her calves.
Seeing her lack of reaction, the maids looked flustered. They exchanged glances before offering hollow words of comfort.
“Don’t be too heartbroken. Nanny is just moody; her anger will subside soon.”
“And I heard from the Chief Attendant that the Foundation Day event, which was postponed, has been rescheduled for next week. By then, surely the Nanny will let you go watch, Princess?”
“…A week? Isn’t that too late? They could have held it in three or four days.”
“Well… they say the High Priest collapsed in his carriage on the way back.”
The maid wore a worried expression.
“Nothing like this has ever happened before. With the sacred event interrupted by rain during his tenure, the shock must be immense.”
Another maid chimed in.
“People are whispering that maybe the protection of the God who guards the Empire has run out.”
The legitimacy of the Belerov Empire stemmed from divine power. Raising doubts about such protection could be interpreted as a denial of the Imperial family’s right to rule.
“Hey! Whose presence do you think you’re in, talking like that!”
When her colleague signaled her, the maid who spoke earlier babbled an excuse.
“…No, I didn’t mean anything by it! I’m just saying that’s what the ignorant folks are chattering about….”
Philomel waved a hand weakly.
“That’s enough. Leave.”
Once they had all filed out, Philomel limped toward her desk.
Inside the drawer, the book with the brown cover, titled *Princess Ellensia*, sat exactly where she had left it.
Since the nation’s founding, the Foundation Day event had never been postponed—what were the odds of it happening exactly this year?
And what were the odds of a novel coincidentally getting it right?
Everything that followed was identical. The High Priest’s collapse. The week-long postponement.
A cold, heavy realization spread through her like spilled ink. While it appeared to be nothing more than a cheap romance novel, it was not fiction.
‘A prophecy book.’
The hand holding the book trembled violently.
The Emperor was not her father.
She was a fake.
***
The next morning.
Perhaps from the rain she had caught the day before, Philomel woke with a terrible cold.
“Princess. It is time to wake up.”
The nanny shook her.
“…Nanny. I can’t get up. I’m sick. I think I have a fever.”
Philomel said in a small voice, suppressing a cough. Her head spun, and her throat was so sore that even swallowing was an ordeal.
The nanny did not budge.
“Are you faking it again? You won’t get away with this today. His Majesty is calling for you because of yesterday’s debacle. If you were going to be this cowardly, why cause such a massive incident?”
In the past, she had occasionally skipped tedious lessons by feigning illness.
“…I’m not faking. I’m really sick.”
Philomel replied in a hoarse voice. It was true that playing hooky had been her own fault in the past, but being suspected of deception when she was truly ill felt wretched.
“I said get up… Oh. You really do have a fever.”
The nanny, having touched Philomel’s arm, widened her eyes.
A short while later, a physician arrived, confirmed the fever, and prescribed medicine and rest.
Philomel had no appetite and struggled to swallow, managing only a few spoonfuls of thin soup. As she took her medicine and lay back down, the nanny said, “I have informed His Majesty. But you know well enough that he isn’t the type to let things slide just because you’re sick.”
“….”
“Think of how many people yesterday considered you a thoughtless child. I can’t even hold my head up. All that fuss over a festival.”
It seemed everyone regarded her impulsive behavior as nothing more than a childish tantrum.
‘If only that were true,’ Philomel thought blankly.
“Just rest. If you need anything, call the maids in the next room.”
With that, the nanny left.
Philomel soon fell into a feverish sleep. Time drifted, and when she finally woke, her body was drenched in a cold sweat.
She had suffered a nightmare—one where she was executed while Eustis watched impassively, his eyes fixed on the real princess instead.
Her small body trembled.
She wanted to live.
She was terrified of dying.
‘Would Father really kill me?’
Even though she already knew the answer, she tried to deny it with every fiber of her being.
What if she started living differently? What if she became the daughter her father wanted?
Perhaps the future could change. Even if she was a fake, hadn’t he raised her for nine years? There might be a shred of warmth left.
She had to check. She had to ask.
“I have to go….”
Her body remained heavy and her head ached, but she was capable of moving.
Philomel quietly slipped out of her room.
It was nearly noon. The nanny had said lunch would be late, so the area was deserted.
As she crept down the hall, voices drifted from the maids’ quarters.
“What a nuisance, all because of the Princess.”
At the irritated tone, Philomel froze and pressed her ear to the door.
“Shh. What if someone hears?”
“There’s only us here. The Princess is fast asleep.”
“She’s not wrong. If it weren’t for her causing incidents every single day, our wages wouldn’t have been docked.”
The voice belonged to Martin, the guard in charge of her security.
A maid sighed. “That’s true.”
“The Princess is the one who did the wrong thing, yet we’re the ones getting scolded!”
Martin chuckled. “That’s the sorrow of the lowly. If you’re so unhappy, why don’t you try being born as the Emperor’s daughter in your next life?”
The maid laughed. “Ugh! I wish I could. If I were the Princess, I would have done all the right things and been showered with the Emperor’s love!”
“Dream on.”
Laughter filled the room. Everyone sounded happy.
“Ah, I really hate Philomel.”
The remark pierced Philomel’s heart.
“Are you crazy? How can you speak her name so carelessly….”
“Why? Because she’s the Princess? Is she even a real Princess if the Emperor doesn’t even treat her like his daughter?”
“Even so….”
“Besides, they say Philomel doesn’t even have divine power, the symbol of the Imperial family.”
“So she’s just a Princess in name only.”
Philomel’s small shoulders hunched.
“Still, I’m envious. Someone got slapped by the nanny for not serving the superiors well, while she’s just lazing around.”
“Demanding to see the festival in front of all those nobles, too.”
“I wonder if the Abridon ducal house will break the engagement.”
“She’s hardly a suitable match for the young master, who is remarkably brilliant.”
“Did you see his expression when she fed him cake the other day? He looked like he loathed it. The poor Princess couldn’t even read the room.”
“If she had the sense to read the room, would she have been hated by the Emperor?”
That was enough.
Philomel pulled away from the door, unable to hear more.
Tears welled up as she recalled their faces—the same faces that had been so “affectionately” worried about her health only hours before.
There was no one on her side here.