31.
* * *
*Hwaaaa!*
Polan, startled as the Emperor appeared in the center of the room amidst a flare of brilliant light, rushed forward.
“Your Majesty! Where have you—”
“Fetch the royal physician! Quickly!”
Polan recognized the figure in the Emperor’s arms. The Princess, who had been missing for days, hung limp and motionless.
The Count, grasping the urgency of the situation, immediately dispatched a servant to summon the physician. Eustis paced the room, his agitation mounting; he couldn’t bear to wait a single moment while Philomel lay on the bed.
“Damn it! The child is half-dead—why aren’t they here yet?”
The Count cautiously assessed the Princess. Her complexion was pale, certainly, but her breathing was steady and her pulse remained regular. To claim she was on the verge of death seemed a gross exaggeration, yet he kept his thoughts to himself, intimidated by the suffocating aura radiating from the Emperor.
When the royal physician finally arrived, breathless, he was unfairly berated for his lack of speed before being shoved toward the bedside. He examined the Princess with practiced care.
“She has merely lost consciousness due to extreme exhaustion and sleep deprivation. She must have endured significant stress on top of that… If she rests and replenishes her nutrients, she will regain her strength soon.”
“Stress?”
“Yes. Perhaps she encountered some shocking news or a disturbing sight before fainting…”
Considering the time elapsed between the Emperor’s departure after the report from the young Duke Abridon and his sudden return, the source of that stress was all too clear. It was the Emperor’s own words, his actions, or perhaps his very presence.
The physician withdrew, promising to prepare medicine for when she awoke. He was undoubtedly curious about the Princess, who had been the subject of countless rumors of late, but he did not show it. That was how one survived the Imperial Palace—a battlefield where the loudest weapons were silence and discretion.
“I will prepare a bed in another room. Your Majesty, you should rest as well.”
Polan lowered his voice to avoid disturbing the sleeping girl.
“No. I stay here.”
“You collapsed just the other day, and you used movement magic twice! If you lose consciousness again—”
“I said I am fine.”
As the Emperor waved his hand in a dismissive gesture, Polan had no choice but to retreat. As he turned to leave, he glanced back to see Eustis pulling a chair to the bedside.
Princess Philomel had returned. With her back, the Emperor and the Imperial Palace would surely return to their original order.
Polan walked down the hallway with a light heart.
* * *
Philomel buried herself in the duvet, relishing the feel of the soft, smooth fabric.
*What time is it? I need to get up, dress, and finish my lessons.*
She was exhausted. She wanted to stay curled in the warmth for just a little longer, but she couldn’t. She had a daily routine to uphold. Besides, the economics tutor was notoriously strict; a late arrival would be met with thin-lipped, silent disapproval.
Her eyelids felt unnaturally heavy, but she forced them open.
The ceiling was familiar, yet not. She blinked a few times, a cold realization settling in: this was not her room. The bedding carried the cool, heavy scent of wood.
*This is the scent… of the Emperor.*
Her mind spun. Why was she here? She turned her head slightly to see Eustis’s face, his eyes closed in a fitful sleep.
*Wait, Eustis?*
Philomel sat up with a start and scanned her surroundings. She was in the Emperor’s bedroom, lying in his bed.
The memories rushed back. Her flight, meeting her biological mother, being locked in the detention center, and arriving in Nasar and Sangen. She remembered encountering Eustis in Sangen… and then, a blank space.
She must have fainted from the shock. He must have brought her back using his magic. But why was she in his bed? And why was the Emperor sitting in a chair, nodding off while clutching the hem of her dirty skirt with such desperate tension?
All the tension drained out of her.
*Once I’ve been caught, does it really matter where I am?*
Beyond the wide window, the Imperial Palace—the place where she had been born and raised—loomed.
Philomel’s beautiful prison.
Her short escape had ended in vanity. No matter how hard she ran, she was held firmly in the Emperor’s palm. The villainess could not change her fate. A strange sense of calm washed over her; it was foolish to struggle against a current she could not turn. For seven years, she had been a fool, fighting for a different ending.
“Philomel.”
She sat blankly, devoid of motivation, until her name broke the silence.
“Your Majesty.”
Dark, sunken blue eyes met hers.
“You’re awake. How is your body?”
Watching him rub his temples in exhaustion, she thought he should be the one resting, not her.
“I am fine. I will move, so please, take the bed, Your Majesty.”
“No. Stay lying down a while longer.”
Philomel obeyed. There was no specific reason to refuse; she no longer had the energy to rack her brain for a way to survive. Everything had become a burden.
Compared to Philomel’s detached emptiness, Eustis looked deeply troubled.
“Why… did you leave?”
He finally asked the obvious question.
“Because I am not your biological daughter,” Philomel replied calmly.
He should have known this better than anyone, yet he wore a look of raw shock. A series of interrogative questions followed, but the answers flowed from her lips with disarming ease. Now that she had let go, even Eustis seemed less terrifying.
“Did you write that letter?”
“Yes.”
“Where have you been all this time?”
“Here and there, around Sangen.”
She did not want to mention Angelium. Even if Nasar eventually submitted an official report, she wanted to keep that to herself for now.
“Why go to Sangen?”
“I wanted to visit again. I thought the city was beautiful when I went with the young Duke Abridon.”
It was a half-truth.
“Were there any incidents? Did you meet thugs? Were you ill?”
“Nothing happened.”
*Though I faced the secret of my birth and was slapped for the first time,* she thought. *And being locked in iron bars was a unique experience.*
“Then why is your complexion so poor? And why have you lost so much weight?”
“I suppose the bedding and the food didn’t agree with me.”
Philomel stared at him, indifferent. *Never mind me, suffering outside—why has he wasted away himself?* She felt a flicker of curiosity, though only a slight one.
Eustis wiped his face with both hands, his eyes turning serious.
“Philomel. Just because you aren’t my biological daughter doesn’t mean you must leave. Even if we aren’t blood-related, you are my daughter.”
It was a story she couldn’t comprehend. How could she be his daughter without a blood connection? There were families forged in love, but that did not apply to them. Philomel was nothing more than a cuckoo’s egg that Katherine had shoved into the wrong nest. She had pushed out the original egg, and even if Philomel hadn’t intended to displace Ellensia, the result remained the same.
When she looked at him, searching for an explanation, Eustis declared solemnly.
“I will register you in the family registry.”
*Registration.*
Philomel quietly chewed on the weight of the word. It meant he would adopt her formally. She was utterly confused. Why would he reach such a conclusion?
“…Why?”
“Because you are my daughter.”
The answer deepened her confusion, and her head began to throb. She had reached a point of complete resignation, willing to accept any ending—even death—but this was a variable she hadn’t expected.
“Um. So… does that mean you have no intention of killing me?”
“…Why would I kill you?” Eustis asked, his expression one of utter bewilderment, as if she had suggested something impossible.
“Then why did you search so hard to find me?”
“Because you disappeared.”
“You didn’t want to find me to punish me?”
“It wasn’t a crime you committed, so why would I punish you? The one who switched you and Ellensia is your biological mother, not you.”
“…….”
It was a valid point; she had no rebuttal. It was disorienting to hear such chillingly rational words coming from Eustis.
“If you weren’t trying to punish me, why did you search so hard?”
“Because my daughter had disappeared.”
She had asked, thinking she might have misheard, but the answer remained unchanged.
*Daughter? Did he just call me his daughter?*