8.
After the nuisances by her side disappeared, Philomel’s daily life smoothed out.
The rigid schedule, the relentless weight of others’ gazes, and the gnawing terror of an uncertain death still made it hard to breathe at times, but it was bearable.
Fortunately, the nanny and her clique were gone, leaving her heart feeling far lighter. Countess Deles and the new maids attended to their duties with quiet competence.
However…
“This isn’t enough.”
Philomel muttered to herself, turning the pages of a book while alone in her room before breakfast.
It was a relief that the nanny was gone and she was finally gaining a modicum of acknowledgment, but it was too early to let her guard down. She had to do everything in her power to survive—at least until she was old enough to vanish on her own.
She was only nine. In this small body, she was powerless, and the next few years would be a grueling slog. But she needed to secure her independence for the day she finally walked out of the Imperial Palace.
‘For now, I’m steadily saving escape funds by pinching my allowance… What else can I do?’
Escape methods?
She had considered a few, but there was a massive hurdle to any viable plan.
Namely, winning favor with the Emperor.
There was an item perfect for her escape, but it was an Imperial treasure. It could only be wielded by the Emperor or a successor he explicitly acknowledged.
“But how on earth am I supposed to win his favor…”
The Emperor had looked at Philomel differently of late, but that alone wasn’t enough to bridge the chasm between them. She had been summoned to meals on occasion, but their relationship hadn’t progressed a single step further.
‘Hmm… What should I do?’
She couldn’t give up on the treasure; there was no substitute.
Philomel, who was habitually re-reading , suddenly brightened.
“Yes, this is it!”
She immediately pulled the bell rope to summon Countess Deles and asked her to retrieve a specific object.
A while later, the Countess returned with a medicine bottle filled with green powder.
“This is the powder ground from the Sansal Herb you requested.”
“Thank you!”
“Don’t mention it. But may I ask why? It’s usually used as a medicinal ingredient.”
“I’m going to brew tea for His Majesty.”
“…For His Majesty the Emperor?”
“Yes! He drinks quite often, doesn’t he? I read that water boiled with Sansal Herb is excellent for hangovers!”
Philomel spoke with the practiced innocence of a child. From her observations, the Countess was a kind-hearted woman who felt a duty to protect a child’s purity.
“Hmm… I see. His Majesty will surely be pleased by the Princess’s filial piety.”
As expected, the Countess’s expression flickered with hesitation, but she soon smiled and encouraged her.
“Shall I prepare a teapot and cups as well?”
“Please, and a filter paper, too!”
“Huhu, I’ll bring them right away.”
As soon as Countess Deles left, Philomel opened the bottle and brought it to her nose.
“Ugh, the smell!”
A pungent, sour odor filled the room.
This was the source of the Countess’s ambiguity. While the Sansal Herb was famous for its hangover-relieving properties, few dared to touch it. It was infamous for a stench that heralded a taste twice as vile.
‘But it’s okay. I have this.’
Philomel went to a safe deep within her room, unlocked it, and pulled out a glass bottle as thick as her forearm.
The pale golden liquid within sloshed rhythmically. It was the juice of the World Tree fruit.
If you mixed this into the bitter Sansal Herb tea, the bitterness was neutralized, making it surprisingly palatable. It was a discovery Ellensia had made by accident in the book when she combined the juice her father gave her with the herb tea.
To think such a stroke of genius came from the simple, naive belief that “mixing two good things must make them better.”
‘As expected, the real Princess is something else.’
Philomel smiled bitterly.
In the original narrative, this “Premium Sansal Herb Tea”—excellent for both hangovers and vitality—was Ellensia’s invention. Until then, no one had dared waste precious World Tree fruit juice on such ghastly tea. Philomel was about to steal the credit.
‘Sorry, Ellensia. You’re going to live a charmed life regardless, so just let me have this one.’
After offering a silent, perfunctory apology to her conscience, she set to work. The Countess returned, and Philomel brewed the tea, filtering it carefully before adding exactly two spoonfuls of the golden fruit juice. Sweat beaded on the bridge of her nose as she stirred, terrified of ruining the ratio.
“Done!”
She took a tiny sip. It was oddly sweet.
‘Ellensia, you might have been kind enough to share this with some hungover knight, but I’m different.’
Good things should be reserved for those in power.
Guided by the pragmatic, cold logic she had learned early on, Philomel headed straight for the Emperor’s bedchamber. Countess Deles followed, carrying the heavy tray.
She knew the Emperor had held a formal dinner for high-ranking nobles the night before. If the feast had dragged on, he was undoubtedly suffering this morning.
On the way, she ran into Count Polan. Upon hearing her plan, his eyes misted over.
“At last, the warmth of spring between you two…! It just so happens that His Majesty is waking up. Let us go.”
‘As I thought, the hangover has kept him in bed.’
Philomel walked toward the bedroom, a spark of hope rising in her chest.
The Count opened the door and ushered her in.
“Your Majesty, look who has come to see you!”
A pained, gravelly voice echoed from the bed.
“…My head is pounding. Stop shouting.”
Eustis, disheveled and weary, stirred from his slumber.
‘This is it!’
Philomel took the tray from the Countess and approached the bed.
“Your Majesty, are you unwell?”
She performed the polite, rehearsed greeting she had practiced for weeks.
Eustis jumped, clearly surprised.
“Philomel? Why are you here?”
“I brought you some Sansal Herb tea. I thought it might help. If you don’t mind, please have a cup.”
Count Polan chimed in from the doorway.
“I hear the Princess brewed it herself. Isn’t her filial piety touching?”
Eustis looked at the steaming tea with hollow, bloodshot eyes. Perhaps due to the pungent smell, his pale complexion took on a sickly cast. The World Tree fruit juice masked the bitterness, but the earthy, sour scent of the herb remained.
‘You aren’t going to refuse, are you?’
Worried, Philomel stepped closer.
“The smell is quite strong, but the taste…”
Ugh. Philomel’s nose wrinkled.
‘The smell of alcohol!’
Even with the herbal tea, she could smell the stale, heavy scent of wine rolling off the Emperor. Her eyes drifted to the table; several empty bottles stood there, evidence of a long, lonely night.
‘He kept drinking even after the dinner?’
Her eyes widened in disbelief.
“Get away from me.”
As if he sensed her judgment, Eustis shifted backward.
“But…”
Her hands, struggling under the weight of the tray, trembled.
‘It’s too heavy!’
It was far too much for a child to hold a full tea service for this long.
“…Give it here.”
With a weary sigh, Eustis reached out, took the tray, and set it on the bed. He glared at the tea as if it were an enemy, then downed the cup in one go.
“……?”
His furrowed brow smoothed instantly.
“The taste… isn’t bad.”
Philomel smiled, wide and bright.
“Right? I added World Tree fruit juice to take away the bitterness.”
“World Tree fruit juice?”
“Yes! The one you gave me.”
“…I gave that to you to consume.”
“I don’t have any ailments. But since you frequently suffer from hangovers…”
Count Polan interjected, “You should cut back on the drinking, Your Majesty. For the sake of the Princess. No matter how robust you are, your health will suffer if you keep pouring alcohol like this for another ten years.”
“Be quiet.”
“The Princess is still young, and…”
“I said, be quiet.”
Listening to them, Philomel learned a hidden truth.
‘So he’s been drinking this much for a long time.’
She hadn’t known; she never had reason to see him during his private hours.
‘And if it started ten years ago…’
That was around the time Philomel was born. It was also the year Empress Isabella died.
Perhaps he had been drowning his sorrows in alcohol since the Empress passed. He looked fine on the outside, but inside, he was a wreck.
She felt a strange, jarring sensation in her chest.
‘With his wife gone and his daughter a fake, he’s truly alone.’
But Philomel shook her head vigorously.
‘No, what are you doing? Pitying him?’
He was the man who would eventually have her killed. She couldn’t afford to let her heart grow soft until she was safely away.
“Philomel.”
Eustis set the cup down and spoke in a low, hollow voice.
“Thanks to you, my head feels a bit clearer. If there is anything you want, tell me.”
It worked.
The Emperor was a man who believed in clear rewards and punishments. He wanted to acknowledge her effort.
What should she ask for?
‘It’s too early… to ask for that item.’
After a brief, calculated moment of hesitation, Philomel told him what she wanted.