9.
“I’m glad I chose this place!”
Philomel smiled with satisfaction as she looked at the garden in full bloom. She was taking a quiet tour of the grounds at the back of the Imperial Palace.
Flowers, cultivated by the most renowned gardeners in the empire, were in full blossom.
*A beautiful scene lifts the spirits.*
To exaggerate slightly, even sworn enemies might lose their edge amidst such tranquil beauty.
“Would you do me the honor of accompanying me on a walk?”
The wish Philomel had expressed to Eustis was for a simple stroll. She had never once walked the gardens with him.
*I’ll show him during our walk just what a capable successor I can be.*
However, the person who stood before Philomel was not Eustis, but an entirely different figure. A boy, roughly two or three years her junior, glared at her with a sullen face.
“Hey!”
The boy barked.
“This is a place only for the Imperial family!”
“……?”
Philomel calmly assessed him.
This garden was restricted to the Imperial family. Being here implied he was a collateral branch. His dull blonde hair and eyes of a similar color provided the confirmation she needed.
“Are you daring to ignore me? Which family are you from? Don’t you know it’s a grave crime to sneak in here?”
Believing her silence was a slight, the boy shouted, his face reddening with agitation.
*Ah, he’s loud. I can’t think. More importantly, is he an idiot? Why doesn’t it occur to him that I might be Imperial?*
Philomel tried to remain patient.
“Look, please lower your voice. And it would be better to show some manners……”
“Shut up!”
*Snap.* The thread of patience inside her heart frayed and broke.
Many had subtly looked down on Philomel, but this was her first time being treated with such blatant, unvarnished disrespect.
A cold, dry voice escaped her lips.
“No, you shut up.”
“W-what? What did you just say……”
“Are your ears blocked? I said you shut up, Liam Eross.”
“You—how dare you, knowing who I am……”
“What about you? Do you know who I am?”
“How would I know someone like you?”
Behind the shouting Liam, two figures emerged from the shadows of the hedges.
“Liam! What’s wrong? Did you get hurt anywhere?”
“You’re being loud. What on earth is the matter?”
The first person to catch her eye was a woman clutching a parasol. She possessed bright blonde hair and cold, gray eyes. Beside her stood a youth, three or four years older than Philomel, sporting the same dull gold hair as Liam.
They were the Marchioness of Eross and her eldest son, Logan Eross.
The Marchioness—born Sylvia Belerov—was the daughter of the late Emperor and half-sister to the current one.
With all other children of the late Emperor dead or exiled—save for the Emperor and the Marchioness, who had been quick to align herself with Eustis—they were the only remaining collateral relatives.
*I had heard the Marchioness had two sons, but……*
She knew the eldest, but this was her first meeting with the second.
The Belerov clan was not a close-knit group; they rarely convened outside of state events, and the young Liam had no reason to appear in public.
The Marchioness spotted Philomel and offered a perfunctory greeting.
“Oh my, Philomel. It’s been a while. Have you been well?”
Regardless of their relation, speaking informally to a Princess was a breach of etiquette. Even within the Imperial family, one maintained a degree of propriety toward the direct line. Dropping honorifics was reserved for the most intimate of settings, not a public garden.
Beside her, Liam looked at his mother in confusion.
“Yes? If it’s Philomel, you mean the Princess? But Mother, you said the Princess was ugly……”
*Ugh.*
The Marchioness quickly clamped a hand over her son’s mouth.
“What is this child saying? It seems he’s mistaken.”
*……So that’s how they’ve been talking about me.*
Philomel’s gaze turned ice-cold.
To distract from the slip, Logan Eross stepped forward.
“I greet Your Imperial Highness the Princess. Please forgive my younger brother’s rudeness with your generous heart.”
Logan was more composed than his mother or brother, though his bow was little more than a slight, insincere nod.
Logan Eross.
He was the boy many predicted would be the next Emperor, mostly because Philomel lacked divine power and was considered devoid of talent. Gossips whispered that the Emperor would soon adopt his intelligent nephew and name him successor.
*Though it’s obvious he’ll be nothing but a dog chasing a chicken once Ellensia arrives.*
Philomel scoffed inwardly and accepted the greeting with a sharp nod.
“If Your Highness permits, we shall take our leave. We came to take a stroll as a family today.”
But at that moment, Liam wrenched his hand from his mother’s grip and clung to his brother.
“Brother! Brother! When you become Emperor later, tear this garden down and make it a playground! I want to play war games here with my friends.”
“……Shh! You shouldn’t say things like that carelessly.”
She had heard it all. He was acting as if the throne were already theirs.
Philomel watched the three of them, their arrogance reaching for the heavens. Antagonizing them was a calculated risk. Even if she suppressed them now with her authority, they were the type to bare their fangs the moment her position as a fake was revealed.
Perhaps it would be wiser to laugh it off.
*But……*
Where in the world was an heir who would stand by and take such insults from a collateral branch? She needed to draw a line.
*If this reaches the Emperor’s ears, he might be disappointed in me again.*
But more than that, she refused to live in fear. Until the moment she was forced to step down, she was the Princess.
Having solidified her resolve, Philomel spoke.
“Wait. Before the three of you go, give me a proper greeting.”
The mother and her sons looked at her with bewildered expressions.
“We gave you a greeting earlier.”
“Is that how the Marchioness of Eross was greeted by collateral relatives when she was a Princess?”
“Th-that is……”
“And why have you been using informal language since you arrived? Speak with the proper honorifics.”
Exclamations of irritation escaped the Marchioness, but she found herself cornered.
“Yes, I shall do as you wish. Sylvia Eross greets Your Highness Philomel. Is that enough now?”
To Sylvia, who spat the words out with sharp, perfunctory deference, Philomel gave a single, icy command.
“Kneel.”
“Wh-what did you say!”
“I said kneel. Isn’t that the proper way to greet an heir to the throne?”
Technically, such protocols were rarely observed in private settings among noble kin, but Philomel was demanding the letter of the law.
Sylvia’s face flushed with humiliation. As a former Princess, she had enjoyed a status above all other noblewomen, even as a Marchioness. She had grown accustomed to reigning over high society in the absence of an Empress.
The anger boiled over, but it was Liam who struck first.
“My brother is going to be the Emperor, so what kind of successor are you!”
At that exact moment, a chilling voice cut through the air.
“What is this commotion?”
The Emperor appeared.
The faces of the Marchioness and Logan drained of color. Even the young Liam seemed to realize, however faintly, that he had stepped onto dangerous ground.
For a collateral relative to speak of replacing the Emperor’s child? It was a sentiment that bordered on treason.
*He must have heard what Liam said!*
Philomel quickly approached the Emperor, her voice trembling just enough.
“Your Majesty! Liam Eross says that his brother will be the next Emperor. Is that true? Can Logan Eross become Emperor, bypassing me, the First Princess?”
The flustered Marchioness broke into tears.
“Your Majesty, that is not true! My son never said such a thing!”
“…….”
The Emperor remained silent.
Thinking he would not abandon them, Logan joined in.
“That is right, Your Majesty. The Princess must have misheard.”
The Emperor’s gaze sharpened.
“……Then are you saying the Princess is lying?”
The Marchioness stiffened, then offered a small, subtle smile.
“I apologize, but yes. Children often lie to get attention, do they not? Please do not scold the Princess too harshly. It is only the way of children, after all.”
“My mother is right. It was merely a trivial lie.”
They moved in perfect unison to paint Philomel as a fabricator.
If she were a truly poised successor, she might have refuted them logically, but in the heat of this betrayal, the words caught in her throat.
For the first time, she felt the crushing, infinite sorrow of being viewed as nothing more than a weak, deceitful child.
“I-it’s not……. I really heard it, Your Majesty.”
Tears welled up in Philomel’s eyes.