2.
Act 1. This love is like a curse.
Talia stared into the mirror. The woman looking back at her was a face she had grown weary of seeing since birth. The only difference was the girl in the glass possessed a restless, anxious gaze and dry lips, lacking the elegant smile and the sensual, luminous eyes of her mother.
Glaring at her reflection with a dissatisfied scowl, Talia turned to her nurse. “How do I look?”
“You look like an angel, Your Highness.” The nurse, who had been brushing her hair with rhythmic, steady strokes, answered with a beaming smile, her eyes curving into half-moons. “You truly resemble Imperial Princess Talia Roem Gwirta. Dressed with such care, it is as if I am looking at the Imperial Princess when she was eighteen.”
Talia roughly swiped away the plump hand that was still fiddling with her hair. Irritation welled in her throat; the nurse’s lack of sensitivity was grating. Did she think it a compliment to equate her to her mother?
“The brushing is done. Get my dress.”
The nurse, looking like a scolded puppy, waddled toward the chest. Talia watched her with deepening displeasure. How could someone be so dull?
As the woman rummaged through the trunk with a soft, whimpering sound, she pulled out a red satin gown and glanced at Talia to gauge her reaction.
“Look at this. This is the very dress Imperial Princess Talia Roem Gwirta wore when she first entered the Imperial Palace. She must have prepared it specifically for you, Your Highness.”
Talia felt a surge of disgust. “Does the nurse remember everything my mother wore from so long ago?”
“Of course! How could I forget that day? Imperial Princess Talia Roem Gwirta did not look like she belonged to this world. I was on the verge of tears simply knowing someone so beautiful existed. Even the Emperor could not take his eyes off her.” The nurse sighed, her expression dazed, as if lost in a dream.
Talia swallowed a bitter laugh. Did this woman truly believe they had shared the romance of the century?
At the time, the Emperor had an Empress with whom he had shared six years of marriage—a woman nearing childbirth. The encounter between Imperial Princess Talia Roem Gwirta and the Emperor had been nothing more, and nothing less, than a sordid affair. Even after the former Empress, Bernadette, died and Imperial Princess Talia Roem Gwirta officially ascended, people never forgot that stain. As long as she existed, the memory of their shameless sin remained.
Talia stifled the sarcasm rising in her chest and snatched the dress from the nurse’s hand. “If you have time to spout nonsense, finish dressing me.”
“Of course. I shall see to everything.”
The nurse helped her into the velvet bliaut. Talia adjusted her hair and looked into the mirror again. In her mother’s dress, the resemblance was uncanny.
Had a dark, ominous sensuality begun to sprout within her, too? Talia stared at the curve of her own breasts, now rounded and exposed above the low-cut square neckline. While one could hardly call the sight dignified, it was undeniably enchanting.
Talia habitually brought her fingers to her lips, but quickly lowered her hand, fearing she might smear her makeup. She needed to be the most beautiful woman here today. She wanted to outshine her mother.
*I want everyone to look at me. So that no one glances at someone like Aila.*
A fierce hunger ignited in the deep blue eyes reflected in the glass. It was not the gaze of an Imperial Princess; it was the look of a beggar scrounging on the street.
Talia picked up a candlestick and struck the mirror with savage force. A loud crash shattered the glass, spiderweb-like cracks splintering across her own distorted face. The nurse, who had been adjusting the hem of her skirt, shrieked and collapsed to the floor.
Talia tossed the candlestick aside, her voice cold. “I am tired of that mirror. Bring a new one.”
The nurse looked up, her face deathly pale. She pressed her lips together, stood, and as if nothing had occurred, draped a gorgeous fur-lined coat over Talia’s shoulders.
Talia glared at her reflection, shattered into dozens of jagged pieces, before spinning around.
As she left the room, she saw the escort knight sent by Imperial Princess Talia Roem Gwirta standing in a rigid posture at the end of the hallway. Ignoring the man—who watched her with a flustered, reddened face—she marched down the stairs.
A gold-rimmed carriage and eight guards awaited her in front of the secondary palace. Clearly, Imperial Princess Talia Roem Gwirta did not want her eldest daughter to appear shabby.
*She must want me to antagonize her political enemies.*
Talia curled her lips in a cynical sneer and boarded the carriage. Just then, the new guard who had stepped forward to close the door spoke, his voice straining as if he were purging something hot from his throat.
“Today… you are truly beautiful, Your Highness.”
At his yearning tone, the hairs on her arms stood up. Talia shot him a sharp, cutting look. She had no need for such drivel from a man like him.
“Stop the useless chatter and depart.”
The man closed the door with a crestfallen expression.
As the carriage began to move, she pressed her back deep into the seat, looking up at the blood-red sky through the fluttering curtains. How wonderful it would be if the evening banquet were stained with that same violent color. She hoped for a commotion; she hoped for ruin.
She unconsciously traced her lips, but lowered her hand quickly when she saw a streak of red dye on her fingertips.
Her nerves felt like they were burning. Contrary to her dark mood, only brilliant lights and soft, gilded melodies spilled out from the Main Palace as she arrived.
Talia stepped down and frowned at the vast path leading to the banquet hall and its meticulously manicured gardens. Hundreds of nobles in silk finery were filing into the Main Palace along the marble steps.
Ignoring the knight who had followed to escort her, she pushed toward the entrance. Those who recognized her instinctively cleared a path. It was only natural; the Imperial Palace was her home, and she had no intention of waiting in line like a common guest.
She spoke calmly to an attendant who looked ready to panic. “I have come to celebrate my brothers’ birthdays.”
The attendant’s eyes went wide.
Talia snapped, her irritation sharp. “Well? What are you waiting for? Announce me at once.”
The man scrambled toward a pillar and shouted at the top of his lungs, “The Second Imperial Princess, Her Highness Talia Roem Gwirta, is entering!”
A chilling silence instantly stifled the hall.
Talia stepped into the brilliant, golden-lit chamber with her head held high. She could feel hundreds of piercing gazes scouring her from head to toe. She savored their shock, their anger, and their reluctant, grudging admiration as she glided forward. People drifted away from her like an ebbing tide.
*As if I am the plague.*
Talia muttered to herself with a malicious smile.
Suddenly, someone blocked her path. “What is the meaning of your presence here?”
She looked up, meeting the man’s eyes. He was one of the many fools who fawned over her half-sister, Aila. Talia gave a slow, sultry smile—a smile she had seen her mother use to ensnare men a thousand times over.
“Have I come somewhere I am not welcome?”
The man’s face, previously stiff with caution, flushed a deep, beet red. He stepped back in a daze.
Talia stepped closer, closing the distance, and lifted her chin. “This is my father’s palace, and this banquet is for my brothers. What possible problem could you have with my presence?”
She stared straight into his eyes. The man was frozen, unable to move or speak. She could see his nostrils flare; he was catching the scent of the rose oil the nurse had painstakingly applied to her hair, strand by strand.
A mixture of strange satisfaction and deep, visceral disgust welled in her as his eyes clouded over, as if he were drunk on strong liquor. Talia brushed past him, leaving him trembling and speechless, and walked toward the center of the hall.