Chapter 163

Step one in the manual of how to get away with murder: be the daughter of the guy who makes the rules.

Step two: have said guy break those rules.

The next morning brings news, Emma’s whispers reaching my ears mere minutes before Harold, one of my father’s few trusted servants, lands on my doorstep with the official announcement. He always looks small by my father’s side, but within my sitting room where I tend to meet most guests, he isn’t drowned in the size and grandeur of the room, carrying his own rather easily. It piques my interest as I realize I hardly know a thing about this servant who has toiled by the emperor’s side for years without rising or falling in rank or station.

On paper, that would mean that my father was dissatisfied with him. But the smart nobles and ministers treat Harold like a proxy of the emperor, his seemingly meek and distant persona juxtaposed by the fact that he is one of the few people who can be close to the emperor’s aura. My understanding of my father’s strange aura is limited, but anyone who can withstand it cannot be of little consequence.

I wonder briefly how Elias would fare against my father’s aura before shaking my head and ridding myself of the idea altogether. Instead, I refocus my energy on the man who has stopped his monotone speaking, a wry smile spreading across my lips.

“So I’m free to go?” I ask, invoking popular language from my world that Harold would never understand. Lord Bromely’s death will be ruled as a freak accident due to the dim lighting of the hallway, with Sage being charged for damaging imperial property by breaking the face. If nothing else, it is a creative spin on a cut-and-dry murder case with all obvious clues pointing my way.

“You were never confined within your quarters, your highness,” Harold answers.

.....

I snort but don’t respond. “Is that all?” He lingers, the classic hover of a servant who has more to say. I lazily rest my head on my hand, the epitome of a bored, spoiled princess who can’t be bothered to listen to her father’s servant.

“His Majesty wished to know what you desired for your birthday, your highness,” his words come out as stiff as his posture, ever intent to uphold the pomp and glory befit of a palace servant.

This time the chuckle cannot be stifled. The snickers fill the spacious room, like the delicate peals of bells I can sometimes hear when the wind is just right and the bell boy at the Grand Temple puts his back into his job.

“Does he really?” Technically my actions were disrespectful. But there is no audience to witness and something tells me my father will say nothing of it. As he says nothing of anything to me or about me.

“Yes, your highness,” he replies.

I look down at the jewels on my fingers, one of them a ring fashioned in the shape of the Holy Church’s sun.

“Anything I want?” I taunt, not looking up.

“Yes.” I suppose of anyone in the world who could make such a claim, only an emperor could.

Suddenly the game grows boring, like a good meal going cold.

“I want for nothing.”

I rise abruptly from the soft sofa, ready to retreat to the inner rooms and be done with an announcement I knew of before Harold had even set foot through the door. If I’m lucky, I’ll be able to eat some ice cream to dispel the heat before Ms. Laroche arrives and scolds me for eating too many sweet foods in the morning.

“Your highness,” Harold calls from behind.

I stop and look over my shoulder. “Anything,” he repeats firmly in a way that catches my attention.

“What if I wanted Sarsaval?” I playfully inquire, lured back into the game against my will.

“The emperor would invade,” Harold says.

I shake my head. Sarsaval would be too easy now, considering how they are still weak from the war and they’ve lost the Traveler bomber who made the battle so difficult. A Traveler bomber whose death still perplexes me. But thinking of that whole fiasco makes me think of Julian, and thinking of Julian brings about an unquenchable irritation.

“What if I wanted your head?” I ask with the same tone one would ask for the weather.

“Then it would be yours, your highness.” Harold drops to his knees with his head bowed. If I held a sword in my hands and knew how to wield one, he would be dead in moments.

“Well, tell him I will think about his offer,” I sigh, retreating inside as if I didn’t casually threaten to kill Harold a second ago. I was just kidding anyways, pinky promise.

“Can you believe that?” I say to Emma as I enter my bedroom where she was waiting for me. She’s busy counting the gold in a hefty pouch a gave her, so diligent that her eyes are still pinned on her treasure as she curtseys in greeting.

“I can,” Emma surprisingly answers.

“Why?” I sit next to her and she throws a hostile look my way as she throws a protective arm over her money. Emma is the equivalent of a dragon hoarding its treasure from would-be thieves. “Bloody hell, I gave you that money, why would I take it back?”

“Because today on the streets, there was another interesting rumor abound,” she says casually, although I’m sure the rumor is anything but.

“Oh?” I exclaim, leaning in close. “Do tell.”

She spares a glance my way finally, something heavy in her gaze. “It concerns the imperial family’s honor.”

“Honor,” I repeat, finding the notion of my family having any honor quite droll. “All the more reason to hear of it.”

“The people talk of His Majesty’s birth,” she continues, her fingers rapidly flicking through coins like a seasoned merchant. “They called him a bastard.”

“Not a lie,” I mutter under my breath.

“They spoke of how he was unfit to bear Helio’s name and of how he was not meant to bear the Phoenix Crown. They say that it should’ve been Crown Prince Wilhelm who bore the crown,” Emma finishes, using the shorthand term for the magnificent crown that my father rarely wears save for the occasional state function and his own coronation.

I rise from the chair, tapping my chin in thought as I venture to the bedroom window that overlooks the immaculate green palace grounds.

“Treasonous words,” I offer.

“Mmm,” Emma agrees.

“Probably planted,” I add.

“But it grew on its own from there for a time.”

“The rumor’s already dead? That’s no fun,” I pout. “It would take a lot to sweep away rumors such as that. Who served as the broom to get rid of them? Was it the people’s undying love for their current crown prince? The people really love Augustus like he’s their own son. Good looks will take you very far in life, take it from me, Emma.” I snap my fingers, marveling at my father’s luck.

All his children came out beautiful, even the psychotic Julia. Even me. No, I’m not one of those attractive characters who have little idea of how pretty or handsome they are. I’ve been well aware that if nothing else, this blossoming beauty of mine will be utterly devastating when I’m older, should I be lucky enough to live that long.

“No,” Emma replies flatly. “It was you.”

“...Me?”

“Yes. If the emperor were unworthy of the throne and the Phoenix Crown, the promised child would not have come from his blood. Is your existence not proof of Helio’s satisfaction with him? Simple reasoning really,” she shrugs.

“Simple reasoning indeed,” I sigh. “No wonder he is so generous for this birthday in particular.”

The empress’ poisonous words attempt to sow their seeds once more, reaffirming that my entire existence was calculated from the start. So long as the emperor has a child who can wield the gifts of a god, who can point their finger at him and call him illegitimate? Say, he’s so worthy of the throne that even his illegitimate children can be blessed by Helio!

But rather than wallowing in self-pity like I can admit I am fond of doing, I toss my head back and let out a good belly laugh.

“He made good use of me then. I ought to return the favor by choosing a very good gift. What do you say, Emma?” I ask my closest confidante rather deviously.

Emma shrugs again. “Gold coins would make a perfectly good gift.”

I stalk back across the room and smack her forehead. “You and your gold! You’d pluck my golden eyes right out of my head if you could.”

“I wouldn’t dare, your highness. I doubt they’d be worth much.” The last sentence she says under her breath, but in a room with just her and me, how wouldn’t I be able to hear her?

“Insolent! Don’t you know how much of a pretty penny these would fetch you on the black market?” I come in close, staring her down with the same obnoxiousness as people with blue eyes in my old world. “You’d be a millionaire, you hoarding dragon. A millionaire!”

The doubt and disdain in her eyes wound me. But they also give rise to a good idea.

“What if I asked for a dragon, Emma? Say, we’d get the best of both worlds, wouldn’t we? Dragons protect large hordes of gold. If I asked Father to tame one for me, I’d get both coin and a new pet,” I rationalize as if dragons aren’t a rare species that are notoriously difficult to find and capture.

“What is this talk of pets, your highness?” Ms. Laroche arrives without preamble or warning, causing both Emma and I to jump. Her gray dress stands in stark contrast with the white and gold decor of the room, calling into attention the fact that I am not in my proper “school uniform” of a full black skirt and white blouse.

“You misheard, Ms. Laroche.” My voice lightly quavers as she stalks in, her eyes taking in everything.

“I had been waiting for you to come to your lesson. But you didn’t come, so I thought I might seek you out here, your highness,” Ms. Laroche comments in her whipcrack of a voice, cleverly telling me that I am both very late and in trouble.

“Um... were you? The time got away from me as I was taking care of delicate matters. Didn’t it, Emma?”

“It did.” Emma discreetly tucks away her gold and quickly agrees with me. Ms. Laroche passes a disapproving look to her, before returning to me.

“See?” I say to her, smiling through gritted teeth as I recall how she’d made me balance books on my head the last time I showed up late to a lesson. And all the while my father watched on without a word. Typical.

But surprisingly, Ms. Laroche doesn’t pursue the topic. “It will be your birthday soon. I won’t be here to celebrate as my sister is giving birth and I must assist her. You would do well to remember that you are approaching adulthood and can no longer act as frivolously as you tend to, your highness.”

I can read in between the lines and see that Ms. Laroche is giving me a pass for today. Even so, her words rankle as I curse my luck of having to repeat school a second time as if the first time wasn’t hard enough as it was.

“Was my father in the study room before you came?” I ask after changing into my uniform. School is much less of a bother without Julia there and I’ve grown accustomed to the silent emperor just lurking in the back as I learn about how his great-great-grandfather messed up a trade treaty and plunged the empire into a war with one of its neighboring kingdoms.

“He was. Let us return so that the emperor does not tarry from his work any longer than he must. I am certain he takes his daily tasks far more seriously than you do, your highness,” she condemns me in a barely veiled manner, her long steps carrying her far ahead of me. It is truly a gift to be so polite yet so deadly.

“I do not doubt that either,” I enthusiastically agree on the outside with a Cheshire cat grin. On the inside, I keep reminding myself to ‘Just. Keep. Smiling’. Sometimes I don’t know whether I should appreciate or hate Ms. Laroche for always treating me the same no matter how my luck has ebbed and flowed over the years. But I know that her actions and words right now would pale in comparison to the reaction that would be garnered if she knew of the murder trial I just dodged. Even though I’m technically innocent, I know I would drown in a sea of her disappointment and contempt.

“Your Majesty.”

“Father.” We finally arrive at the study room, one of the repurposed rooms of the empress’ wing I’ve been given, considering how most empresses are done with their studies by the time they reside here.

The drably decorated room, meant to inspire a bookish air with shelves of books and a faint scent of crisp paper, is further garnished with a stern-looking emperor. He nods, ready to carry on with his silent watch, but today is a little different.

“Father,” I repeat again to the large man sitting in a chair entirely too small for him in the corner. Ms. Laroche has offered several times to get him a better one, but he gives her a long look until she drops the matter. The emperor looks my way with his typical intensity and I’m struck by how his dark hair is longer than I remember, falling almost halfway down his back. It’s funny how the little details will jump out at you at random times.

“For my birthday, I would like a cupcake,” I request in my sweetest voice.

“Cupcake? A cup of cake?” Ms. Laroche repeats, completely perplexed. “Don’t say such nonsense things to the emperor, your highness.”

“What is a cup...cake?” my father asks instead. His voice is soft, softer than usual.

“It is a small cake baked in a cup. You put buttercream on top and pretty, edible decorations. They are a delight to eat on birthdays,” I tell him carefully, using my hand gestures to paint a full picture.

My father nods solemnly like I’ve invested him with a serious task.

“Is there anything else you would like, Winter?” he generously offers.

I tap my chin as if I’m thinking hard before faking a eureka moment. “Oh yes! And a dragon. I would really, really love a pet dragon for my birthday. You can do that, can’t you? Since you said I could ask for anything I want.” I bat my lashes, staring at my father like he’s the greatest thing since sliced bread if that is even a thing in this world.

For the first time in my life, I think I see a hint of regret in Emperor Helio’s eyes.

.....