YMPDKMA Chapter 11

I was prepared to lick the very soles of the emperor who would slaughter my family. Pride is a luxury for those who can afford it. If groveling kept Father and Mother and Rehan alive, there was nothing I wouldn't do. With that resolve, keeping the elegant imperial etiquette that Madam Chrissie had drilled into my ears until calluses formed was as easy as breathing.

I turned to the madam, who for some reason wore the face of defeat and clapped half-heartedly, clearly displeased.

"Is this enough?"

"Yes, there's nothing left for me to teach you. When on earth did you begin your education?"

"Eleven."

And until eighteen.

At my answer, the madam's expression turned strange. She frowned with elegant distaste, as though she'd witnessed something unseemly.

"Then it's been barely a year? Good heavens! Forgive me, but who was your instructor?"

"Madam Chrissie Astin."

"Chrissie Astin! I've heard the name. A prodigy from Azengryta University, if I recall."

I hadn't known Madam Chrissie was an educated elite, so I simply nodded. The madam studied me for a moment, then whipped her head around and placed a hand on Riche's shoulder. The girl stood there dumbly. The madam's thin lips trembled with defeat.

"Miss Beatrice! I thought Riche was keeping up well enough, but I was wrong! That I, at the center of the capital, cannot match a southern noble's governess! I cannot bear this humiliation!"

"Um, listen—"

"Oh, how far behind we must have fallen. I'm increasing lessons to four times a week. No—five."

The madam gripped Riche's hands with an expression beyond determination, verging on holy vow. Riche turned to glare at me, her face scrunched in fury. You, really!

Her lips moved in silent reproach. I shrugged awkwardly, grinning. I hadn't known the madam carried such competitive fire.

Riche barely managed to shoo the madam away by insisting she had to escort me to the palace. The woman departed with a disappointed tsk, thrusting a thick book of etiquette into Riche's hands—read this in the meantime, at least. Riche, now saddled with extra homework on my account, made a sour face and hurled the book onto the sofa.

"Ugh! I'm already dying of busyness!"

"Sorry."

"Why are you sorry? It's not your fault your manners are perfect, is it?"

"Well, not perfect—"

"But you weren't this good when we studied together under Madam Chrissie. Did you practice all night without sleeping?"

I couldn't exactly say that dying and waking up again made me this way, so I nodded slightly. Riche let out a small gasp and wrapped her arms around herself.

"Good grief, you're ruthless. Did you want to leave Bellua that badly?"

How convenient, the narratives others construct for you. She accepted my unnatural transformation through the lens of 'moody adolescent girl desperate to escape Bellua.'

The moment the madam left, Riche dragged me upstairs to the dressing room and began flinging dresses at the maids—colors the imperial chamberlain favored—ordering them to try each one on me.

I was hauled off like a doll and dressed accordingly. Without even seeing a mirror, I was presented to Riche on the sofa. If she shook her head, I was dragged back and changed again.

Nine times I molted like a butterfly. Finally, trussed in a corset so tight I could barely breathe, I stood before Riche. She clapped her hands, beaming.

"That's it! Oh, how pretty!"

Riche was rail-thin, practically skeletal. Young as I was, I had a plump, rounded figure. Her dresses pinched my arms and waist, and the corset required to squeeze me into that tiny pink dress strangled my lungs. I gasped for air and reached toward her bright smile.

"N-no. This is too small."

"That's the fashion now. The palace is sensitive to trends."

"Not breathing is fashionable? What kind of—"

"Suzania! Prepare the carriage! We're going to the palace."

Riche cut off my complaint and finished preparations swiftly. I moved with utmost caution, terrified of tearing the fabric. If this was fashionable, the capital people had lost their minds.

Riche dashed to the dressing room and emerged in similar attire, wearing a blue cloche hat that complemented her platinum hair. She plopped a matching bonnet on my head. She got a sophisticated lady's hat in the capital style while I got headwear fit for children. When I pouted, Riche smiled slyly.

"It suits you. You're adorable. Like a plump little baby."

I was effectively eighteen. Even at twelve, I'd hated being seen as a plump baby. I twitched my hands, wanting to yank the bonnet off, but didn't dare raise my arms for fear of splitting the dress. Riche laughed at my predicament and hurried us out of the manor.

The conveyance the maid had prepared wasn't a horse-drawn carriage but a magic carriage. This horseless vehicle was new technology developed by Wilethan's mage tower. Belnerny folk were conservative about magical or alchemical tools, but perhaps the capital was more open to innovation.

I'd never ridden in one before I died. I tapped the strange contraption experimentally. The copper-plated surface was smooth, shaped like the carriages I knew, but instead of a horse, a giant pouch hung at the front.

Seeing my provincial unease, Riche shoved me up into the carriage.

"Don't be provincial. Get in."

"How does this thing move?"

"There's a prao inside the pouch."

I blinked at her words.

"Huh? A prao runs around inside?"

Wasn't the point to avoid using animals? I hadn't known those green pond creatures that croaked all day could move as fast as horses.

Riche giggled.

"Don't be ridiculous. It's not a living prao. They burn dead praos bit by bit using spell-craft. The power from that makes it run."

"Why praos specifically?"

"The late emperor imported them as exotic pets. They became fashionable. Now the capital is overrun with praos."

She said it casually and stomped on a pedal jutting from the carriage floor. Riche swung a lever shaped like a ship's rudder, and the carriage turned smoothly, beginning to move. I was so fascinated I forgot we were heading to the palace, craning my neck to gawk at everything.

"If you act that rustic, they won't hire you as a lady's maid."

"I'm a Bellua."

Riche clicked her tongue. I answered haughtily. Before Rupert's ascension, the imperial family had been exceedingly friendly toward Bellua. They'd wanted to win our favor.

Riche acknowledged this and stopped the carriage within sight of the palace. She carefully pushed the creaking vehicle into a corner alley.

"Why get out here?"

"Nobility without rank can't enter the Red Palace's main gate. I told the chamberlain. He'll come fetch you."

"And you?"

"Me? I have to see Her Imperial Highness Princess Naichelle."

Riche pulled out a mirror to check her face, then approached me to pluck stray threads from my dress. Embarrassed to be fussed over at my age, I shook my head and stepped back.

"It's fine. I'm okay."

She ignored my refusal and removed every thread. The morning sun caught her pale face, worry creasing her brow.

"You're slow normally but quick-tempered, so watch that."

"Am I a child?"

"You are. So am I, but you're younger."

An obvious truth. In Riche's eyes, I was a complete child. I couldn't argue. I wanted to call her cute for acting sisterly, but that would only deepen her suspicion about my changes.

I hurried after Riche as she strode toward the small door beside the Red Palace's main gate.

Just as Riche said, a dignified middle-aged man waited for me. He looked me up and down, then accepted the recommendation letter Riche handed him.

"Miss Beatrice, Her Imperial Highness Princess Naichelle awaits you. You may enter."

"Right, then. Lariette, see you later."

"Mm, thanks."

I waved. Riche vanished through the crimson door. The palace, red as if steeped in blood, frightened me a little. I knew the number of people who would die here. Who had died here.

"Lariette Isabel de Bellua. You are the legitimate eldest daughter of Count Bellua, correct?"

"Yes."

"Miss Beatrice is the eldest daughter of Marquis Gorten, so her recommendation is trustworthy, but this is the imperial palace. We require proof of identity."

At the chamberlain's words, I rummaged through my bundle and produced my health certificate and a necklace engraved with Bellua's crest. The south lacked proper census records; few items could prove identity. But common folk neither possessed nor needed anything with Bellua's fir tree symbol carved in such exquisite detail.

The man recognized the weight and meaning of the crest. He examined it carefully, as if fearing damage, then returned it.

"The Bellua crest is authentic. Please come inside, Lady Bellua."

His gait was measured but extremely fast. Riche had walked quickly too—perhaps everyone who worked at the palace moved like this. I practically ran to match his pace, careful to make no sound. From the moment I crossed this threshold, he'd be evaluating me.

He led me to what seemed a servants' rest area. Judging by the expensive hardwood furniture and gold trim, this room served lady's maids, attendants, or palace officials—not common servants.

The chamberlain sat on a dark pink velvet sofa and ordered another attendant to bring tea, then gestured to the seat across from him. I sat promptly and tugged at my constricting clothes, trying to find some comfort. Seeing my slight wince, the chamberlain asked perceptively:

"Is something uncomfortable?"

"No! If you check my health certificate, you'll see I'm perfectly healthy."

"You survived black plague as a child. Then you'd have resistance."

"That's right."

"Have you ever ingested poison?"

"No."

"Then kitchen work is out."

He drew a line through something on his paper.

"What work do you wish to do?"

"Lady's maid. I'd also accept wardrobe attendant rather than personal companion."

"No, we cannot assign the daughter of Bellua such tasks."

The chamberlain's face became momentarily troubled. He wore an expression as uncomfortable as my dress and spoke slowly.

"Your status is confirmed, Miss Beatrice's recommendation is solid. You're qualified, but currently Princess Naichelle has more than enough young maids like yourself, Lady Bellua."

"I'm not applying to serve Princess Naichelle."

"Prince Arnulf does not employ young maids like yourself."

"No, I wish to serve Her Imperial Highness Princess Lapherte."