YMPDKMA Chapter 18

Bewitch. A disgusting phrase that cast impurity over a father-daughter relationship. I gaped at Arnulf's vile words. I'd known Rupert was mistreated, but not that he was so openly despised.

When Rupert said nothing, Arnulf smiled with satisfaction.

"Be grateful the imperial family shelters you when we're not even certain you're His Majesty's blood. Having an empress no better than a whore as mother is great Belnerny's one and only mistake."

I went pale at Arnulf's insult extending to the empress. For the empress to have so little authority. I began to understand the detached palace's location, tucked away in a corner of the imperial grounds, almost abandoned.

Arnulf wasn't arrogant because of Duke Arnbach's power behind him—he held fundamental disgust for Rupert. The coldness toward a half-sister who couldn't even compete for the throne couldn't explain hatred this extreme.

"Did you know Belnerny's empress came from an Ardel brothel? That she wasn't Count Ardel's adopted daughter but essentially a sex slave?"

Arnulf tossed the remark at me as he pulled his gaze from Rupert, who'd frozen as if about to faint.

Of course I hadn't known. A sex slave. There'd been extreme opposition even to making commoner Tori empress—let alone a lowborn with such shameful history becoming empress. It might not be true, but a prince wouldn't spread such absurd lies, especially stories that could scandalize the imperial family.

I stumbled back, shocked by Arnulf's horrifying words. That small recoil alone freed my wrist from Rupert's grip. As if that had been his intention all along.

"Oh my, you didn't know? Of course not. Count Bellua is tight-lipped."

"Pardon?"

Father had known? I couldn't breathe.

"Well, now you know. I'll arrange to have Lariette transferred to Naichelle's palace."

Arnulf moved without needing my answer. I tried to follow, but Rupert grabbed my wrist again and my body turned of its own accord. My wrist was flushed red from his earlier grip—not as vivid as Rupert's crimson cheek, which would bloom into bruises by tomorrow, but still.

"You said you weren't leaving."

Rupert spat the words like a growling beast. He looked betrayed, though he'd never trusted me. When I pulled free, he let go surprisingly easily. I met his vivid green eyes—unreadable—and opened my mouth very slowly.

"I'm not going."

"What?"

"I was going to tell him not to do that. Well, I could tell the chamberlain separately."

Why?

Rupert didn't demand an explanation like before. He just stared at my wrist, disbelieving. Not a long time, but not brief either—only after that stretched moment did Rupert finally look away from my wrist. The burning gaze had been unbearably heavy. I exhaled quietly, hidden from him.

My wrist was red, his cheek scarlet. Someone who didn't know better might think two children had been playing with paint.

"Doesn't your face hurt?"

"Give it here."

"What?"

"Your wrist."

I hadn't really been that concerned, but Rupert ignored my worried question entirely and reached out again. He gripped my wrist carefully—not delicately, but with deliberate caution—avoiding the reddened areas.

I stared blankly, wondering what he was doing, as he rummaged through his pocket with a slightly annoyed expression and pulled out a small, round tin.

"What's this?"

"Can't you tell by looking?"

Rupert snapped irritably. If you're giving it to me, do it nicely. His words were so unpleasant my mood soured.

The tin with its precisely carved tiger looked familiar. It was what Rehan had smeared liberally on his face and body like water after entering military academy.

Ointment. The so-called Tiger Balm, a patented product of Champagne Pharmaceuticals. Tiger Balm contained a fingernail's worth of holy water from Sankt Volgograd—expensive enough that the name alone commanded respect, never mind its efficacy.

Rehan, who'd never received generous allowance, had carried one with a green tiger—this tin bore a red tiger, so probably genuine. And if it was genuine—well, there was no chance an imperial would use counterfeits, so it was genuine—this wasn't something to waste on a slightly scraped wrist.

I started to shake my head instinctively, my ingrained miserliness surfacing, then remembered my vow to show what luxury meant once I entered the palace and promptly pocketed the ointment. If he's giving it, I should take it. Otherwise he might be offended that I'd spurned his gesture.

"To apply? Thank you."

Rupert hadn't expected me to snatch up that precious ointment so readily—he made a deflating sound, almost a laugh. Only after I'd resolved to be wasteful and smeared the yellow, foul-smelling ointment thickly over my wrist did he speak slowly.

"It's expensive."

Such showing off. I answered, displeased with his crooked mouth.

"I know. About a hundred gold per tin, right?"

"You know and you're slathering it on?"

"My body is more precious. Your Highness, you're so thin but surprisingly strong. Look how red this is. Oh my, look here—it's scraped."

When I emphasized that Rupert was the reason I needed ointment in the first place, his mouth clamped shut like a clam. His face looked somewhat embarrassed—I wondered if he actually felt sorry. I felt an impulse to say something rude right to that face: Too late for sorry—you already killed me once.

Had he really been capable of such feelings? Could someone who'd hurt another's wrist through careless grip actually feel sorry over something so minor—could he be that ordinary?

"Are you sorry?"

"Your skin is ridiculously delicate—why should I be?"

He denied it frantically, as if fire had fallen on his foot. For all his posturing, he really was just a child. Couldn't hide his feelings at all. Overlooking my own poor lying skills, I clicked my tongue at the somewhat flustered Rupert.

"Put some on your face too."

"No."

"Oh my, what if it bruises? You should take care of yourself."

"I said no. Get lost."

Irritated by me waving the ointment near his face, Rupert snapped coldly and walked away.

I stared at his retreating head—he moved away absurdly fast—and followed, then stopped abruptly. Rupert kept going, either unaware I'd stopped or uncaring, growing more distant. Only after he'd vanished completely from view did I exhale deeply and close my eyes, trying to sort my tangled thoughts.

I was still confused. I couldn't believe the empress's background wasn't just less solid than Duke Arnbach's house—it was practically shameful.

Belnerny valued which family's man was the father over the mother's status, true—but the mother's origins weren't irrelevant. Usually, the empire's empresses came from ducal or marquis houses. At minimum, foreign royalty.

With the imperial consort being Duke Arnbach's daughter, for the empress—not a concubine but the mother of the nation—to be a slave. Even calling her a commoner would cause uproar, but this—this wasn't just imperial scandal, it was serious enough for the nobility to revolt.

"Did you know Belnerny's empress came from an Ardel brothel? That she wasn't Count Ardel's daughter but essentially a sex slave?"

I bit my lip, recalling Arnulf's words. So that's why Rupert had scoffed when I'd called him august. He'd assumed Father had told me about him and the empress.

The most puzzling person was Father. That hidebound principled man who'd opposed even mayfly-empress Tori—why was he tolerating Rupert's mother?

And if Arnulf could speak so freely, why was the imperial consort staying quiet? She might not feel the need to act, but perhaps the emperor—the only person who could restrain the imperial consort—was holding her back.

But why?

I knew virtually nothing about Rupert's father, the current emperor. He rarely showed his face even at palace balls. He'd met the empress before I was born.

Had the Emperor's love for his Empress truly been so extraordinary? Had he genuinely gone mad over a woman, draping noble's clothing upon a mere slave and pressing the nation's crown into her hands? The imperial house had crumbled before under a woman's influence—the possibility wasn't nothing. There was a reason the phrase "beauty that topples kingdoms" existed at all.

If the Emperor set his mind to it, transforming a commoner or slave into foreign nobility and making her Empress wasn't entirely impossible. Discovery of her true origins would prove difficult to manage, but the Empress was the Emperor's woman first, and final authority rested with him alone.

The current Emperor held an uncommonly solid foundation. This had been a nation where the noble assembly's influence ran fierce—past emperors had overwhelmingly married daughters of powerful houses to secure even one more family's allegiance. But the present Emperor was not such a man. He'd installed a separate Minister of the Imperial Household, rendering the Empress's position distant from power, unable even to manage internal affairs. Given all that, he might well have falsified documents for whatever woman pleased him.

Yet such romantic reasoning carried little weight. Because Rupert had been essentially abandoned. Why leave the child of a woman for whom he'd taken such risks to languish in neglect?

The possibility that Arnulf was wrong couldn't be dismissed entirely. For the first time since entering the palace, I felt I absolutely had to meet my father. The depth of that hatred seemed too profound to spring from mere misunderstanding—knowing the truth before acting would be safer.

Come to think of it, Rehan had entered the military academy around this time. I calculated the dates in my head. Perhaps two months remained. I'd always felt guilty for missing his entrance ceremony. It had been the day my young brother left for the capital, yet I hadn't attended my only sibling's ceremony just because I was feeling slightly unwell. The regret lingered.

The military academy didn't accept just anyone, noble birth or not. It had been an occasion worthy of celebration, but because he had a sister who'd been frequently ill in childhood, Rehan had left Bellua alone, without even our parents to see him off. If things went as before, Father would be too busy with work to attend. This time I absolutely had to go and celebrate with him.

I pushed away thoughts of Rupert that kept burrowing deeper and deliberately brought my brother's face to mind. My mood lifted. Rehan would be in the capital the entire time. If I rose slightly higher in the ranks as a lady-in-waiting, I might be able to live outside the palace and commute, and then I could live with Rehan.

I suspected the reason my relationship with Rehan had become strained—or rather, why he'd avoided me—was awkwardness. We'd spent childhood together in enviable harmony, but after he'd started attending the academy, seeing each other even once a year had grown difficult. If we could live together, perhaps we wouldn't repeat that awkward distance.

Nothing mattered more to me than family. Not noble honor, not loyalty to the nation. If Rehan and our parents could live safely, that would be enough.

My affectionate brother would understand what I was doing to protect Bellua. Mother and Father were frightening, so I'd meet with Rehan first and persuade him slowly. I gazed at the sleet melting against the ground and nodded slightly to myself.

Don't be impatient. It was still spring. There was still time. Entering the palace hadn't solved everything, but at least I'd discovered that Father and Rupert shared some connection. I comforted myself and shook my dizzy head clear.