Robert laughed, as if the unfolding chaos amused him.
“For the sake of this nation, I risk my life to venture into the frigid North. Would it kill you to offer a word of support? It’s not like that frail little body of yours could endure a Northern campaign. Matters of such scale are the domain of men, elder sister.”
Ella's fury had long passed the boiling point—so much so that she became eerily calm. She gave a bright, incredulous smile.
“Wow. Truly remarkable, Your Majesty,” she said, her tone like a blade sheathed in silk. “I braved life and limb to secure the mithril veins in the Northern Wastes—suffered through ice and flame—and now, built upon the blood-forged pact I made between the royal court and the Northern clans… you grant the honor of overseeing the Northern campaign, not to its rightful architect, but to your son? So he can pitch a few tents behind the lines and sip spirit tea while basking in the glory, guarded by the Grand Duke’s finest?”
Her gaze blazed like a cultivator unleashing their killing intent, pinning the king with a stare of pure fire. The king, ever avoiding direct confrontation, lazily waved to a servant.
“My cup… is empty…”
“Father!” Ella slammed the desk with her palm, the sound echoing like a spirit-forged blade drawn in court.
“Ahem! That’s enough noise. A dutiful elder sister should cheer for her younger brother, who soon shall endure hardship in the bitter North!” the king scolded, his tone stiff but dismissive.
Ella rose from her seat, her posture like a general about to walk onto a battlefield. Robert nearly leapt in outrage at her breach of etiquette, but the king remained composed.
Every fiber of her being wanted to expose Robert’s embezzlement right there—reveal how he had siphoned spirit stones from the treasury to fund his little campaign.
But then she paused. What if… what if Father already knew?
What if he
chose
to turn a blind eye? What if his will to see a prince, and not a princess, inherit the throne outweighed even justice itself?
Damn it all.
She felt like a general being sent into a battle already decided—a war she was fated to lose.
“…If this is how it was always going to be, then why not have left me to perish the day I was born?”
“You dare speak such words before your father!?” The king's serenity cracked, his calm shattered like a spiritual seal under pressure.
His face turned crimson with rage. Attendants rushed to steady him, while Robert, ever the hypocrite, stepped forward in mock concern.
“Father…!”
Ella cast a glance of cold contempt at them both before turning on her heel and leaving the banquet hall without another word.
Just before the doors closed, the king’s voice rang out like thunder from within.
“That cursed child! Such temper!”
Ella strode swiftly through the corridor, then halted midway.
All she'd had was a single sip of wine, but her stomach churned violently. The familiar burn in her gut told her something was wrong.
“Summon a healer,” she said quietly to the attendant trailing her.
“At once, Princess.”
As one of the attendants dashed off, Ella staggered toward the far end of the corridor, her steps unsteady but never halting. She checked for witnesses.
Finding none, she leaned against a pillar—and retched.
It wasn’t elegant. It wasn’t regal. But it was necessary.
As she lifted her head, wiping her mouth, she noticed something odd.
The pillar was trembling.
…The pillar? Trembling?
Blinking in confusion, she finally realized the truth—it wasn’t a pillar she was gripping.
It was a person.
White hair. Pale skin. Jet-black eyes.
A boy, clad in rabbit-fur vestments and thick leather garments better suited for deep winter, stood frozen, trembling under a cascade of her vomit. Sweat dripped from his brow, clearly from the stifling layers.
He just stood there and watched me hurl?
Ella scowled at the absurdity of it all.
“You… what are you?”
The boy said nothing.
Instead, like a startled hare, he leapt back in one fluid motion.
Ella watched him calmly, then drew the spirit-forged pistol from her robes.
The moment he reached toward the garden wall—perhaps to vault over—she didn’t hesitate.
She pulled the trigger.
BANG!
The sound rang sharp through the air.
The young boy froze mid-step, staring at Ella with a face drained of color.
Ella didn’t enjoy physical exertion, but her spirit-forged flintlock had near-perfect accuracy—and from where she stood to the outer wall wasn’t far at all.
“I asked who you are. There is
no one
in this palace who may ignore me,” she said coldly.
—Well, except for Robert and the emperor, of course.
Ella didn’t bother adding that last part.
The boy, with eyes like a startled rabbit, gazed back at her with quiet sorrow.
Still, there was more behind her reason for stopping him than simple disrespect.
Around his neck gleamed a silver pendant—a warrior’s identification plaque, crafted from refined mithril. It was the type granted directly by the Northern Grand Duke to his chosen warriors.
‘Which means… he’s one of the Grand Duke’s disciples, marching out with Robert today.’
Ella’s eyes narrowed, voice sharp as a blade.
“If you don’t answer, I shoot. Disobedience in the palace is no different from defiance in the sect—punishable by execution.”
It would be a while before she realized that the boy was incapable of speech.
✵
✵
✵
Eric and I now sat in the same horse-drawn carriage, en route to the royal court.
Trailing behind us was another grand carriage, carrying Duke Valdek Orléans, Mother, and Philip—whether they were escorting us or surveilling us, it wasn’t clear.
Forget eternal love or a hundred years of harmony. I didn’t have time to question why Mother had suddenly said such things.
It was Valdek’s doing—he’d insisted Eric present himself before the emperor to verify whether the marriage pact could truly be sanctioned.
“If that child in your belly carries my blood, then it is only right that I acknowledge them as kin…”
Valdek had said so, fixing me with a gaze colder than moonlight over a snowfield. Reflexively, I clutched my belly and tugged Eric closer by the hand.
He’s acting like he’d protect this nonexistent 'Rose' at all costs.
Mother glanced back and forth between us, then promptly collapsed into Valdek’s arms, feigning a fainting spell worthy of any sect drama.
What in the…?
I glanced at the carriage that held Mother and Philip, brain buzzing like an overdriven spirit furnace.
Eternal love
? Did she
know
Eric was my destined partner? Since when?!
But no answers were coming.
I turned to Eric across from me. The corner of his mouth was stained red.
Philip had snuck up before boarding and landed a clean punch on Eric’s jaw.
"No matter what happens… never forget I’m her elder brother, Prince Eric."
As Philip muttered that over-the-top line, I promptly slapped the back of his head.
“Augh!”
“Have you lost your damn mind? You
actually
think there’s a child called Rose in my belly?”
After watching Philip topple over, I climbed into the carriage with Eric.
Honestly… what is
wrong
with everyone?
Then Eric, sounding more sulky than usual, muttered,
“You… you’re not seriously starting to believe there’s some child named Rose inside you, are you?”
“…?”
Startled, I looked down and realized my hand had instinctively wandered to my stomach.
“Must’ve gotten too deep into the role…”
See? This is why naming the imaginary baby was dangerous. I’m already getting emotionally attached to ‘Rose.’
“…Anyway, since they
think
I’m pregnant, that means we can skip the whole first-night ritual thing, right? Right?”
I asked, eyes desperate.
Say yes. Just say yes!
I shot pleading glances at Eric, but he only turned away, eyes distant as he looked out the window.
“If you can actually prove you’re pregnant, then sure.”
“Isn’t that what we paid off the imperial physician for? To go along with this with a little sleight of hand?”
My eyes widened. What about all that silver we threw at the central temple’s physician?
Eric gave me a look—half stunned, half irritated.
“Sometimes I really can’t tell whether you’re clever or just oblivious, Imelline Wedgewood. We’re on our way to the royal court. Do you seriously think an official physician of the imperial sect can be bribed like some low-rank temple acolyte?”
“…Then what do we do?”
I stared at Eric with teary eyes. My mother and Philip were already neck-deep in this grand deception.
There was no turning back now.
We had to get married first.
Eric pressed his fingers to his temple, his brow furrowed.
“…For now, let’s hope they arrive before we do.”
Who’s
they
?
My eyes widened.
The realization struck me like a palm strike to the heart meridian—we hadn’t even begun our
first
marriage rite yet!
✵
✵
✵
—But that panic lasted only a moment.
“She is indeed pregnant.”
The court physician, who had earlier presented me with a magical artifact boasting a 99.9% accuracy rate in detecting pregnancy, now bowed low before the throne.
The princess standing at the king’s left side glanced over at me and Eric, then winked. Behind her stood Sir Lily, drenched in sweat like she’d galloped her spirit beast at full speed.
Looks like Lily somehow managed to beat us here—either by sheer speed or some underhanded trick.
Regardless—
So Her Highness actually succeeded in bribing the palace physician… impressive.
I let out a shaky breath, my hand instinctively moving to my abdomen as Eric stood behind me like a proper father-to-be, one arm draped around my shoulder.
Eric sighed heavily, his lips—swollen far more than they had been in the carriage—still throbbing faintly.
Hey. Smile a little, will you? Big. Bright. Don’t make our little Rose feel neglected!
“Ohh… this is… quite the development, isn’t it?” the king exclaimed, feigning solemnity as he shifted upon his throne.
He coughed repeatedly and kept turning his head away, but I clearly saw the corners of his lips twitch upward each time.
“…Did His Majesty just smile?” I murmured to Eric.
In response, Eric squeezed my shoulder a little harder, silently warning me to keep my mouth shut.
Apparently, the king had been deeply skeptical about the duke’s marriage from the start.
I would learn later that the queen’s family had protested vehemently, claiming that Duke Orléans’ remarriage would reduce Eric’s share of the inheritance. And since the deceased queen and the current Duchess Orléans came from the same noble house, that would make Ella and Eric… cousins.
Cousins… and they were almost…?
Well, considering cousin marriages were still a thing in these upper realms, I chose not to dwell on it.
At that moment, all I knew was that the king, face solemn, appeared to be deliberating hard. I waited nervously for his next words.
And when they came—
“So… is it a son or a daughter?”
The court physician, sweating from either guilt or fear, blinked in confusion.
“Pardon?”
“I said, is it a
son
or a
daughter
?!”
The king's roar shook the chamber like a thunderous qi eruption. The physician turned instinctively to look at the princess, eyes wide.
Judging from the atmosphere, it was clear things were going our way.
The physician immediately dropped into a kowtow.
“A-A son, Your Majesty!”
At his words, I gently stroked my belly with a pleased expression and muttered to myself,
A son, huh… our little Rose…
Wait—hold on.
Rose
? But… that’s not a boy’s name?!
As I was processing that contradiction, my mother suddenly let out a dramatic gasp and collapsed straight into the arms of a nearby knight. The poor knight, clearly unprepared, fanned her desperately while trying to hold her upright.
This is a complete mess…
The king, unable to hide his glee, chuckled as he spoke again.
“So, the next heir to House Orléans has already begun cultivation in the womb! How delightful… Such a divine blessing cannot be undone… even the marriage sanctified by the Spirit Temple must remain intact!”
You’re making it so obvious that you don’t want to annul it, Your Majesty…
As I mused silently, my mother brushed past me while still draped in the knight’s arms. She tapped my shoulder on her way out. I turned and caught a glimpse of her expression.
“You unfilial girl…!”
She stomped her foot like a seasoned stage actress and, while doing so, subtly dropped something under the folds of my gown.
Realizing she was putting on a show, I quickly matched her tone, gazing back with trembling eyes full of remorse.
“…She’s carrying your granddaughter—no, grandson!” I spoke as I nudged the object with my foot, pushing it deeper under the folds of my flowing robe.
Once Mother confirmed it was properly hidden, she swayed dramatically and collapsed onto the knight’s shoulder, feigning another dizzy spell.
Philip rushed to her side.
“Mother! Are you okay?!”
“Stop yelling! You're making it worse, you fool!”
As Mother and Philip were whisked away in their dramatic performance, Duke Valdek finally withdrew the intense gaze he had been drilling into me and Eric.
He now looked like a man who realized resistance was futile. Slowly, he sank to his knees before the emperor.
“…If it must be so, then I ask Your Majesty to officially announce the union between my son and Lady Imelline. Of course, there’s some regret in my heart, but tell me—what father can overpower his son’s will, and what mother can defy her daughter’s heart?”
He paused and turned slightly, shooting a sidelong glance at me.
It was the same look he’d given when he aimed that long spirit musket at me—deadly and full of disdain. Like he was staring at some vile insect he wished to squash.
But I imagine the look I returned wasn’t any gentler.
Lunatic psycho.
That was the only chant echoing in my spiritual sea.
Valdek slowly turned his eyes away and continued,
“I will accept her—as my daughter-in-law and as a member of the House of Orléans.”
The moment I heard those words, a chill trickled down my spine.
If you think about it… if he removes both me and my family, wouldn’t everything I own be absorbed into
his
cultivation clan?
I can practically hear the gears grinding in that scheming old fox’s head.
I clenched my fists tight.
But I wasn’t about to go down so easily.
Before he robs me of my sunken tomb of mermaids—or whatever treasure trove he’s after—I'll personally drag him to
his
grave.
Valdek Orléans, if you’re courting death, I’ll make sure it answers.
Chapter 35