Chapter 8
The pure expression on the child’s face kept the two adults from uttering any foul words.
Ericsen nodded, convinced that something was definitely being schemed.
“Now that I’m here, there’s nothing to worry about, Your Majesty.”
“Yes. Thank you, Sir Ericsen.”
Contrary to Ericsen’s solemn tone, Lexin responded brightly. Ericsen felt relieved by that. He had constantly worried that something bad might have happened in his absence.
He had spent many sleepless nights, anxious that Lexin might no longer be the same person he once knew.
It was a relief that Lexin still retained his innocent, childlike demeanor. While he didn’t seem ready to inherit the throne just yet, that was something they could work on in time.
Lexin was the only legitimate heir. Whatever the Regent might be thinking, Ericsen would make him regret ever letting him back into the palace.
Just as he had told Lexin—he no longer intended to be taken lightly. He had come fully prepared.
“I should write a letter to thank Aunt!”
Lexin suddenly exclaimed before running up the stairs and disappearing. Ericsen watched his retreating figure and muttered with a sigh,
“Has the Regent been putting something in His Majesty’s food?”
“Well… I’m not really sure either…”
Deborah also answered with concern, but neither of them had any idea what was truly going on.
According to the Imperial calendar, there were still about three weeks left until the Festival of the Goddess Hecate. Yet the Imperial Palace was already buzzing with activity. At Mileta’s command, the attendants moved swiftly and busily.
“Lady Jeneia, what kind of flowers shall we use?”
The big day was right around the corner. Everything had to be perfect.
“Sunflowers. They’re Axion’s birth flower.”
“Understood.”
The palace gardeners followed Mileta’s lead.
The most essential point, as highlighted by the Love Master Sir Shubelta, was remembering anniversaries.
“It’s good to celebrate even the things your partner doesn’t remember.”
But there was no way I could remember a day Axion himself didn’t know.
Still, it felt like the entire universe was helping me. I was lucky to have returned just in time for his birthday.
“It was disastrous in the past…”
The memory that suddenly surfaced made me dizzy.
Back then, I hadn’t even known it was Axion’s birthday. What made it worse was that Maxim Dolan somehow knew—even though I didn’t.
He’d spent the whole day out with me, only to “coincidentally” bump into Axion and wish him a happy birthday. That was when I found out—but I hadn’t even said happy birthday myself.
The fact that I remember his birthday now is entirely thanks to that humiliating moment. I suddenly felt a wave of guilt toward him.
“I’ll make sure this is the best birthday he’s ever had.”
With renewed determination, I sat up straight at my desk. I dipped the nib of my quill into ink and began the opening of his birthday letter.
To Sion,
They say well begun is half done. Having completed that half, I took a deep breath and dipped my still-wet pen once more into the inkwell.
By the time I realized it, the sun had set. At some point, Mileta must have come and gone—floating candlesticks hovered near me.
Crumpled sheets of unfinished attempts lay scattered around.
“It’s just a few lines, isn’t it?!”
But those few lines felt like writing an epic.
I had no memory of ever writing a letter—not in this life, not in my past one. I had no idea what to say.
“Lady Jeneia.”
As I was racking my brain, Mileta called out to me. She was standing at the entrance of the inner chamber, quietly watching me.
“Are all the preparations done?”
“Yes. Everything is perfectly arranged.”
“Good work. You should rest now.”
“…Yes.”
After casually dismissing her, I went back to brooding over the letter. I don’t know how long I stayed like that before I looked up again—and saw Mileta still standing there.
“You haven’t left?”
“No. …There’s something I wanted to ask you.”
“What is it?”
I finally put down the pen and pressed my aching temples with my fingers.
Only then did Mileta step forward. She seemed unusually hesitant.
“What’s bothering you?”
“…Why did you change your mind?”
It was a seemingly random question, but I immediately understood what she meant. She was asking about Axion.
I had known that, at some point, I would need to explain things to her—but I hadn’t expected the question to come so soon.
“He’s my fiancé.”
“He was before, too.”
She wasn’t wrong. I let out a deep sigh. I had long since prepared the answer I’d give her. Convincing her wouldn’t be difficult.
Mileta had been at the palace the day I died. She was the one who helped me get ready for bed that night.
I still remember the look on her face.
She had calmly finished her duties, then left.
When the assassin came, I didn’t resist. I can’t remember every detail—it’s all a haze, like a veil had been drawn over my memory.
But I do remember blinking in and out of consciousness, and then seeing Mileta rushing in and screaming in horror when she saw me. That was my final memory.
She had always been a rigid, principle-driven woman. She had no flexibility whatsoever. I used to think she stayed by my side because she had to, not because she wanted to.
She was, without question, a principled person. And I was not. I had broken more rules and principles than I could count.
If she really was as strict as I thought, she should have despised me.
By her standards, I must have seemed like a disgrace.
As the palace’s long-serving head maid, she knew more about the imperial family than I did. If I didn’t meet her standards, she could have easily used her position to undermine me. Helped Lexin in secret. The opportunities were endless.
But she didn’t.
“Mileta, thank you for looking after me since I was little.”
“…Pardon?”
She looked genuinely stunned. That surprised look didn’t suit her usual composure. I pretended not to notice.
She had been Jeneia’s nanny. But not the former emperor’s nanny—only Jeneia’s. I hadn’t known that when I first met her, since I didn’t have any childhood memories.
Jeneia had many similarities to me—or rather, to Kim Jaein—but there was one key difference.
Unlike Kim Jaein, Jeneia had been raised by adults.
I hadn’t known that because I wasn’t truly her.
“There’s no need to worry. I’m not scheming anything.”
If there was anyone I could be honest with, it had to be her.
“…I asked something I shouldn’t have.”
“Go get some rest.”
“Yes. But before that…”
“Hmm?”
Mileta bent down and picked up one of the crumpled sheets.
“The Grand Duke will love whatever you write, Lady Jeneia.”
“…Ahem.”
“Don’t overthink it. You should get some sleep.”
Feeling sheepish, I averted my gaze and nodded. Only then did she leave. She was right—agonizing over it any longer was pointless. If it came to it, I could always burn the letter. With that mindset, I continued writing.
Lady Cézanne Butain was known as the greatest patron of the arts.
She had grown up surrounded by her parents’ prized collections and had developed a refined artistic sensibility. After entering society, she began seeking out promising artists to support—and quickly established herself as a renowned patron.
Over the years, she had become the first supporter of many of the finest names in the art world.
That’s why the banquet hosted by the Butain Marquisate was such a big deal.
Maxim had canceled every other engagement and made sure this was the only one he attended.
As he entered the banquet hall with Aria, murmurs began to spread.
The incident at the coffeehouse had already circulated far and wide.
Everyone now believed that the Regent had returned to his fiancée, and that Maxim Dolan had been nothing more than a passing amusement.
“How shameless of him to show his face. I thought he was leaving the capital after skipping all the other banquets…”
“Exactly. Didn’t he go broke? I heard all he has left is that mansion. Maybe even that was a lie to earn pity.”
Maxim and Aria walked straight toward the gossiping young nobles. As soon as they approached, the group wiped the smirks from their faces and greeted them with practiced smiles.
“Oh my, Young Lord Maxim! It’s been so long. How have you been?”
“Much better, thank you for asking, Lady Dalia.”
They both knew it was a lie, so the conversation floated awkwardly.
Then Maxim added, smiling shyly:
“The Regent personally looked after me while I was recovering.”
People exchanged disbelieving glances.
“…The Regent was with you?”
“Yes. I tried to refuse, afraid I’d pass my illness to him, but he insisted.”
With his cheeks flushed like a beloved lover, Maxim painted the picture perfectly.
“I see… He must care for you deeply.”
Maxim didn’t respond. After all, the Regent was still an engaged man. Having said what he wanted, Maxim moved on, and the murmuring resumed.
“The Regent nursed Maxim Dolan back to health? Seriously?”
“But I thought he made up with the Grand Duke?”
As the women whispered, one man who had been listening quietly tilted his head.
“Do you know something?”
After a moment of hesitation, the man spoke.
“I heard that for the past few days, the Regent has been avoiding the Grand Duke’s visits.”
“What?! Why didn’t you say that earlier?”
The man was a royal treasury official—someone with inside knowledge of the palace. He’d never been wrong before.
“And I heard he hasn’t left his quarters for several days…”
“Oh my goodness!”
The tide of gossip shifted. All eyes turned to Maxim Dolan again. He, meanwhile, mingled with others, silently rejoicing.
Rumors were such a convenient thing.
