Chapter 6
“You’re awake, Lady Mariel.”
The woman spoke with a dignity and composure that clearly set her apart from the others.
“I am Hilda, the head maid in charge of the Western Palace. These two are Jess and Shirley, who will be attending to you.”
At Hilda’s introduction, the two women bent their knees and offered a formal greeting.
Mariel stared at them blankly and was about to nod in return when—
“…!”
Ow!
A sharp pain shot through the back of her head once more.
Watching her reaction, Hilda continued in a quiet voice.
“Your elder brother, Sir Philip, and the imperial physician are waiting outside. Shall I let them in?”
“Ah—yes. Please do.”
“Then, before that.”
At Hilda’s gesture, Jess and Shirley hurried over, tidying Mariel’s negligee and straightening the bedding.
Though she felt awkward at being fussed over so closely—something she wasn’t used to—the two finished their work quickly and stepped back.
Only then did the head maid open the door.
“Mariel, are you all right?”
Philip entered and approached the bed, asking carefully.
In such a short time, he had grown noticeably gaunt. His disheveled hair and dark circles made it clear how badly shaken he had been.
Wanting to reassure him, Mariel forced a smile.
“You look worse than I do, Brother. I’m fine. It’s just…”
Her brow furrowed without her realizing it as the pain from earlier began to throb again.
If it weren’t for this feeling like my head’s about to split in two, it’d be perfect.
Contrary to her thoughts, her voice came out calm and composed.
“My head hurts a lot. Am I badly injured?”
She asked while looking toward the imperial physician.
“What’s wrong with her? Her head feels strange—or rather, she says it hurts a lot. Is she really all right?”
As Philip stumbled over his words, the physician behind him exclaimed, “Oh dear!” and stepped forward.
He checked Mariel’s pulse, examined her eye movements, then nodded.
“Pardon me, my lady.”
He lightly grasped both sides of her temples and moved her head left and right. At the same time, a scream burst from her lips.
“Aah!”
“Hm. This much is actually fortunate. The prognosis looks good.”
At those words, everyone in the room stared at the physician.
Is this man a quack?
Philip was utterly dumbfounded.
His sister had hovered between life and death for three days, was clearly in pain—and he called that fortunate?
“How is this fortunate?! Look at her—she’s in pain! My sister may be a bit of a tomboy, but she’s not one to make things up. This is obviously because of her head injury!”
“Philip!”
Having gone from tomboy to boyish brute in a single breath, Mariel shot him a glare.
“She collapsed and struck her forehead against a chair leg, then fell backward from the impact and hit the floor, resulting in a large bump on the back of her head. That’s quite a serious injury.”
“But considering the circumstances, her condition is very good. In my over thirty years serving in the Imperial Palace, I’ve seen countless young ladies faint at banquets and social gatherings—but you’re the only one who’s ever been injured like this. Ho ho.”
The physician chuckled warmly as he rattled on, as though he could talk forever if left unchecked.
Just hearing the explanation made Mariel feel dizzy. She squeezed her eyes shut.
How on earth did it even happen like that?
No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t remember.
“Still… thank goodness it wasn’t worse.”
Philip shook his head, clearly unwilling to relive the terrifying moment.
“The moment you collapsed, His Majesty ordered everyone not to touch you and summoned the physician.”
“A wise decision. Mishandling a head injury can make things far more dangerous.”
Thanks to proper treatment, she had regained consciousness relatively quickly despite the severity of the accident, the physician added.
“Then… when can I go home?”
Mariel asked cautiously.
She knew full well there was no easy solution waiting for her at home.
The wedding had ended in disaster, and soon rumors about how Arthur died would spread. She could already imagine how ridiculous she would look, the stares she would endure, the way she would be treated.
But the Imperial Palace—
Even if her head really did split in two, this still wasn’t a place she belonged.
“In that condition, you can’t go home.”
Philip answered firmly.
“If Mother sees you like this, she’ll faint too.”
“Exactly. You absolutely must not return yet. You need complete rest. It will take several days before you can even walk properly.”
The physician pushed his glasses up as he explained.
“Riding in a shaking carriage is out of the question. You could be seriously injured again. Fortunately, there’s no sign of anemia… but given how severe your fainting was, it seems you’ve been under a great deal of stress lately.”
At his words, Mariel let out a long sigh.
“His Majesty won’t allow me to stay for long.”
Hilda, who had been quietly observing, stepped forward.
“He has ordered that you be cared for with the utmost devotion so that you may recover as quickly as possible.”
“….”
Why would His Majesty do that?
Did he feel guilty? Or was it a sense of solidarity as a fellow victim? Pity?
The woman who died with Arthur was Friede Wilhelmar—the Emperor’s own fiancée.
On Mariel’s wedding day, the man she was to marry and the Emperor’s fiancée died together. Clinging to each other.
“That can’t be… Why would Arthur—”
The words slipped out before she could stop herself, and the room immediately grew heavy.
No one failed to understand what she meant.
“Ahem. For now, please set your worries aside and focus on your recovery. You should heal well.”
Leaving behind a list of precautions, the imperial physician departed.
After seeing him off, Philip finally seemed able to relax and sat down in the chair beside the bed.
As he loosened his cravat, the gesture revealed just how suffocating the past few days had been for him, and Mariel felt a pang of guilt.
Taking his sister’s hand—her strength visibly drained over the past few days—Philip smiled bitterly.
“While you were unconscious, His Majesty handled the situation.”
“His Majesty did?”
“Yes. Arthur was declared to have died in a fire accident after accepting an invitation to the Duke’s villa.”
“And Friede was announced to have passed away at the Duke’s residence. The Duke was punished with house arrest for failing to report her condition to His Majesty.”
“That’s complete nonsense—”
Mariel muttered without thinking, and Philip cleared his throat pointedly to stop her.
After everything they had done, how could this—
“Mariel. Arthur died in an accident at the Duke’s villa and couldn’t make it to the wedding. That’s the official story. It’s the best option.”
“This way, no one can openly say anything to you.”
“…Do you really think so?”
Tears welled up in Mariel’s eyes.
She knew how her family must have felt while she was unconscious.
And she also knew—keenly—how meaningless all of this truly was, no matter how swiftly they responded.
“We can’t hide this forever, Philip. The truth will come out.”
“Nobles live for gossip. You know that.”
“But…”
“Before long, everyone will know through salons and tea parties. About me, Arthur, and Friede.”
“To them, this will be endlessly entertaining.”
To nobles who loved backroom talk, the story of a bride left alone at her wedding would be irresistible. It would spread in an instant.
Even with an imperial decree, very few could truly keep their mouths shut.
She could only hope the rumors wouldn’t be twisted into something even uglier.
Seeing Mariel frown, Philip whispered gently,
“…Mariel. With time, things will settle in a better direction. So don’t cry. Crying will only make your head hurt more.”
“I’m not crying. Why would I cry? I’m absolutely not crying.”
As she denied it fiercely, a look of deep pity crossed Philip’s face.
But there was nothing he could do—nothing but wipe away his sister’s tears.
Even that, Mariel refused.
“I said I’m not crying.”
Clenching her teeth as she spoke, Mariel’s large eyes were filled to the brim with tears.





