Chapter 25

The sky was clear.
The sunlight, now growing hotter by the day, was shining down brightly, and the wind was cool and gentle. The weather was quite nice.
But her heart was still trapped in a storm.

‘That iron ring…’

She hadn’t said anything, hadn’t asked what happened, and had simply left Lydia’s room. The moment she saw the iron ring, she lost all words.

When Lydia first arrived at the Medici mansion, Asilie had searched all her sister’s belongings to find that iron ring. But the ring she had grown tired of seeing before returning to the past was nowhere to be found.

So she thought she’d never see it again. But she had been proven wrong.

And at the same time, she had a realization.

She could lose Lydia at any time.

Asilie had done nothing when her sister went missing. She had only suffered, watching her own helplessness.

What about when danger came to her?

Taking a few steps back—that was all she did to protect herself.

If Esperad hadn’t happened to follow her that day, it might not have been only Lydia who went missing.

She had to push herself without losing her composure.

Start with small plans and gradually complete the bigger picture.

“We found the boy you mentioned, Madam.”

That news came just as she was only handling necessary matters at the Medici mansion after Lydia’s disappearance.

It finally moved her into action.

Seeing the boy up close for the first time, he looked even more pitiful than from afar.

His body was so thin his bones showed, but that didn’t bother her much.

What caught her attention were the obvious marks of abuse.

His bruised, blotchy skin clearly showed intentional wounds.

Trying to guess what kind of injuries they were hurt her heart, so Asilie tried not to think about it. She simply looked into the boy’s eyes.

Despite his shabby and poor appearance, his blue eyes were sharp and clear.

Asilie liked the look in his eyes.

“Your name is Jonathan, right?”

“…Yeah, so what?”

His rude tone made Mrs. Marce frown, but Asilie wasn’t bothered.

It was a common way of speaking—especially for commoners who’d never learned proper manners.

Asilie, who had lived no differently than a commoner, didn’t mind it at all.

Even if she had minded, she wouldn’t have pointed it out. His speech or behavior didn’t matter at all when it came to using his skills.

“I know you made the new weapon.”

Jonathan’s expression changed at those words.

He knew better than anyone what his uncle had stolen.

His uncle was thorough, so he was sure no one had found out. But for a noblewoman, who looked so elegant, to know and come find him—it was hard to believe.

“No, I didn’t.”

Jonathan had no idea what would happen to him, so he decided to deny it for now.

But the woman didn’t even scoff. She just smiled gently.

“I want you to develop a completed version of the new weapon. If my wish comes true, maybe yours can too.”

“I can’t. I told you I didn’t make it.”

“Really? So your stupid uncle—who can’t even explain how the weapon works—made it?”

Applicants who wanted the support of the Count of Bourbon explained their inventions and ideas in detail.

But Jonathan’s uncle never once explained how the weapon worked or how it was made.

At first, Asilie thought he was trying to keep the weapon a secret. But after understanding everything, she realized—he probably never even tried to understand it.

Jonathan couldn’t answer her question either.

“I’ll give you everything you need. Materials, food and shelter, and fair payment—whatever it takes to make a perfect gun.”

“…What?”

“I’ve already prepared the materials and a place for you to work. All just for you. I hope you’ll like it.”

It didn’t feel real.

Jonathan stared at Asilie, stunned. But she looked serious, without a hint of a joke.

The “gun” had been something he put together randomly, breaking down scrap metal his uncle had picked up somewhere. It was an accidental invention.

After seeing its destructive power, his uncle’s eyes had lit up. He finally had something that could make money.

Then he forced Jonathan to make a real one, threatening him until the boy barely got any sleep.
But not everything had been out of fear.

Jonathan had actually enjoyed tinkering with that thing—something that could be called a weapon.

Now, someone was even offering him a proper environment. It was too good to believe.

He stood there with his mouth open for a long time, then finally came to his senses and asked,
“What if… what if I just make junk?”

“Junk?”

“Not a real finished product. Just junk, like… trash.”

Even if he was used to beatings, it didn’t mean the pain hurt any less.

He was afraid of facing that pain again.

And he had heard that nobles were a terrifying bunch. That only made it scarier.

“Are you afraid?”

“Huh?”

“Even if you fail, it’s not meaningless. There’s no success without trial and error.”

Jonathan’s eyes widened at Asilie’s answer.

He had expected her to say something like, “I won’t kill you,” or “I’ll let it slide a few times.”

But her answer was completely different.

“Fail all you want. Make hundreds, even thousands of pieces of junk. If you can learn something from that, then it’s not just trash.”

There was no reply, but Asilie hadn’t expected much from the start.

Jonathan had been exposed to cruel violence until just recently.

Until he fully recovered, she didn’t want to rush anything.

Even if she planned to “use” him, that didn’t mean she would ignore basic human decency.

Asilie turned to Mrs. Marce.

“Make sure this boy eats well, sleeps well, and gets everything he wants. I’m counting on you.”

“As you wish, Madam.”

Mrs. Marce looked like she couldn’t understand why Asilie was doing something so troublesome, but—as always—she didn’t ask any questions.

Jonathan seemed like he wanted to ask more, his mouth opening and closing, but in the end, he didn’t say anything. He quietly followed Mrs. Marce out.

Asilie watched his small, pitiful back, then turned her head away.

It was quite a long time ago in the past.

When Cordelia turned twelve, she was told that her marriage to Crown Prince Hort of Astel, who was said to be smart and mature, had been decided.

If it were an ordinary twelve-year-old girl, she might have felt excited, as if she had become an adult, hearing that she would actually get married, not just play house.

But Cordelia was different.

She had grown up watching the fierce power struggles within the Velkoz royal family, so she knew the ways of the world too well.

She didn’t believe that Hort was a smart prince, nor that he had a kind and gentle nature.

Even so, she came to marry him without a word of complaint because she clearly understood that she was in no position to disobey the absolute order of the king.

In short, she knew her place—at only twelve years old.

When Cordelia arrived in Astel, leaving behind false blessings, what she found was a grand hall completely empty, without a single person welcoming her.

The party meant to welcome her was canceled because Crown Prince Hort, her fiancé, had suddenly collapsed.

It was a one-sided and delayed notification, with no regard for her opinion.

“Welcome to Astel, Princess Cordelia…”

Her fiancé greeted her from his bed, speaking in a weak, sickly voice.

Although he was said to be young and clever, his eyes showed no brightness, perhaps because of the pain from his long illness.

At that moment, Cordelia instinctively knew that she could never respect the man who would become her husband.

Hort was sick. The maids explained that he had been weak since birth.

Cordelia was shocked to only hear that explanation after arriving in Astel, but she didn’t show any displeasure.

Her fiancé could only get out of bed and speak with her about once a week, but even about that, she said nothing.

Time passed, and when Cordelia began menstruating, she met the condition to be considered a “woman” who could marry.

But since Hort was too weak to even hold a wedding ceremony, they just signed the marriage oath without any ceremony.

Because Cordelia had neither a proper engagement nor a wedding, and couldn’t even speak the Astel language well, people of Astel mocked her, calling her a “half-princess.”

She vaguely sensed this, but didn’t care.

“I’m sorry. I’m too weak to properly show you the respect you deserve…”

“It’s fine, Your Highness.”

“Still, I’m sorry. From now on, I’ll do my best for you, Crown Princess.”

Cordelia’s eyes lit up for the first time at her sickly husband’s words.

“Will you take responsibility for that promise?”

“If it’s something I can do—whatever it is.”

“Then, please grant me my wish. I want to make the son I bear a king, Your Highness.”

Cordelia had followed her parents’ orders without complaint.

But that didn’t mean she felt nothing about being sent to marry a man she hadn’t even seen, at the young age of twelve.

She acted calm on the outside, but having to go to a strange country, far from her family and without knowing the language well, was frightening and painful even for her.

Her heart ached. She wondered, why is this happening only to me?

But she didn’t fall apart. She didn’t want to lose control of her life so easily.

Cordelia faced her pain head-on. And she endured it with all her might.

Since she had survived such a hard time, she now wanted, in whatever way possible, to stand above everyone else.

‘I will make this country’s king with my own hands.’

That was the greatest ambition she could have at the time.

But her husband couldn’t fulfill her wish.

He was too weak just trying to stay alive, and couldn’t even do what most men did naturally—what many men were eager to do.

Cordelia was disappointed. Still, she tried.

She tried to have his child, to give birth to the next king of Astel, to truly grasp power in her hands.

Even famous potions didn’t help, and even a famous healer, known for reviving people on the verge of death, had no effect on Hort.

Just when she was about to give up, a hand of salvation was extended to her.

Yes, Cordelia called it a hand of salvation.

“I started my period last week. It ended yesterday.”

At Cordelia’s words, Count Mirk frowned.

It had been quite a while, and he was frustrated that there was still no news.

“This isn’t going well.”

“I don’t know why. I’m healthy, and I get my period like clockwork every month…”

Cordelia let out a deep sigh at the situation not going as planned.

She was really doing her best.

Every week, she had her health checked by a doctor, and she even brought in a sorcerer known for his powers to pray all over the bedroom.

But still, there was no news of a child.

The blood that came on the same date every month became so stressful that Cordelia would act out in frustration on that day.

Afterward, she would shake with even greater shame.

“Let’s try a little harder.”

“Until when? I’m tired now.”

“Please endure it, Your Majesty. You’re still young. No, you’re on the younger side. I’ve heard that young women have a harder time getting pregnant than fully matured women, so maybe we just need to wait a bit more.”

“I’m scared. What if the king dies like this? He hasn’t woken up in over two months. If I get pregnant now, it’ll look strange.”

Tears welled up in Cordelia’s eyes.

She was angry and felt wronged by how things weren’t going her way.

Why did only she have to go through something so unlucky?

She had just begun to think that she might finally be okay, that her wish might come true…

“And I don’t understand your behavior either, Count. Why haven’t you killed Duke Camedici?”

“If someone is caught trying to harm a fellow royal, they are stripped of all royal rights. All our efforts could be wasted.”

“You’re saying that someone who decided to take the throne is worried about that?”

Cordelia glared sharply at him.

“Don’t try to fool me. I can’t accept that your passive attitude is because of some unspoken rule.”

Count Mirk’s face showed annoyance, but it quickly disappeared as if nothing happened.

He gently stroked Cordelia’s back, trying to calm her down.

“It’s not wise to take risks when there are safer ways. But I’ve never betrayed Your Majesty’s trust, have I?”

“That’s true, but still…”

“And don’t worry about getting pregnant either. There’s a saying that people feel a strong desire to reproduce before death. We can say it happened by accident while you were caring for him. No, I’ll make sure it doesn’t become a situation where you have to explain anything.”

“Count.”

“Please don’t stress over small things, Your Majesty. I worry it might hurt your heart. Also… I’ve found a way to extend Hort’s life.”

Cordelia’s eyes widened at Count Mirk’s words.

Her husband was so weak he could die at any moment, so she found it hard to believe.

“You found a way?”

“I secured a dark sorcerer to help us.”

“What… did you say?”

What shocked her more than the claim of extending Hort’s life was that he had found a dark sorcerer.

Sorcerers existed, yet didn’t.

A hundred years ago, during a plague, rumors spread that the disease was caused by a sorcerer using demonic power.

The enraged people saw sorcerers as enemies, and those persecuted sorcerers vanished without a trace.

It had been so long that people now even doubted if sorcerers were ever real.

And yet, he had found one to help them?

“We’ll talk about the details later. Too much time has passed, and if we delay more, it might cause suspicion.”

Count Mirk kissed Cordelia’s cheek and gently pulled her slender waist onto the bed.

It was outrageous behavior, even punishable, to touch the queen of a country like this—but Cordelia accepted his touch as if it were normal.

No, she even unbuttoned his shirt and whispered in his ear.

“Yes, we don’t have much time left.”

The two of them shared the same desire.

To hold power in their hands.

That desire made their relationship go beyond what was morally acceptable.

Assuming he might never sit on the throne himself, Count Mirk searched for the most efficient way to seize power.

That was by making Cordelia bear his child.

Cordelia also thought it didn’t matter whose child it was—Hort’s or Count Mirk’s—as long as the child could become king. All that mattered was that others believed it was Hort’s child.

So, their secret meeting happened.

“I promise you, Your Majesty,”

Count Mirk whispered softly as he undid her dress.

“If I cannot become king, I will at least put our child on the throne.”

“…I believe you, Count.”

Cordelia closed her eyes and pulled him toward her.