Chapter 5

A few days later—  

“…Huh?” 

I jolted awake, my body trembling from an inexplicable unease.  

‘Something feels… off.’

It wasn’t bright midday but the dim blue of dawn. My stomach growled, but when I looked around for Lyra—the room was empty.  

‘Huh? No one’s here?’

Ever since the kidnapping attempt, someone had always been by my side, day or night. Lyra, a maid—anyone. But never no one.  

‘Why’s it so quiet?’

My heart pounded like I’d sensed something ominous.  

I slid off the bed, wobbly legs hitting the floor. 

Thud, thud. Leaning against the wall, I pushed the door open—a door I’d never opened alone before.  

“Gwah?!”

The hallway stretched endlessly before me, silent and vast.  

For some reason, I felt like if I didn’t go—if I didn’t move—I’d regret it.  

‘Mmm-okay!’

Steeling myself, I stepped out.  

I had no idea what I’d find.  

Lyra had mentioned it yesterday: “Tomorrow is your birthday, young miss!”

‘So where is everyone? Where’s Lyra?’

My heart hammered as I trudged down the hallway, dizzy from the distance. I almost turned back—  

“Awwng.”

—when raised voices echoed ahead.  

I turned the corner and froze.  

The scene before me was nothing like the serene halls I knew.  

‘…!’

Dark, suffocating tension. Maids rushing with panicked faces. A child’s frantic cries. And then—  

“Your Grace, we’ve brought the second young lady.”

*Second young lady?*  

A woman—softer-faced than usual—held a child my age.  

‘Lyra.’

But what caught my eye was the baby’s hair.  

Vivid pink.

Delicate features, sugar-sweet—a child who’d grow up unbearably lovely. Around my age, but… second?  

Hillington never had a second child in the original story. So who…?

Before I could process it, the atmosphere shattered.  

“Your Excellency! The duchess—she’s not breathing—!”

“Bring the holy water! NOW!”  

“It’s no use. She’s already…”  

Hopeless.

The murmurs slammed into me like a physical blow. I’d heard those words before—in my past life, when I was dying.  

No. No.

My legs shook.  

‘The duchess…?’

This wasn’t just shock at witnessing death.  

It was the crushing realization that the hope I’d clung to that I was Rose was as fragile as glass.  

‘Me.’

No one had ever called me by name. So I hadn’t known.  

‘Could it be…?’  

My hair wasn’t sweet pink.  

‘I’m not… Rosé.’

In the original novel, the duchess died shortly after Rose’s birth from postpartum complications.  

But this was different. And that difference meant—  

‘I was never Rosériel.’ 

And the father of this life—my father—had never smiled at me like that.  

Now, he cradled the pink-haired baby, tears streaming as he whispered:  

“Rosériel, my love… Say goodbye to your mother…”  

“Your Grace, shall we bring the first young lady as well?”

“Yes. She’ll be frightened, but… she should see her.”

His trembling hand brushed the baby’s hair—so gently, like it might break.  

Then the beautiful man—my father—knelt before the pale, lifeless woman, clutching the child to his chest.  

“My love… Look at our Rosériel one last time. Our children should meet you before you go…”  

“I’m… sorry…” The duchess’s voice was like a thread that broke.  

“Elizabeth? Honey?”

“…”

“Elizabeth, please—Don’t leave me…please”

The ground fell away.  

Their grief was vivid. For a moment, I felt the terror of witnessing death—but it vanished just as fast.  

The scene was grotesquely beautiful, like a tragic painting.  

I stood there, a shadow holding its breath.  

‘Ah.’

A bitter ache rose in my chest.  

There was no place for me in that picture.  

I was an afterthought.  

A mistake in a world meant for Rosériel.  

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Thunder cracked like a sob.  

The servants watched, helpless, as tragedy struck the picture-perfect family.  

Sears Von Hillington.

His Blessed Words, announced at his ducal investiture: “You shall be perfect through love.”  

At first, people scoffed. What kind of words were those for a man known for his icy ruthlessness?  

But then he met Elizabeth.  

A woman with cascading pink hair like cherry blossoms and eyes soft as sugar.  

Sears had transformed. Their love became legendary.  

Everyone in Hillington adored the young couple. They rooted for them.  

But now—  

The man who’d never known defeat wept for his perfect love slipping through his fingers.  

Tears streaked every face—until someone gasped.  

“The—the first young lady?!”

All eyes snapped to Lyra, then to me.  

A tiny child with eyes far too old for her age.  

They’d been so distracted, they’d forgotten to fetch the other daughter.  

Lyra’s guilt was palpable.

 Had she brought Rosériel first because—deep down—she blamed me for the duchess’s decline?  

“Young miss?”  

Lyra scooped me up, my body stiff.  

The servants gaped.  

‘Did she… walk here alone? All that way?’

‘Could a baby even understand death?’

Yet my gaze stayed locked on my sobbing father and the mother I’d never meet.  

‘It’s like she knows.’ 

The maids sniffled, moved by my silent sorrow—even though I didn’t cry.  

“Lyra, hurry—bring her—” 

A maid urged Lyra to take me, but she hesitated. Then, mechanically, she carried me toward my father.  

“Your Grace. The first young lady… is here.” 

Everyone saw me bury my face in Lyra’s shoulder.  

‘Ah…’

Pity hung thick in the air. Of course I’d be afraid—I barely knew my own father.  

But then I turned.  

I looked at him.  

At Rosériel in his arms.  

At my mother’s still face.  

The sorrow in my gaze was unbearable.  

“Maa…”

Why did my tiny murmur sound so much like ‘Mom’?  

The duke broke. With a ragged sob, he reached for me.  

“Hildea.”

Hildea.

A name no one had spoken since the temple took me away.  

“Your Grace, I can hold her—”

“No. Give her to me.”

I flinched as he pulled me close—Rosériel in one arm, me in the other.  

For a long moment, the three of us knelt there—lost.  

But no one knew.  

No one could guess the horror crashing through me in that moment.  

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News of the Duchess of Hillington’s death spread like wildfire.  

The love story between the proud Duke Sears and the commoner Elizabeth had been legendary—a romance novel come to life.  

Now, it was a tragedy.  

People mourned the shattered fairytale.  

But the nobility? They calculated.  

Hillington and Belkius were the empire’s twin pillars.  

But Belkius had been massacred.  

And now Sears—blessed with “You shall be perfect through love”—had lost that love.  

The emperor’s power would crumble.  

“His Majesty is in trouble.”  

“They say the Belkius heir has gone mad.”

“The empress’s faction will rise.”

“But would Hillington truly survive? That man worshipped his wife. He might follow her to the grave.”

“They have twin daughters. He wouldn’t.”

“Oh, you underestimate how blind the blessed are. Those children? They’ll be nothing to him now. Mark my words—he’ll resent them. Especially the elder.”  

“I heard it was the firstborn’s Blessed Words that killed the duchess. The temple’s actions all but confirmed it.” 

“Really? What were her words?”  

“It was never formally announced, but think about it—the duchess’ health declined right after the twins’ birth. And that incident at the temple…”  

The nobles whispered, some even smirking at the twin tragedies.  

Their burning question?  

‘So what happened to the daughter who killed her own mother?’