The Line She Shouldn’t Have Crossed

She had originally intended to refuse the position of official consort by citing her involvement in the murder case.

But the corridor was an open space.

If she misspoke, the crime she had committed could be exposed to the entire palace.

Quickly revising her approach, Chloe offered another reason instead.

“If, while serving Your Majesty, I were to conceive… what then? It could bring grave trouble upon His Highness the Crown Prince.”

The matter of children had been a burning issue in her previous life.

She had never borne one, but the Privy Council had endlessly debated the possibility that a favored consort might give birth.

There was no reason it would be different now.

An officially named consort carried far more weight than a fleeting, unofficial mistress.

The implications extended even to future offspring.

She hoped Hector would simply let the matter pass quietly without taking measures.

“A child…”

His lifted brow did not bode well, yet she pressed on despite her tightening chest.

“If His Highness were to gain a sibling of unsuitable blood, it could burden him for life.”

A heavy silence settled over the corridor.

The gaze pouring down upon her bowed head was sharp as frost.

Had she once again only provoked his displeasure for nothing?

Despair crept up her body from the cold marble floor.

“Rise.”

At last, he reached out a hand shaped like a reaper’s hook.

Grabbing her slender elbow, he yanked her upright.

“You should greet the elder sibling of the child you intend to bear.”

Her eye level rose abruptly.

His piercing gaze bore into her face at close range.

It seemed he meant to take her to the Crown Prince immediately.

Her arm throbbed where he gripped it.

Her calves, stretched on tiptoe, tingled painfully.

It was the ache of utter defeat.

The more she tried to escape, the deeper she sank.

His smile, teeth neatly bared, made it clear.

Crushing her resistance was nothing more than sport to him.

Chloe squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them.

She had achieved nothing she wanted and was tossed about at his whim.

She might be insignificant, but she still lived.

Yet she felt as though she did not even qualify as a person.

Grinding her teeth, she forgot herself for a single reckless moment.

She glared up at the Emperor, eyes pale with fury.

“No.”

She had crossed a line that should never be crossed.

The audacity stunned even him.

He tilted his head as if doubting what he had heard.

“What did you say?”

Though Chloe resisted with all her strength, the force of his rising anger far surpassed her own.

To stand against it required readiness to die.

She lifted her delicate lashes and clenched her fist within her skirt.

“I said no. I do not wish to take on the role Your Majesty assigns me.”

Fearful though she was, the emotions she had long suppressed burst forth.

She spoke without restraint.

Since the day she had encountered Hector again, she had been dragged along against her will.

She had begged repeatedly to be allowed to leave.

To be left alone.

At the very least, to be permitted a guest chamber within the palace.

All in vain.

The torture-like dress and heavy ornaments revolted her.

In a sudden frenzy, Chloe tore at the adornments embedded in her hair.

Jewels fell from her carefully oiled coiffure and scattered across the floor.

“These things… I hate them.”

Hector did not move.

He watched her struggle with a dangerous smile.

Her outburst did not last long.

Panting, she lowered her hands tangled in her own hair.

Several pins dangled from the disheveled strands.

The priceless tiara clattered across the marble.

He picked it up and placed it back upon her head.

“You should behave prettily. That way, this lovely face will not rot as a corpse in some field.”

He pressed the tiara down firmly as he spoke the threat.

“Keep wearing what suits you. Entertain my eyes.”

“Your Majesty, I—”

She was given no further chance to protest.

He forced her forward, half-supporting her as she stumbled.

Her frail body could not steady itself and swayed helplessly.

Trapped in his brutal grip, Chloe struggled like a cat bristling in fury.

He tucked her tightly against his side and walked on, determined to break her stubbornness.

Her feet, balanced only on the tips of her shoes, scraped uselessly against the air.

The Crown Prince, Severian, resided on the outer edge of the vast palace grounds.

Leaving the Emperor’s domain of palpable authority, they passed through long corridors and gardens, where the atmosphere shifted.

Chloe had never visited Severian’s quarters before.

In her previous life, Hector had loathed any closeness between them.

Back then, eager only to please him, she had scarcely dared address the boy.

After a long walk, they reached the Crown Prince’s residence.

The surrounding gardens were starkly different from the Emperor’s.

Beneath bare trees, chrysanthemums grew in dense, unruly clusters, lending the place a somber air.

She had not realized the environment was so neglected.

It seemed Hector did not pay much attention to his son.

A child without a mother.

The day they had met in the forest near the Larouge villa, he had said he had no wife.

That part had been true.

Though he had taken two Empresses, the throne now stood vacant.

The first had died in childbirth, giving birth to Severian.

The second had held the title longer but succumbed to a mysterious illness.

Thus, the Montparnasse imperial household had fallen into disorder.

Without an Empress to oversee affairs, rumors spread that imperial banquets failed to meet the Empire’s prestige.

Foreign envoys had complained of insufficient hospitality.

From the palace’s perspective, even a substitute for an Empress was desperately needed.

This, too, had influenced the chamberlain’s swift recommendation of Chloe as official consort.

If Hector had no interest in taking a third Empress, then at least a consort could stabilize the inner court.

The absence of an Empress seemed to affect Severian as well.

Judging from the appearance alone, it was unclear who oversaw his care.

Seed fluff drifted from poorly maintained flowerbeds.

The hallways lacked adornment.

As they passed through the plain interior, the Crown Prince’s head attendant hurried out.

“Your Majesty.”

Hector set Chloe down and spoke coolly.

“Where is the Prince?”

“He has completed his afternoon lessons and is presently in the library, reading under the guidance of Count Rampierre, his chief tutor.”

“Lead the way.”

Hector followed, seemingly unfamiliar with the location of his own son’s library.

The library was smaller than expected.

Severian sat at a table, a book open before him.

At the sight of the unexpected visitors, he paled and stiffened.

But recalling his duty, he rose and bowed respectfully.

“It has been a while, Your Majesty. May Lumiel’s grace be upon you.”

Hector received the greeting from a considerable distance.

The separation was palpable.

“Indeed, you have grown. How old are you this year?”

“I have turned eleven.”

“Already?”

Watching the exchange, Chloe was inwardly astonished.

What kind of father asked his own child’s age?

She recalled past memories.

Hector had never shown interest in Severian.

He had named him Crown Prince at birth and taken no further action.

He neither cherished nor openly despised the boy.

His indifference was simply part of his self-centered nature.

Those around them considered it fortunate if the Emperor offered even minimal regard.

It was impossible to guess how long it had been since father and son last met.

The hurried preparation of tea and the awkwardly arranged refreshments on the library table only heightened the sense of distance.