Chapter 104

“I’m turning into a terrible person,” I whisper under my breath as I walk back to my quarters.

“Pardon, your highness?” Emma steps closer, her long legs making short work of the distance between us.

I put a hand on my chest, feeling my heart pound beneath it. I’ve never felt more distant from my past as Maria as I do now. Because I know for a fact that if I was still the college student of my past life, I would have fought tooth and nail not to extend violence on another person after seeing bad boyfriends raise their hand on my mom.

“I said, I’m turning into a terrible person,” I repeat a little louder, causing Emma to double-take at my sudden words. “And... it doesn’t bother me as much as it should.”

“Your highness...” Emma murmurs slowly, accustomed to my occasional outbursts. But I’m not finished talking yet.

“She made me hit someone, Emma. I used the reed stick, the one that she always hits me with. I didn’t want to. I probably could have resisted more. But the end result would have been the same, you know? I suppose I was a little curious whether the emperor would step in. It took about 10 minutes to walk to Julian’s courtyards. That’s a 20 minute round trip. If an informant ran from there to the central palace and brought my father back with them, he could make it in that time, no?” The words flow out of me like a torrential downpour, sweeping over Emma’s head as she blinks at me in surprise.

“...” Emma blinks.

.....

“But he didn’t come. I mean, I didn’t expect him to, don’t worry. But I gave him time, just in case. Just so I can know in my heart that I gave my father one last chance to, I don’t know, man up and be my dad. So I gave it 25 minutes, I was being generous with that extra 5 because I thought Katya would just pick up the damn stick and hit me. And no one came. So I had to hit her, you know? I mean I didn’t want to, but what if the empress decided to beat me too? So I just did it. And once I did it, I didn’t even feel bad. Not the least bit. I was just so furious that after everything I’ve been through, I’m still a puppet she can toy with.” My words are rambly, at some points, my voice even warbles like I’m going to cry, but I don’t. I just say everything I want to say to the only pair of ears that would listen.

“...” Emma keeps blinking, a deer in headlights.

The attendants trail back a healthy distance so they can’t listen in, but they still watch my animated hand gestures nonetheless.

“This is totally how people join the dark side, isn’t it? Like it starts with baby steps, right? One minute you’re hitting a maid and then next you’re committing arson to become the empress of an empire. I am no longer a side character. I am the main character of a villain origin story. Holy shit, that’s even worse! I’m totally going to hell, Emma!”

“...” Emma carries on with her blinking.

“And you heard that commotion. That little, snotnosed boomer finally woke up from his beauty sleep. Really good timing too, by the way, I’ll give him credit for that. I’d already hit Linette twice and I think I would have rather shoved that stick up the empress’ ass than hit her again. I was so mad, I thought I would pass out from the anger. And then Julian just gasped and sat up in bed. It was like magic!”

“...” Emma stares at me as if I’ve sprouted a second head on my shoulders.

“And-” I ready to continue my rant, but Emma has other plans.

“Your highness!” Emma yells. It’s a rare thing for Emma to raise her voice and I am stunned into silence.

“Please, just breathe. In, out, in, out,” she coaches me through each breath and I realize I hadn’t breathed for the better part of two minutes due to my speed talking.

“Sorry, that was excessive. I kind of had a lot on my chest,” I mutter sheepishly.

Emma looks like she’s still reeling from my word vomit, but she nods anyway.

I smirk to myself as we enter the central palace, a self-deprecating grin. I just keep going in circles, reaching the same conclusion over and over again, but failing to internalize it. If I were reading my own story, I’d wager I would have thrown my phone across the room in anger by now or jotted down some chastising comments:

“You dumbass, just beat Katya over the head with that stick already! Girl power!”

“Girl, istg I’m gonna drop this book if you don’t stop getting into these dumb situations. Put that mean empress in her place!”

But reading a story and living it are two very, very different things. Take it from me, a veteran webnovel lover. I don’t have any convenient plot armor, a loving family willing to shield me from the world, or an exorbitant fortune. I’ve only got some healing powers and my own modern-day knowledge that is terribly suited for this day and age, not to mention the permanent ball and chain of my bastard identity. I’ve gotten rid of Peppermint’s influence, but this world was never written favorably for Winter Royberg de la Erudian. This palace was meant to be her grave, the empress her executioner, the world her unsympathetic jury.

Quite frankly, I think if any other person had been transmigrated into Winter’s life, the grass on their unmarked grave would be as tall as I am by now. Expecting everyone to play fair is a modern concept and even then, one that wasn’t true to begin with in my world. There is a hierarchy in this world and I’ve long accepted that I was not born at the top of it. I’m a daughter and not even a legitimate one. Theoretically, I should know my place and be more than grateful that I’m even allowed to draw breath.

Except I’m not. I want much more.

That pesky desire for equality and fairness ingrained in my bones from when I was Maria has long reared its head and the empress has taken notice. Can I technically fault her for wanting her husband’s affair child not to outshine her own children? No. Can I fault myself for not succumbing to Empress Katya’s diabolical machinations and suffering or dying in silence? No.

And thus I find myself at the center of an emotional and philosophical conundrum that I never would have even considered before I transmigrated into this world. This is not a fairy tale where I’m guaranteed a happy ending. This is Game of Thrones, but it’s the more brutal version from the books rather than the slightly tamer TV show.

“Shall I go eat some lunch?” I ask, my empty stomach making itself known as my thoughts begin to short circuit from hunger.

But Emma shakes her head. “You have a fitting for the Celebration Ball.”

“Ah, right! The ball,” I say listlessly.

I don’t feel like there is much to celebrate on my end after today. But this is my chance to reannounce my presence to the nobility of the capital, the wild card that my father has yet to fully control. With the outpouring of news about how I singlehandedly turned the war effort around, I’d wager more than a few families will be taking a second look at me. I should pick and choose which family’s daughters I wish to affiliate with in the future.

“Only go forward, never look back nor regret,” I tell myself firmly, paraphrasing the words Emma has told me many times.

The words are still echoing in my head as I’m escorted to the sizable dressing room that has come with my wing of the palace. A few seamstresses holding measuring tapes and pins rush into a straight line and bow in unison.

“Greetings, your highness. We are here to make a dress according to your taste and palace standards for the Celebration Ball,” one says with the utmost respect.

But their stellar performance feels like a mockery following my affairs at Julian’s apartments. I don’t bother with small talk or pretending to be a sweet child, immediately standing on the platform and holding out my arms.

The measurements proceed for just short of an hour, finished off with the choices in fabric and material. My fingers rush across bolts of silk that are so finely made they feel like water under my fingers. A color a few shades darker than forest green is eventually chosen because the experts believe it will best suit my skin tone, but all it makes me think of is Katya’s mocking gaze as she ordered me to beat her maidservant.

A late lunch is arranged for me in the garden and I chew the medium-rare venison slowly as I stare retrospectively at the fauna imported halfway across the empire. I’ve won on paper. Fine dining. Luxurious clothes. Attentive servants. Rooms that put the Palace of Versailles to shame.

I viciously cut into the poor meat again, which is too tasty to put up with such unwarranted abuse. “Damn, they weren’t lying. Money does not buy you happiness. I always thought they just said that to keep poor people in their place.”

“Did you say something, your highness?” Nina calls nervously from where she and the attendants stand a few feet away.

“Yes,” I say sweetly, before throwing my plate on the floor and splattering the white marble with half bloody venison. “I said FUCK THIS SHIT, I QUIT!”

Don’t worry, that last bit only happened in my head. After all, the only way for me to quit is for me to die, and why would I do something that would put a genuine smile on my mother’s face?