Chapter – 31
Priscillas Viante.
Born the eldest daughter of the Marquis Viante family, she became Crown Princess and, in due time, Empress without incident.
Before her marriage, she had ranked first for consecutive years as “the lady who captured the hearts of the most young nobles.” At the same time, she had also been ranked first as “the lady men least wished to marry.
“You have a face that bewitches people.”
Even now, after all this time, Priscillas still remembered the words whispered to her on the terrace of a banquet hall by a certain young noble.
He had approached her with vulgar insinuations. She struck him once across the face, and he fled—but the consequences of that incident were hers alone to bear.
“I heard she hit a nobleman?”
“How can she be so different from her appearance?”
“Beauty should be about the inside, not just the outside.”
The rumors, fueled by young ladies who envied her beauty, spread quickly and refused to die down.
And they continued—because Priscillas did not soften.
“She rejected every proposal?”
“How does she expect to get married like that?”
“Who would take home a flower with no fragrance?”
Endless slander, false accusations, jealousy.
Yet Priscillas never yielded.
Instead, she crushed them one by one and rose to stand at the very peak of high society.
By the time no one dared to slander or insult her anymore—
She had already become Empress of the Empire.
That was how she came to be called “The Iron Lady.” A woman as hard as steel.
It was a title that weighed heavily on her.
I am not that strong.
Somehow, things had simply turned out this way.
She had struggled to survive.
She had thrashed and clawed her way upward—
And found herself here.
But the people cheered for a strong Empress.
She could never show weakness.
Not for herself. Not for her people.
“His Majesty the Emperor has collapsed!”
After the Emperor—the only person she could lean on—fell, she began to crumble little by little.
She fulfilled her duties as Empress, barely. But she had no will left for anything.
Then one day came the terrible pain.
Even the slightest glimmer of light felt as though her eyes were being torn from their sockets. Gradually, she pushed both body and mind into darkness.
She believed she would never live as she once had.
She despaired.
She wished.
She gave up.
And slowly, she became like a paper doll.
Until just a few days ago.
“Your Majesty, shall we prepare breakfast?”
“A little later. I would like to be alone for now.”
“As you wish. I shall withdraw. Please call if you need anything.”
When the head maid withdrew, Priscillas slowly stepped down from her bed.
Her feet touched the floor—her body felt light.
Though bandaged, she could move freely within her bedroom.
With familiar steps, she made her way toward the glass doors leading to the rear garden.
A breeze drifted through the open window.
As the intangible touch brushed her cheek, she instinctively reached out her hand.
It’s cool.
She wanted to see.
To remove the bandages and look upon the sunlight.
Beyond lay the garden the Emperor had created for her.
She had not seen it in over a year.
The last glimpse she’d had, the grass had been wildly overgrown.
“How astonishing… it doesn’t hurt.”
Though wrapped in bandages, the space around her felt bright. There was clearly light—yet not even a trace of pain.
The more she felt her condition improving, the harder it was to suppress the excitement rising within her.
If only Rohiriel would come soon and remove the bandages, and tell her she was fully healed.
“…!”
Just then, the breeze swept through her hair again.
Perhaps the pin had loosened—because the bandages slipped, layer by layer.
It happened so quickly that she could not raise her hand in time to stop them.
Or perhaps it was because the brilliant blue that flooded her vision held her spellbound.
Clear sky.
Lush greenery.
White wildflowers blooming between.
“Ah…”
How long had it been since she had seen the outside in such brightness?
What had been the last scenery she saw without pain?
As if enchanted, Priscillas stepped outside.
One step.
Then another.
And another.
Before she realized it, she was standing in the sunlight, bathed in its warmth.
“Oh dear… the Crown Princess will scold me.”
She remembered Rohiriel’s pale, composed face—how firmly she would restrain her reckless behavior.
She would surely give her a stern lecture for removing the bandages first.
And yet, Priscillas smiled.
Then suddenly, a swelling emotion rose from her throat, and she closed her eyes.
A tear—she did not know when it had formed—fell onto her bare foot.
“I’m not even wearing shoes…”
She could feel the texture of the soil beneath her feet.
Even the dirt, something she would normally ignore, seemed beautiful.
Her eyes stung again.
One drop.
Two.
Three.
Just as she sniffled, trying to stop the falling tears—
“Your Majesty!”
Priscillas startled and looked at Rohiriel, who had rushed toward her.
Her blue eyes were filled with concern.
“Does your eye hurt again? Where—how does it—”
“No. I was thinking how you’d scold me, and tears came from the injustice.”
“…Pardon?”
Rohiriel tilted her head, yet her gaze never left the Empress’s eyes.
Embarrassed, Priscillas looked away.
“I didn’t remove the bandages on purpose. The wind loosened them.”
It was the truth.
And yet, she felt oddly as though she were making excuses.
It was still strange—to feel such familiarity toward the Duke of Cassian’s daughter, whom she had once regarded with such caution.
Watching her flustered explanation, Rohiriel smiled softly.
“…It can’t be helped. We were going to remove them today anyway. Let me check once more inside, Your Majesty.”
When they returned indoors, the head maid, pale as a sheet, visibly relaxed in relief.
Feeling apologetic, Priscillas resolved to apologize to her later and sat upon the sofa.
“How is your vision?”
“Amazing. I can see everything clearly. It doesn’t hurt at all!”
“Then let’s repeat the same test as before. Hold this and stand over there.”
A maid held up a sheet of paper with numbers written on it at a distance. Priscillas read them effortlessly.
Rohiriel jotted something quickly into her notebook and nodded.
“I cannot hastily declare a complete recovery, but it should be safe to say you are nearly healed.”
“Thank you. If not for you, I shudder to think what might have happened.”
“It was Your Majesty’s effort.”
“No. I was such an incompetent Empress… I nearly lost the light forever. Those wretches.”
At the thought of Blanche and the Chief of Protocol, Priscillas’s expression hardened dangerously.
But she soon relaxed again.
“I wish to reward you. Is there anything you desire? If it is within my power, I will do my utmost.”
“I merely did what I should have done. A reward would be too much.”
“It is not the Crown Princess’s duty to treat me. You deserve one. Speak freely.”
Priscillas was insistent.
Rohiriel hesitated.
There was, in truth, one thing she wished to ask.
But it was delicate. She had been waiting for the right moment.
Seeing her hesitation, Priscillas urged gently,
“Do not feel burdened. If it is not impossible, I shall grant it. You are no less than my benefactor.”
Rohiriel swallowed.
Before, it had not seemed the right time.
But now—it might be.
The thought she had carried since first entering this palace.
Her lips slowly parted.
“Then… I have one request, Your Majesty.”
“Yes? What is it?”
Rohiriel’s blue eyes shone as they met Priscillas’s golden ones.
Then her gaze shifted—toward the large curtain drawn across the inner chamber.
“I humbly ask that you permit me to examine His Majesty the Emperor.”
For a fleeting moment, Priscillas’s golden eyes trembled.
She had not expected Rohiriel to bring up the Emperor.
“The Emperor…?”
Her gaze, too, turned toward the curtained chamber.
Beyond it lay the place where the sun of the Empire—the Emperor—had slept for years.
