Chapter 3.1

Nine years ago.

The front of the cathedral was crowded with mourners.

Esha stared at the smooth ebony coffin resting in the grave. It was large, draped in ivory-colored cloth.

The thought that her sister lay inside it filled her with a strange, hollow feeling. Only a few days ago, she had visited her sister’s chambers to exchange pleasantries.

“Oh, my daughter… Portia!”

Edmund, the current Emperor of Elendor and father of two daughters, let out a wailing cry.

Mourners began to edge closer, offering him words of consolation. What a promising young lady she was. It’s such a pity. The flower of society has wilted, they whispered among themselves.

Portia, who had once dominated the socialite world in life, drew just as many guests to her funeral in death.

‘Would Father mourn like that if I were the one in that coffin?’

The thought cut sharply through Esha’s mind. She bit hard into her lower lip.

No, surely not. Portia had been the jewel of the imperial family, the perfect bride for any noble house, while Esha was nothing more than a parcel soon to be shipped off to a convent.

“My word…”

“That’s right. Her Highness was engaged, wasn’t she?”

“She was so young. What will happen now? It hasn’t even been two months since the betrothal.”

At the edge of the murmurs stood a boy, his uniform slightly too big for his small frame.

Esha’s gaze was naturally drawn to him. She had seen him at her sister’s engagement ceremony. The youngest prince of Atlan, who had just turned eleven.

He clutched a bouquet of white chrysanthemums tightly against his chest and came to stand beside her.

She looked down at the boy, who was far shorter than she was. His black head of hair seemed as if it might topple forward at any moment.

‘The King of Atlan’s half-brother… wasn’t that what they said?’

He’s no better than cargo himself. To be sent as a hostage to a foreign country at that age… Esha swallowed down the bitter words rising in her throat.

This was the first time her father, Edmund, had interfered with Atlan’s royal marriages. This was because, in the aftermath of the First Conquest War, Damien had taken the throne as a young king, and intelligence had arrived that he had begun reorganizing and supervising the private armies stationed across his territories.

What’s more, despite his youth, Damian had shown remarkable talent for revitalizing trade. Atlan, with its countless ports, had managed to rebuild its war-torn economy through maritime commerce in the years following the conquest.

Upon learning this, Edmund requested a royal intermarriage to weaken Atlan’s political independence. Damian, in turn, saw an opportunity to gain greater profit by trading away one of the youngest princes in such a bargain.

The small boy carefully set the bouquet of flowers at the edge of the grave and bowed deeply.

It was his final gesture of respect to the departed.

⋆༺˖° ♛ °˖༻⋆

“Truly, Father?”

Esha asked, her voice tinged with disbelief.

After the funeral had ended, Edmund summoned her to the drawing room and told her she would be betrothed to the third prince in place of her sister.

For a moment, she forgot her grief entirely and broke into a radiant smile.

“…Then I don’t have to go to a convent?”

“That’s right. Tsk.”

Even as her father’s eyes swept over her with the unspoken thought, “You’re nowhere near your sister’s equal, but there’s no helping it,” Esha didn’t care in the slightest.

No convent. And I’ll be engaged to my sister’s man?

What could be more fortunate than this? She clenched her fists tightly, fighting back the giddy laugh threatening to escape her lips.

“I’ve already notified Atlan’s side. There will be some resistance, no doubt, but what can a mere vassal state do?”

“Of course.”

“From today, you will begin your bridal lessons. Once the engagement ceremony is set, I’ll inform you. Until then, do not leave your chambers. If you cause even the slightest disgrace to the imperial family, I’ll annul the betrothal and send you straight to a convent.”

“Yes, Father.”

But Esha barely heard his stern prohibition against going out or the threat of exile to a convent. Her heart fluttered so wildly she could almost start jumping with joy right there in the drawing room.

All her life, she had lived in her sister’s shadow.

Portia Elendor, with her delicate beauty, had been hailed as the empire’s finest jewel, and it didn’t end there. She was a prodigy at the piano, winning the capital’s concours grand prize four times. Her chambers were always overflowing with marriage proposals and bouquets.

Even Edmund, who had long lamented his lack of a son, would beam every time he looked upon his eldest daughter. Who needs a son, he often mused, when my daughter will one day give me a grandson of perfect bloodline?

And Esha in comparison…