Yes. I was dead.
Murdered by the machinations of my half-brother Andrea and his mother, Empress Kavala—the very people I had trusted with my life.
In the Arental Empire, the Emperor holds the legal right to take multiple wives. The rank of each consort determines the line of succession for her children. Andrea was born to the Empress herself, and as the Emperor's firstborn, his path to the throne had seemed absolute.
Until I came along.
When my mother—the Emperor's beloved second wife—finally gave birth to me after years of devastating miscarriages, everything changed. As the daughter of a higher-ranking consort, my existence disrupted Andrea's claim to succession.
To him, I was never a sister.
I was an obstacle. A threat to be eliminated.
But I was only seven years old. How could I have possibly understood any of that?
"Don't be sad, Chloe. From now on, your brother will protect you."
The day they found my mother's body hanging from the crystal chandelier in her chambers, the entire palace descended into chaos.
Palace maids were arrested and dragged away for interrogation. Every familiar face I knew vanished overnight. The air itself seemed heavy with dread and unspoken accusations.
In the upheaval, the adults forgot I existed.
That was when Andrea came to me. He was eighteen then—practically an adult in my childish eyes. A prince. My brother.
"Everything will be all right, Chloe. From now on, don't trust anyone else—only trust your brother. That's all you need to do."
That warmth. That gentle hand smoothing my hair as I trembled with fear.
What choice did a terrified child have but to cling to the only family member who offered comfort?
Andrea soothed me with honeyed words and tender gestures. He made me feel safe.
"You don't need to understand anything, Chloe. You're far too young to comprehend the affairs of adults. Just leave everything to me."
And so my days passed peacefully under Andrea's attentive care—with Empress Kavala's shadow always lurking behind him.
Meanwhile, strange whispers began to poison the court.
"The Empress suffered from madness. She took her own life."
"They say Princess Chloe inherited her mother's affliction."
"It's only a matter of time before she goes mad too..."
The palace physician testified that my mother had been secretly battling mental illness for years. He claimed it ran in her bloodline—a hereditary curse.
I had never once witnessed any sign of madness in my mother. But when I tried to protest, my words were dismissed with the same patronizing refrain:
"You wouldn't understand, child. You're too young to know the truth."
"Sometimes I worry, Chloe. What if you lose your mind like Mother did? But no matter what happens, your brother will always be here for you. You're my only sister. Never forget that."
Andrea's words wrapped around me like chains disguised as silk ribbons.
I didn't resent his constant visits, his endless checking up on me. It felt like love. Like protection.
So I kept him close. Always.
"Haven't you been shut away in your room too long? Perhaps you should take a walk by yourself."
"I'm worried about you. Don't go walking at night—people will think you're strange if you wander alone in the dark."
"Who said you shouldn't walk? I said don't go alone. Can't you understand such simple instructions, Chloe?"
But somehow, after every conversation with Andrea, a creeping dread would settle in my chest.
Why am I like this? Am I truly going mad like Mother? What would I do without Andrea to guide me?
In those moments of spiraling fear, I became paralyzed. Unable to act. Unable to think.
"Don't worry. I will always be by your side. After all, who else do you have? I'm the only person you can trust."
I tried so desperately not to burden him. After all, Andrea was my only remaining family.
"As His Highness the Prince suggested, perhaps some sunlight and fresh air would do you good."
The palace physician's advice echoed Andrea's words so perfectly. At the time, I couldn't bring myself to question the coincidence.
"I only say these things because I care about you."
Yes. That must be it.
But no matter what I did, I was always wrong.
"The Prince expressed concern that you've been neglecting your duties in favor of idle walks. Too much leisure can be... unseemly."
This was how it always went. I grew increasingly confused, incapable of making even the smallest decision without Andrea's approval.
"Chloe, I didn't mean for things to turn out this way. Why does everything always go wrong? Are you struggling again?"
"No, Brother, I'm not—"
"You say you're fine, but I can tell you're suffering. I can see how hard this is for you. It must be so difficult."
Am I struggling? Do I look tired? Perhaps I am tired after all...
"I'm worried about you. Are you annoyed with me? You're not? But look—you're contradicting yourself right now. Isn't that a sign of irritation?"
Did I snap at him without realizing? What's wrong with me?
"You've become so irritable lately. So moody. Just like Her Majesty the Empress was before..."
"You're becoming quite frustrating to deal with, Chloe."
Somewhere along the way, I became someone who was constantly told she was angry—even though I had never raised my voice in my life. Someone who was always wrong. Always difficult.
Always going mad.
"My poor little sister... You've finally succumbed to the grief of losing Her Majesty. The madness has claimed you at last."
And so I became exactly what they said I was: the mad princess.
Andrea and everyone in the palace insisted I was insane, and I believed them. How could I not? I questioned my every thought, my every feeling.
It must be my fault. I need to try harder. I need to be better.
It was during this time that Andrea raised the subject of marriage.
"Chloe, why do you resist this match? Would your brother ever introduce you to someone unsuitable? If you continue to be so selfish, I'm afraid we can no longer remain the loving siblings we once were."
"Don't you think I want what's best for you? As a member of the imperial family, you must contribute to the crown. Surely it's time you did your part."
Andrea's sudden insistence on this marriage bewildered me. I wasn't prepared. I had never even considered the possibility.
But the fear of losing my only remaining bond—the terror of being truly alone—overwhelmed any hesitation.
So I accepted.
It was the beginning of my nightmare.
"How dare you look at me with such insolent eyes! Do you think you can disrespect your husband just because you're a princess?!"
"I never meant to—I wasn't trying to disrespect you—"
"So now you're saying I'm wrong? This mad woman is worse than a beast!"
"I'm sorry... It was my fault... Please—"
Viscount Pelsus—the man Andrea had chosen for me—was a wealthy merchant who had clawed his way into the nobility by purchasing a title. His entire life was poisoned by a vicious inferiority complex about his common origins.
And he vented every ounce of that festering resentment on me.
The rumors that I was hopelessly insane had spread far and wide. No one would believe that a madwoman could think rationally, could speak truthfully.
Every day became a new hell.
Then came the night everything ended.
Viscount Pelsus returned from some outing, reeking of wine and trembling with rage.
"You must have whispered poison into your brother's ear! Why else would he refuse to grant me an earldom?!"
I had endured his violence countless times before. But that night was different from all the others.
"P-please... save me..."
He showed no mercy. His boots found my ribs, my stomach, my face—again and again until I could barely breathe.
I don't know how I escaped. When I came to my senses, I was stumbling through the palace corridors, leaving a trail of blood, desperately seeking the one person I still believed would help me.
Andrea.
But the brother I found that night wore a face I had never seen before.
"Gods, can't you manage your own marriage? Must I handle that too? Is there anything you can do by yourself?"
"Brother...?"
"Enough. Stop being such a burden. Why should I be responsible for you? You and I are nothing alike. No—you are nothing but a tiresome obstacle in my life."
The words struck harder than any blow Viscount Pelsus had ever landed.
A stranger. An obstacle.
The only person I had trusted—the only family I thought I had—looked at my broken, bleeding body with nothing but cold contempt.
"Why are you saying this, Brother? Why am I suddenly a stranger to you? I'm sorry—I'm so sorry. It was all my fault. Please, just tell me what I did wrong, and I'll fix it. I'll fix everything—"
"You want to know what you did wrong?"
"Yes! Tell me, and I'll—"
"Ha. Don't bother speaking to me. You're already dead—you just don't know it yet."
His eyes traveled slowly over my blood-soaked dress, and something like satisfaction flickered across his face.
"When you return to that husband of yours, you'll be killed anyway. So why not die quickly and spare everyone the trouble? Hmm? If you simply die, everything becomes so much simpler."
"Brother... no..."
"Your brother has one final request. Go quietly. Die for me. We'll say Viscount Pelsus murdered you in a fit of rage—it won't even be a lie. Be a good girl, Chloe. Just this once."
Andrea was right about one thing. If I returned to Viscount Pelsus, I would die.
I had nothing left. No hope. No strength. No will to fight.
His knight dragged me into the forest with orders to finish what my husband had started. As the blade was raised, the man laughed.
"Your mother wore that same expression when she died."
"What... what do you mean?"
"You really are spectacularly stupid, aren't you? The entire world knows that the Empress and Prince Andrea drove your mother to madness and murder. Everyone except you."
"No... that can't be..."
"Why do you think they let you live this long? They were already under suspicion. If you had died too, it would have been... inconvenient."
Only at the threshold of death did the truth finally reveal itself. Every tender word. Every gentle touch. Every concerned visit.
All of it had been a lie.
My mother was murdered. And I—I had been their puppet, their pawn, their perfect fool.
"It's fortunate that an idiot like you will never become Empress."
The blade fell.
And with the knight's mocking laughter echoing in my ears, I died.
Or so I thought.
My fading consciousness snapped back like a bowstring released.
I gasped—and air filled my lungs. Real air. Clean air that didn't taste of blood and forest soil.
I opened my eyes.
Familiar walls. Familiar ceiling. The soft morning light filtering through gauze curtains I had seen a thousand times before.
My room. In the palace.
Slowly, I sat up. My hands—unblemished, unbroken—trembled as I raised them to my face. No bruises. No wounds. No dried blood.
I was whole.
A mirror across the room showed me a face I barely recognized: younger, softer, with eyes that hadn't yet learned to look away in fear.
This is... impossible.
But as the pieces fell into place—the furnishings, the season, the particular slant of the sunlight—I understood.
Ten years.
I had returned to a late summer day when I was twenty-two years old. The very moment when Andrea's marriage proposal was being discussed.
The moment before everything went wrong.
For a long time, I simply sat there, staring at my own reflection. The girl in the mirror stared back—innocent, trusting, completely unaware of the horrors that awaited her.
But I knew now.
I knew everything.
And this time, if marriage was truly my fate...
I would marry the one man my enemies feared most.
After all—if I don't get married, I'll die anyway.
So let it be my weapon.
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