It was not even a fortnight after leaving the Taren estate and entering the Imperial Palace.
Her mother rejoiced, declaring that at last her daughter's name had been inscribed into the Imperial genealogy. But to Talia, coming to this unfamiliar place was nothing but misery. With Senevier's attention fixed only on refurbishing the palace, Talia's unease only grew worse.
The Imperial Palace was nothing like what her mother had described. It was desolate, frightening. Wherever she went, sharp gazes followed. The attendants here were even colder than the Taren servants.
She felt like a child abandoned, with no place to belong. So whenever she had the chance, she would secretly slip out of her chambers and wander near the Detached Palace.
She especially frequented the back garden. Because Senevier had declared she would erase all traces of the late Empress, every flower and tree had been ripped from the ground. The garden had become nothing but wasteland.
At least the entrances of the main and detached palaces had begun to be filled with roses and brightly colored shrubs, but in the rear grounds, where landscaping was still unfinished, only heaps of dirt lay scattered. No one came there.
Whenever she grew weary of whispers and piercing stares, Talia would spend her time idly in a corner of that ruined garden.
That day too, she had escaped her nagging nurse and the maid who scratched her scalp with a sharp comb under the pretense of "fixing her hair." She slipped out into the rear grounds of the Detached Palace.
Since noon, rain had been pouring down. Not a single worker was in the garden. In the empty corner, Talia crouched and stared blankly at the falling raindrops.
How long had she been sitting there? From somewhere came the faint sound of a whistle.
Startled, she looked around. Then, as if pulled by something, she began to walk toward the outer edge of the palace, rain drenching her clothes. Where a great tree had stood that morning, now only a deep pit remained.
Approaching the mound of earth, Talia peered down. A small bird floundered in the mud, crying pitifully.
Did it fall from the tree?
It looked as though it could die any moment. Heavy raindrops pummeled its soaked brown body, and tar-like blackish-red mud clung to its thin legs and pitiful wings. Its desperate cries grew weaker, turning into frail tremors.
Talia bent her knees and stared down at the sight. Before she knew it, she had stepped into the pit.
It was foolish. Even though she trod carefully, the rain-saturated ground, turned into a swamp, instantly swallowed her shoes.
She twisted her body to free her foot. Losing balance, she slipped and tumbled into the mire.
She fell forward, bitter muddy water seeping between her lips. She shook her head furiously.
The green dress her nurse had made for her was ruined, mud clinging to her carefully braided hair.
A surge of anger welled up. She stood and muttered a curse under her breath.
Why should I care about a bird? Foolish me, doing such a stupid thing…
Grumbling, she turned to leave the pit—when a faint cry reached her again. So faint that only a careful ear could hear it, but to Talia, it sounded like a scream.
She stepped deeper into the muddy water. There, she saw the feeble brown wings and drooping head of the tiny bird.
…Already dead?
She carefully picked it up. The tiny body, soaked through, gave a faint throb. Still alive.
She cupped the fragile form in her hands and breathed warm air over it. The limp bird opened its small beak, weakly fluttering its spindly wings, struggling desperately to live.
Something tightened in her chest.
She didn't know what this feeling was. Why did it hurt to see the fledgling—lost, abandoned, struggling in the mire—now resting in her hands?
She pressed the bird gently against the warmest place beneath her neck, then looked up at the steep, muddy slope.
The rain fell heavier, softening the earth into a slush. She tested a few steps, but climbing up seemed impossible. The only way out would be crawling on all fours like an animal.
Talia bit her lip. She couldn't abandon the bird she had saved, but neither could she discard her dignity as a princess and crawl like a beast through the mud.
So she stood still, rain soaking her.
It was then—
Through the misty veil of rain, a boy appeared.
He was tall, cloaked in a black robe like a monk's, hood pulled low. Yet Talia could clearly see his pale, luminous blue eyes through the curtain of rain. They were unbearably beautiful.
"What are you doing down there?"
The blue-eyed boy bent toward her. His cool voice didn't match his delicate face, still touched with boyish youth. A shiver ran down Talia's spine.
At the time, she thought it was the cold. But looking back, perhaps she had already sensed it. That this boy, gazing down with his detached face, would one day cast her life into a living hell.
Had she recognized that dim foreboding for what it was, she might have thrown the small bird into the mud, clawed her way out on all fours like a pig that knew neither shame nor filth, and fled as far from the blue-eyed boy as she could.
She would have erased every trace of him from her mind.
But eight-year-old Talia had no idea that the boy in the rain would become her despair. So she looked up at him and snapped in her usual thorny tone:
"Can't you see? I fell in and can't get out."
The boy's eyes narrowed. He seemed on the verge of asking why she had entered such a place at all.
But instead of questions, he slid gracefully down into the pit, uncaring that his fine trousers and polished leather boots were splattered with mud.
Talia stared in shock. She had never expected a boy with such a cold, unyielding face to do such a thing.
He walked across the swampy mire, his long legs carrying him swiftly. Up close, he looked even taller, towering above her by a head.
He stepped before her and held out his hand.
"Take it."
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