After that commotion, Talia began staying only inside the detached palace.
But because of the maids, who never stopped whispering as if they had never been mute, she came to know the truth—that the boy who had assaulted her was none other than the Empire's Crown Prince, and her half-brother. And also that the black-haired girl she had seen that day in the birch forest was her half-sister…
She also learned that it had been less than six months since the two of them had lost their mother. Which meant that she and Senevior had entered the imperial palace barely three weeks after the death of the former Empress, Bernadette.
Senevior had even erased every trace of the former empress as soon as she entered the palace. Perhaps that small garden behind the main palace had been one of Bernadette's traces that her mother had not managed to remove.
Talia looked out the window.
Summer rain poured down upon the garden her mother had so carefully tended. The plants of the garden, heavy with water and reeking of damp greenery, looked to her like dreadful monsters.
She drew the curtain across the window. Then, curling up on her bed, she recalled the Crown Prince's eyes burning with hatred, her half-sister's face drained white with terror, and the blue-eyed boy who had glared at her while wrapping his arms around the girl as if to protect her…
"Barkas Raedgo Siorcan…"
She blankly murmured his name as she gazed at the ceiling.
At last, she had learned the boy's name—but she felt no joy at all. She had realized that he would never, ever smile at her.
The former Empress Bernadette had been from the Oristein Marquisate, one of Osiria's most prestigious families, but his mother had been a noblewoman of the Siorcan family. That made the late empress and Barkas distant relatives.
What was more, she had even looked after young Barkas with care, when he had first come into the palace and begun his harsh education. Perhaps he regarded Senevior as an enemy.
'And me as well…'
When she remembered those icy eyes that had looked upon her, for the first time she felt resentment at being Senevior's daughter. Even the appearance she had always been proud of, because she so closely resembled her mother, now felt shameful.
Talia did not want to feel such emotions.
She had been the one terribly beaten, so why should she feel guilt?
It was the Crown Prince who had done wrong.
She truly hadn't known anything. What crime had she committed? She wasn't bad. She hadn't done anything wrong at all.
Talia repeated this endlessly. But whenever she was surrounded by the servants' cold stares, those thoughts vanished without a trace.
She perfectly understood the meaning of the harsh treatment she received from their hands—
bringing her ice-cold bathwater and scrubbing her raw until her skin reddened, pricking her flesh with tweezers every time they dressed her, combing her hair so roughly that her scalp was wounded, serving her cold meals at every sitting… all of it was their own form of punishment for her.
She knew she was hated. But she hadn't cared much—things had not been all that different when she had lived with the Tarren family.
Whenever she grew timid, Senevior had always embraced her and whispered, You are the result of true love. You needn't care what anyone says.
Talia had believed those words and had tried to carry herself proudly. But now, her mother was no longer by her side. Around her, there were only whispers about how kind and gentle the former Empress had been, and how much she had suffered in her life.
Talia grew visibly dispirited. The head she had always carried proudly now drooped like a turtle drawing into its shell, her gaze naturally fixed on the floor. And the servants, sensing this change, only grew more cruel.
Neither the Emperor nor even Senevior paid her much attention, and so it seemed the servants no longer even feared punishment.
From the beginning, they had never considered Talia a princess of the Empire. To them, she was merely the one who had brought pain to Empress Bernadette—the proof of a filthy affair.
Whenever she walked down the corridor, she could hear them whispering about her that way. It made her feel like she would lose her mind. Every word of condemnation filled her with injustice and resentment.
Yet, when she thought that so many people had suffered because of her very birth, she almost felt she deserved to endure such sorrow.
But their torment grew to a level she could no longer bear.
It was after two seasons had passed since she entered the imperial palace. One morning, when Talia came down to the dining hall for breakfast, she was seized by a strange unease.
That day, many servants had come out to attend her. Seeing the line of maids along the wall gave her a foreboding sense that something would happen.
But contrary to her fears, the servants were courteous, and the table was laden with an unusual abundance of dishes. Talia stared blankly down at the silver plates.
Instead of the usual hard, stale bread, the kitchen maids brought freshly baked golden loaves with butter. Soon, roasted quail and steaming hot stew were set before her.
For months she had eaten nothing but wretched, miserable food. Seeing stew thick with ingredients instead of the rainwater-like thin soup she had been served, she nearly burst into tears in shame.
Talia looked around at the servants. Dozens of eyes were fixed upon her, watching her reaction.
Could it be they no longer wish to punish me? Perhaps they are ready to forgive my existence, ready to show me kindness…
Talia lifted her spoon. She scooped up a steaming mouthful of broth and put it into her mouth. Butter, milk, vegetables, and tender sweetness spread across her tongue.
The taste of warm food after so long stirred up a fierce hunger. She forgot her dignity and shoveled the stew down in haste.
How long had she eaten before it happened? All at once she noticed a very strange taste. It was far too foul to be the simple gamey odor of meat that spices had failed to mask.
She frowned and stared hard into the stew.
Just then, giggling laughter sounded from behind her.
Talia whipped her head around. The maids all had expressionless faces with lowered eyes. But she had seen their lips twitch. Cold sweat broke down her spine.
After a long hesitation, Talia stirred the stew with her spoon. Pushing aside the large chunks of food, she saw something heavy sunk to the very bottom of the bowl. It wasn't meat.
Scooping up the dark lump with her spoon, she froze in shock.
Bloated gray flesh, a rat swollen in the thick broth, its mouth gaping open.
She couldn't even scream.
Tumbling from her chair, she vomited the stew onto the floor. Even after bringing up more than she had eaten, the retching would not stop.
The foul stench only grew stronger, clinging to her nostrils. It seemed the taste of that dead rat would stick to her tongue forever.
She jabbed her fingers down her throat, scraping her tongue, forcing up whatever would not come.
Collapsed on the floor, gagging, she suddenly saw through tear-blurred vision a pair of feet passing by the table.
Dazed, Talia raised her head.
The maid in charge of the kitchen was calmly clearing the plates, as if nothing had happened. Other servants busily moved about, carrying dishes, wiping the table.
As though the girl lying in her own vomit on the floor did not even exist…
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