Chapter 1.2

Chapter 1.2

Margo’s face drained of color as if insulted, and she realized her mistake.

“Are you against Ingrid marrying someone else? But the church won’t allow an unmarried woman to be a mistress. The official government, the ‘Vicar of Society,’ has been in place for generations, and married women—”

“Margo!”

This was the first time Allen had shouted like that. He was a child who had always treated her gently, even if there was no love between them. Whenever she was hurt by nobles’ bullying and mockery, hiding and sobbing in a corner, he would quietly come and offer a handkerchief. Of course, Margo would always throw the handkerchief away.

“I seem to have been too hasty. Let’s talk about this another time.”

But after that day, Margo never met Allen again. When she came to her senses, she was in a small, damp underground prison smaller than the bathroom of the room she used to occupy.

The jailer’s harassment and insults were incomparable to those of the nobles. Still, Margo endured. Today they would release her. Tomorrow, his anger would subside. The Emperor would punish him and save her.

He is wise, so he will soon realize his position. The Isyria peninsula was geopolitically essential for the Castor Empire, which lacked straits. The vast granary regions of southern Isyria and the rich mineral resources of the Pinoalto mountain range covered in eternal snow. At a time when northern rebels were committing acts of violence against imperial rule, Margo was a piece that could not be discarded.

On the second year of her imprisonment, the jailer brought her to the surface, announcing that Allen had ascended to the throne.

Finally, he has come to his senses.

Dreaming of returning to the imperial palace in a luxurious carriage, she was instead met with an old, dilapidated wagon with tight wooden bars.

“Where is the carriage I am supposed to ride?”

Margo, who had endured all kinds of torture, was no longer the mischievous girl of the past. Standing before the jailer, her liver shrank like a small animal, and she trembled with fear at each question.

“Where is it? Ha! You’ll ride this.”

The officer pointed to the wagon she had hoped was just a bad dream. She tried to flee, sensing an ominous feeling, but her body, weakened from too long in prison, couldn’t manage.

“Let me go, I won’t ride!”

“So you’ve finally lost your mind. Grab her!”

Thrown into the wagon like cargo, the jailer immediately whipped the donkey.

Before she could even savor being outside the palace for the first time, rotten eggs and tomatoes flew towards her the moment she passed the imperial gates.

“Witch!”

“The demon who tried to sell Castor to Isyria is coming!”

“Die!”

A raw, unfiltered malevolence, incomparable to the times she was pointed at as a parasite, engulfed Margo like waves. The stench was so strong it made her want to retch, but with nothing in her stomach, she couldn’t even vomit.

Unable to gather her senses in the jolting wagon, Margo’s eyes caught a round object hanging on a long pole.

One, two, three, four, no, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen…

Numbly counting, she realized they were human heads, and she vomited blood. All familiar faces. Isyrian nobles who had somehow tried to adapt to the Castor Imperial Court. Among them was even the Marchioness of Borsene, who had been her etiquette teacher.

How could this be. How…

But the shock was not over. The moment she saw the head hung highest on the execution platform, Margo nearly fainted on the spot.

Beneath the sparse black hair, a scar deep in the left eye. Familiar eyebrows and nose, tightly closed lips.

The Emperor, Allen’s mother.

“Heuk, heuk.”

The pain squeezing her chest made it impossible to breathe properly.

She had heard through the jailer that the Emperor was deposed, but she never imagined he would be killed to secure the throne. Just how more insignificant must his fiancée, Margot, be to him?

All hope had disappeared. Margo stood before the guillotine without any resistance. The crowd gathered to watch hurled insults and jeers, but she couldn’t hear them.

“Do you have any last words?”

She shook her head at the executioner’s question. She simply smiled faintly and looked up at the sky.

How clear it is.

It was fortunate that the last sky she would see wasn’t dark and damp. She had longed for sunlight all along.

Margo was born on the day Isyria lost the succession war. When the Castor Emperor declared they would be spared if they surrendered, her father locked the gates and began slaughtering his own family.

Her dying mother summoned her last strength to give birth to her. As the king hesitated in front of the newborn, his new maid carried her away and fled, as the imperial army closed in.

‘If only I had died that day. If only they hadn’t saved me, if only they had let me die.’

She envied her siblings who had gone before her.

Now it’s time to return to her sinful family. Would hell be waiting at the end? At least this time, she won’t be alone.

She closed her eyes and savored the pouring sunlight. The moment she stepped towards the guillotine, there was a thud that shook the ground, and a pungent smoke stung her nose.

“Rebels!”

“Run, everyone!”

Amid the murky vision and her coughing, three or four young men surrounded Margo.