Regret Begets Revenge

Tetz Square lay at the very heart of the imperial capital of the Lesgerham Empire.

At its center stood the pride of the capital—a grand fountain adorned with a statue of Freyja, the goddess of love and magic. On ordinary days the square rang with nothing but laughter and cheerful clamor, but today was different.

The crowd gathered around the fountain spat and hurled curses at the woman locked inside the makeshift cage. A palace attendant, glaring at her through the iron bars as though she were something vile, unfurled a royal decree.

"For the crime of assassinating the Empress! Let Imperial Consort Eleanor Swan von Lesgerham be hanged, and let her corpse be cast into Zapr Forest to feed the wolves!"

"Kill her! Kill Eleanor Prihoson!"

"Kill her! Kill her!"

Voice by voice, the crowd's fury swelled higher and higher.

Eleanor lifted her eyes, hollow and empty. The contempt and loathing of so many spectators had long since worn familiar grooves in her heart, and yet the bitterness that washed over her now was more than she could keep down.

Then the knights seized her with rough hands and dragged her out.

"On your feet!"

Her clothes had rotted through so badly that the faintest tug would tear them. When the knights hauled her up from behind like a sack of cargo, a piece of the fabric gave way at last with a sickening rip.

Only when her bare shoulder was exposed did a faint spark of life return to Eleanor's eyes. But the knights cared nothing for her dignity; they shoved her straight into a filthy, reeking prisoner's cart.

The cart jolted along for only a short while before it stopped, and once more she was hauled out with a knight gripping each arm. She hadn't even been given proper shoes, and her dragging feet had been reduced to bloody pulp long ago.

At last the knights came to a halt, and only then did Eleanor have the strength left to look around. They had arrived at a place she knew all too well. The Imperial Palace—a place where a certain man lived just thinking about whom made her teeth grind. In her vision, the Emperor's red cloak came into view, seen from behind.

"......"

Ten years had slipped by since the day she first met Joshua.

Had all that time been nothing but preparation for this day? A hollow smile touched Eleanor's lips. The very next moment, the knights flung her down against the floor, and agony surged through her with such force she couldn't stop herself from squeezing her eyes shut and groaning, "Ugh—!"

When she finally forced her eyes open, a cold, beautiful face filled her vision. Joshua had drawn near without her noticing, tilting his head as he studied her with an unfamiliar look in his eyes.

Gazing at his twisted lips, Eleanor dragged the corners of her mouth upward as far as they would go. She refused—absolutely refused—to be pitied by this man.

But with the slave's brand seared into one cheek, the raw, scarred flesh quivering up and down as she smiled only made her face look more grotesque still.

The ring of surrounding knights drew in their breath in unison, sharp and clear. And then came the jeers, hurled at her like stones.

Eleanor, who had surrendered everything long ago, simply glared at the man before her. The cold, dispassionate eyes of Joshua—now the exalted Emperor—bore down on her from inches away. She curled her lips into a twisted smile, and his expression turned to ice.

"You certainly find a lot to laugh about."

"......"

And what, exactly, should I be doing in this situation—crying? Sorry to disappoint, but my tears dried up long ago. There isn't a single drop left.

She had never once loved Joshua, the boy her father had urged her to become engaged to at the age of ten. But they were both illegitimate children—so she had assumed that, at the very least, they would spend their lives together as allies who respected and supported one another. Her father, no doubt, had believed the same when he arranged the political match.

Not long before her wedding to Joshua, however, the truth came out: he was the son of the Emperor and the late Empress, once a princess of a fallen kingdom. The struggle for the throne ignited, and the House of Prihoson—which had always remained neutral—threw its support behind Joshua.

There was only one reason Eleanor's father, the Grand Duke of Prihoson, had backed him. His daughter's happiness.

Joshua wanted the throne, and Eleanor believed he deserved it. That he was the Emperor's bastard meant nothing to her.

Because Eleanor had wanted to see the empire Joshua would build. Joshua had dreamed of a world where all people were equal.

Not a world where people were despised for being weak, for being poor, for being born women—but a world where everyone could chase their own dreams and ambitions. Eleanor had wanted to see that world, the one Joshua had described with a smile.

And yet how was he treating her now? The man who had once wept as he held her, who had sworn to devote his whole life to her out of gratitude—that man had vanished long ago. A self-mocking smile crossed Eleanor's face.

To think I never knew what kind of man he was. I was a fool for trusting a beast.

Her past self had been truly pathetic. And she could only apologize to her late father—for the sake of that foolish daughter of his.

No human being could ever do this. You, who threw your conscience away like garbage—what makes you fit to sit on the imperial throne? If only she had the strength, she would have spat every word of it in his face. Her fingers drifted to her own cheek. Beneath her fingertips, the flesh was rough and uneven.

The day the brand of a pleasure slave was seared into her skin, Eleanor—convinced she could not live in such degradation—had bitten down on her tongue with all her strength, intent on ending her own life. The jailer found her unconscious, blood streaming from her mouth, only hours later, and a skilled palace physician swiftly reattached the half-severed tongue. But the nerve had been damaged, it seemed; now even swallowing her own saliva left her entire mouth burning with pain.

As she stood there in silence, Emperor Joshua's green eyes glinted coldly. He lowered his gaze, his eyes brimming with sorrow.

"I still don't understand."

"......"

"How could you be so calm, after killing the woman I love?"

"......Ugh. My...... words......"

A sound like metal scraping against stone scraped out of her throat.

Her throat ached fiercely, and Eleanor forced her voice through it, her face contorting with the effort. She strained so hard that blue veins stood out on her neck. Joshua, watching her, frowned with irritation.

"Honestly. You're a repulsive woman, do you know that?"

A peerless sword hung loosely from one hand as the Emperor stared into empty space, saying nothing—and his gaze was nothing short of vicious.

With his face betraying no expression at all, she could not begin to guess what was going through his mind. Eleanor's blue eyes flashed cold.

"......Sh-should...... only...... you......"

As Eleanor forced out the bitter taunt, a smirk flickered across Joshua's face before he shook his head.

"Hah. What a waste—that a woman like you is what Helena trusted."

He looked down at her with frigid eyes.

"Why did you kill Helena? And don't you dare say it was because you loved me. You don't love anything like me."

"......"

When the Emperor referred to himself as something like him, the guard knights and palace guard surrounding them all bowed their heads as if in apology. But Joshua paid their reaction no mind whatsoever, only shooting Eleanor a crooked, hostile look.

"What's this? Have you run out of excuses?"

"......"

"I suppose you truly do want to die like this."

Under the Emperor's thunderous pressure, Eleanor offered neither denial nor confirmation.

The truth was, he was right. Eleanor genuinely wanted to die.

That wish had taken root in her the day her parents were beheaded before her very eyes.

Why did you poison Helena's tea? Why did you murder her?

What answer was there for people who had already decided who the culprit was before the investigation even began? Excuses were pointless.

Joshua had never once asked her anything, all this time. So why was he suddenly posing these questions now?

Even when she had screamed that she had done nothing to Helena, even when her parents had knelt and begged him on their knees to spare Eleanor, even when she had confessed to a crime she never committed in order to save her mother and father—never once had he asked why she would have done it.

Only now, with matters come to this, did she understand his intent. Joshua had been biding his time, waiting for his chance to kill her.

He needed no reason. He simply meant to dispose of Eleanor while the opportunity was at hand.

It struck her as utterly absurd that she had once believed a man this shallow was the companion who would walk the road of life beside her. A bitter smile tugged at the corner of Eleanor's mouth.

And in that instant, a violent pain stabbed up through her chest, and her brow furrowed. When Helena had died, Joshua had ordered the jailers to torture her. The guards who had hesitated at first now tortured Eleanor without a flicker of remorse, snickering as they watched her writhe in agony.

She could have endured even that. But at some point, the men who came calling themselves physicians had begun injecting her with something strange. Ever since, the pain in her chest had never stopped.

Now she had truly reached her limit. The upper body she had held upright on her knees through sheer willpower and stubbornness crumpled, and her strength drained away as her body slumped against the ground. Her rotted prison garb, fouled by the pus from her wounds, gave off the stench of decay.

Blood, pus, and open sores oozed across her ruined body and mingled with the dirt of the ground. A foul stench spread through the air.

Her gaze fell to the backs and palms of her hands, scraped raw from thrashing against the stones. On her wrists, bound tightly with coarse rope, calluses sat thick on every finger—the mark of one who had held a sword for years.

She had trained with the sword from childhood, and her skill had been exceptional. But from the moment Joshua told her to stop, Eleanor had never touched a blade again. She had given up the thing she loved most, without a moment's hesitation.

Lying still on the ground, she clenched and unclenched her numb, tingling arms. Watching her, the Emperor seemed at last to reach some conclusion, and drew something from within his coat.

Eleanor tried to make it out through her dimming vision, but the object would not come into focus.

The Emperor flung it down before her.