Chapter 10
----------------------------------------------------------------- Translator: Diva Chapter: 10 Chapter Title: A Dead Rat for Breakfast -----------------------------------------------------------------
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After that uproar, Talia began spending all her time inside the Detached Palace.
But thanks to the maids who gossiped incessantly—as if she'd never played the mute—she learned that the boy who'd beaten her was the Empire's Crown Prince and her half-brother. And that the black-haired girl she'd seen in the birch grove that day was her half-sister too...
She also learned that it had been less than six months since those two had lost their mother.
That meant she and Senevia had entered the imperial family just three weeks after Late Empress Bernadette's death.
Senevia had even erased every last trace of the former Empress the moment she set foot in the palace.
Perhaps that small garden behind the Main Palace was a remnant of Bernadette that her own mother hadn't managed to erase.
She gazed out the window.
Summer rain poured over the garden her mother had so carefully tended. The plants, heavy with moisture and reeking of thick grass, felt like grotesque monsters.
She drew the curtains over the window. Then she curled up on the bed, recalling the Crown Prince's hate-filled glare and her half-sister's face, pale with terror. And the blue-eyed boy who'd wrapped her protectively in his arms while glaring daggers at her...
"Barkas Raedgo Sheerkhan..."
She murmured his name blankly, staring up at the ceiling.
She'd finally learned the boy's name, but it brought her no joy. Because she'd realized he would never smile at her.
Late Empress Bernadette had come from the Marquis Oristein family, one of Oshiria's great noble houses, but her mother was a noblewoman of the Sheerkhan family. The dead Empress and Barkas were distant relatives, in a sense.
Bernadette had even tenderly cared for Barkas after he entered the palace at a young age and began his grueling education. He might well view Senevia as an arch-enemy.
'And me too...'
Recalling those icy eyes fixed on her, Talia resented being Senevia's daughter for the first time. Even her appearance—which she'd always taken pride in for resembling her mother—now felt shameful.
Talia didn't want to feel that way.
I was the one who got brutally beaten, so why should I feel guilty?
The Crown Prince was the one who'd done wrong.
I really didn't know anything. What did I do wrong? I'm not bad. I didn't do anything wrong.
Talia repeated this endlessly to herself. But whenever cold stares from the servants surrounded her, those thoughts vanished without a trace.
Talia perfectly understood the malice behind their harsh touches.
The ice-cold bathwater that scrubbed her skin raw and red, the sly pinches with tweezers every time they changed her clothes, the brutal combing that tore at her scalp until it bled, the cold, congealed food at every meal... All of it was their own brand of punishment for her.
She knew they hated her. But it hadn't been much different back at the Taren estate, so she hadn't paid it much mind.
Whenever she shrank in fear, Senevia would wrap her in a tight embrace and whisper that she was the fruit of true love, that she needn't care what anyone said.
Talia had believed her and always tried to act with confidence. But now her mother was no longer by her side, and all around her were murmurs about how kind and good the Late Empress had been—and how much suffering she'd endured before her death.
Talia wilted visibly. The head she'd always carried high now drooped like a turtle's, her gaze fixed naturally on the floor. The servants, sensing this change, grew even harsher. With neither the Emperor nor Senevia showing her much attention, they no longer seemed to fear punishment.
To them, Talia wasn't an imperial princess to begin with. She was the creature who'd wounded the Empress they'd loyally served—Bernadette—and the filthy proof of an adulterous affair.
Every time she passed through the corridors, Talia could hear them muttering just that about her. Her head felt like it might explode. Each accusation filled her with injustice and rage.
But hearing that her very birth had caused so much pain to so many, she sometimes felt this suffering was only her due. Still, their torment had reached a level she could no longer endure.
It was about two seasons after she'd entered the palace. As she came down to the dining hall for breakfast, an inexplicable unease gripped her.
More servants than usual had gathered to attend her that day. Seeing the maids lined up along the walls, she had a foreboding sense that something awful was about to happen.
But contrary to her fears, the servants were polite, and an unusually lavish spread covered the table. Talia stared down at the silver platters as if entranced.
Instead of the usual rock-hard bread, a kitchen maid brought golden loaves fresh from the oven, along with butter. Soon after, roast quail and stew billowing hot steam were set before her.
After months of wretched slop day in and day out, the sight of thick, steaming stew—instead of watery slop cold as rainwater—nearly brought shameful tears to her eyes.
Talia glanced around at the servants. Dozens of eyes watched her every reaction.
Maybe they've finally tired of punishing me? Perhaps they've forgiven my existence and decided to show some kindness.
Talia lifted her spoon. She scooped up the steaming broth and slipped it into her mouth. Flavors of butter, milk, and vegetables mingled with a soft sweetness, filling her mouth.
The taste of warm food after so long unleashed a ravenous hunger. Forgetting all decorum, she shoveled the stew down greedily.
How long did she eat like that before it hit—an utterly bizarre taste. It wasn't the gaminess of meat the spices had failed to mask; this was far too foul. She frowned and peered intently into the stew.
At that moment, giggling laughter erupted behind her.
Talia whipped her head around. The maids all had expressionless faces, eyes cast down. But she could clearly see their lips twitching. Cold sweat beaded down her spine.
After hesitating for a long moment, Talia stirred the bowl with her spoon. She pushed aside the large chunks, revealing a heavy lump sunk to the very bottom. No, it wasn't a lump of meat.
As she scooped up the dark, sodden thing, Talia froze in shock. There, floating limp in the thick broth with its mouth agape, was a bloated gray rat. Not even a scream would come.
She tumbled from her chair onto the floor and vomited up the stew. Even after heaving up more than she'd eaten, the nausea wouldn't stop.
The foul stench grew stronger at her nostrils. The taste of dead rat clung to her tongue, as if it would never fade.
She jammed her fingers down her throat and scraped at her tongue, wringing out vomit that no longer came.
How long did she lie there retching on the floor? Through her tear-blurred vision, she saw a pair of feet passing back and forth around the table.
Talia blankly lifted her head. The kitchen maid was calmly clearing plates as if nothing had happened. The other servants bustled about, gathering dishes and wiping the table—paying no mind at all to her sprawled in her own vomit...