1-1. Parasite

Parasite.

Even before her memory began, Margo had grown up hearing that word. Noblewomen hiding their lips behind fans would exchange glances and whisper it among themselves.

Curious about what it meant, she asked those around her, but they only gave vague smiles and never told her.

When she finally learned to read, she managed to find the definition in the Castor Dictionary.

1. An insect that lives by attaching to other animals and sucking nutrients.
2. A derogatory term for someone who lives by attaching themselves to others without making any effort.

A parasite living off the Castor Imperial Family.

That was Margo.

The only reason she, of all people, became Crown Prince Allen’s fiancée was because she was a descendant of the Isirian royal family, who had lost the Castor–Isiria succession war. Margarita had inheritance rights to the Isiria Peninsula, and for the perfect union of the two countries, she had to marry Allen and bear a child.

Aside from that, she had no value.

A foolish parasite from Isiria who didn’t know her place.

In contrast, Allen was…

“His Highness the Crown Prince is flawless again today.”

“I heard he’s already fluent in Ancient Aegean. That’s something most can’t do even at academy age, but he’s already mastered it.”

The same nobles who had been mocking Margo moments ago couldn’t hide their sycophantic expressions in front of Allen. Bathed in praise and glory, Allen didn’t seem pleased; rather, he looked troubled as he glanced around, then brightened upon seeing Margo.

“There you are, Margo.”

As the boy ran to her with a clear smile, cold gazes clung to his back.

A parasite, daring to stand beside the little sun…

“Go away!”

It was a hatred too great for young Margo to endure. In contrast, the affection was too small and fragile to even form a protective shell.

“Margo, what’s wrong?”

Her stomach twisted at the blue eyes shimmering with concern. Living in a flood of love and affection, he still worried about a parasite like her. Margo couldn’t understand.

“I hate you.”

Why do you try to take even my affection when you already have everything?

You’re fine without it. The Emperor, the maids, even Margo’s nanny—everyone loved Allen.

“Do you really think people praise you because you’re great? It’s just flattery because you’re the crown prince.”

“You really believe you’re good at swordsmanship? Who would dare spar seriously with you? If you get hurt, their family could be destroyed.”

She poured out harsh words under the excuse of telling the truth. Every time she saw his hurt expression, a petty satisfaction would rise in her.

In the end, she even criticized the buttons on his clothes. Around that time, people stopped calling her a parasite.

—A wicked witch from Isiria.

—A demon sucking up Castor’s blood tax.

Just as Allen stopped being hurt by Margo’s biting words, she, too, began to welcome the infamy. No matter how much they cursed, she would still marry Allen and become Empress of the Castor Empire. As long as she had the inheritance rights, no one could punish her.

She thought she could live as she pleased forever.

Until a woman as beautiful as a spring blossom appeared.

“Ingrid.”

She could never forget the expression Allen had when he pronounced that name.

A radiant smile, as if he had discovered a new sprout at the end of a cold winter. A pure joy he had never shown Margo.

No matter how hidden in the shadows Ingrid stood, Allen would find her instantly. But seeing her hesitate, unable to approach due to his status, Margo let her guard down.

“May I ask you for a dance?”

“It would be an honor, Your Highness.”

As they finally held hands and glided to the center of the ballroom to the sound of the violin, everyone seemed entranced as if by magic.

Foolishly, Margo was among them. Drowning in a wave of happiness she could neither approach nor belong to, she could only watch the dance in silence.

But it would be fine. Ingrid was merely a baron’s daughter. Her status was too low to stand beside the crown prince. In the end, Margo would become empress.

“I’m thinking of marrying Miss Ingrid Danos to Baron Orland and making her my handmaiden.”

“What?”

“That way, you two can meet often. I heard the late empress also kept her husband’s mistress as a handmaiden. I support you both.”

She didn’t need love. It was an emotion she had never received or felt. As a future empress, Margo planned to generously accept and assist their love.

“How can you say something like that?”

“Something like what…? I’m trying to help you and Ingrid.”

Seeing his face turn pale as if insulted, Margo realized she had made a mistake.

“Do you hate the idea of Ingrid marrying someone else? But the church won’t allow an unmarried woman to be kept as a mistress. The official mistress, ‘the proxy of high society,’ has always been a married woman…”

“Margo!”

It was the first time Allen had ever shouted like that. Even without love, he had always treated her kindly. When she was hurt by the nobles’ bullying and teasing and cried quietly in a corner, he would come find her and quietly offer his handkerchief. Of course, Margo would throw it away every time.

“I guess I was too hasty. Let’s talk about this another time.”

But after that day, Margo never saw Allen again. When she came to, she was in a small, damp underground cell, not even the size of the bathroom she once used.

The guard’s abuse and insults were nothing compared to those of the nobles. Even so, Margo endured. They’ll let me out today. He’ll cool off by tomorrow. His Majesty the Emperor will scold him and rescue me.

He’s smart. He’ll soon realize his place. The Isiria Peninsula was geopolitically essential to the Castor Empire, which lacked straits. The vast granary of southern Isiria and the resource-rich Pinoalto Mountains covered in perpetual snow. With northern rebels committing atrocities across the land in defiance of imperial rule, Margo was a card they couldn’t afford to discard.

On the second anniversary of her imprisonment, the guard came and dragged her to the surface, announcing that Allen had ascended the throne.

He’s finally come to his senses.

Dreaming of returning to the palace in a splendid carriage, she was instead met with a shabby cart with tight wooden bars.

“Where is the carriage I’m supposed to ride?”

Tortured endlessly, Margo was no longer the arrogant girl of the past. Just standing before the guard shrank her like a small animal, and each question made her heart pound with fear.

“Where else? You’re riding this.”

The officer pointed to the very cart she had feared. She struggled desperately, trying to flee, but her body, weakened from the long imprisonment, couldn’t keep up.

“Let go, let me go. I won’t ride it.”

“She’s finally lost it. Grab her!”

Lifted like luggage and thrown into the cart, the guard struck the donkey with a whip.

Before she could even take in the feeling of leaving the palace for the first time, rotten eggs and tomatoes flew at her the moment they passed through the main gate.

“Witch!”

“The demon who tried to sell Castor to Isiria is coming.”

“Die!”

The raw malice, far worse than the finger-pointing when she was called a parasite, crashed over Margo like a wave. The stench made her gag, but with nothing in her stomach, she couldn’t vomit.

Unable to sit upright in the jolting cart, she lay down, and her eyes caught sight of round objects hanging from tall poles.

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

As she idly counted, she suddenly realized they were human heads. Margo vomited blood. All were familiar faces. Nobles from Isiria who had tried to adapt to the Castor imperial family. Among them was the Marchioness of Borsenne, her etiquette teacher.

How could this be. How…

But the shock wasn’t over. The moment she saw the head hung highest on the guillotine scaffold, Margo nearly fainted on the spot.

Sparse black hair, a stab wound deep in the left eye, familiar eyebrows and nose, and tightly closed lips.

Allen’s mother. Her Majesty the Emperor.

“Huff, huff.”

Pain squeezed her chest, making it hard to breathe.

She had heard from the guard that the emperor had been dethroned, but never imagined she had been killed to secure the throne. To someone like that, how insignificant must Margo, his mere fiancée, be?

All hope was lost. Margo stood before the guillotine without resistance. The crowd 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.

It’s so clear.

She was glad the last sky she saw wasn’t dark and gloomy. She had longed for sunlight all this time.

Margo was born on the day Isiria lost the succession war. When the Castor Emperor promised to spare their lives if they surrendered, her father locked the castle gates and began slaughtering their own family.

Her dying mother used her last strength to give birth to her. As the king hesitated before the newborn, a new maid fled with the baby in her arms, and while they ran, the imperial army stormed in, letting her live.

It would have been better if I had died that day. They shouldn’t have saved me. They should’ve let me die.

She envied the siblings who had gone before her.

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

She closed her eyes and savored the falling sunlight. As she stepped toward the guillotine, the ground shook with a thud and acrid smoke stung her nose.

“It’s the rebels!”

“Run, everyone!”

As her vision blurred and she coughed violently, three or four young men surrounded Margo.