1-2. For Isiria

The nanny’s mouth fell open at the sudden dismissal. In contrast, Margo was not only calm, but composed. As if she hadn’t just been in tears, she busily wiped her face with a handkerchief.

“Your Highness!”

How could you say such a thing? After all we’ve been through? I saved you from that wretched man’s blade, and this is how you repay me? Her cries of protest sounded like weeping.

Once, that story had always pierced her heart no matter how many times she heard it, but strangely, now, it left her completely unmoved. Shaking off her cold sweat, Margo turned her gaze to the window.

Clang.

The glass chime swaying in the breeze was beautiful.

Only three days before her death had Margo learned it was a specialty of southern Isiria. Theo’s younger sibling had asthma but still had to blow air into that contraption to meet the production quota.

That pure, clear sound now rang only as a sorrowful wail.

She had pitied herself all her life. Orphaned, with no siblings, living alone in contempt and sorrow. But beneath her feet lay a suffering and despair far deeper than her own.

So pull yourself together, Margo.

“No lady of fourteen still needs a nanny. I’ve caused you much trouble with my childishness. I’ll inform Her Majesty so that your departure is peaceful. If you need a letter of recommendation, speak to the head maid.”

Smiling as softly as a breeze, she cut her off like a blade. Her heart didn’t ache. Rather, it felt like a bad tooth had finally been pulled—refreshing.

***

As soon as the fuming nanny left, Margo sat up as if she’d never been ill and began grooming herself. She declined the pale blue indoor dress the dressing maid suggested and chose a formal gown of dark silk embroidered with intricate patterns. The maid, puzzled but compliant, shook her head when asked to braid her hair.

“That’s a hairstyle for commoners.”

Hair puffed up with a hot iron was a symbol of wealth. It showed that one could wash daily and afford a maid to style it. In contrast, braided hair was seen as something only the lowest workers wore.

Meeting the rebels, Margo had learned it was the traditional hairstyle of Isiria. The difference between royal women and commoners was merely in whether they adorned it with jewels or a cloth cap.

“If you don’t like it, leave this room. I’ll tell the head maid to make sure you get a generous severance.”

The maid, having just witnessed the unceremonious dismissal of the nanny, pressed her lips tightly together. She quietly added not to tell anyone it was her doing and quickly began braiding. Though her touch was rough, she was skilled at weaving the side hair into one.

She wrapped a single-strand diamond band around her head like a tiara and hung a lone pearl earring. She declined both the elaborate necklace and the stomacher ornament.

In her past life, Margo had adorned herself more extravagantly than anyone. As the sole heir of the Isirian Peninsula, she had no shortage of royal jewels. She flaunted them just to spite those who talked behind her back and relished their jealous stares. Now, it all seemed pointless.

As the maid muttered and sorted the discarded jewelry, Margo gazed briefly at the worn opal ring on her left ring finger.

The transcontinental railway, the Isiria mines, the great famine.

The events soon to unfold rushed through her mind. And the foolish decisions she had made back then.

Was it all just a dream? No, it had been far too vivid, and everything since waking had followed the exact same pattern. What had changed was her attitude. That alone had already changed much.

And would continue to change more.

Like severing fate, she slipped off the ring and placed it in the nightstand just as an attendant arrived.

“Her Majesty the Emperor summons Her Highness Margarita.”

Unlike the startled maid, Margo rose without a flicker of emotion. She had expected the emperor would call her once she dismissed the nanny.

“Tell her I’ll come at once.”

***

At the end of autumn, the audience chamber of the Castor Empire was packed with diplomats and nobles from all sorts of nations. The Aegean continent, where the empire was located, had recently fallen into unease at the rapidly advancing science emerging from the Didius continent beyond the ocean. Heated debate swirled over whether or not to adopt the infidel’s technology and culture.

“We must begin construction of the transcontinental railway without delay, but it seems Her Majesty the Castor Emperor is not interested.”

“We understand Ambassador Merve’s opinion. But… Margo?”

Allen, who had been seeing off Ambassador Merve at the chamber entrance, stopped in his tracks upon seeing Margo. It was no wonder. Every servant and maid they passed in the hall had stared in surprise at Margo’s hair.

Did he know that this hairstyle was not a mere commoner’s style but one of the Isirian royal family?

“Please inform Her Majesty that I have arrived.”

“Her Highness Margarita has arrived.”

She averted the direct gaze and informed the gatekeeper, and soon the reply came: she was to enter.

The moment she stepped into the audience chamber, all eyes were on her. Amidst those tilting their heads, those recoiling in shock, and those shaking their heads, Margo held her chin high.

“Your Highness, I wanted to see you with this hairstyle just once.”

The most fulfilling week of her life. As she carefully brushed and braided Margo’s tangled hair, Vanessa had whispered shyly. She had said it always saddened her to see Margo in the latest Castor fashion in newspapers and portraits.

What a shame there were no reporters with cameras now. Suppressing the fear rising within her, Margo stepped forward across the red carpet stretching toward the center of the chamber.

The Emperor was in deep conversation with Michele, whose beauty was accentuated by a mole near his eye. Michele had recently become the emperor’s lover and been granted a count’s title.

Surrounding them were an astonishing variety of handsome men, making one wonder where they had all been found. Seated on a golden throne adorned with jewels, the Emperor was stroking Michele’s hair with a delighted smile, until her expression turned to stone the moment she saw Margo.

Her deep violet velvet dress, densely embroidered with gold thread, was regal. The eyepatch made of the same material, stretching across a face once praised as the most beautiful in the Aegean continent, had stolen away that beauty, but in its place, it lent her the danger and glare of a tiger baring its fangs in vengeance.

“Margarita!”

Before she could take another step, a thunderous voice struck down. The Emperor, the only child born to Daria V at the age of fifty, had wielded a sword at three and commanded an army by ten. Her voice shook the entire chamber, and Margo trembled. Somewhere, a thudding sound suggested someone had already collapsed.

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

In her past life, the Emperor had never laid a hand on Margo. Though stern, she had belonged to the relatively lenient few. But was she still the same? Suppressing the rising dizziness, Margo calmly bent her knees.

“What is that appearance? Who told you to wear such a lowly hairstyle?”

“No one instructed me.”

“What?”

“I did it simply because I wanted to.”

With a snort, the Emperor slammed the armrest of her throne. Beneath the sparks in her eyes, maintaining a composed smile was no easy task. She regretted how she once mocked the noblewomen who never let their smiles falter no matter what.

“Ramirez.”

“Y-yes, Your Majesty.”

The nanny called from below the dais trembled like a leaf.

“Was it you? Did you make Margo wear that hairstyle?”

“N-no, Your Majesty.”

“You dared to tell her to wear such a vulgar style, and when she grew angry, she dismissed you, didn’t she?”

“Your Majesty, that’s absolutely not…”

Before she could finish, the nanny clutched her bleeding forehead and collapsed. A shattered flower vase rolled nearby. It was so large most people could barely lift it with both arms, yet the Emperor had hurled it with one hand.

“Undo it. At once! Undo that wretched hairstyle!”

The Emperor lashed out and pointed a finger in rage. She had expected her to be angry, but not to this extent.

Though she had never shown her a shred of attention and didn’t care whether nobles insulted her or not, she had at least been lenient toward Margo. At one point, she even thought it was out of affection.

Looking back, she had simply tolerated her because she had her uses.

“No.”

Trembling all over, Margo shook her head.

“That’s a hairstyle for lowborns. Lowborns! How could a royal wear such a thing?”

“It is the hairstyle of the Isirian royal family. I am a descendant of the Isirian royal line, so I believe it is right for me to wear it.”

At her clear, resonant reply, the Emperor sprang to her feet, shaking with fury.

“Margarita!”

Her lion-like roar shook the audience chamber. Even though several foreign ambassadors were present, the Emperor made no effort to restrain her fury.

She descended from the throne and charged at Margo. The jewels on her dress uniform and necklace clinked against each other. How could she move like a wildcat in such a heavy ceremonial robe?

In an instant, the Emperor raised her hand high. Strangely, she wasn’t surprised.

The sound of the air slicing was alarming. Her eardrums felt as if they might burst.

Bracing for the blow, Margo tightly shut her eyes and bit down on her lip. But she felt nothing.

“Allen!”

Instead came the Emperor’s scream, sharp as if torn from her.

Squinting one eye open, she saw a back. Golden hair gleamed in the light beyond the window over a white uniform. When his face turned sharply, a drop of blood beneath his jaw made her eyes widen.

Did he just… take the blow for me?

It was unbelievable. But the same went for everyone else. The ashen-faced Emperor stamped her feet in panic.

“Allen, are you alright? Where is the royal physician! The physician!”

“I’ll summon one at once, Your Majesty.”

“Oh, dear, does it hurt? Allen, my son.”

“I’m fine.”

Unlike his calm reply, the Emperor couldn’t hide her distress. One side of Allen’s face had swollen and darkened. When the royal physician finally arrived and carefully examined his mouth and jaw, he confirmed there was no damage to the bones or teeth.

Once the commotion settled, the spark reignited.

“Margarita!”

The Emperor pulled scissors from the physician’s bag and charged at Margo.