“If you don’t want your head cut off, stay still. You should’ve behaved, but you just had to stir up trouble.”

Countess Therese, who had bound Margo’s arms, whispered with unmistakable delight in her voice. She was the same head lady-in-waiting who, in her previous life, had tormented Margo to the point of disgust along with her daughter Gabrielle.

Am I going to be beheaded like this in the audience chamber with foreign ambassadors gathered?

The humiliation didn’t matter, but thinking of Vanessa, who had longed to see her braided hair, made her sad. Still, she had learned in her past life that the more she resisted, the more miserable she would become.

How many maids had been maimed by the Emperor’s hand?

As soon as she relaxed her shoulders, the Emperor roughly grabbed the end of her braid. It hurt so badly that tears welled up. The blades of the scissors opened wide, then slowly began to close. Powerless, she could only watch.

Allen, brushing away the physician’s hand, grabbed the Emperor.

“You mustn’t do this. Please restrain yourself, Mother!”

“Allen! Do not stop me. I will correct this insolence…”

“Cardinal Roberto is present at this very moment, Mother.”

Several strands of silver hair fell, cut by the sharp scissors. But that was all. Her braid did not fall like a cow’s tail. Eyes blazing, the Emperor stopped. Allen cupped his hand and whispered something into the Emperor’s ear.

Though she looked ready to strangle Margo on the spot, the Emperor still listened to Allen. No one else could have done that. Only Allen could calm the enraged Emperor. Not even a consort or an imperial decree commanded such respect and affection.

“Abuse, huh. Ha, that bastard from Seria.”

The Emperor shook her head and glanced sidelong at Cardinal Roberto. She then threw the scissors and Margo’s hair aside.

“I got a bit carried away.”

What had they spoken of? Why did the mention of Cardinal Roberto halt the Emperor and prompt her to mutter about some ‘bastard from Seria’?

In her past life, after Margo came of age, the Kingdom of Seria had filed a succession lawsuit, which enraged the Emperor. Back then, she had naively believed her fury was due to jealousy over the unification of the two nations.

“Today, the parasite has luck on her side.”

Countess Therese let go of Margo’s tightly gripped arm with a sneer. When their eyes met, she softened her gaze and smiled sweetly, as if offering comfort.

Trying to provoke her into an outburst, no doubt. But it only calmed Margo. In the past, she would have charged in headlong, but having spent her twenties in high society, she hadn’t forgotten how to deal with such tricks.

“All thanks to you, Madam.”

Margo smiled just as sweetly in return. The Countess’s face twisted in an instant. It was the first time she had seen her expression crumple like that—the woman who always clung to the Emperor’s side with a serene smile.

“Your Majesty, are you all right? I fear for your health.”

No sooner had the Emperor returned to her throne than Michele stepped forward with flattery. Despite retreating during the chaos, he now approached with wagging tail the moment the tension eased, truly the young fox representing Castor.

But even that favor hadn’t lasted two years. Whenever a consort’s influence grew too strong, Countess Therese would present a new handsome man to dazzle the Emperor anew.

“Michele, thank you.”

The Emperor, her lips relaxed, patted Michele’s hand fondly, then cast a dignified gaze around the chamber. Her piercing eyes swept past the ambassador from the Kingdom of Seria and Cardinal Roberto, then landed on Margo.

“Margo.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Your effort to remember Isirian culture is admirable. I am pleased. You’ve grown up so well. It’s been worth cherishing and raising you like a daughter.”

The unexpected words made Margo blink.

Abuse, Cardinal Roberto. Seria.

Only then did she realize what the Emperor feared and what Allen had advised. Right now, the Emperor was acting as Margo’s guardian, wielding Isiria’s sovereignty on her behalf. If reports or witness accounts of abuse emerged, the Church could revoke that guardianship.

So that’s what it was. That’s why she had been kind in her previous life. Foolishly, she had mistaken that kindness for affection and clung to it…

A sharp ache twisted her stomach, and her solar plexus burned. She wanted to lean back and burst out laughing.

“Even if rotten, people still long for their roots. It’s the adult’s fault for trying to sow discord in your young heart. Isn’t that right, Margo?”

Her cold gaze shifted toward the nanny beneath the dais. She clearly misunderstood something, but Margo didn’t bother to intervene.

“In any case, I intend to respect your wishes.”

Though she said so, the Emperor frowned as she sat upon the golden throne, unable to hide her displeasure.

“Ever since I saved you from that madman’s blade, I’ve done my best as your guardian. Right, Margo? When have I ever treated you with disdain or mistreated you? Whenever I received fine fabrics, I sent them to you first. When delicacies were presented, I always ensured you had your share. I favored you more than Castor’s first princess, Dolores.”

Instead, you sat high on your throne like a well-fed lion, pretending not to hear the nobles’ mockery. You dressed me in dazzling jewels and gowns and paraded me in front of others, yet when the old, worn undergarments chafed and left my skin red and raw, you ignored it. When firewood wasn’t delivered all winter, you turned a blind eye.

Even when the gems from my stolen tiara appeared strung on your necklaces and belts, you shamelessly asked if the new pieces suited you.

Instead of protesting and expressing resentment, Margo smiled. As if moved to tears, she placed both hands over her chest and bowed deeply.

“Your Majesty’s grace in always cherishing me like a daughter, everyone here knows it well. I deeply thank you for your generous heart in respecting my wish to remember Isirian culture.”

She gave thanks in advance in case she tried to ban the braids. Conflict is only worth engaging in when both sides are equal in power. Margo had learned, only after death, that true strength is knowing when to bow if necessary.

“But Margo, how reckless of you to act without consulting me first. Had you quietly spoken to me, wouldn’t I have granted permission? And now, in this audience chamber full of honored guests, you’ve caused quite the spectacle.”

In an instant, Margo became the source of the chaos. As if she hadn’t just screamed like a demon and struck her, the Emperor now rested her elbows on the armrest, fingers interlaced. The light reflecting from the emerald, ruby, and sapphire rings was blinding.

“I’m sorry, Your Majesty.”

“And then you dismissed the nanny who risked her life with me to save you? I see now that I’ve raised you to be arrogant. I fear you take after your father.”

Margo’s father. The King of the Isiria Kingdom.

The man who stirred war by dredging up outdated succession laws, claiming no woman had ever ascended the throne on the Aegean continent, and supporting the Emperor’s distant relative.

The man Margarita hated most in the world.

“Perhaps cherishing and loving you wasn’t the best way. Margo, go to the Hermit’s Room. From now on, that is your room.”

At the mention of the Hermit’s Room, Allen dropped to one knee and shouted, “Mother, please withdraw your command. No matter how angry you are, this is too much.”

The Hermit’s Room was reserved for concubines abandoned by the Castor Imperial Family before they left the palace. Located in the far north of the palace, the place was cold, sunless, and infamous for ominous rumors. Some claimed to have seen the ghost of a countess who had been beheaded after falling out of favor a hundred years ago. Others said they heard sobbing every night.

Above all, for Margo, the future Empress of Castor, being sent to live where discarded concubines once stayed was a grave insult.

“I understand the Crown Prince’s feelings for his future princess. But Margo must now learn to reflect on her wrongdoings.”

“There must be another way. This is too—”

“I accept Your Majesty’s order.”

Fearing he might actually rescind it, Margo quickly knelt on one knee. She desperately ignored Allen’s burning gaze beside her and bowed her head.

“I will deeply reflect on my recklessness in the Hermit’s Room.”

“What now?”

The one taken aback was the Emperor. She had fully expected Margo to cry and beg not to be sent there. She feared the cold and dark more than anything, so what better punishment?

She had planned to appear magnanimous by forgiving her before she entered, but now that she had submitted so readily, the Emperor’s stomach turned with unease.

But once someone accepts and agrees to reflect, it’s too late to retract the command.

“Hmph, I’m pleased to see you’ve matured. Margo, it pains me too to punish you like this. I’ll ensure you have no discomfort while living there.”

“I deeply thank Your Majesty for your benevolence.”

As if eager to dismiss her, the Emperor waved her hand. As Margo stepped back, foreseeing the harsh future ahead, Allen followed, only to be blocked by Countess Therese.

“Your Highness the Crown Prince, the Grand Duke of Grancia wishes to see you.”

“Later, perhaps…”

“His Grace is set to depart soon.”

“I’ll be fine. Allen, don’t keep the Grand Duke waiting.”

As Allen left with a regretful look, Countess Therese beamed at Margo.

‘Look forward to the days you’ll spend in that room.’

The more troubled Margo looked, the more delighted the countess seemed. And once she finally arrived at the room and was left alone, the sound that burst from her was not a sob.

It was laughter.

Perfect.

Absolutely perfect.

In the Hermit’s Room was something she absolutely had to obtain.