In January of the Castor Imperial Year 379, the moment Margo turned eighteen and came of age, the Kingdom of Seria filed a lawsuit with the Church, as if waiting for that very day.

They claimed that since the first princess of Isiria was to receive the southern Lucena Plains as part of her dowry, Margo would have to relinquish the land upon marriage. If the inheritance, which was traditionally passed down to princesses as non-succession territory, were recognized, the plains would belong solely to Margo and become untouchable property, even to her future child.

The wheat from the Lucena Plains accounted for 40% of the Castor Empire’s food self-sufficiency. If one wished, they could wield food as a weapon and easily manipulate Castor. During the succession war, this wheat had cornered the Emperor.

“That old fox. Not satisfied with making his brother infertile to seize the title of crown prince, now he wants Isiria too?”

For failing to detect Seria’s movements in advance, a cardinal had to take a wine glass thrown by the Emperor. The decorations, flowers, and curtains for the wedding scheduled to take place in a week were all thrown into the fireplace.

“Margo is the heir of Isiria. She’s inheriting the entire peninsula, so there’s no reason for her to receive the plains separately.”

“You’re absolutely right. We’ll send a rebuttal immediately. The legal precedent is in our favor.”

But as if anticipating this, Seria presented a succession law and past precedents from 500 years ago. They bribed cardinals, and whenever the trial—decided by majority vote—seemed to turn slightly in Castor’s favor, the Serian-born pope postponed the ruling, claiming illness.

A dogfight.

That’s how the newspapers summed up the lawsuit in a single word. In her previous life, the case never reached a conclusion. Margo, the person at the center of it, had been dragged to an underground prison. Seria had pressured the Church considerably to secure Margo’s custody, but Allen resolved everything by handing over the holy sword to the Church.

Pretending to gaze at the searing chandelier lights with detached eyes, Margo recalled her past life.

Even in this life, Seria had filed the inheritance lawsuit. Thus, the wedding that was to be held ten days after her coming-of-age ceremony was canceled. Instead, the Emperor hosted an even more extravagant ball than ever before.

“It’s as bright as broad daylight.”

“It’s incomparable to the chandeliers used in the Kingdom of Seria.”

“A country that only recently got decent craftsmanship can hardly mimic the wealth of a great empire.”

The Emperor replaced all the chandeliers with electric lights imported from the Kingdom of Gemere across the ocean and invited dignitaries from various nations. It was all to showcase her unshakable wealth and power, that she would not be swayed by some lawsuit.

The Emperor and Allen were busy receiving encouragement and cheers, certain they would win the inheritance trial. Meanwhile, people avoided even glancing at Margo, the key figure in the case.

Thanks to that, Margo easily blended in next to a column tied with curtains. As she listened to the passing conversations like still life, she took her first sip of Serryjou in her life. It was far from how it was described in countless books and poems.

“Lemonade is better.”

Just as she was about to call an attendant to take the glass away, she spotted Marchioness Temberk striding up the lobby stairs with a deathly pale face. She changed her mind. The Emperor, smiling broadly, took the evening paper offered by the marchioness, only for her face to twist rapidly as she grabbed Countess Therese by the collar.

“Daphne, how could you!”

The agonized, piercing cry silenced the noise of the ballroom in an instant. As thousands of eyes turned, the Emperor shoved the countess down the lobby stairs. Her light blue dress left a trailing blur as she tumbled. That her head didn’t strike a wall or ornament was pure luck.

“How dare you! How could you!”

Even that didn’t settle her rage. The Emperor stormed down the stairs and struck the huddled countess repeatedly. With a face transformed like a demon, not even her beloved consort dared to approach, merely pacing nervously nearby.

“Mother, calm down.”

“Allen, Allen.”

It wasn’t until Allen, who had been speaking with foreign ambassadors, ran over that the Emperor’s kicking stopped. Burying her face in her now-grown son’s chest, she burst into angry sobs. As he comforted his mother like a child and led her to the lounge, the chaos subsided. He was no longer a mere successor.

“That newspaper arrived at just the right moment, didn’t it?”

A hand holding a champagne glass suddenly appeared from the air and clinked it against Margo’s. The thick wrist with visible blue veins belonged to Felix, a potential heir of the Grand Duchy of Grancia. Beneath his neatly slicked-back black hair, his brown eyes gleamed with amusement.

“Felix, you have such terrible taste.”

The paper the marchioness had just delivered must have reported extensively on Countess Therese’s corruption. Drawing from her past life’s memories, Margo had handed that information to Felix a week ago.

“Thanks for the praise, but the staging was my father’s idea, not mine. Countess Therese was being stingy and obstructing the transcontinental railway project. We needed to relieve some stress too.”

Like a gentleman who had won a wager, Felix downed his champagne in one go. The Grand Duchy of Grancia, not only the Castor Empire but also situated at the northernmost part of the Aegean continent, was more eager than anyone to see the transcontinental railway built. And their dream had always been thwarted by Countess Therese’s obstruction.

They must have seized the chance with everything they had, grinding their teeth at the countess’s family.

“So what about the favor I asked for?”

Conscious of the eyes beginning to gather since Felix had approached, Margo lowered her voice. Unlike Margo, who was no more than a goldfish’s poop (t/n: always clinging) to the Crown Prince, Felix was the de facto heir to the Grand Duchy and a distinguished gentleman, one of the top prospects.

“Ah.”

He smiled, twirling his empty glass. In exchange for the information that had toppled Countess Therese, Margo had demanded the right to alter the Isiria railway route. The railway would be built anyway. Rather than interfering, she decided to assist and change its path.

“It’s done.”

The silent reply shaped only with his lips sent a shiver through her hand holding the glass.

She had lived for this very day. Now, the Isiria railway would be constructed along the developed coastal cities. There would be no chance of discovering the coal mines while laying it across the mountains for efficiency, and no chance Vanessa’s family would die from forced labor.

Unlike in her past life where she had acted recklessly, she had humbled herself more than anyone else in the Castor social scene. The days of barely being able to smile properly passed through her mind like a lantern slide.

“Yes, thank you.”

She had changed fate. With a rare smile, she clinked her filled glass against Felix’s empty one. Accompanied by the clear sound, she downed the sherry in one gulp.

Ah, sweet.

From that day forward, everything began to move differently than in her past life. Using the knowledge she already had, Margo carefully steered events in Isiria’s favor.

During the great famine that struck Isiria around the age of twenty, she had once knelt in front of numerous nobles and begged for aid. For royalty, who prized pride and honor above life, it had been a disgraceful act. But in return, she had saved tens of thousands of lives.

Yet the day that truly made her happy was Ingrid’s wedding.

There were things one could change with effort, but there were also fates that remained fixed no matter what. One of those was Ingrid’s arrival. Margo had been terribly anxious when Ingrid first stepped into society, waking up several times at night, fearing that Allen might fall for her.

But in this life, Allen and Ingrid did not fall in love. Still, as if passionate love were her calling, Ingrid became the victor in love once more. Her partner, however, was not Allen—it was Felix.

Due to her mother’s crimes, Ingrid had been exiled to the countryside and raised nearly as a commoner from the age of three. She had many flaws that made her unfit to be a grand duchess, but that was precisely why the Emperor had approved the marriage. Wanting the North to avoid aligning with powerful central nobles, the Emperor welcomed the union more than anyone and even granted special permission for them to wed in the Grand Cathedral, normally reserved for royalty.

Under a shower of wheat and flower petals, Ingrid walked the cathedral’s blue carpet, a shy and beautiful bride. Throughout the wedding, Baron Orland dabbed his eyes with a handkerchief, unable to stop crying. Everyone offered blessings, wishing only happiness for the couple.

Margo, more than anyone, prayed and prayed for a joyous future for the couple blessed by God.

At the same time, she felt hollow.

So you killed all those people and threw me into an underground prison for that love…

It wasn’t much, was it?

Turns out it wasn’t some unchangeable destiny after all.

She should’ve been nothing but happy, yet her chest ached. Watching Allen quietly rise and applaud throughout the ceremony, anger surged within her. How could he? She wanted to shout, to scream that the bride before them was the very woman for whom he had killed his own mother and sent her to the guillotine in their past life.

But there was nothing she could do. As always, Margo stood beside Allen with a picture-perfect smile and chattered about how she hoped their own wedding would be just as wonderful.

Then, when she reached twenty-two—the same age at which she had died in her past life—the drawn-out lawsuit between the Kingdom of Seria and the Castor Empire finally ended. It was a sweeping victory for the Emperor.

“The Church should have dismissed that old fox’s ridiculous claim from the start. It was all driven by jealousy that Castor had grown too powerful.”

Overjoyed, the Emperor immediately set a wedding date. Invitations were sent not only across the Aegean continent but even to the distant Didius continent.

Margo believed that all that remained was to hold the grandest, most dazzling wedding the world had seen and become the rightful Crown Princess of Castor—the future Empress.

But as always, life turned against her.

On the very day the last wedding invitation reached the final guest, Allen collapsed, coughing up blood.