Chapter 75: The Truth Behind the Crown

Celine swallowed hard, her throat tightening with a fear that seemed to chill the very air. “I… I quarreled with her,” she confessed, her voice trembling.

“You quarreled with Elvira?” Olivia’s eyes widened, a flicker of genuine alarm piercing through her icy exterior. “Why? Have you lost your mind? Did she hurt you?”

“No, but… she came to me, preening with that sickening pride of hers. She boasted that she would meet you this weekend, that she would ’take care’ of you in her own way. Her eyes, Olivia… they were terrifying. All of this because I dared to speak with you at the Crown Prince’s wedding. I am so sorry. Please, I beg of you—do not go.”

Olivia watched the frantic shaking of Celine’s hands, the raw, animalistic terror gleaming in her eyes. She felt a surge of pity, but it was overshadowed by a cold, calculating resolve.

“There is no need for your apologies,” Olivia said softly, her voice like velvet over steel. “I am well aware of her possessive nature. To her, you are a prize, a possession that belongs to her alone. She cannot stomach the thought of you being near me.” She paused, then offered a reassuring nod. “Fine. I won’t meet her.”

“Promise me,” Celine pleaded, her fingers digging into Olivia’s sleeve.

“You have my word,” Olivia lied, the vow tasting like ash on her tongue. Forgive me, she thought bitterly, but I must lie. I have to face her, whether I wish it or not.

Relief washed over Celine, the jagged lines of tension that had carved themselves into her forehead finally beginning to smooth. She pulled her veil back down, a dark shroud that once again concealed the storm of her emotions.

“Forgive me, Olivia, but I must vanish. Roland will notice my absence soon, and his suspicion is a death sentence.”

Before she could retreat into the shadows, Olivia reached into her desk drawer. She pulled out a diamond necklace that glittered like frozen tears and a heavy silk pouch filled with gold. She pressed them into Celine’s trembling hand.

“You cannot travel into the unknown with nothing. Take these. The gold will buy your silence and your safety; the necklace—sell it only when the world leaves you no other choice.”

Celine stood frozen, staring at the unexpected weight of Olivia’s mercy. She stepped forward, pulling Olivia into one last, desperate embrace. “I will write to you once I am beyond his reach. I will sign it as Mayla.”

“As you wish,” Olivia whispered.

And then, with a final, lingering look, the Duchess slipped through the door, disappearing into the corridors like a ghost escaping its haunting ground.

Like a shadow bleeding into the night, the Duchess slipped away, her presence vanishing from the room and leaving nothing behind but the hollow, dying echo of her footsteps in the corridor.

Silence rushed back in, heavy and suffocating. Olivia sat alone, staring into the flickering candlelight as the world she thought she knew crumbled into ash.

“Does the world hate me this much?” she whispered to the empty air. “As if it weren’t enough to be the daughter of a madman, condemned to rot in his shadow. Now, I learn I am the fruit of a violation. A daughter of shame.”

She pressed her fists against her temples, her mind a chaotic battlefield of rage and despair. “Damn it all. What did she mean, she doesn’t know who my father is? Roland? Lucius? I need to know. I need the truth, even if it burns me to ash.”

“Kira!” she called out, her voice regaining its lethal edge.

The maid appeared instantly. “Yes, My Lady?”

“Ready the carriage. We go to the Imperial Palace. I need to look the Empress in the eye.”

“Isn’t it a bit late, My Lady?” Kira asked, her voice cautious.

“It doesn’t matter. Just have it ready.”

The carriage rattled to a halt at the palace gates just as the sun began to bleed into the horizon. Olivia stepped down, ignoring the prying eyes of the servants and guards. She moved with the singular focus of a predator, heading straight for the Empress’s private wing. No one dared to block her path until she reached the heavy gilded doors, where the Empress’s Chief Lady-in-Waiting stood like a sentinel.

“Duchess Luceron,” the woman said, her voice dripping with a forced, icy politeness. “What an… unexpected honor to see you at such an hour.” She didn’t bother to smile, her posture signaling that the visit was an unwelcome intrusion.

Olivia offered a smile that didn’t reach her eyes—a baring of teeth. “As you said, I am the Duchess of Luceron. And you? You are merely a noble of lower standing. Tell me, where have the manners of a royal attendant vanished to?” Her gaze hardened into steel. “Kneel. Now.”

The Lady-in-Waiting swallowed hard, her face pale. She could feel the eyes of the other servants burning into her back. Bound by the rigid hierarchy of the court, she had no choice. She sank into a forced, trembling bow. But Olivia didn’t wait for her to rise; she swept past, shoving the woman aside with enough force to send her sprawling onto the marble floor.

“This time, I was content with a bow,” Olivia hissed, glancing back at the fallen woman with eyes that promised violence. “The next time you look at me with such condescension, I will pluck those eyes from your head. Now, get out of my way. I am here to see the Empress.”

“You cannot!” the woman shrieked from the floor. “You have no appointment! She has not granted you leave!”

Olivia’s hand settled on the door handle. She let out a dark, melodic laugh. “Watch me.” She turned her gaze to the guards who were beginning to step forward. “If a single one of you dares to lay a hand on me, I will ensure Kyle deals with you personally.”

At the mention of the Crown Prince’s name, the guards froze, their resolve evaporating.

Olivia pushed the doors open and stepped inside. The room was bathed in the amber glow of the sunset. The Empress sat by the window, silken and poised, sipping tea with an effortless elegance. She didn’t bother to turn around, assuming the intruder was either the Emperor or her son.

“What is all that racket at the door?” the Empress murmured, her voice smooth as cream. “Since you are here, come sit. Enjoy the sunset with me.”

Olivia moved silently across the plush carpet and took the seat beside her. She leaned her chin on her hand, a mocking mimicry of peace. “It truly is a beautiful sunset… isn’t it?”

The teacup slipped from the Empress’s hand, the porcelain clattering as the golden liquid soaked into her white silk gown. She stared at Olivia, her eyes wide with a mixture of shock and dawning horror.

“You…”

She quickly recovered, her features tightening into a mask of regal fury. “What are you doing here? Where are your manners? Entering without a knock, without even a bow?”

Olivia didn’t flinch. “Did we not discuss the matter of ’upbringing’ and ’manners’ the last time we met, Mother?”

The Empress slammed her hand onto the table, the tea service rattling. “Duchess Luceron, you… Get out! Get out of here this instant!”

Olivia watched the Empress’s tantrum with a look of profound boredom, as if observing a tedious play. “Sit down,” she commanded, her voice cutting through the Empress’s fury. “And cease these childish theatrics. Believe me, I find the prospect of sharing a room with you as revolting as you do, but I am here by necessity. I shall vanish soon enough.”

“Necessity?” the Empress hissed, her chest heaving. “What could possibly bring you here to insult me in my own sanctuary?”

Olivia leaned forward, her eyes turning into shards of ice. “I want to know who my father is.”

The Empress froze, the air leaving her lungs in a sharp wheeze. For a second, her regal mask cracked before she glued it back together with a sneer. “What are you implying? Have you finally lost your mind, Olivia?”

“There is no need for your games, Your Majesty,” Olivia replied, her tone dangerously low. “I know everything. Everything.”

The Empress let out a bitter, mocking laugh, biting her lip until it nearly bled. “I see. So… she told you. I knew it was a mistake to ever trust Celine. A sentimental fool who cannot keep a secret.”

“A fool?” Olivia’s voice sharpened. “Watch your tongue. That woman has more honor in her fingernail than you possess in your entire being. Now, stop circling the truth. Is it as the Duchess said? Do you truly not know whose blood I carry?”

The Empress straightened her spine, her expression twisting into one of cold indifference. “And what if I don’t? I never wanted to give birth to you in the first place. You were a mistake, a stain on my life. Why would I ever care to verify which man sired you?”

Olivia exhaled a sharp, mocking breath. “That is what I suspected. Even though there are ways to prove paternity, you chose to remain blind. So tell me the real reason. Not the sob story you fed to a soft-hearted woman like Celine.”

“You want the truth? Fine. I don’t care enough to hide it anymore,” the Empress spat, her eyes gleaming with a cruel pragmatism. “I never sought proof because it was simply… easier… for you to be Roland’s daughter.”

“Easier?” Olivia repeated, the word tasting like poison.

“Yes, easier,” the Empress snapped. “Because if you weren’t his, you would be a bastard born out of wedlock. I could not allow my reputation to be tarnished for the sake of a child I didn’t want. And more importantly…” She paused, a small, calculating sigh escaping her. “The laws of this Empire are absolute: the firstborn inherits the throne, regardless of gender. I could not—I would not—let your existence rob Kyle of his crown.”

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