Previously
Caesar insists on carrying Irenia to the dining hall despite her embarrassment and physical discomfort from a hidden wound. During a Lenten lunch, Irenia clashes with Mercedes over Caesar's lack of table manners and the nanny's infantilizing treatment of him.
Right then, my gaze fell on the red blemish that rose at the nape of Mercedes’s neck whenever she grew agitated. It was a tiny speck, one she likely barely knew was there, hidden from her sight. Usually it remained a pale hue indistinguishable from the rest of her skin, but whenever her emotions flared, it would turn a glaring, vivid red that immediately caught the eye. At times, that red dot felt like a warning bell, a clear sign that her feelings were boiling over.
A sudden shiver crept down my back, bringing a sensation I could hardly put into words.
It was a strange feeling—as though I were looking at two utterly clashing art styles haphazardly pasted together. It was as if a child had taken a scrawl of crayon and smeared it across a beautifully rendered landscape, throwing the whole picture into discord.
Yes, it was that same fracture I had glimpsed once before: a jagged, violent tear ripping through a serene view. It frightened me to think what might crawl out from that chasm.
Cold sweat trickled slowly down my spine.
Yet I could not afford to show weakness here. Doing so would be utter folly.
“Caesar can do it.”
I spoke the words firmly, studying Mercedes’s face to gauge her reaction. The color drained from her cheeks until she was as pale as a coat of fresh plaster.
“B-but… something like that… I fear His Highness will only be hurt in the process!”
Mercedes’s fears were not entirely unwarranted. I understood what she dreaded.
Yet did that mean Caesar had to spend his entire life under her care and hers alone? To that, I could answer with absolute certainty: no.
“Results do not come without bleeding. Every endeavor brings pain and wounds.”
At my words, a sharp gasp tore from Mercedes’s throat. “Ah!”
For an instant she went completely still, as though frozen to the spot. Then her body gave a violent shudder, and she shot up from her seat.
“No… No, you cannot do this!”
Her voice cracked with frantic emotion, nearly smothered by the torrent of feelings she was straining to hold back. Tears welled and spilled down her cheeks as she glared at me with pure reproach.
Mercedes’s gaze was sharp enough to pierce straight through me, so fierce it felt as if it were burning my cheek. She made no attempt to hide her blatant hostility.
Her aura was so terrifying that the servants in the dining hall began exchanging tense, uneasy glances.
In stark contrast to this mounting dread, Caesar was occupied with twirling his fork between his fingers, rolling it as though nothing at all were happening around him.
I let out a slow breath. Through all of this, one truth had become clear: Mercedes was strange.
She was excessively emotional, and the swings between her moods were far too drastic. At times, those sudden shifts frightened me.
Someone like her would never help Caesar grow—even if she was the one who had raised him until now.
For Caesar’s sake, she had to be removed. Looking at her coldly, I said,
“I will no longer be needing your assistance.”
“…What?”
She blinked several times, staring blankly at me. Her eyes went wide and unfocused, completely adrift.
· · ·
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A heavy silence fell between us. I did not add another word, leaving my intention unmistakably clear.
It was an outright dismissal. Not just a refusal of her offer to help, but a stern warning never to meddle in Caesar’s life again.
Grasping the weight of that silence, she stumbled backward. Her chair crashed loudly to the floor as she recoiled, and then she bolted from the dining hall.
I lingered, staring at the empty space where she had stood. That gaze, thick with sorrow, would not easily leave me. A sudden chill ran through my body.
‘This is the right thing to do.’
There was no room for doubt, yet my throat felt parched. I forced myself not to look toward the door she had fled through.
Stealing a glance at Caesar, I wondered if he felt any grief over his nanny being pushed away.
“…Did you dislike what just happened?”
I asked him, but he said nothing. He only stared back at me with wide eyes. I could not tell whether that look meant approval or protest.
“You usually make it very clear when you dislike something… All right, then. Let us try again. Today, you are going to eat using only utensils.”
Yes. This was what mattered right now. Calmly, I held the fork out to him once more.
“Do not throw it this time, all right?”
Of course, even if he did throw it, I would simply fetch another. That day, seventeen forks were sacrificed before I finally got the result I wanted from him.
Mercedes could not conceal her anguish. She could not comprehend how any of this had happened. Gnawing fiercely at her fingernails, her mind churned.
‘…I never liked her from the start.’
A mere illegitimate daughter of a duke, and now she dared to control Caesar however she pleased? It was intolerable.
His former fiancée, at the very least, had possessed noble blood. It was true that upon inquiry, she had been adopted by Marquis Peregrino as an infant, but she had been the daughter of one of his relatives. She had still carried aristocratic blood.
Mercedes recalled Irenia’s gaze. She had heard the girl used to wander the streets, a common beggar. A filthy, lowborn wretch who had become a prince’s wife overnight. No wonder she had grown so arrogant.
‘That is why she acts with such insolence and defiance!’
She could not bear such impudence. It was glaring proof of a wretched upbringing. Fury drove her steps faster and harder.
With every harsh strike of her heels against the stone floor, she felt a sliver of her distress lift. Yet moments later, an overwhelming emptiness rushed in, making her stumble.
Mercedes halted, peering toward the courtyard from the corridor. The dreary view of the Emerald Palace’s garden felt like a reflection of her own miserable state.
Taking a few more steps, she stopped and leaned against a pillar. Her breath hitched, followed by a sudden wave of nausea. She collapsed to the ground, vomiting into the dry grass.
She pulled out a handkerchief and wiped her mouth, panting heavily. The sheer wretchedness of it brought tears stinging to her eyes.
Clenching her fist tight, she ripped up a clump of dead grass. She could not believe she had been reduced to this state all because of that girl.
Her thoughts were a tangled mess, snarled like knotted thread. She could find no escape from the chaotic whirlpool consuming her mind.
Everything about that woman was infuriating. From head to toe, there was nothing to like about her.
A lame girl—how dare she? A broken body, and yet…
What was so special about her anyway? That awkward limp was revolting. Did she think stumbling around like that caught men’s eyes? Her pretty face was just as irritating. She likely believed that beauty made the entire world hers. But what real value did a face have?
‘I will no longer be needing your assistance.’
The moment she had been cast out flashed in her mind. A lowly bastard, a beggar off the streets, nothing more than trash.
She grabbed another handful of parched dirt. How miserable. She hated this entire garden. Caesar was meant for the Garnet Palace. If he had been exiled to this wretched place, it was entirely that girl’s fault.
She was the one who had incurred the Empress’s wrath.
Ever since becoming the Prince’s wife, she had acted like a fish that had finally found water. That nameless, baseborn brat—just what did she have to back such brazen insolence? She should have kept her mouth shut and bowed her head, yet she had even driven away the ladies-in-waiting appointed by the Empress.
She had earned the hatred of those who held true power.
Mercedes broke into weeping right there, pounding her chest in sheer frustration. The time she had spent alone with Caesar had been infinitely better than this. The mere thought made the blood boil in her chest.
The girl’s face appeared before her eyes like an apparition. Clawing at the dirt with her bare hands, Mercedes scraped at the earth as if trying to scratch the image away.
“How dare you… to me…”
Mercedes was Caesar’s true mother. No one in the palace had ever dared to deny it. Even the late Empress, Adelheid, had said so with her own lips.
“Caesar is the work of your hands alone, Mercedes.”
Those were the words of the previous Empress—a woman who had failed to recognize her own son when madness claimed her, casting him aside as if he were nothing. Such a creature did not deserve the title of mother.
Therefore, was it not only natural for Caesar to acknowledge Mercedes, to look upon her as his real mother?
“Even the Empress could not cast me aside…”
Even when a new Empress arrived, no one in the Imperial Palace had dared step between the Prince and his wet nurse. No one could sever the deep bond uniting mother and son.
It was true that the ostensible reason was simply that she was the only one who could manage Caesar, but Mercedes deliberately chose to overlook that cold reality.
She wanted to believe it was born of his affection, that her worth to him ran far deeper than mere utility.
And so, she convinced herself that she had gained the recognition of the new Empress, Cornelia, as well.
“And that wretched girl dares lay a hand on my son?!”
FADE OUT