In the beginning, when goddesses Helenia and Acnila created the continent of Quan, they formed a single sun and three moons.
Life creates death, and death creates new life.
As blood is shed and chilling darkness rises to the heavens, the northern moon shades the sun.
Goddess Helenia with two souls and the sun will bring blissful peace to the continent of Quan.
Book of Prophets of Helenia's Shrine, Chapter 345
"What? The Emperor?"
Penelope looked at Rubia as if she had heard the uttermost nonsense.
"Yes! Silver hair and violet eyes? Those traits are hereditary only to the royal family."
"My goodness!" Penelope's pale face grew even more ghastly.
"Oh, but how could it be the Emperor? You must be mistaken. I bet I could look like a goddess with a few good glasses of wine."
As Rubia beamed, the curls at the end of her red hair, tied up neatly into a ponytail, bounced along.
"R-right? It can't be. What interest would the Emperor have for a trifling baron's daughter?"
Penelope struggled to calm her shaking hands and wiped her palms on her dress. She felt a sudden thirst and reached for the teacup. The lukewarm tea that gushed in seemed to ease her nerves.
Perhaps I am mistaken…
Penelope slowly replayed her memories of that night. She had no idea why she'd spent the night with the man—too much wine left her with no recollection whatsoever. Even that very morning, she'd been startled at the sight of the stripped man and ran off. Perhaps her memory was playing tricks.
That must be it. Emperor, my ass!
"You really are in trouble, though."
"What was that?"
"What were you thinking, getting into bed with a stranger? Do you really have no desire for marriage?"
"I'm not sure."
"You should get married too! Count Gordon went about just fine!"
Penelope breathed in deep as Rubia muffled her last words.
"What... do you mean?"
Rubia frowned. "Actually, I was at Count Gordon's wedding... because of my father."
Penelope's head snapped up. "What?"
"You know how he is. He never misses one of those pretentious social gatherings."
Count Varmon, Rubia's father, was an influential figure in noble society. Penelope knew her friend wouldn't have had much say about attending the wedding. Refusing to be wed to anyone but Parion made Rubia a nuisance in her household. In such a delicate situation, Penelope knew better than to test her friend's temper.
"Was she pretty?"
Rubia spoke with adamance, "No, not at all."
"Bah! You just say that because you're my friend."
"Not one bit! She's just young and nothing more."
"Really?" Penelope's pride began to swell again. Of course! It would be ridiculous for her to be younger and prettier than me!
Recovering from bitterness, she leaned back against the sofa.
Then a new voice rang out.
"Good day to you, Miss Penelope."
It was a woman's voice—crisp and clear. Penelope turned toward it. A young belle with shining pink hair and flawless skin approached them. Penelope turned to Rubia, mouthing angrily, Darn it. She's stunning!
Rubia pretended to gag. Her dress! Look at her dress! Total disaster!
Luckily, the gods had spared Penelope's vanity—a gray, dull dress truly was an eyesore.
"Oh, poor girl. You must be the one my husband disengaged from?"
By her side stood Count Gordon, flinching his large nose.
An alleyway in the town of Lavata. Two cloaked women walked quietly through the lane. One halted as the red glow of a jewel flickered around her wrist.
"Emma, this must be the place."
Tightening her robe, the other whispered, "What is this place?"
"Hmm, I think it's for tea."
"What did I say? We should've gone straight to House Zecalion."
"I was curious to see the lady of the oracle," said Lucinda, smiling softly.
Emma folded her arms. "Priestess Lucinda! Are you really going to behave like this?"
Lucinda chuckled, sprinkling golden powder over her head. The air shimmered—and where she had stood, there was now a frail old woman in tattered robes.
Countess Gordon twirled her rosy hair, smirking.
"Oh, I do apologize! I haven't introduced myself. I am Monfe—"
"I know who you are," Penelope cut in coldly. "Countess Gordon."
"Oh-ho. You are aware of who I am?"
"Of course. How could I not know the wife of my former intended?"
"It has been a while," Count Gordon muttered. His wife smiled thinly.
"Anyhow, I am constantly worried for Miss Penelope."
"Worried?" Penelope nearly burst out laughing.
"What worry do you mean, Countess?"
"Why, for your marital affair."
"My marriage?"
"Of course! You are passing your prime."
Penelope spotted the smirk curling on the countess's lips.
"I heard that you're only five years younger than my aunt."
Rubia shot to her feet, knocking over her chair. "Countess, your words are crossing the line!"
"Oh, even your friend has wrinkles around her eyes," the countess sneered. "Birds of a feather, I suppose."
Penelope clenched her jaw. Mocking her was one thing—but mocking Rubia was unforgivable.
"Monkey, was it? Your name?"
Countess Gordon flinched. "It's Monfee. Mon. Feee."
"Ah, right. Monkey."
"Well, you may address me however you like. Did you have something to say?"
"I don't know if you're aware, but I am the one who broke off the engagement."
"What did you say?"
"Count Gordon confessed his love, but that was not something I could return alike."
"You speak lies!" Countess Gordon gasped, searching her husband's face.
"My lady..." Count Gordon sighed, closing his eyes. "Enough of this childish act."
Penelope smiled sweetly. It was her turn to make them miserable.
At that moment, the door opened, and an old woman entered. Bent and shabby, she shuffled toward them.
"Please, my lady, could you spare a little change..."
Penelope's heart softened. "Wait a moment." She reached into her skirts to find her purse.
"What are you doing? I'm not finished here," the countess snapped.
"I know that, Monkey. But I'm paying the old woman first."
The insult only enraged the countess further. "Get lost, you beggar!" She shoved the old woman, who fell to the floor with a cry.
"You hag! How dare you interrupt me!" She kicked the old woman's basket, scattering its contents.
Penelope's eyes widened. A memory flashed in her mind—a tearful old woman from another life. Fury erupted inside her.
SLAP!
The sound cracked through the tea parlor. Penelope's chest heaved.
"Is that how you treat the elderly?"
Stunned, the countess held her reddened cheek.
"What do you think you're doing?"
Every gaze in the parlor turned toward them. The baron's daughter had just slapped a countess.
"Oliver, do you hear that voice?"
The prime minister blinked. "Of course not, Sire."
The Emperor was hunched over the glowing eyes of a magic bird—the Royal Hermes. It displayed an image of Penelope, sipping tea beside her red-haired friend.
"I know that, but what are they talking about?" Bart muttered.
"How would I know, Sire?" Oliver sighed. Yet he was secretly pleased—at least the Emperor was lively again.
To Oliver, Bart was a lonely man. Once, he had unified the continent of Quan under Lavata's rule. But peace had made him restless. He showed no lasting interest in any woman—until now.
Penelope Zecalion.
"Your Majesty, should I send word of marriage to Baron Zecalion right away?"
Bart frowned. "That will be the ultimate means."
"I see. Of course."
"I want to win her heart naturally. If I fail, that will be the end of it."
Oliver's heart soared. An Empress at last!
"That's wonderful, Your Majesty!"
"Now, who is that woman?" Bart's gaze turned to the screen. A pink-haired woman sneered at Penelope.
"Isn't that Count Gordon's wife?" Oliver offered.
"I don't like her."
Bart abruptly stood.
"Wait, Your Highness! Where are you going?"
"Please, ladies, both of you, stop this nonsense."
The countess clutched her cheek. "My lord, you saw how she slapped me!"
"My lady, people are staring."
Penelope clenched her fists. He's worried about honor? That big-nosed coward!
"You! How dare you, the mere daughter of a baron, slap a countess!"
Penelope's legs trembled. She'd gone too far. Yet she couldn't take it back.
"I apologize, my lady."
"Apologize? Do you think that's enough?"
Count Gordon caught his wife's arm as she began to stomp in fury.
"I may reconsider," she hissed, "if you get down on your knees and beg for my mercy."
"Penny, don't you dare!" Rubia growled.
"I won't," Penelope said coldly.
"Then I'll go to your parents and receive their apology instead!"
Penelope froze. Her parents' honor—she couldn't let that happen.
"I'll do it."
She began to kneel, humiliation burning through her.
Countess Gordon's grin widened. "Look carefully, my lord. Look at your former intended, kneeling before me! Who would ask her hand now?"
Tears pricked Penelope's eyes. She bent lower—
"Get up."
The voice was deep, cold.
She looked up to see the broad back of a dark-haired man.
He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her close, his tone icy.
"Who dares disturb my woman?"