“A move?” the Emperor repeated, eyes widening like a startled rabbit.
He stared blankly at Voltaire.
Voltaire answered as though asking such a question was ridiculous.
“Wouldn't the Crown Prince's Palace, where my elder brother used to live, need extensive preparations before welcoming its new master?”
He had revealed his true intentions without the slightest attempt to hide them.
In fact, it didn't even seem as though he realized he was exposing himself.
His attitude was so natural that, for a moment, it almost sounded perfectly reasonable.
The Emperor looked at him and asked bluntly,
“And why are you concerned about that?”
“Your Majesty? Of course I should be.”
“I asked why that should naturally concern you.”
At this point anyone with even a shred of awareness should have realized what was wrong.
Voltaire was eighteen.
The age I had been when I drank poisoned wine and died in my previous life.
In other words...
His age was the same as my true mental age.
Even I understood exactly what Grandfather Emperor was implying.
The fact that I had once lost to someone this dense was humiliating beyond words.
Die, past me!
...Well.
Past me had already died.
Still, watching Voltaire make a complete fool of himself eased the bitterness in my chest a little.
The Emperor spoke again, his voice sharp.
“Who told you the Crown Prince's investiture would take place before this summer?”
Only then did Voltaire visibly panic.
“M-Mother... told me... I know it was supposed to be a secret. I haven't told anyone. Truly.”
Grandfather rubbed his forehead with a weary sigh.
“Why did you decide on your own that Count Maron, standing beside me, doesn't count as 'anyone'?”
He was right.
Count Maron, the Chief Chamberlain, had undoubtedly heard about the Crown Prince's appointment for the first time today.
After all, Grandfather had dismissed him while speaking privately with Aunt.
Still...
Watching me come every day to play that card game with the Emperor, Count Maron had probably guessed what was in His Majesty's heart.
He likely knew the day was approaching.
The important thing wasn't that the Emperor spent his afternoons playing cards with me.
The important thing was that the Emperor and the Imperial Grandchild, the legitimate descendant of the imperial bloodline and child of the former Crown Prince, were publicly playing a strategy card game originally created to educate noble heirs.
People saw it.
People talked.
Rumors spread.
The message was unmistakable.
The successor the Emperor had already chosen was neither prince nor princess.
It was the Imperial Grandchild—
Amelia Platina Chermut.
Yet this eighteen-year-old prince still couldn't grasp the meaning behind the child sitting before him and the cards spread across the table.
You've spent eighteen years drinking the Imperial family's water.
You shouldn't need the Emperor to explain what this means!
Scolded by the Emperor, Uncle Voltaire finally fell silent.
He glanced awkwardly toward Count Maron.
The count remained completely composed, as though he had known everything all along.
His unreadable expression only caused Voltaire's face to crumple like a sheet of paper.
“What does it matter?” Voltaire protested. “Even if people know, what changes?”
Good grief...
He somehow managed to become more astonishingly foolish with every sentence.
What changes?
If the nobles learned of it, everything would change.
Politics.
The Imperial Court.
The entire Empire would descend into absolute chaos.
Grandfather staggered backward as though his blood pressure had shot through the roof.
“Your Majesty!”
“Grandfather!”
“Father!”
Even Voltaire rushed forward in alarm.
As he braced himself against the desk, both of his forearms ended up directly in front of my face.
...Should I bite him?
I'm three years old.
Surely that's allowed?
The impulse lasted only a heartbeat.
I opened my mouth as wide as I could...
...and sank my teeth into his forearm with every ounce of strength my tiny body possessed.
Crunch!
An incredibly satisfying sound.
“AAAAAGH!”
Voltaire screamed and instinctively flung his arm away.
Unfortunately...
I was still attached to it.
The next thing I knew, I was thrown backward.
Ah.
Didn't think that part through.
Fortunately, I landed on a thick cushion instead of the floor.
Unfortunately...
It still hurt.
An energetic eighteen-year-old man's flailing arm wasn't exactly gentle.
So...
I did what every toddler does best.
I cried.
“WAAAAAAAH!”
This was the greatest privilege of being a small child.
If things went badly—
You cried.
“Y-Your Majesty! I'll summon the royal physician immediately!”
Count Maron hurried toward the door, but Grandfather stopped him.
“No need. Don't make a fuss... Ah...”
Waving one hand tiredly, the Emperor shook his head.
There was still irritation lingering in his voice.
With me seated on his lap, he gently bounced one leg.
Bounce.
Bounce.
Yes.
Now please continue the important conversation.
Once I sat quietly, Grandfather turned his attention back to Voltaire.
My uncle stood there awkwardly.
He clearly had no idea what he'd done wrong.
At least...
He seemed to realize he'd made a very serious mistake, even if he couldn't understand what it was.
“...Is there... some reason it mustn't be spoken of?”
“Ask the Empress.”
“My mother?”
“Yes. Ask the Empress. I have nothing more to say to you. I warned you not to reveal your ambitions so openly.”
“...I'm sorry.”
“What is there to apologize to me for? You've dug your own grave.”
The Emperor's voice grew colder.
“Many palace servants witnessed today's events. They'll talk. They'll say you incurred the Emperor's wrath. They'll say you acted recklessly. They'll say you are unfit to become Crown Prince.”
He never directly said those were his thoughts.
But they undoubtedly were.
Voltaire is not fit to be Crown Prince.
From the very beginning...
The throne had always belonged to me.
Ever since Grandfather first became Emperor.
In my previous life, I eventually realized it had been Aunt's wish.
No—
Not eventually.
I only learned the truth shortly before I died.
“You may leave.”
The dismissal was unmistakable.
Count Maron escorted the prince toward the door.
“This way, Your Highness.”
As Uncle Voltaire happened to look back, our eyes met.
I gave him the brightest, most innocent smile a clueless three-year-old could possibly manage.
His fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white.
Grinding his teeth, he left the room.
Meanwhile, I continued bouncing peacefully on Grandfather's lap.
“My little Melly.”
He smiled gently.
“Watch carefully and learn.”
“What that fool said—that nothing would change even if people learned the Crown Prince's appointment would occur before summer—is completely false.”
I nodded quietly.
Without realizing it, I had become completely absorbed in his lesson.
“Why...?”
The word slipped out awkwardly.
I had almost spoken like an adult before remembering—
Right.
I'm supposed to be three.
Still...
Should anyone really be explaining imperial politics to a toddler sitting on their lap?
“If the nobles learn that the investiture will occur before summer,” Grandfather said, “they will immediately divide into factions.”
“They'll begin competing over who should occupy the position of next Crown Prince.”
For him, this future had not yet happened.
For me...
It was already history.
As old memories resurfaced, I listened silently.
“They'll probe me, trying to discover whom I intend to leave the throne to. They'll calculate which side to stand on.”
“Others will slander rival members of the Imperial Family to advance the prince or princess they support.”
“Schemes.”
“Conspiracies.”
“Plots.”
“They'll continue until one of you three—you, Eonel, or Voltaire—disappears.”
“Whether politically...”
“Or physically.”
His voice painted the future so vividly...
A future he had never seen.
Yet it was exactly the one I remembered.
Suddenly...
Everything before my eyes turned crimson.
So many people had died.
The palace walls had always seemed stained with blood.
The skies had echoed endlessly with screams.
From the highest-ranking ministers to the lowest laundry maids...
Anyone who became entangled in the struggle, willingly or unwillingly, had better than even odds of losing their head.
Some lost more than that.
Tongues severed.
Hands cut off.
Bodies branded with red-hot irons.
Finding drowned corpses inside abandoned palace halls overlooking the imperial lake had become almost ordinary.
Some were executed together beneath the guillotine.
Others simply vanished one day without explanation.
Compared to them...
I had died peacefully.
Drinking poisoned wine inside my own room.
I had been one of the lucky ones.
A violent shiver ran through my body.
“Before you become an adult,” Grandfather said softly, “this old man will settle everything.”
“So don't worry.”
I hesitated.
Should I continue pretending to know nothing?
Should I answer like an innocent child?
But when I looked into his unwavering eyes...
His dignified face...
I couldn't.
The Imperial Throne suddenly seemed unimaginably high.
The vague desire I'd carried to simply take revenge on my uncle gradually transformed into something far clearer.
I will become Emperor.
A wise Emperor.
A dignified Emperor.
An Emperor with true foresight.
Wasn't that the finest revenge imaginable?
Revenge didn't have to mean poison.
Or execution.
Taking their pride...
Would hurt far more than taking their lives.
I wouldn't let them die peacefully.
I'd make them live long enough to experience utter humiliation.
I'd reclaim everything my uncle had stolen.
Then I'd stand upon that highest seat...
Looking down at him from above.
With elegant indifference.
As though he had been nothing more than a vulgar man obsessed with power that had never belonged to him.
Grandfather met my eyes.
“Melly...”
“Become a great ruler.”
I nodded.
The Empress slammed her bedroom door so hard it nearly came off its hinges.
Only moments earlier, she had been in an excellent mood.
She had summoned the owners of several dress boutiques and jewelry shops to the greenhouse, leisurely flipping through catalogs while indulging herself in luxurious shopping.
Then...
A maid secretly planted inside the Emperor's palace whispered news into her ear.
Before the report had even finished—
Her son burst into the greenhouse.
He complained from beginning to end about everything that had happened in the Emperor's study, recounting every detail from A to Z while whining like a child.
By the time he finished...
She felt as though the blood had rushed straight to her head.
There was only one remaining prince in the Empire.
Voltaire.
She had never doubted he would become Crown Prince.
Even if the Emperor resisted, the nobles would support him.
Never once in imperial history had a princess inherited the throne.
She had been completely at ease.
But now...
The Emperor's strange behavior since arriving at the summer palace—
His promise that the Crown Prince would be appointed this year—
All of it...
Had been nothing more than deception.
That old man tricked me!
She hardly remembered how she had made it back to her chambers.
The rage burning inside her clouded everything.
The moment she entered, she dismissed every servant.
Only one longtime maid, who had followed her since her maiden days, and her elderly nurse remained.
At once—
Kien swept both arms across her dressing table.
“AAAAAH!”
Cosmetics, perfumes, and ornaments crashed onto the floor.
Neither woman reacted.
They had seen this countless times before.
This was the real Kien.
The woman hidden beneath the perfect Empress everyone admired.
Outside these walls she treasured her flawless image more than anything.
Inside...
Every ounce of her violent temper exploded.
Only these two, who had known her since childhood in the Marquis of Cherry's household, ever witnessed it.
“How dare she!”
“That orphan with no parents—what backing does she think she has to covet the throne?!”
Still unsatisfied after destroying the dressing table, Kien seized a flower vase and hurled it against the wall.
Crash!
Porcelain shattered in every direction.
Water soaked into the carpet.
“What have I endured all this time?”
“I've spent every day flattering that old man!”
“How could the Emperor treat me like this?!”
She grabbed an ornate jewelry box and slammed it into the mirror.
Smash!
The mirror exploded into glittering fragments.
Precious gemstones spilled across the floor.
Among the broken reflections...
She almost thought she saw her son's face.
Voltaire's words echoed through her ears.
“Father humiliated me in front of Count Maron and that little brat.”
“How could he be so heartless toward his youngest son?”
She had warned him repeatedly that the Crown Prince's appointment was secret.
Yet he had rushed straight to the Emperor and earned only his hatred.
How could my own son be this frustrating?
He wasn't merely foolish.
He was hopelessly foolish.
Worse still...
He had carelessly recounted everything while palace servants stood nearby, completely oblivious to the fact that he was publicly announcing he'd fallen from the Emperor's favor.
I spent the entire winter at the hot spring palace currying favor with that old man just to secure your position as Crown Prince!
While her own family still possessed influence...
While she still held power...
She had to force through the investiture as quickly as possible and place Voltaire on the throne.
After all...
Wasn't that why the former Crown Prince and his wife had been murdered in the first place?
