<Chapter 1>
Prologue
When Cordelia opened her eyes in the morning, she remembered—it was her twentieth birthday today.
When she was seven, she wished for a big teddy bear.
At ten, she dreamed of becoming a happy princess like in the fairy tales.
At fifteen, her only wish was to escape the wretched poverty that weighed her down.
“O sacred morning star that guards Vasquez,”
She clasped her hands and made a wish for her twentieth birthday.
Pouring in all her desperation, as if begging the divine to finally have a conscience and grant her this one thing—
“Please… kill my husband.”
‘Still not dead, huh.’
Cordelia gazed sadly at her husband. A maid beside her offered a polite word of comfort.
“Please don’t worry too much, Madam. The master will wake up soon.”
“Yes… he should.”
Cordelia forced the corners of her mouth into a smile. The maid dipped a cloth in water and began wiping the hand of the man who lay there like a corpse.
Craig Abrams, Cordelia’s husband who was more dead than alive, had been unconscious for five months now since falling from a horse.
The first doctor to examine Craig said he wouldn’t last ten days, and yet, five months had already passed.
‘He should’ve just died cleanly when he fell. How long am I supposed to care for this half-dead body?’
She muttered such terrifying thoughts inwardly without a flicker of emotion.
Sometimes, when they were alone in a room, she was overcome with the urge to smother his face with a pillow.
“You’re the daughter of the Vasquez family? The face is alright, I suppose, but I wonder what the body’s like.”
On their wedding night, Craig had smacked his lips while leering at her lewdly from head to toe.
Cordelia’s face burned red with humiliation she had never known before. Craig’s two mistresses, who were watching, burst into laughter.
“Tonight is your first night as husband and wife. How can you bring other women to our chamber…?”
“Yeah, I know. But I prepared this specially for you. Say hi. This is Alicia. And that one’s Elizabeth.”
It didn’t take Cordelia long to understand what kind of man Craig Abrams was.
He was the kind of man who invited his mistresses into the bridal chamber on the wedding night and shamelessly frolicked with them in front of his bride.
“I hope the master wakes up soon.”
“Indeed.”
Just as she was uttering the meaningless response, the door suddenly burst open without warning.
“Oh my!”
Startled by the noise, the maid spilled the basin of water she was holding. It soaked the bedding and dripped onto the floor. Her face turned pale.
“Oh no, what do we do…”
“What on earth are you doing?!”
A sharp female voice snapped from behind. Cordelia quickly rose to her feet.
“Madam Helena. You’re here.”
“You spill water on my son just because I wasn’t here? Have you lost your mind?!”
“M-Madam, actually—”
The maid tried to explain in a panic, but Cordelia stepped in front of her.
“I apologize, Madam Helena. It was my carelessness.”
“Is that all? ‘I’m sorry’? Look at Craig’s bed! Soaked! Oh, my poor son. And to think this useless thing is his wife… Please wake up, darling. Your mother’s heart is burning to ashes.”
The richly dressed woman dabbed dry eyes with a handkerchief. Cordelia lowered her gaze and stood silently.
‘Anyone would think he’s her real son.’
Though she acted affectionate, Helena and Craig despised each other.
After Craig’s birth mother died, Helena quickly took the mistress’s place and often mocked Craig’s debauchery in public.
But after the former count’s sudden death, and with her position precarious, Helena’s attitude changed completely.
“What are you standing there for? Hurry and wipe the water! Craig must be cold.”
At her sharp command, Cordelia bent down and began wiping the drenched bedspread herself. But even then, Helena couldn’t let it go and said with spite:
“You’re to skip meals today and go pray at the temple until morning. Ask the gods to awaken Craig safely.”
“I will do as you say.”
“Useless thing. I should never have let you into this house. Ever since you arrived, everything’s gone to ruin!”
“…”
Helena glared at Cordelia as if she were the root of all misfortune.
“What’s the point of coming from one of the Eight Sacred Houses? Hmph, your house is in ruins now. Do you even know how much money the Abrams family spent on your marriage?”
“I am always grateful, Madam.”
Cordelia forced a smile, trying not to let her rotting feelings show—because that was the only way to survive in this household.
The Eight Sacred Houses—
The eight noble houses that founded the kingdom of Ersche alongside the first king Wilhelm. They also held voting rights for the next monarch and were called the Electoral Houses.
But the Vasquez family, one of those eight, had long lost its former glory and was now a hollow shell of its past.
‘If not for Father, I wouldn’t be in this miserable state.’
Her marriage to Craig Abrams had never been her choice.
Her father, blinded by gold, sold her off under the pretense of paying for his medicine—no, to make her “earn” the money for it.
The Vasquez family’s decline deepened with poor lands and foolish investments. Their only income now came from the dwindling wheat of what little land remained.
With only a handful of servants left, the Vasquez estate became a desolate ruin. Even meat rarely graced the table anymore.
And yet, her father—Elector Vasquez—refused to set aside his pride.
Instead, he sold his daughter.
“Cordelia, my daughter. At last, you’re doing something worthwhile.”
“What are you saying? You’re not sending me to the Abrams, are you?”
At first, when a marriage proposal came from the Abrams, he was outraged—how dare a “vulgar upstart” who had only been granted the title of count for less than 20 years?
But even that flimsy pride collapsed before the sum of 500,000 Rinkets.
“The wedding date is set. Prepare yourself quietly.”
“But Father—!”
“How dare you talk back to your father?”
“No! That man already has five mistresses. If it’s about the medicine, I’ll talk to Baron Nixan—”
“Silence! Who are you to act like you know anything? Tch. Reading all those useless books filled your head with nonsense. It’s all your mother’s fault.”
He even blamed her dead mother, forgetting that the family’s finances had remained decent while she was alive.
“Cordelia, listen to Father. You know this is the best we can do.”
“Best? Dennis, how could you say that to me?”
“Because I’m your brother. Why are you being so selfish? What about Father’s medicine? It’s just a marriage. Can’t you even do that for the family?”
Her younger brother Dennis, two years her junior, snapped at her.
The word “selfish” didn’t make her angry—it just stunned her.
Dennis had spent a fortune on his fencing master, enough to pay the servants for years. Meanwhile, Cordelia had mended and re-mended torn dresses to stretch every coin.
“Don’t even think about coming back.”
Her father drove the final nail.
“If you must die, die over there. This is no longer your home.”
“Father…”
Such cruelty was unbefitting of a father marrying off his daughter.
She clung to the small window of the carriage, watching her childhood home become a mere dot in the distance.
She cried bitterly, then went dry. That day, Cordelia realized—sold for a handful of coins to a scoundrel—
‘There’s only one person I can trust in this world—and that’s me.’
“Don’t just stare blankly. Massage Craig’s arm or something. Do I really have to tell you everything?”
“…Yes, Madam Helena.”
“Just because I’m not here doesn’t mean you get to slack off.”
Only after unloading her frustrations did Helena leave the room. Once the door shut completely, the maid hesitantly spoke.
“Madam Cordelia… I’m really sorry. It’s all my fault.”
“No, it’s fine. I’m used to getting scolded by her anyway. But you, Emily—you could get kicked out if you upset her. Your wedding is right around the corner.”
“But Madam, it wasn’t your fault. And yet you’re fasting and praying all night…”
“I’m fine.”
Cordelia offered a faint smile and comforted the maid. Emily’s eyes welled with tears.
“Th-thank you so much, Madam.”
“Don’t cry. Tell me how your wedding preparations are going.”
“Sniff… Yes. I found a dress that belonged to Kevin’s mother. I’m thinking of using it for my wedding.”
Winning favor and sympathy among the servants was easy.
A vicious mother-in-law, a philandering husband, and arrogant in-laws—Cordelia was the perfect object of pity.
Ever since she realized that, Cordelia had started pretending to be a “pitiful and helpless” lady on purpose.
‘If I’m going to be pitied anyway, I might as well use it.’
She was pragmatic.
Winning favor was always good—but keeping it from becoming a weakness was even better.
Thankfully, Cordelia had the knack for staying right in that sweet spot between “pitiful madam” and “easy pushover.”
Behind her gentle smile, Cordelia was coldly assessing the situation.
‘Once this man dies, I’ll be free.’
If Craig died, the count’s title would pass to another heir, and no one would care what she did afterward.
That’s why Cordelia prayed every night.
Please, let my husband die.