“You must never raise your head.”
The palace attendant repeated the warning several times to the young girl.
It was something she had heard before. Baeksa already knew that when meeting the Emperor, one must not lift their head until permission was granted.
The child nodded nervously. After watching her for a moment, the attendant turned toward the closed door and announced,
“Your Majesty, as ordered, I have brought the princess.”
“Let her enter.”
A cold voice flowed out from beyond the door. At that merciless tone, Baeksa flinched.
She had heard it many times, yet every time it made cold sweat run down her back and her hands tremble.
When the door opened, the girl carefully stepped forward, staring only at her feet, and stopped in place.
Then she bowed her head deeply before the massive imperial throne, waiting for the Emperor to speak.
Not long after, the Emperor opened his mouth and spoke in a dry voice.
“So, you’ve come. This is the first time I’ve seen your face. There’s never been a reason to before.”
“G-Greetings, Your Majesty…”
But that was all. The Emperor did not tell her to raise her head.
One moment passed, then another—still nothing.
Feeling the sharp, piercing gaze directed at her, the child squeezed her eyes shut.
‘Maybe this is better.’
If he had told her to lift her head, she wouldn’t have known what expression to wear.
So this was better. Slowly opening her eyes again, Baeksa stared at her feet and recalled the first time she had come here—
The day she had manifested her power and been brought in.
Back then, the Emperor had given her a choice that would determine her fate.
Though later, when she became useless, she realized that there had never truly been a choice at all—
Still, in name, there had been one.
‘But this time… there won’t be.’
She hadn’t manifested any power, nor shown any usefulness.
Just as Songra had said, just as the rumors in the palace claimed—she would be cast out.
Gulp.
Baeksa swallowed hard.
The small girl fidgeted with her damp palms, waiting for her father to speak.
And still… still…
A faint hope lingered in her heart—that even at the last moment, her father might call to her kindly.
“Useless thing… how did a snake beast even come to be born in this imperial family of Haeseo?”
The merciless Emperor had never once fulfilled Baeksa’s hopes. His dry words pricked at her heart.
Muttering as if for her to hear, the Emperor smiled faintly as he looked down at her.
“Your fate has been decided.”
Even knowing it was a futile hope, even knowing what was coming—why was it impossible to stop her heart from hoping?
“Go to the southern lands—the Vermilion Bird’s Southern Territory.”
Perhaps it was because Baeksa was still too young—so young that even if you combined the age from her past life and her current one, she still wouldn’t be an adult.
Maybe if she grew older, she would stop harboring such futile hopes… maybe she would no longer feel pain hearing such words.
But Baeksa knew that such a future would never come.
Because if she went to the Southern Territory, she would die.
Without the chance to grow, to learn, or to understand more.
“Whether you live or die there—it’s up to you.”
Hearing the Emperor’s words sink into her ears, Baeksa gently clenched both hands.
‘So it was true.’
That he had always intended to discard her…
That if just one more week had passed, she would have been thrown away, just as Songra said—
It was all true.
Baeksa felt both glad and not glad. No… perhaps it was sadness.
She would be cast out just as she had wished—so why did it hurt?
The child blinked her stinging eyes and bit her lip tightly.
Then, after a moment, Baeksa slowly lifted her head and looked at the Emperor.
At her sudden action, everyone present froze in shock. Even the Emperor was no exception.
The girl thought the expression on his face hurt more than she had imagined.
This was the second time she had been cast away by her father’s hand.
But experiencing something painful twice did not make it hurt any less.
Even so, the girl tried not to cry and forced a smile.
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
But she couldn’t stop the tears that flowed like a broken spring.
A single tear rolled down her pale cheek and gathered at the tip of her chin.
Yet instead of wiping it away, Baeksa’s small lips trembled as she continued,
“Thank you… for raising me all this time.”
In the silence, the child slowly—very slowly—bowed her head and gave her final farewell.
“Please… stay well.”
That last sentence was not meant for the Emperor.
‘Please recover.’
It was meant for the owner of the hand she had held onto until the moment she was cast out.
At the child’s attitude, the Emperor raised an eyebrow.
Between his narrowed eyes, his dark gaze fixed on the girl standing at his feet.
Unkempt long hair.
A small, frail body, even smaller than others her age.
A child barely seven years old.
Even a child would know what the Southern Territory was.
The beastfolk of Haeseo grew up hearing stories of the cursed southern lands.
So she would know that going there meant death.
She would also know that it was because of heaven’s law—that a dragon cannot kill its own offspring—that she was being sent there instead.
And yet—
“Thank you for raising me.”
“Please stay well.”
Could a seven-year-old truly say such things?
Shouldn’t a child her age cry, beg, and plead not to be cast out?
If Yeoryun or Songra had heard this, they would have clung to his legs and wept until collapsing.
But this child did not.
She did not cry, beg, or tremble while asking him to reconsider. Instead, she lifted her head and looked straight at her father’s face.
As if she had been waiting for this very moment all along, she smiled faintly through her tears and offered her farewell.
Through the strands of her bangs, her pitch-black eyes showed no expectation, no hope.
Those clear, empty eyes—devoid of emotion—almost resembled his own.
But—
‘What does it matter?’
She was a child who would soon be cast out.
Now that the decision had been made, her slightly unusual behavior was of no importance.
Nor was it important that he had learned the color of her eyes for the first time today.
Nor that today was likely her birthday.
She would simply leave on the same day she had come.
At the Emperor’s gesture, the small girl stepped back as if she had been waiting for it and left her place.
Her small legs trembled slightly as she walked away, yet she did not look back even once.
A faint trace of tears remained where she had stood, but it soon dried and vanished without a trace.
Watching this indifferently, the Emperor spoke to the scribe kneeling before him.
“Record that today, the princess was expelled from this palace.”
Then, as if remembering something, he added,
“To avoid confusion with the other princesses, write that it was Princess Baeksa—the White Snake—who was cast out.”
The scribe slowly moved his hand, recording that the girl who had just been here had left the palace.
That single short line became the only proof that she had ever existed in the imperial family.
From that moment on, everything proceeded swiftly.
A carriage had already been prepared, and the palace attendants gathered in clusters by the narrow gate of the imperial palace to see her off.
Normally, when a member of the imperial family left the palace, all attendants who had served them would come out to bid farewell.
But only three people had ever managed Baeksa’s residence.
So only those three stood beside the carriage she would ride.
As Baeksa approached the carriage, she paused upon seeing a familiar attendant.
She was the only one in the palace who had shown her even a little care.
‘She’ll be better off without me.’
Her residence had been no different from exile anyway. And since attendants were ranked depending on whom they served, serving a better master would grant a far better life.
Thinking that made it hurt a little less.
With a tense expression, Baeksa climbed into the carriage. The guards assigned to escort her to the southern lands took their positions on either side.
Not long after, the carriage slowly began to move.