Talia stared into the mirror.
The face she had seen endlessly since birth looked back at her.
The only difference was that the girl in the mirror, instead of wearing a graceful smile and eyes glimmering with sensuality, now showed anxious unease in her gaze and dry, nervous lips.
With displeasure, Talia glared at her reflection and turned toward her nursemaid.
"How do I look?"
"Like an angel, Your Highness."
The nursemaid, busily combing her long hair, smiled until her eyes curved like crescent moons.
"You truly take after Lady Senevier. With all this effort in dressing, it feels as though I'm seeing Lady Senevier at eighteen again."
Talia slapped away the plump hand that toyed with her hair.
The nursemaid's thoughtless remark—that it was a compliment to say she resembled someone else—filled Talia with irritation.
"Enough brushing. Just bring me the dress."
The nursemaid waddled clumsily toward the chest, her expression resembling a scolded puppy.
Talia's eyes followed her with disdain. How could anyone be so slow-witted?
The woman fumbled and dug through the chest with little grunts until finally pulling out a red satin dress, glancing nervously toward Talia.
"Look at this. It's the dress Lady Senevier wore when she first entered the palace. She must have kept it for you."
Talia's face twisted with distaste.
"You remember what my mother wore all those years ago?"
"Of course! How could I forget that day? Lady Senevier didn't seem of this world. Just knowing someone so beautiful could exist was enough to bring tears to my eyes. Even His Majesty couldn't take his eyes off her."
The nursemaid sighed with a dreamy, faraway look.
Talia stifled a hollow laugh. Did this woman truly believe their meeting was some grand romance?
Back then, the Emperor already had an Empress, with whom he had shared six years of marriage—and she had been heavily pregnant at the time. His encounter with Senevier had been nothing but sordid adultery, neither more nor less.
Even after the former Empress Bernadette's death and Senevier's ascension as the new Empress, the people had never forgotten. As long as Talia lived, no one would forget the shameless sin of their union.
Swallowing the bitter retort rising in her throat, Talia snatched the dress from the nursemaid's hands.
"If you have time for useless chatter, finish preparing me."
"Of course, of course, leave everything to me."
The nursemaid dressed her in a fine velvet bliaut lined with jewels.
Talia tidied her hair again and gazed once more into the mirror. Wearing her mother's dress, she looked even more like her.
Was the ominous sensuality that clung to her mother also beginning to stir within her? Talia fixed her eyes on the swell of her chest rising above the square neckline.
Not dignified perhaps, but undeniably alluring—no one could deny that.
She instinctively lifted a finger toward her lips, but quickly lowered it for fear of smudging her makeup. Tonight, more than ever, she wanted to be beautiful. If possible, even more beautiful than her mother.
Let everyone look at me. Let them forget Aila exists.
A fierce hunger burned in her deep blue eyes. It was not the gaze of an imperial princess, but of a beggar on the street.
Seized with sudden disgust, Talia grabbed a candlestick and struck the mirror. A sharp crack rang out as spiderweb-like fractures spread across the glass.
The nursemaid, startled, dropped to the floor with a thud.
Talia tossed the candlestick aside and spoke coldly.
"I'm sick of that mirror. Bring me a new one."
The woman stood on shaky legs, lips pressed tight, and silently continued her task as though nothing had happened. She draped a luxurious fur-lined cloak across Talia's shoulders.
Talia glared at her fractured reflection splintered into dozens of shards, then spun on her heel.
Exiting the room, she found a guard stationed in the corridor—one of the men Senevier had sent. His face flushed red as he looked at her, but she ignored him and descended the stairs.
Outside the palace annex, a gilt-trimmed carriage waited with eight guards in attendance. Clearly, Senevier would not allow her daughter to appear shabby.
You want me to unsettle your rivals, don't you, Mother?
Talia curled her lips in a bitter smile as she boarded the carriage.
At that moment, the new guard stepping forward to close the door blurted out, as if unable to contain the heat rising in his throat:
"Tonight… you look truly breathtaking, Your Highness."
The desperate longing in his voice made the hairs on her body stand on end.
Talia shot him a sharp glare. She had no need of his praises.
"Don't waste words. Just depart."
The man flushed with embarrassment and shut the door.
The carriage rolled forward. Talia sank back into her seat, peering out through the fluttering curtains at the crimson-stained sky.
If only tonight's banquet could be dyed that same color… if only chaos would erupt and ruin everything.
Her fingers drifted to her lips, and she pulled them away quickly when she noticed red pigment staining her nails.
Her nerves felt like they were burning to the quick, but the palace ahead pulsed with bright music and radiant light.
When the carriage stopped, Talia disembarked, frowning as she surveyed the wide marble path and ornate gardens leading into the banquet hall. Hundreds of nobles in silk garments streamed in.
She ignored the knight assigned to escort her and strode toward the entrance. Those who recognized her instinctively moved aside.
Of course they did—this was her home. She had no intention of queuing like a guest.
To the flustered attendant at the door, Talia said casually,
"I've come to celebrate my brothers' birthdays."
The man's eyes went wide in shock.
"What are you waiting for?" she snapped. "Announce me."
Flustered, the attendant stepped aside and bellowed:
"Her Highness, Second Princess Talia Roem Gwirta, enters!"
A chilling silence swept through the vast hall.
Head held high, Talia stepped into the golden banquet chamber. She felt hundreds of eyes rake over her from head to toe.
She savored their shock, their anger, their discomfort—and their reluctant awe—as she advanced with graceful steps. The crowd parted like the ebbing tide.
As if I were a plague.
Talia smiled with venom at the thought.
And then, someone blocked her path.
"What business brings you here?"
She raised her eyes to the man. Just one of those empty-headed followers who worshiped her virtuous elder half-sister, Aila.
Talia gave him a sly smile, the very sort she had seen her mother use to ensnare men countless times.
"Am I somewhere I don't belong?"
The man's wary face flushed crimson. Flustered, he stepped back.
Talia advanced closer than before, raising her chin proudly.
"This is my father's palace, and this banquet is for my brothers. What wrong is there in my being here?"
Meeting his eyes directly, she watched as he froze in place, unable to move.
His nostrils flared, as though he were breathing in the rose oil her nursemaid had carefully smoothed into her hair strand by strand.
His gaze blurred, intoxicated like a drunkard's. A strange satisfaction, mingled with deep disgust, surged within Talia.
Without another word, she brushed past the stammering fool and walked boldly toward the center of the hall.