“I’m going to cut off your head and present it to the tyrant of Calande.”
Ioret stared blankly at her only sister.
What had she just heard?
Ioret was in a dark, damp prison.
Beyond the iron bars stood her half-sister, Catherine.
The first daughter of King Elovis and a young queen who had ascended the throne early as crown princess—she was beautiful.
Dignity and majesty suited her position. But the words spilling from her lovely lips were anything but beautiful.
“You know who the king of Calande, who ascended the throne last month, is, don’t you? Kylon Winterbark. The man who could have once been your husband. Do you remember him?”
Of course Ioret knew.
It would have been strange not to. Who in the continent didn’t know the name of the Calande tyrant?
Fifteen years ago, the royal family of Calande—exiled to a northern fortress—had sparked a rebellion.
A bastard born from a maid slaughtered all his half-brothers and ultimately beheaded his own father, the king.
Not only did he seize the throne through regicide, but he also invaded the neighboring kingdom of Levia and forced its king to kneel.
Rumors now swirled that Elovis would be next.
“What an extraordinary man he is. I’m so glad we didn’t marry you off to him back then!”
Even though the shadow of war loomed over the country, Catherine’s cheeks flushed as if she were thinking of something pleasant. She looked like a girl in love.
“We needed a peace offering for him, and he happened to request you, a blood descendant of the Levia royal family.”
“What?”
“Thus, the royal council concluded there was no choice but to cut off your head.”
Catherine slipped her hand through the iron bars, grabbing Ioret’s chin as she whispered cheerfully.
“Calming the fearful citizens is also the duty of a king. And since the Calande king conveniently pointed at you—the traitor who audaciously tried to seize the throne—wouldn’t offering your head to him be killing three birds with one stone?”
Ioret was stunned.
She could not believe such words were coming from her gentle, kind sister.
‘Wasn’t I supposed to be released if my innocence was proven?’
Two weeks ago, Ioret had been brought to the capital on charges of murdering her husband and attempting to seize his wealth.
Of course, she had done none of it.
But no one listened to her pleas.
She was imprisoned without even being allowed to hold her husband’s funeral.
And it didn’t end there. Once brought to the capital, she was labeled not only a murderer but also a traitor plotting to usurp the throne using her husband’s estate as a power base.
“Didn’t you try to incite rebels from Levia to start an uprising? Aren’t the letters you sent proof of that?”
“I don’t know anything about that! I didn’t write them!”
Ioret truly had done nothing.
Until eighteen, she had been confined in a tower within the royal castle. After that, she was exiled to the capital under the guise of marriage.
Even after that, it had been a series of grueling endurance.
She endured her elderly husband’s vulgar hands, the suspicious gaze of maids watching her every move, and even the complete severing of news from the capital.
She endured it all because she believed her sister’s promise that she would be called back after five years.
“The royal council is spreading rumors that you intend to take the throne. It would be best for you to lay low in the capital for a while. Five years—just five years. You can endure that for your sister, can’t you?”
Where had that gentle smile and soft voice gone?
Ioret frantically looked around.
There was only one person who could prove her innocence.
“Duke, you’re there, aren’t you? Come out!”
She screamed.
From the darkness beyond the prison, someone stepped forward.
Duke Benedict Valer.
He was her childhood friend and former fiancé.
“You know I never plotted treason. You saw all the letters I sent you!”
Even though they had broken off their engagement, Benedict was still her only friend.
He was the one who told her she could write whenever she was overwhelmed.
“Speak up, Benedict! The only letters I ever sent you were—”
“Are these the letters you’re referring to?”
Benedict pulled a bundle of letters from his coat.
Ioret stared blankly at the papers falling beyond the bars.
The contents were written in her handwriting—but she had never written them.
[The Castleine estate is small and insignificant, but it is still a noble house.
If I remove my foolish husband and take control of the estate myself, I can build enough power. Then I can return to the capital within a few years.
My rebellion begins now, Benedict. Quietly, secretly… but decisively.]
Benedict glared at her with disgust.
“How shameless. Your hypocrisy is nauseating, Princess Ioret. No—Countess Castleine.”
“Ha…!”
“Or should I say… just a criminal now?”
Tears welled in Ioret’s wide eyes.
Was this vile man truly her childhood friend?
But that shock was nothing compared to what came next.
Catherine deliberately leaned into Benedict’s arms.
“Oh dear, don’t make her cry so soon, Duke. That role is mine.”
A duke was the title given to the consort of a queen.
They looked like a perfectly matched couple.
Benedict kissed Catherine’s hair reverently.
“Ah… ah…”
Shock and rage overwhelmed Ioret.
Benedict had become the queen’s husband.
‘From the beginning… there was no one on my side.’
How long had this scheme been in motion?
Ioret could barely breathe.
“So you killed the Count of Castleine and framed me for it?”
“I was hoping you were too foolish to even realize that.”
“Then… did you also kill my mother?”
Ioret’s mother had been the king’s second queen.
After rumors spread that she had an affair with a knight, the king’s affection for her disappeared.
Soon after, she died by suicide.
A suspicious death, but no one investigated it.
Afterward, Ioret was confined to a secluded tower in the castle and eventually broken off from her engagement to Benedict.
Fire flared in Ioret’s eyes.
“Did you kill my mother too?!”
“Your mother was killed by you, Ioret.”
“What are you talking about…!”
“If you had never been born, do you think I would have had to kill her?”
Catherine kicked Ioret, who was hanging onto the iron bars.
Starved and weakened, Ioret tumbled violently across the prison floor.
“You were the one I wanted gone from the beginning. But as long as your mother remained, I couldn’t touch you. Tch. A royal from Levia, acting so proud—it was infuriating.”
“Why?!”
Ioret screamed, blood rising in her throat.
“I never wanted the throne! Neither did my mother! So why—!”
“I don’t care.”
Catherine scoffed.
“You should have at least had a child with Count Castleine, sister. I told you to sleep with him properly. Then maybe I would’ve forgiven you!”
Her laughter stripped away any remaining dignity of a queen.
“Honestly, I can’t blame you. Sleeping with a stinking old man must’ve been hard!”
Humiliation shook Ioret’s body.
Five years of marriage to a depraved old man felt like shards of glass embedded in her skin.
The insults rained down.
“Your birth is your sin. Your existence itself is an obstacle to me. You have nothing over me except your bloodline and a pretty face. No effort at all.”
Jealousy flickered briefly in Catherine’s expression.
“And yet you always played the victim so well… Still, at least your pretty neck will be useful as a stepping stone for Elovis’ peace.”
Satisfied, Catherine turned away.
Benedict draped his uniform jacket over her shoulders.
Glancing at Ioret, he smirked.
“Give the order, Your Majesty.”
Catherine smiled regally once more.
“As planned. Execute the prisoner. The execution is tomorrow at noon.”
“Execute the princess who murdered her husband and plotted treason!”
A scaffold stood on the highest hill of the capital.
Tens of thousands gathered to witness the execution.
A frail woman staggered up the steps of the guillotine.
Her long golden hair was tangled and dull, her shoulders thin like dry branches.
“Behead the princess for the tyrant!”
The terrified crowd screamed for her death, hoping to appease the tyrant of Calande.
Ioret clenched the ruby necklace in her hand—her mother’s only keepsake.
“Survive, Ioret. As long as you live in place of your mother, not even death can harm you.”
‘I tried, Mother… but I did it wrong.’
A life spent bowing, abandoning dignity and pride, had led to this.
Everything had been wrong from the beginning.
“Begin the execution!”
Knights forced her to her knees and pinned her down.
The executioner stepped forward with a blunt axe.
Catherine would surely be watching. Benedict would be beside her.
Ioret gritted her teeth, clutching the warmth of the ruby.
“If you think this is the end, you’re wrong, sister.”
Blood seeped from her cracked lips, fury burning in her eyes.
She would return.
No one knew it—but she had that power.
‘Even if I throw myself into hellfire, I will come back and destroy everything you’ve built!’
The axe descended toward her pale neck.
Her eyes, still open, burned with rage.
“God… take my soul.”
“And send me back to this hell!”
At that moment, the ruby emitted a strange light—but no one noticed.
“The witch is dead! Peace to Elovis!”
And then, the world fell into darkness.
