Chapter 2
Ioret’s husband, the Count of Castlein, was an old man over sixty.
The count had a grotesque secret preference he kept hidden from others. He liked young, beautiful boys.
Moreover, he suffered from severe exhibitionism.
Whenever he was with those boys, he would always call for Ioret.
If Ioret couldn’t bring herself to lift her head or closed her eyes, she would be met with slaps and curses without fail.
That wasn’t even the worst of it. Once or twice a week, Ioret had to share the same bed with him as his wife.
On nights when she trembled beside that disgusting old man, unable to sleep, a maid would always bring her tea.
Even on her last day at the Castlein estate, Ioret drank the sleeping tea the maid brought.
“Sleep well, my lady. There isn’t much time left now.”
“Yes. Five years… it’s almost been five years already.”
The five years her sister had promised were almost over, and the day she would return to the capital was near.
Ioret clung to that hope and fell asleep beside the count.
When she woke after a deep sleep, she was covered head to toe in blood.
Beside her lay the count, a dagger plunged into his heart, his limbs spread wide as he lay dead.
It was said that when a person is overwhelmed by extreme fear, they cannot even scream.
While Ioret stood frozen in front of the count’s corpse, a maid burst into the room and began screaming.
“She killed the count! The lady killed the count!”
Before she could even protest, Ioret was seized by the estate soldiers.
She was forcibly thrown into the basement of the manor and dragged toward the capital. During the journey, Ioret desperately tried to piece together what had happened.
No matter how she thought about it—no matter how many times she retraced it…
“Sleep well, my lady.”
The one who killed the count was—
“Did you sleep well, princess?”
Someone spoke beside her head.
Ioret jolted awake. Air rushed violently into her nose and mouth.
“Gghh…!”
The moment she realized she was breathing, her breath caught.
She rolled over, coughing violently.
Breathing meant she was alive. The moment a dull blade struck the back of her neck was still vividly carved into her mind.
The same voice from her dream continued.
“Are you alright? Did you have a nightmare?”
Ioret lifted her tear-filled eyes to look at the speaker—and shock struck her like a blow to the crown of her head.
“…Lishi?”
“Princess?”
Lishi Keith.
The second daughter of the Keith Viscount family, she had served as Ioret’s personal maid for 15 years.
After being dragged out of the Castlein estate, Ioret had never seen Lishi again.
Ioret asked weakly,
“You… what did you just call me?”
“Pardon? I called you princess, of course…”
Lishi looked genuinely confused.
It had already been five years since Ioret stopped being called a princess. Since her marriage to the Count of Castlein, she had become the countess, not a princess.
‘No way.’
Looking around, everything felt strangely familiar.
The low ceiling, the cold stone walls, the wooden furniture that must once have been luxurious but was now worn and decayed, the frayed carpet…
There was no mistake. This was the tower where Ioret had once lived in the royal palace.
With trembling hands, she touched her neck. Her fingers brushed against a thin chain. She felt the stone she had clutched tightly right before her execution.
Ioret tore the necklace open like a madwoman.
‘The color changed!’
The brilliant crimson gem had faded into a dull, lifeless hue.
It meant the magic had succeeded.
“Wear this always, Ioret. I don’t know how much time I have left, but I give it all to you.”
Ioret’s mother, Charlotte, had once poured the remainder of her lifespan into this ruby necklace.
It was a forbidden sorcery passed down secretly in her homeland, the Kingdom of Levia.
As long as her mother’s remaining lifespan was stored in the ruby, Ioret could not die. Even if she did, she would revive again.
She had vaguely known it—but this was the first time she had experienced it.
And reincarnation? Five whole years?
Her blurred vision slowly sharpened.
In the mirror across the room, she saw a girl who had not yet become an adult.
‘So young. So thin.’
Even the only feature that had once been passable now looked childish.
Ioret repeated her mother’s final words.
She must survive…
Even if she had to abandon her humanity.
In a world ruled by Catherine, no matter how she struggled, she would eventually end up on the execution platform.
Neither as the “kind younger sister” nor as the powerless dethroned princess could she survive.
‘I have to become the queen. Not Catherine—me.’
Survival was directly tied to power.
Her past self had been foolish not to understand such a simple truth.
At that moment, Lishi firmly helped Ioret up.
“You must have slept very deeply, princess. You should get ready soon or you’ll be late for lunch. We can’t keep your future husband waiting.”
Ioret harshly shoved her arm away.
“Don’t touch me. I never gave you permission.”
The maid with freckles on her cheeks stared at Ioret in disbelief.
Yes. I remember this woman clearly.
Catherine’s loyal dog, who monitored and controlled Ioret while maintaining the bare minimum of etiquette.
And the only maid allowed to enter the marital bedroom of the Castlein estate.
Without a doubt, the one who killed Count Castlein was this maid.
* * *
“The Count of Castlein has arrived.”
Without permission, the head servant burst open the door and spoke, forcing Ioret out of her room.
Lishi glared at her sharply.
“You do not have the right to refuse. If you continue to avoid meeting the count, we will have no choice but to call the knights.”
Ioret reluctantly put on the dress Lishi brought—an offensively revealing evening gown with a deep neckline.
As she walked toward the dining room, she quickly reviewed her memories.
‘It’s the spring of Imperial Year 1058.’
The time when she had just been married off to Count Castlein and sent to his territory.
Fortunately, Catherine was not yet queen.
Catherine would ascend the throne about four years later, after their father—the king—died suddenly.
She had to change everything before then.
‘There are five days until the wedding.’
This time, she would not be dragged along obediently.
But there was little she could do immediately.
She had no friends, no allies, and Lishi, who watched her constantly, stayed by her side at all times.
Enemies were everywhere—and she had no weapon.
‘I need a trustworthy guard. And I need to remove the watcher first.’
Lishi, following behind her, warned quietly:
“Be careful in front of the count. If you burst into tears like last time, Her Highness the Crown Princess will be very saddened.”
Now that she looked again, there was a faint smirk on Lishi’s lips that she had never noticed before.
Ioret let out a short laugh.
“Is that so?”
Catherine? Please.
If she ever clapped and laughed, it would only be at someone else’s misfortune.
But starting today, she wouldn’t be laughing anymore.
‘You first, Lishi.’
A chill settled over Ioret’s face.
When they reached the simple dining room of the tower, Ioret gave Lishi an order.
“Oh, I left the count’s gift in the bedroom. Go retrieve it. It’s a brooch in a velvet box.”
Lishi looked suspicious but eventually nodded.
Once she disappeared from sight, Ioret opened the dining room door.
The heavy scent of perfume hit her immediately. The Count of Castlein sat at the table, his bulky belly protruding.
“Princess?”
The count narrowed his eyes as he spotted her, attempting a lecherous smile.
“My, you’ve grown since I last saw you.”
His greasy, wrinkled face distorted as he looked her up and down.
“You’re almost nineteen now. If you were a few years younger, it would’ve been better… tsk.”
Seeing his thick fists, Ioret’s shoulders instinctively tensed.
Status meant nothing in front of violence. Ioret was nothing but prey.
That was how it had been in the past.
“I apologize for being late, Count.”
“Heh heh. You’ll soon be my wife. You should start adjusting your speech and manners. People might think poorly of the princess otherwise.”
“…I suppose you’re right.”
Ioret circled the table, glancing at the arranged cutlery and silver candleholders.
The count’s greasy head slowly drew closer.
“I was rude, Count. Please forgive me.”
When she spoke with submissive, sorrowful eyes, the count smiled broadly.
“Good. And it’s also impolite to keep your husband waiting. Especially a noble husband like me—”
Before he could finish, Ioret grabbed a silver candleholder from the table and struck the back of his head.
THWACK!
