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I roll my eyes at the hypocrisy, although my back is turned to her so she doesn’t see. Although our mother-daughter bonding time is over, I can sense that Katya isn’t completely done with me yet. And I am correct, as Empress Katya begins to speak again.

“What do you know of the Holy Church, Winter?” the empress asks, dropping a bomb on my peace of mind.

I wonder if I should be cocky and say that I know that she’s in cahoots with them and asked them to create a fake prophecy, only for my accidental birth to ruin said prophecy.

Or maybe I should say that it’s full of dishonest priests who aren’t afraid to lie to the emperor.

“It’s the state-sponsored religion that teaches Helionic scriptures to the masses,” I respond solely with the facts, excluding any of the tea I could’ve spilled.

If it were two years ago, my response would probably be spicier. But these days have made me more than aware of how much of a mere mortal I am without Clara’s magical female lead halo. Or better yet, the uselessness of my right hand when carrying heavier objects has made me aware. My woes as a side character have been with me since day 1 in this crazy world.

“Correct. Well done,” Katya praises, switching from a warm cloth to a room temperature salve that dulls the harsh sting. “We will be visiting the Grand Temple here in the capital in a few days in celebration of the Midsummer Festival. I will have some proper attire sent to your palace shortly.”

.....

“Proper attire?” I inquire, half twisting around to look at her from where I’m splayed across her lap.

“At any Holy Church, a woman must be completely covered. There are certain garments that must be worn to attend. We will be meeting with the High Priest and receiving his blessing as the royal family. Afterward, we shall meet with the common people. Perhaps we will also hear some good news on that day. You must remember to remain well-behaved and quiet, Winter. None of the silly business you used to do,” she finishes in a chiding voice as if I’m a naughty child she’s indulging. I’m not a child though, and I hear the underlying message.

Translation: Don’t fuck it up for my precious baby, Julia.

“Yes, mother,” I reply obediently. I’m getting good at playing this game with Empress Katya.

It seems that the day to proclaim Princess Julia as the promised child has come sooner than I thought. But then again, the webnovel never clearly delineated when the false canonization of Julia occurs. I suck in a breath, but it conveniently happens when Katya presses down on a wound with salve so it flies under her radar.

My old plan flies to the forefront of my mind, the half-baked plan to somehow replace Princess Julia as the fake promised child. It wasn’t a bad plan, just one I’ve forgotten over time, and one that would tie me to this world the way Prince Julian mentioned so I can no longer be freely manipulated by Peppermint.

If I want to take fate by the bullhorns and make it my bitch, the way Elias told me to just today, I suppose this would be the best way for me to do it. It’s so coincidental, the way an opportunity to stay and prosper in the capital has fallen into my lap. I think of the way Elias would be so excited if I were to remain in the capital and an unknowing smile comes to my face. That wheel-chair bound child is too cute.

But it falls away in the next second as I realize that I would have to come clean about my identity as an imperial princess, rather than a poor pauper as I’ve led him to believe. Would he hate me for the lie? I resolve to ask Emma when I return and gain a real child’s perspective, as I can see no other way to force my family to pay attention to me than if I became the symbol of hope the common people have awaited anxiously.

“Sorry, Julia,” I mutter halfheartedly as I trudge back to the Rose Palace. Of course, I’m not sorry at all. That little girl was a psychotic devil just like she was in the webnovel, and although I haven’t seen her in a while I highly doubt she’s changed.

I feel introspective as I slowly return to my abode, pondering the future. The plan to run away with my money has been my driving force since that hopeless night when I almost did something I thought I’d never dream of. I have always thought that was the smartest move, but in reality, I’ve been deluding myself.

Peppermint could impose a sudden blockade at the city gates or make it so an off-duty royal guard catches sight of me and returns me to the palace. In truth, I’ve been lying to myself this entire time. My plan to run away was futile.

With only one card in my hands now, I feel anxious. I suppose once we enter the Grand Temple, I can faint dramatically and act like I’ve had a vision. I do know the future of the book after all and there were a few mentions of a large-scale war that will soon erupt where the rebellion took place not long ago as Sarsaval fights for their old territory. If I spoonfeed handfuls of the future, I could convince people that I’m really the promised child.

I chew idly at my fingernail, worrying the nailbed. After all, Empress Katya won’t simply stand back and watch me steal away the position she invented for her child to solidify Julian’s claim to the throne. Yet I have no better plan. It’s like I’m driving a car with a blindfold on and no seatbelts. Any wrong move could throw me off and kill me.

In my haze, I wander past the pristine white gate of my palace, meandering around the rose-covered hedge that shrouds portions of the Rose Palace. Something possesses me and I reach out and brutally grip an errant rose, tearing it from its home.

The symbol of my father’s love and the symbol of the second wife he utterly hates. I squeeze it hard, the thorns nearly piercing my flesh and sending pain into my senses. Save for Emma, Marie, and Finn, I realize that I truly hate every other person I’ve met in the damn imperial palace.

“Your highness,” a young voice hesitantly asks behind me. It’s Emma. I’m not surprised she managed to find me as she’s always been an observant kid.

“Hey,” I say cheerfully, hiding away my previous dark mood.

“Your smile,” she just says, “It’s fake.”

I chuckle sheepishly, feeling foolish for trying to fool my first ever friend here. “Of course, you’d notice.”

We walk back together, within the comfortable silence that comes when you know the other party well. I take her hand in mine and notice a fresh cut that I’ve never seen before. Despite being covered in wounds myself, my heart aches for my young friend.

“What happened?” I ask, spinning her palm in my hand. Her hands these days feel rougher, with thick calluses developing on her skin.

“In the future,” Emma suddenly says, her expressionless face appearing vulnerable and younger than usual. “I will protect you. As a knight, just like the Prince Charming you always talk about.”

I see the fiery determination in her eyes, and I feel touched. I don’t know how I would’ve survived without her.

“Yes, my knight in shining armor,” I answer, my heart feeling warm.

The next few days pass by both slowly and quickly as it always does in the palace. Curled up in my favorite corner and staring out the window, it all seems the same. Sitting for long periods of time is a talent I’ve been forced to perfect since I’ve arrived in this world.

Two days before the royal engagement at the Grand Temple, the maids come to my palace. They’re actually seamstresses and they poke and prod me like an embroidery pincushion in preparation. The satin fabric catches in the light, showing that Katya decided to put a couple more coins down for this purchase. But the color itself is dull, a solemn gray that was made to blend into the background. The long sleeves taper off into points over my hands and the dress goes up to my neck with minimal silver threading for the buttons down the front.

I understand what Katya meant by fully covered when the women pull out a crespine, the medieval hairpiece which look like double buns that cover the ears. It is white, and the tail end of the fabric covering tucks perfectly into the neck of the dress. My long white hair pulled into twin braids that loop around my ears before they tug the crespine over it and completely cover it. It is very reminiscent of Princess Leia’s buns from Star Wars and similarly has very little adornment. I twirl in the mirror without a smile when they step back to admire their handiwork. For the most part, the outfit makes for an odd look as if I’ve jumped into my high school history textbooks.

Unlike last time, I don’t intend to make any alterations though.

“Very lovely, your highness,” Marie says, ever my cheerleader. I smile wanly in her direction then obediently sit so the seamstresses can take off the intricate outfit.

“On the day, we’ll bring you a circlet to wear on top,” a seamstress lets me know gruffly as she packs up her tools. She doesn’t use my title and although Marie frowns at the disrespect, I don’t react. I’m used to it by now.

But I don’t intend to tolerate it in the future.