Ch. 48: Off With Her Head!
I manage to fix my expression as my ‘mother’ pulls the basket of threads into her lap, “These threads, as they sit in this basket, they are without purpose. They are unused and unsullied, fit to be shaped as the owner desires.”
She picks up one red and one white thread, almost absentmindedly twirling the two around her index finger. The colors swirl together and I swallow down the rage threatening to make itself known.
Peppermint. Of course.
My days have been a little too calm and now I realize that this damned author was just lying in wait, anticipating falling into complacence before hitting with another blow. I can’t help but wonder what is in store this ti. Will it be more physical pain? A psychological blow? The empress is regarding calmly, too calmly, and I feel like I am out of my depth. Katya has such a powerful presence, no wonder she was such a nace to Clara in the webnovel.
“But sotis,” she drawls gently, drawing out her syllables, “Mistakes are made. You use red instead of green, drawing a bloody stain across an otherwise calm picture. And then your embroidery is ruined and must be thrown out. This is what happens when you don’t take care of where your needle goes.”
Empress Katya looks down at expectantly as if waiting for a response and I nod weakly.
“What do you think, Winter? Do you think you have taken good care of your needle?” Her expression is soft and resigned, akin to a disciplining her unruly child. I don’t know when or how this conversation about embroidery turned into a scolding.
Her brief ntion of blood cutting across the scenery also sends more chills down my spine. Is she trying to say she wants to kill or maim ? This woman seems to be underhandedly admonishing for cutting into her life. Well, I’m sorry Katya, I want to yell, I don’t want to be here either!
.....
“You haven’t,” she ignores my nod. “No Winter, you have not. But don’t worry. Mother will teach you and all those who seek to lead you astray.”
I scarcely have a mont to process the empress’ words before the previously guarded doors open with a loud bang. I see flailing legs first, then a maid dress that looks small enough to fit before Emma’s fear-stricken face fills my vision completely.
Emma? She is supposed to be at her lessons with Sir Robbie right now, not here with my stepmother! To my maid’s credit, she doesn’t let out a sound, devoting her entire energy into a futile escape effort against the two strong, expressionless maids, clutching her twig arms in a vise-like grip. But I am not nearly as fierce or brave as Emma, my mouth unconsciously letting out a soft exclamation of, “What the fuck?” under my breath. To see my friend, my sworn sister, suddenly beco my weakness, the ground seems to have fallen out beneath .
How many countless tis have I read about this scenario? So many years of sitting in my bed under my ancient but cozy Winnie the Pooh blanket with a book; I flipped through the pages with a grim look on my face as I ntally scolded the protagonist for being foolish enough to have a friend or lover while fighting to survive in a difficult setting. But I get it now. Why can’t I be selfish? Why can’t I think of myself and make my ti in this Empire a little easier? The reason is staring right at , her black eyes no longer solemn as she gazes at in panic.
I feel so ashad.
I’m a user, just like those girls from school I’ve always snubbed, acquainting myself with Emma so she could do so of my errands. And now my foolishness has implicated her. I know the empress was watching , I’ve known all along she had eyes in the Rose Palace. My teeth sink into the aty flesh of my lip, almost drawing blood as a sharp pain brings back to the present. Regret and fear are the only things I feel now, the guilt hitting in waves at the sa pace as my rapid-fire heartbeat.
I’m slow to respond to the appearance of Emma, giving the empress much ti to soak in my many reactions.
“W-Why is she here?” I ask stupidly. I already know why. But I need this woman to confirm it.
Katya smiles down at , her pearly white winking at in the afternoon sunlight filtering in.
Her words sound compassionate and concerned as she becos judge, jury, and executioner of Emma’s fate. “Instead of being a proper playmate and accompanying you with dolls, this maid has incited her mistress to engage in unladylike habits. She encouraged her mistress to sell her clothes like a common wastrel and sneak out to et n at odd hours. She extorts her mistress for spare change. Such a maid is not fit to remain by her mistress’ side.”
“Wait, that’s not-” I interrupt loudly, appalled by this charges the empress is tacking onto my poor friend. Her accusation is the equivalent of pointing at black and calling it white. And how did she know about us selling the extra dresses she sent? Does she know what I used the money from it for?
After thinking that, I want to hit myself. Emma’s head is on the chopping block and I’m worried about my own welfare? When did I beco this selfish?
“You didn’t know?” the empress throws a fake pitying look at , that if I wasn’t wise to her nature from the webnovel, I would’ve been fooled by. “Oh, you didn’t know dear Winter? That is even worse. Kora, bring the evidence.”
One of the Empress’ close personal maids that was frequently ntioned in the story as an emotionless enforcer with secret combat skills walks near, holding a familiar silk pouch. It’s the bag of money I first gave to Emma, now stuffed to the brim with the latest additions.
“No, no!” I quickly clarify, “I gave all that money to her. She didn’t steal anything. And everything you’ve said, I ordered her to do it!”
My speech is hurried and rushed, the tense situation getting to . But the empress has a knowing glint in her eye at my last sentence.
She sighs sadly, her lush lashes gazing at the ground as her eyes grow sorrowful. “How awful, for this maid to extort her own mistress like this. Extortion is theft in a prettier package. Such a young girl, without the guidance of a mother for so long, of course, you would fall under the spell of such a deceitful wench.”
“She’s my friend!” I valiantly yell, standing up from the chair as my terror is briefly forgotten. But my fear returns in full force when Katya looks at , an undiscernible emotion in her forest-green eyes. Emma, who was forced on her knees by the two maids, shoots a grateful look. But she never yells or screams, her face back to the typical, cold mask she wears. One would think I was the one forced to kneel on the floor before the female sovereign of the Erudian Empire.
“Friend?” Katya asks, the first hint of malevolence slipping into her voice. “The people who serve you are not your friends. Those who do not co from the sa birth are not qualified to sit on the sa level as you.”
I roll my eyes as I kick my toe on the soft, fur carpet. The stepmother of mine never misses the chance to subtly drag with every sentence.
“Remind , Linette. What is the punishnt for thieves?”
“Your majesty, for their first offense thieves lose one hand. For the second, both hands go. And for the third,” my eyes narrow as I unmistakably hear the glee in the personal maid’s voice, “death.”
Katya tsks gently, looking down at Emma as if she were a bug under her foot.
“Begin. Step by step. Punish her for each offense.”
“You can’t do this!” I yell frantically, running around the sofa to reach Emma. But the maids who went to guard the door move quicker than my small self, blocking my path so I can only see Emma between the tight gap between their black skirt.
“Emma!” I yell, my voice cracking.
This is clearly illegal and wrong. But every one of Katya’s lackeys watches on indifferently as a thin, wooden bench that I’ve never seen is brought in. It is carried by two courtiers with pins from Sunrise Palace and one of them has a short, sheathed weapon on his side.
The bench is laid out right in front of my bed. If I were seated upon it, it would be like watching a TV show. Carrying out the brutal punishnt inside my room as if this is a jail cell or the dungeon, the empress is clearly trying to scar for life.
I struggle harder against the maids, but I’m just a child against two adults. With this pinky fingers, they could stop from moving. The hands are not so gentle as the push back, further away from Emma.
“Don’t do this! Stop! You can’t!” My pipsqueak voice is almost incoherent as I helplessly watch the n drag Emma to the bench. She isn’t fighting anymore, resigned to her fate. They will cut off each hand, before killing her. And she is just a child! This is wrong, just morally unacceptable!
The taller man pushes Emma down on her knees, the other spreading her hand out flat on top of the bench. I notice many cuts and grooves on the bench, it has clearly been well used in the past.
“No! Emma, run! Emma, I’m sorry! J-Just go! It’s all my fault anyway,” I cry out, fat tears running down my face and clogging my voice. I don’t understand how she can just sit there and wait patiently for her fate. She is strong and fast for her age, if she tried, maybe she could escape. But then where would she go?
My brief hope goes crashing to the ground once more. Better than , Emma understands there is nothing else she can do. The empress also watches patiently, having settled down in a seat to watch the show. Dark, horrible hatred, the kind that snatches your breath away, fills my heart. I narrow my eyes at the blonde woman and want to do sothing terrible to her. Hurt her the way she is about to hurt .
I can’t do anything though. I’ve lost this round. As the courtier unsheaths the weapon and raises it high over his head, I wish more than anything for a hero to swoop in and stop him. For an arrow to soar through the open window and pierce the courtier’s wrist before it falls.
I’m a tenacious kid, at heart. Born into poor circumstances, my whole life, I’ve never been a quitter, attacking all my obstacles with a sassy attitude and vigor. How else would a scholarship kid like end up at a prestigious university? When I first landed in this world, even though I was afraid, a tiny part of always believed I would be able to turn around my circumstances. That I would sohow stop the empress and gain a decent life in this world.
But I can’t win. So I won’t.
“Don’t hurt her!” I let out, my voice weak and shaky.
I look towards the empress, my watery eyes still able to see the faint, Mona Lisa smile she wears often. She looks more suited to attend the opera rather than watch a child maid get murdered. The swing of silver through the air pauses as if sensing the change in as well. The heavyset courtier looks at the empress inquisitively as I throw down my last and only card.
“Hurt . Please.”
Reviews
All reviews (0)