"Promise me you won't send Noah to war. Then I will obey Your Majesty's orders and become a capable Princess who will never disappoint Your Majesty's expectations."
I bowed politely, as if making a request to her. The Queen, seeing me leaning forward, pushed to the edge of the cliff and let out a faint laugh.
"Capable Princess. Yes, I understand. I'm not the kind of mother who would divorce you right away. There were circumstances, so I can't help it. I'll give you ample time to sort things out."
"Yes."
“I believe that in the meantime, you will not take the thoughtless action of having a child.”
“I will keep that in mind.”
The Queen's diamond earrings sparkled and swayed. Her cold green eyes softened as she looked at me.
“For you, Diana.”
Those words felt somehow sad. Why was it for my own good when I didn't want it? My eyes burned, and my nose stung with injustice. I wanted to sob, but I didn't. A complex expression crossed the Queen's face as she watched me, who outwardly maintained a calm demeanor. I pondered what it meant. Was it a yearning for a child who was lacking, or was she truly pitiful and sorry for me?
Suddenly, something flashed through my mind like a faint afterimage. Why did it remind me of Janet's sorrowful expression? As silence seeped into the gap between the interrupted conversation, I realized something and smiled gently at the Queen. "Yes, you feel the same way. I have something precious to me. Perhaps we share the same sentiments."
I had no time to grieve. No time to be melancholic or sentimental like the tragic heroine. I had to adapt quickly and handle things without a hitch. Just as throwing a stone into a calm sea doesn't cause waves, I believed that Noah and I'd remain unwavering, no matter what. Even as we gazed at the calm sea, we knew that the constant wind would naturally push us into waves. We promised each other that we would hold each other's hands tightly, never to be swept away by the sea of loneliness, until the storm subsided and calm returned.
A true Princess named "Diana Spencer Grace," kidnapped at birth, suffered a tragic childhood, and dramatically returned. She was rescued by the brave knight, Count Noah Rotsilt, who abandoned his country. I was the protagonist of this romance novel-like story. The two married, but the story didn't end there, and their marriage ultimately came to the brink of collapse.
Who said that the real crisis and conflict between men and women occurs after marriage?
Some envied me for becoming a Princess overnight after the official announcement, while others pitied my unfortunate past. The fact that I might not be able to maintain my marriage with the knight who risked his life to save me also drew sympathy from many. It seems they're holding off on an immediate divorce due to public opinion. Yes, that's not the point. I tried my best to remain positive. I discarded all negative thoughts, fantasies, distracting thoughts, and worries. The best I could do was to endure, smiling and pretending nothing was wrong, with the sole intention of waiting for the war to end, grabbing Noah's hand, and running away.
"The outfit is an elegant Art Deco-style women's suit. A round-collar tunic dress with a tie, a jacket made of the same fabric as the tunic, and this belt..."
“Let’s do that.”
The costume designer, who had been explaining the outfits she'd put on the model, bowed, embarrassed, at my monotonous response. I sat listlessly on the sofa, being dressed by the palace maids. Clearing my head, everything felt meaningless and tiresome. Why should I be so concerned on this unsettling day, when I was about to hear Erita's death sentence? The costume designer, who had been observing my dry reaction, clapped her hands with a solemn expression. The maids moved in unison, quickly putting away the existing clothes, and a slender woman dressed in a different outfit walked in.
"I'm afraid you didn't like it, so I've prepared another design. It's in soft, bright pastel tones. You can layer a lace overcoat over the underdress to create a contrasting color effect."
No, what did you mean by that? It's so overly invasive and meticulously annoying. I feel like I've met a VVIP personal shopper at a department store. I furrowed my brow slightly, and he tried to launch another runway, so I quickly waved him off.
“Let’s do what you showed us first.”
Beyond accessories, shoes, hats, and even hair styling, they react sensitively to even a slight change in facial expression, and they overuse questions like, "Don't you like it?" and "Can I show you a different design?" It's exhausting. Even when I go to see clothes, the friendly staff who follow me around like a close-up reporter are excellent, but for an introvert like me, it's burdensome. One of the beautiful maids in charge of the Queen's and my wardrobe raised her voice as she meticulously examined my overall appearance.
"I'd recommend a slightly smaller pair of earrings. Since you don't like makeup, something simple would be better."
The maids, being well-educated nobles, didn't do any menial tasks. They were there to make sure my attire was perfect, whether my hair was styled properly or not, and to give me final advice, or to scold the maids and servants on my behalf. It's said that they sometimes clashed with the royal designer. Their pursuit of perfection drove me crazy, but I forced a smile. Otherwise, I'd have to change my accessories and hairstyle to match the outfit, like a game of dress-up. One of the maids entered and bowed politely to me.
"It's time to go to the Supreme Court. And Count Rotsilt has arrived."
“Please tell him to wait in the reception room.”
It was a very welcome sound. I shook off the countless hands reaching out to tie up my short hair, which I hadn't even touched, and stood up.
"I'm most happy with how I look now, so I'll leave now. Thank you all."
“It is an honor, Princess.”
The maids, maids-in-waiting, and the wardrobe clerk all bowed simultaneously. This kind of treatment from a superior was burdensome and uncomfortable. I quickly walked to the reception room and saw Noah sitting on the sofa, drinking tea.
“Hello, Princess.”
“Noah, it’s been three days.”
I didn't see him for three days after that day. The time without my soulmate, the man I'd been so close to every day, felt utterly empty and like an eternity. Perhaps it was just me who was impatient, but Noah, dressed in a neatly tailored suit, reacted lukewarmly.
“I came to pick you up.”
“As a knight, or as a husband?”
Only then did Noah give a fox-like smile to my questioning gaze.
“I came to pick you up, honey. I missed you.”
He took my hand and linked it with his. Relieved by the fact that his demeanor hadn't changed much, I smiled nonchalantly.
We boarded a white state car with a royal flag on its hood. Knights, royal guards, and ceremonial bodyguards escorted us from front to back. Through the car windows, I saw people raising their skirts in salute, removing their hats, and bowing their heads.
Was that directed at me or the royal flag on the vehicle? I chuckled to myself, thinking nonsensically.
Esmeralda, who had raised all sorts of suspicions since the official announcement that I was the true Princess, was nowhere to be seen in the courtroom. She seemed to have been slapped around by her father, Count Harrison, and was holed up somewhere. There were far more people gathered than before. Many reporters were seen with cameras and notebooks. They kept snapping pictures of me affectionately holding hands with the Queen. Was this why the maids, costume designers, and maids of honor were working so hard to make me look perfect? Apparently, royalty has no right to their portraits.
Erita, now a national sinner, looked even more haggard and emaciated. But her blue eyes, glancing at me, still burned with hatred. Everything never been hers to begin with—not the man she loved, not her status as a Princess, not her mother—but everything had been taken from her. Those were her naive, foolish eyes. If she'd shown even a hint of belated remorse and repentance, I might have offered her a little mercy.
But she remained consistent to the end. She showed no remorse, and despite her death sentence, she displayed an air of arrogance, almost arrogance. Whether it was the pride of a lifelong Princess or the resentment of a persecution complex, I can't tell. She raised her head, staring at the high ceiling, then slowly turned her eyes to the audience. Her irises, once gleaming, darkened to a deep blue, her pupils seemingly dilated.
“Finally, I have one thing to tell you.”
It was Erita's calm voice, as if she had put everything aside. She, wearing a rope, turned completely toward me and looked at me, sitting hand in hand with the Queen. Noah, sitting next to me, joined me.
“It’s the story of Noah Rotsilt, who married Princess Diana, who turned out to be the real Princess.”
When the judge raised a hand and ordered them to restrain her, the guards rushed in and grabbed Erita. She shook like a limp piece of paper, but her gaze remained fixed on me until the very end.
“You said you could understand your husband to the end.”
"Yes."
I answered. A few shouts from the audience, demanding that we pay our respects to the Princess, rang out, and the surroundings fell silent. Erita spoke to me in a hoarse voice.
"That man will go down in history as a war criminal officer who participated in the massacre. He came from a war criminal nation."
“Those are not the words of someone who will go down in history as a brutal murderer and a fake Princess.”
When I responded calmly, Erita sneered. Her sharp eyes soon turned to me, as if rejecting me. Erita's low, usually agitated tone made me feel a pang of discomfort in my stomach.
"Does that mean the past will disappear? Do you think Frogen's unforgivable sin ended with his invasion of Eiland and the massacre of the Esat people?"
I stared at Erita without answering. It felt like she was forcing an uncomfortable truth I didn't want to know into my eyes.
She continued speaking, smiling despite my silence.
"That man, he pretends to be perfect and clean on the outside, but he has a deviant mindset that kills anyone he doesn't like even a little bit. Why am I the only one being treated like a criminal?"
I didn't want to think about it anymore. I felt like running away, almost like avoiding something. The reporters, who had pulled out their notebooks and pens, paused, their hands still, glancing at the Queen and me.
"So?"
"Can you be sure your husband wasn't involved in the massacre committed by Frogen? That man killed even more people. He murdered and horribly massacred innocent soldiers of his own country."
Erita's final, desperate struggles seemed to resonate and shake my mind. He, having fought in previous wars, was now reminded of the possibility that he, too, had participated in inhumane massacres. Someone living in an age where killing and killing are the norm, where life is so disregarded, would say, "Well, it's still killing people." Was it truly honorable to destroy another nation with superior war prowess, kill countless people, and receive medals, status, and respect?
I bowed politely, as if making a request to her. The Queen, seeing me leaning forward, pushed to the edge of the cliff and let out a faint laugh.
"Capable Princess. Yes, I understand. I'm not the kind of mother who would divorce you right away. There were circumstances, so I can't help it. I'll give you ample time to sort things out."
"Yes."
“I believe that in the meantime, you will not take the thoughtless action of having a child.”
“I will keep that in mind.”
The Queen's diamond earrings sparkled and swayed. Her cold green eyes softened as she looked at me.
“For you, Diana.”
Those words felt somehow sad. Why was it for my own good when I didn't want it? My eyes burned, and my nose stung with injustice. I wanted to sob, but I didn't. A complex expression crossed the Queen's face as she watched me, who outwardly maintained a calm demeanor. I pondered what it meant. Was it a yearning for a child who was lacking, or was she truly pitiful and sorry for me?
Suddenly, something flashed through my mind like a faint afterimage. Why did it remind me of Janet's sorrowful expression? As silence seeped into the gap between the interrupted conversation, I realized something and smiled gently at the Queen. "Yes, you feel the same way. I have something precious to me. Perhaps we share the same sentiments."
I had no time to grieve. No time to be melancholic or sentimental like the tragic heroine. I had to adapt quickly and handle things without a hitch. Just as throwing a stone into a calm sea doesn't cause waves, I believed that Noah and I'd remain unwavering, no matter what. Even as we gazed at the calm sea, we knew that the constant wind would naturally push us into waves. We promised each other that we would hold each other's hands tightly, never to be swept away by the sea of loneliness, until the storm subsided and calm returned.
***
A true Princess named "Diana Spencer Grace," kidnapped at birth, suffered a tragic childhood, and dramatically returned. She was rescued by the brave knight, Count Noah Rotsilt, who abandoned his country. I was the protagonist of this romance novel-like story. The two married, but the story didn't end there, and their marriage ultimately came to the brink of collapse.
Who said that the real crisis and conflict between men and women occurs after marriage?
Some envied me for becoming a Princess overnight after the official announcement, while others pitied my unfortunate past. The fact that I might not be able to maintain my marriage with the knight who risked his life to save me also drew sympathy from many. It seems they're holding off on an immediate divorce due to public opinion. Yes, that's not the point. I tried my best to remain positive. I discarded all negative thoughts, fantasies, distracting thoughts, and worries. The best I could do was to endure, smiling and pretending nothing was wrong, with the sole intention of waiting for the war to end, grabbing Noah's hand, and running away.
"The outfit is an elegant Art Deco-style women's suit. A round-collar tunic dress with a tie, a jacket made of the same fabric as the tunic, and this belt..."
“Let’s do that.”
The costume designer, who had been explaining the outfits she'd put on the model, bowed, embarrassed, at my monotonous response. I sat listlessly on the sofa, being dressed by the palace maids. Clearing my head, everything felt meaningless and tiresome. Why should I be so concerned on this unsettling day, when I was about to hear Erita's death sentence? The costume designer, who had been observing my dry reaction, clapped her hands with a solemn expression. The maids moved in unison, quickly putting away the existing clothes, and a slender woman dressed in a different outfit walked in.
"I'm afraid you didn't like it, so I've prepared another design. It's in soft, bright pastel tones. You can layer a lace overcoat over the underdress to create a contrasting color effect."
No, what did you mean by that? It's so overly invasive and meticulously annoying. I feel like I've met a VVIP personal shopper at a department store. I furrowed my brow slightly, and he tried to launch another runway, so I quickly waved him off.
“Let’s do what you showed us first.”
Beyond accessories, shoes, hats, and even hair styling, they react sensitively to even a slight change in facial expression, and they overuse questions like, "Don't you like it?" and "Can I show you a different design?" It's exhausting. Even when I go to see clothes, the friendly staff who follow me around like a close-up reporter are excellent, but for an introvert like me, it's burdensome. One of the beautiful maids in charge of the Queen's and my wardrobe raised her voice as she meticulously examined my overall appearance.
"I'd recommend a slightly smaller pair of earrings. Since you don't like makeup, something simple would be better."
The maids, being well-educated nobles, didn't do any menial tasks. They were there to make sure my attire was perfect, whether my hair was styled properly or not, and to give me final advice, or to scold the maids and servants on my behalf. It's said that they sometimes clashed with the royal designer. Their pursuit of perfection drove me crazy, but I forced a smile. Otherwise, I'd have to change my accessories and hairstyle to match the outfit, like a game of dress-up. One of the maids entered and bowed politely to me.
"It's time to go to the Supreme Court. And Count Rotsilt has arrived."
“Please tell him to wait in the reception room.”
It was a very welcome sound. I shook off the countless hands reaching out to tie up my short hair, which I hadn't even touched, and stood up.
"I'm most happy with how I look now, so I'll leave now. Thank you all."
“It is an honor, Princess.”
The maids, maids-in-waiting, and the wardrobe clerk all bowed simultaneously. This kind of treatment from a superior was burdensome and uncomfortable. I quickly walked to the reception room and saw Noah sitting on the sofa, drinking tea.
“Hello, Princess.”
“Noah, it’s been three days.”
I didn't see him for three days after that day. The time without my soulmate, the man I'd been so close to every day, felt utterly empty and like an eternity. Perhaps it was just me who was impatient, but Noah, dressed in a neatly tailored suit, reacted lukewarmly.
“I came to pick you up.”
“As a knight, or as a husband?”
Only then did Noah give a fox-like smile to my questioning gaze.
“I came to pick you up, honey. I missed you.”
He took my hand and linked it with his. Relieved by the fact that his demeanor hadn't changed much, I smiled nonchalantly.
We boarded a white state car with a royal flag on its hood. Knights, royal guards, and ceremonial bodyguards escorted us from front to back. Through the car windows, I saw people raising their skirts in salute, removing their hats, and bowing their heads.
Was that directed at me or the royal flag on the vehicle? I chuckled to myself, thinking nonsensically.
***
Esmeralda, who had raised all sorts of suspicions since the official announcement that I was the true Princess, was nowhere to be seen in the courtroom. She seemed to have been slapped around by her father, Count Harrison, and was holed up somewhere. There were far more people gathered than before. Many reporters were seen with cameras and notebooks. They kept snapping pictures of me affectionately holding hands with the Queen. Was this why the maids, costume designers, and maids of honor were working so hard to make me look perfect? Apparently, royalty has no right to their portraits.
Erita, now a national sinner, looked even more haggard and emaciated. But her blue eyes, glancing at me, still burned with hatred. Everything never been hers to begin with—not the man she loved, not her status as a Princess, not her mother—but everything had been taken from her. Those were her naive, foolish eyes. If she'd shown even a hint of belated remorse and repentance, I might have offered her a little mercy.
But she remained consistent to the end. She showed no remorse, and despite her death sentence, she displayed an air of arrogance, almost arrogance. Whether it was the pride of a lifelong Princess or the resentment of a persecution complex, I can't tell. She raised her head, staring at the high ceiling, then slowly turned her eyes to the audience. Her irises, once gleaming, darkened to a deep blue, her pupils seemingly dilated.
“Finally, I have one thing to tell you.”
It was Erita's calm voice, as if she had put everything aside. She, wearing a rope, turned completely toward me and looked at me, sitting hand in hand with the Queen. Noah, sitting next to me, joined me.
“It’s the story of Noah Rotsilt, who married Princess Diana, who turned out to be the real Princess.”
When the judge raised a hand and ordered them to restrain her, the guards rushed in and grabbed Erita. She shook like a limp piece of paper, but her gaze remained fixed on me until the very end.
“You said you could understand your husband to the end.”
"Yes."
I answered. A few shouts from the audience, demanding that we pay our respects to the Princess, rang out, and the surroundings fell silent. Erita spoke to me in a hoarse voice.
"That man will go down in history as a war criminal officer who participated in the massacre. He came from a war criminal nation."
“Those are not the words of someone who will go down in history as a brutal murderer and a fake Princess.”
When I responded calmly, Erita sneered. Her sharp eyes soon turned to me, as if rejecting me. Erita's low, usually agitated tone made me feel a pang of discomfort in my stomach.
"Does that mean the past will disappear? Do you think Frogen's unforgivable sin ended with his invasion of Eiland and the massacre of the Esat people?"
I stared at Erita without answering. It felt like she was forcing an uncomfortable truth I didn't want to know into my eyes.
She continued speaking, smiling despite my silence.
"That man, he pretends to be perfect and clean on the outside, but he has a deviant mindset that kills anyone he doesn't like even a little bit. Why am I the only one being treated like a criminal?"
I didn't want to think about it anymore. I felt like running away, almost like avoiding something. The reporters, who had pulled out their notebooks and pens, paused, their hands still, glancing at the Queen and me.
"So?"
"Can you be sure your husband wasn't involved in the massacre committed by Frogen? That man killed even more people. He murdered and horribly massacred innocent soldiers of his own country."
Erita's final, desperate struggles seemed to resonate and shake my mind. He, having fought in previous wars, was now reminded of the possibility that he, too, had participated in inhumane massacres. Someone living in an age where killing and killing are the norm, where life is so disregarded, would say, "Well, it's still killing people." Was it truly honorable to destroy another nation with superior war prowess, kill countless people, and receive medals, status, and respect?
Dizziness surged through me, my vision turning white. I already knew the brutal and vicious acts of war criminal nations and the fate they would face. In the history of my world, after a war criminal nation's downfall, the soldiers who committed the crimes were tried and brutally executed according to the principle of rewarding good over punishing evil. Erita, her expression cold, waited for my response, but I couldn't easily answer.
'I understand, I'm just another person, but what about you, his wife?'
Her gaze, visible through my slowly returning vision, seemed to speak volumes. Aside from the fact that this was a solemn occasion, with so many onlookers and listeners, I could never claim to defend or understand him. I knew that executing them was an unforgivable sin, a lesson from history, one that would be remembered forever. Unlike my own pale face, Noah's expression remained undiminished.
As everyone was looking at him, someone raised his right hand and asked to speak.
“I will argue.”
'I understand, I'm just another person, but what about you, his wife?'
Her gaze, visible through my slowly returning vision, seemed to speak volumes. Aside from the fact that this was a solemn occasion, with so many onlookers and listeners, I could never claim to defend or understand him. I knew that executing them was an unforgivable sin, a lesson from history, one that would be remembered forever. Unlike my own pale face, Noah's expression remained undiminished.
As everyone was looking at him, someone raised his right hand and asked to speak.
“I will argue.”
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