Your Majesty, Please Don't Kill Me Again! - Chapter 1

It was a blazing summer day when I met my end.

“Lariette Isabella de Beloit, eldest daughter of the Count of Beloit, is hereby sentenced to death for the following crimes: failing to set an example as a noble, indulging in an extravagant lifestyle, neglecting your duties as the lady of the Beloit estate, embezzling taxes, conspiring with your father, the Count of Beloit, in his treason, and countless other shameful offenses unfit to be spoken aloud.”

Bang! Bang!

The gavel’s cold, merciless sound echoed through the courtroom, leaving me stunned. Every accusation spilling from the judge’s lips was a lie, but the most insulting of all was the first one—extravagance.

Extravagance? Seriously? Does this fool even know what that word means? Extravagance is what his daughter flaunts in her gaudy, absurd dresses!

Even in this corrupt kingdom, with its broken judicial system and sham trials, accusing me of extravagance was absurd. The sheer ridiculousness of it made me want to grab the judge by the collar. But instead, I clenched my fists, trembling with suppressed rage. Maybe he felt the weight of my glare—or maybe it was his own guilt—because he wouldn’t meet my eyes. He stared into the distance, beads of sweat trickling down his temple.
Of course, he knew. Everyone knew. The Beloit family’s frugal lifestyle was no secret.

“Save, save, save! Never waste the hard-earned taxes of Beloit’s people!”

My father’s stern voice still echoed in my ears. Raised under his strict rules, I had no interest in jewel-studded gowns or luxurious silks from faraway lands. At every ball, I endured the whispers—mocking my plain attire, sneering at my lack of fashion. It was humiliating, but I bore it all for the sake of my people.

And now they dared to accuse me of extravagance. When the opening line of my death sentence was so laughably false, I had no reason to listen to the rest. Every word was a lie.

“Lariette Isabella de Beloit, you may present your final defense.”

Perhaps the judge was afraid I’d haunt him as a ghost. Why else would he grant me a chance to speak—a mercy unheard of for a convicted traitor?

“…Defense?”

But I had nothing to say. How could I defend myself against crimes I hadn’t committed?

Even if, by some miracle, I survived this trial, what would it matter? My father, mother, younger brother, and even distant relatives had already been executed. What good would my life be without them?

After my family’s fall, falsely accused of treason, my days had been consumed by tears. Survival would only mean more of the same—crying endlessly, breathing without truly living. The thought drained me of any will to fight.

Instead, I turned toward the Emperor seated at the far end of the courtroom. My death was the result of his baseless rage, yet he showed no satisfaction at my sentence. His calm expression, as if my death were nothing more than a routine matter, filled me with seething anger.

Our eyes met, and for the briefest moment, his lips twitched, a faint trace of emotion breaking through his mask. I didn’t miss it. Smiling coldly, I stared into his soft green eyes—so gentle in appearance, so cruel in nature—and spoke slowly, each word heavy with venom.

“Rot. In. Hell.”

I had no way of knowing that I’d meet him again.