Your Majesty, Please Don't Kill Me Again! - Chapter 2.2

“Father!”

The first to notice my enthusiastic arrival wasn’t my father but his knight, Sir Herman. With a subtle nudge, he directed my father’s attention away from his conversation with another nobleman.

My father turned, his stern expression warning against interrupting important discussions. Ignoring it completely, I ran straight into his arms.

“Lariette, it’s polite to greet your elders first,” he said in his usual firm tone.

“Hello,” I muttered hastily to the other nobleman before peppering my father’s face with kisses.

“Father, Daddy, I missed you so much! Are you feeling well? Are you healthy? You still have those dark circles under your eyes. Maybe it’s time to quit huéa,” I teased between kisses, referring to the fragrant herb he smoked.

“…for good.”

My father’s face betrayed his surprise at my unusually affectionate display—it wasn’t like me at all.

“Are you feeling especially lively because it’s your birthday?” he asked, his stern demeanor softening as he patted my head.
I buried my face in his chest, wiping away a tear. Even the sharp scent of huéa, which I used to detest, now felt oddly comforting.

“Father, please live a long, long life.”
“…The young lady seems very fond of the Count,” said the nobleman, who had been quietly observing our affectionate reunion.

I turned toward him, narrowing my eyes slightly. His face was familiar, though I couldn’t immediately place him.

“Happy birthday, Lady Lariette,” he said with a polite bow. “I am Louis Baden.”

The name struck me like lightning. Louis Baden—the Emperor’s loyal hound. The man who, without explanation, had dragged my father and Rehan to prison.

I clenched my fists but forced a bright smile. Bastard.
“Oh, thank you, Sir Baden.”

His brows knit slightly, and he stroked his chin in thought.
“How did you know I’m a knight?”

A sharp question. This was our first meeting, and he wasn’t armed, so I shouldn’t have known his profession. Mentally scolding myself, I quickly plastered on an innocent expression.
“Because you look so impressive! Impressive people are always knights, aren’t they?”

His lips curved into a faint smile, clearly amused by my childlike flattery.

“You are very charming, young lady.”

“I know,” I replied with mock arrogance, tilting my chin up dramatically.

I glanced at my father, expecting a scolding for my impoliteness. Instead, he was smiling—a rare, softened expression likely lingering from my earlier display of affection.

“Daddy, I’m hungry.”

“Of course, of course. Let’s eat,” he said, gently patting my back before excusing himself from Baden.

But the Emperor’s loyal hound, oblivious as ever, smiled and said, “May I join you, young lady?”

Suppressing a scoff, I recalled the future I knew—his loyalty to the Emperor, his blind obedience, and the ruin he had brought upon my family.

“No, thank you,” I said bluntly.

His expression darkened slightly, but I felt a small spark of satisfaction.

“I want to eat alone with my father,” I added sweetly. “I hope you understand, Sir Baden.”

My father, sensing my discomfort, didn’t press me for an explanation. Instead, he offered a polite farewell to Baden and guided me toward the dining table.

“Father,” I whispered once we were out of earshot.

“Yes, my dear?”

“Please be careful around that man. I don’t like him at all.”
My father, though strict, always valued my observations. He nodded thoughtfully but said nothing more.

The dining table was a feast for the eyes, overflowing with dishes fit for royalty. I hopped up eagerly, marveling at the spread.

“Wow, Marcel really outdid himself today!”

“Marcel?” My father raised an eyebrow.

Ah, right—at this point, Marcel was still just a kitchen assistant. I quickly corrected myself.

“I mean, Head Chef Bernot must have outdone himself! Marcel probably just peeled the potatoes,” I said with a sheepish laugh, biting my tongue at my slip.

As I sat down, I caught sight of a familiar face waving at me from across the room.

“It’s been a while, Lise!”

“Not really,” she said with a smirk, moving to sit beside me. Her curly blue hair shimmered in the light, catching my attention like flowing water.

Lise’s father, Marquis Gorten, was one of my father’s old friends. While not as respected as my father, Gorten had survived the Emperor’s madness through cunning and careful maneuvering. Though I once admired him, I couldn’t forget the day he abandoned my family without hesitation.

Even so, Lise, with her sweet and unassuming nature, was blissfully unaware of her father’s betrayal.

“Why are you holding my hand?” she asked curiously as I clutched her delicate fingers.

“Just because. Have you eaten yet?”

“We couldn’t possibly start without the guest of honor,” she said with a light laugh.

I scanned the table, recognizing most of the noble girls seated around me. Their presence revealed the families still trying to court my father’s favor.

But then, at the far end of the table, I spotted someone unfamiliar—a timid girl huddled in the corner, avoiding everyone’s gaze.

“Excuse me,” I called out gently. “I don’t think we’ve met. What’s your name?”

The girl flinched, her face pale as she stammered, “I… I’m not a noble. Please, speak informally to me!”

Her trembling voice drew sharp whispers from the table.

Marianne, seated nearby, wrinkled her nose in disdain.

“No wonder there’s such a smell. What is a commoner doing at the Countess’s table?”

Cold stares and mocking smiles turned toward the girl. My fists clenched beneath the table.

“Marianne,” I said sharply.

She turned to me, clearly expecting my agreement.
“Yes, Lady Lariette?”

“Did you forget to bathe today?”

“What?” she stammered, her smug expression faltering.

“Your perfume must be masking a lot of sweat. The smell is unbearable,” I continued, wrinkling my nose dramatically. “It’s making me sick.”

Marianne’s face turned crimson, but I wasn’t done.

“I can’t believe you’d come to a party like this. How inconsiderate.”

The other girls giggled nervously as Marianne stood abruptly, her face a mix of anger and humiliation. Without a word, she stormed off, followed by a few of her friends.

“Let’s eat!” I said cheerfully, picking up my fork as if nothing had happened.

The timid girl, still shaken, stared at me with wide eyes, too nervous to touch her food.

“What’s your name again?” I asked gently, offering her a warm smile.

“Tori Pasbender,” the girl stammered, bowing slightly.

Her overly formal tone made me frown.

“You can speak more casually,” I said gently.

Her eyes widened in surprise. As she hesitated, I turned her name over in my mind, trying to recall where I’d heard it before. Pasbender… Pasbender…

“Ah!”

It hit me suddenly. Tori Pasbender.

The name I remembered, however, was Tori Pasbender Belnerum. She was the woman the Emperor had shockingly made Empress against the wishes of the nobility—only to kill her with his own hands the very next day.

Could it really be her?

I studied the girl, uncertain. She looked far too ordinary—plain to the point of being shabby. Her poorly made dress hung loosely on her thin frame, as if it had been thrown on without care. It didn’t even fit properly; she had tied it at the waist with a cheap ribbon to keep it from slipping.

Her demeanor was equally unremarkable, her posture and movements exuding meekness and fear. This girl? An empress?

It seemed impossible, but then again, I had never seen the one-day Empress up close. My only memory of her was from afar, seated next to the Emperor during their triumphal procession through Champaigne on their wedding day.

So, this is what she looked like.

I watched as Tori, looking no older than eight or nine, timidly nibbled on a piece of meat without even chewing. Her platinum blonde hair, though vaguely reminiscent of the Emperor’s, was dull and coarse, tied back in a hasty ponytail. She looked even younger than my twelve-year-old self.