Your Majesty, Please Don't Kill Me Again! - Chapter 2.3

The thought struck me—she must have died as a child. If she married the Emperor when he was eighteen, she couldn’t have lived much longer after.
Her story had always sounded like a tragic fairytale: a commoner plucked from obscurity and crowned Empress, only to die before she could even wear her title properly. When rumors of her death began to circulate, the nobility whispered that she must have committed some terrible crime—perhaps adultery or treason.
These baseless accusations, spread by the central nobles who despised her, soon solidified into accepted truth. The one-day Empress was painted as a villain: a spy from Willetan, a former lover of Prince Arnulf, and a scheming woman who had plotted to assassinate the Emperor himself.
Even I, half-believing the rumors, had thought there must have been some justification for the Emperor’s actions. Surely, he wouldn’t have killed her for no reason. But now, seeing her as she was, I began to doubt.
Was Tori truly guilty of anything?
The Emperor had brought her from obscurity, insisting she be made Empress despite fierce opposition. It must have caused a tremendous rift between him and the central nobility, especially since they regarded commoners as little better than animals.
Even my father had opposed the marriage—not out of disdain for her status, but because her qualifications as Empress were unclear. The Pasbender family, though wealthy merchants at the time, was little known, and Tori herself was a complete mystery. Could she, he had wondered, truly bear the weight of the crown?
We never got to find out. Before she could prove herself as Empress, she was killed by her own husband.

I knew almost nothing about their relationship. My disinterest in court politics meant I’d paid little attention, and the truth was buried under layers of gossip.
Some claimed she was a scheming merchant’s daughter; others, a foreign spy. Some said she had been Prince Arnulf’s lover, while others insisted she was nothing more than a pawn. The only constant in these stories was the Emperor himself—either exploiting her, loving her, or simply disregarding her.
I believed he had used her. The Emperor wasn’t capable of love.
Still, seeing her here as a meek and fragile child unsettled me. Could I change her fate? Perhaps, if I ensured she never met the Emperor, none of this would happen. If he hadn’t made her Empress, my father’s relationship with him might never have deteriorated so badly.
But had they already met?
Her shabby appearance suggested otherwise. The Pasbender family was likely insignificant at this time, perhaps even bankrupt. If she’d already encountered the Emperor—currently Princess Laperte—it would have been an extraordinary coincidence.
Then how had she come to my birthday party?
“Miss Pasbender,” I called softly, breaking her concentration.
“Y-yes?” she replied, startled, her wide green eyes meeting mine.
“How did you come to be here?”
“S-so sorry,” she stammered.
I shook my head. “No need to apologize. I’m simply curious.”
“I’m a maid serving Princess Laperte. Her Highness sent me here on her behalf.”
Her words struck me like a thunderclap. The one-day Empress had already met the Emperor.
“You’re here at Princess Laperte’s request?”
“Yes,” she confirmed, fidgeting nervously.
I fell silent, processing this revelation. Tori seemed to mistake my quiet for displeasure, and she shot to her feet, clearly panicked.
“Forgive me! I shouldn’t have—”
“Wait,” I interrupted, raising a hand. “Please stay and eat. I’m not upset, just… surprised. I didn’t expect such thoughtfulness from Her Highness.”
Reluctantly, Tori sat back down, though her hands trembled as she reached for her utensils.
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I returned my attention to the table, though my mind raced. My twelfth birthday party had been a grand affair, with many notable guests. I hadn’t noticed Tori then, though I now realized she must have been there all along—quiet and overlooked.
Had the Emperor known me even back then?
It didn’t seem possible. Our first real meeting hadn’t occurred until my debutante ball when I was sixteen. I could still remember the dazzling lights of the imperial palace and the way the Emperor, then Crown Prince, had outshone them all.

“Are you alright?” Lise’s voice pulled me from my thoughts. Her worried expression made me smile faintly.

“I’m fine,” I assured her.

But as I picked at the sweet cake on my plate, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was amiss. My mind drifted back to the Emperor, to Tori, and to the strange, twisting threads of fate that had brought us all here.

After Lehan and Father were arrested for treason, the Count’s estate was utterly destroyed in a deliberate arson, leaving only the frame of the building behind. Among the chaos, I managed to save just a handful of belongings—one of which was Lehan’s music box. When I buried him, I placed it alongside him in the cold, unyielding earth.

The memory of Lehan’s frozen, lifeless face sent shivers down my spine. While the deaths of my parents had devastated me, Lehan’s death was an even greater tragedy. I never imagined he would die before me, and I was entirely unprepared to face such a loss.
And yet, simply because he was a man, Lehan was sent to the guillotine before me. I had begged for them to execute me first, but the Emperor seemed to revel in my suffering, ensuring I was the last to die. Watching my family perish one by one while I stood helpless was a nightmare I vowed never to endure again.

Clasping my trembling hands, I took a deep, steadying breath. I can change this. I will change this. I muttered the words like a mantra as I shoved aside the doll-shaped figures tucked under my blankets. Reaching for a hidden compartment in the headboard of my bed, I retrieved a small, worn notebook. This was where I used to keep my diary before Mother found it.

Opening the pink diary adorned with princesses and stars—something my twelve-year-old self had adored—I quickly began writing down my current circumstances. To anyone else, it would look like a child’s fanciful ramblings, too absurd and unbelievable to take seriously. But to me, it was a grim reality I couldn’t escape.

Imperial Year 291, August: Death.
Imperial Year 285, January: Returned. The Emperor recognizes me. Tori Fassbender is currently serving as Princess Lafert’s handmaiden.

The pen wavered slightly as I wrote the word Emperor. Memories of Tori surfaced again. A shabby, pitiable girl would, in a few short years, rise to become Empress—and become the catalyst for Father’s rebellion against the Emperor.

Stopping their meeting was imperative. Ideally, they would never meet at all. But since both were still children, perhaps there was a way to intervene. Nodding resolutely, I circled Tori’s name in my diary.

Imperial Year 287, September: Appointment of Crown Prince.
Imperial Year 289, May: Death of the Previous Emperor.
Imperial Year 289, June: Rupert’s Accession.
Imperial Year 289, September: Palace Fire – Empress’s Death.
Imperial Year 289, November: Execution of Prince Arnulf.
Imperial Year 290, September: Death of Tori Fassbender Velnerum.
Imperial Year 290, October:

Execution of the entire Goncharov family.

Two Capital Defense Commanders killed by the Emperor.

Exile and execution of Archduke Bentibalt, the Emperor’s uncle, and the death of Lord Marvolo, the Emperor’s cousin.

Exile of three noble council members loyal to Rupert—later found dead.

My once-innocent diary, which had been filled with trivial details about sweets and playmates, now cataloged an empire’s descent into bloodshed. Although I softened the wording by using “death,” the events were closer to wholesale slaughter.

After Rupert became Emperor, he initiated a reign of terror, purging as many as thirty nobles. While he was the legitimate heir, his paranoia over losing power to the noble council drove him to brutalize anyone he deemed a threat. The more he suppressed dissent, the stronger resistance grew. To Rupert, all opposition, no matter how small, was treason. Writing these memories out made his insanity even more stark.

March 291, Imperial Calendar: Fall of Belua.

Even in spring, a season that promised life and renewal, Belua fell. Those two syllables weighed so heavily on my heart that it took me nearly ten minutes to write them.

Putting my thoughts on paper brought clarity, though the diary now felt as heavy as the lives lost to the Emperor’s madness. Seeing his actions summarized, it was clear that Rupert was no mere tyrant—he was truly unhinged. He had even executed his own uncle, Archduke Bentibalt, and half-brother, Prince Arnulf. Sparing Princess Nigel, who wasn’t even his biological sister, seemed to be his only mercy—if it could be called that.

I had no illusions about changing Rupert. Innate madness cannot be cured, and I had no intention of dying in a foolish attempt to redeem him. But avoiding him entirely was impossible. If I stayed away, Father would rebel once more, and Belua would face complete annihilation. There was only one course of action left: build a connection with Rupert and mediate between him and Father.

Imperial Year 285, January: Become Princess Lafert’s maid.

To my surprise, it was Mother, not Father, who vehemently opposed my decision to serve as Princess Lafert’s maid. Father and Lehan seemed dissatisfied, but they kept their grievances to themselves in the face of Mother’s fury.