Your Majesty, Please Don't Kill Me Again! - Chapter 2.5

Before I could argue, she dragged me into her dressing room, where her maids began assembling outfits for me. After what felt like a dozen outfit changes, I stood in a corset so tight I could barely breathe.

Riche clapped her hands in delight. “Perfect!”

Gasping, I clutched at my waist. “Riche, this is too tight—”

“It’s fashionable! The palace loves trends.”

“Not breathing is a trend now? What kind of madness is that?”

Ignoring me, Riche called for her carriage. “Let’s go. It’s time to visit the palace.”

I followed cautiously, praying my dress wouldn’t rip. If this is what’s trendy, everyone in the capital must be insane.

Riche dashed into the dressing room, returning moments later dressed similarly to me but with a sleek blue cloche hat that perfectly complemented her ash-blond hair. For me, she selected a matching blue bonnet. While she looked like a fashionable young lady of the capital, I was relegated to wearing something more fitting for a child. I pouted, and Riche smirked knowingly.

“This suits you better. You’re adorable, like a plump little baby.”

Internally, I winced. While physically twelve, my spirit was that of an eighteen-year-old, and I’d always disliked being called “plump” or “adorable.” Even at twelve, the comparison to a baby felt irksome. I twitched slightly, tempted to untie the bonnet, but the tight confines of my dress kept my arms restrained. Riche chuckled at my helplessness and whisked me out of the estate.

The vehicle waiting for us wasn’t a traditional horse-drawn carriage (馬車); it was a magic carriage (魔車). Unlike the conservative southern regions, the capital seemed more accepting of modern innovations like this new form of transportation, developed by Willettan’s Magician’s Tower.

Curious, I tapped the smooth copper exterior. It resembled the carriages I knew but lacked horses, instead sporting a large pouch-like contraption at the front. My expression must have betrayed my unease because Riche nudged me forward.

“Stop gawking like a country bumpkin. Just get in.”

“How does it move without horses?” I asked hesitantly.

“There’s a frao inside the pouch,” Riche replied casually.

Confused, I tilted my head. “A live one? Hopping around in there?”

The idea of tiny, croaking fraos from ponds replacing horses seemed absurd.

Riche burst out laughing. “Of course not! It’s not alive. Fraos are magically incinerated in increments, and their energy powers the carriage.”

“Why fraos, though?” I asked, bewildered.

“The late emperor brought fraos as exotic pets from abroad, and they became trendy. Now the capital’s practically overrun with them.”

With a shrug, Riche stepped on a small pedal protruding from the floor. As she maneuvered a lever resembling a ship’s helm, the carriage smoothly sprang into motion. I was too mesmerized by the novelty to dwell on the fact that we were heading to the imperial palace.

“If you keep gawking like that, they’ll never hire you as a handmaiden,” Riche teased.

“I’m from Belua,” I retorted proudly.

Riche clicked her tongue, but I remained confident. Before Rupert’s ascension, the imperial family had always treated Belua with respect and courtesy, eager to court our favor.

As the palace loomed into view, Riche parked the creaking carriage discreetly in a shaded alley and carefully pushed it further out of sight.

“Why are we stopping here?” I asked, puzzled.

“Minor nobles like us can’t use the main gates of the Red Palace. I’ve already informed the chamberlain; he’ll meet you here.”

“What about you?”

“I have an appointment with Princess Nigel,” Riche replied, taking a small mirror from her bag to check her reflection. After ensuring she looked perfect, she fussed with my dress, brushing off imaginary lint and tidying loose threads.

Embarrassed to be doted on like a child, I tried to step away.
“It’s fine. Don’t bother.”

Ignoring me, she carefully plucked at stray threads. The morning sunlight illuminated her pale complexion, though her expression betrayed a hint of worry.

“You’re so impatient sometimes. Be careful.”

“Do you think I’m a child?” I protested.

“You are. And so am I. But you’re even more of one,” she quipped.

Her words were logical; to her, I was still just a child. While I found her sisterly demeanor endearing, acknowledging it would only draw more questions about my sudden maturity.

I followed Riche briskly as she made her way to a small side gate near the palace’s main entrance. As promised, a composed, middle-aged man awaited us. He scanned me briefly before accepting Riche’s letter of recommendation and skimming its contents.

“Lady Beatrice, Princess Nigel is expecting you. You may enter.”
“All right. See you later, Lariat,” Riche said, waving lightly before disappearing beyond the crimson gates.

“Thank you,” I replied softly.

Turning back to face the Red Palace, its blood-red walls loomed ominously, like a silent monument to the countless lives lost within—and those yet to be claimed.

“Are you Lariat Isabel de Belua, the eldest daughter of Count Belua?” the chamberlain asked.

“Yes, that’s correct.”

“Lady Beatrice’s recommendation carries weight, but this is the imperial palace. We’ll need proof of identity.”

From my bundle, I retrieved my health certificate and the necklace bearing Belua’s crest. In the South, where population records were scarce, these items were essential for proving one’s identity. The intricately crafted fir tree on the necklace was a symbol exclusive to Belua’s direct descendants.

The chamberlain handled the necklace with care, inspecting it closely before returning it with a nod.

“This is indeed the crest of Belua. Please follow me, Lady Belua.”

His stride was measured but brisk. I struggled to keep up without making noise, mindful that I was being evaluated the moment I crossed the palace threshold.

The chamberlain led me to what appeared to be a lounge for attendants. The elegant wooden furniture and gold embellishments suggested it was reserved for high-ranking staff, such as maids-in-waiting, valets, or court officials.

Seated on a plush velvet sofa, he motioned for another attendant to bring tea and gestured for me to sit. I complied, trying to adjust my suffocatingly tight dress for some semblance of comfort.

Noticing my discomfort, the chamberlain asked, “Are you feeling unwell?”

“No, not at all! As you can see from my health certificate, I’m perfectly healthy.”

“I see you once contracted the plague. That means you’re immune now.”

“Yes.”

“Have you ever ingested poison?”

“No.”

“Then kitchen work is out of the question,” he murmured, striking something off his list. “What role are you interested in?”

“Handmaiden. I’d even be fine assisting as a court lady,” I replied.

“No, no. We wouldn’t assign such a role to the daughter of Belua,” he said with a thoughtful expression. After a brief pause, he continued, “Your identity and recommendation are in order, but Princess Nigel already has an abundance of young handmaidens.”

“I’m not applying to serve Princess Nigel,” I clarified.

“Prince Arnulf doesn’t accept handmaidens as young as you.”

“No, I wish to serve Princess Lafert.”

The chamberlain blinked, visibly caught off guard. He rubbed his chin, clearly weighing the implications. It wasn’t every day a noble young lady requested to serve someone as overlooked as Princess Lafert.

“You wish to serve Princess Lafert?” he repeated, his tone laced with incredulity.

“Yes.”

“Well, in that case, there’s no need for further vetting. I’ll escort you immediately,” he declared, standing abruptly.

His casual decision confirmed what I already suspected about Rupert’s precarious position within the royal family. That the princess’s handmaiden selection was so lax—even for someone of my dubious intentions—spoke volumes about their standing.

Smiling faintly, I followed him to Lafert’s annex, a remote outbuilding detached from the Red Palace. The journey was long, and by the time we arrived, I was breathless. Meanwhile, the chamberlain remained composed, not a bead of sweat on his brow.
Halting in front of the annex, he turned to inspect me one last time, brushing away stray dust and adjusting my bonnet.

“The bonnet suits you well. You look like a child,” he said with a pleasant smile that felt more patronizing than kind.

I didn’t bother smiling back.

The annex was larger than the Count’s estate but lacked grandeur. Its simplicity bordered on bleakness, with an air of melancholy hanging over the shadowed halls.

“Is it always this empty?” I asked quietly, my voice echoing in the dim corridor.

“Yes, this is quite a crowd for the morning,” the chamberlain replied.

Isn’t morning supposed to be quieter?

I frowned in confusion, prompting the chamberlain to add a sheepish explanation. “His Highness can be… particular. We prepare extra attendants in the morning, and if he so much as clears his throat, most of the maids are dismissed.”

Just how bad is his temper?