WTSP - 12

“Laquel, Eilian. I’m sorry for keeping you waiting.”

With the most Ophelia-like smile I could muster, I slowly entered the drawing room.

My heart raced uncontrollably, but I didn’t want to reveal my raw emotions so openly.

The beige-walled drawing room wasn’t as opulent as the empress’s quarters, but it had a modest charm of its own.

At the central tea table, two men drinking tea turned their heads to look at me.

Even someone unfamiliar with the Meredith family would immediately recognize that they were brothers.

Their snow-white hair, as pristine as winter frost, was a hallmark trait of the Meredith lineage.

“Being late is something a lady should avoid, Your Imperial Highness.”

“Oh, come on, Brother. Do we really need to be so formal? We’re among family.”

Laquel Meredith, Ophelia’s eldest brother and the heir to the barony, had undergone rigorous training from a young age to prepare for his role.

His long hair, tied back in a single braid, cascaded past his shoulders, and he always wore a monocle due to poor vision in one eye.

As Laquel smoothed the golden chain connected to his monocle, he set down his teacup and fixed his gaze on me.

“That is for Her Imperial Highness to decide, Eilian.”

“If you’d prefer, treat me as you used to. I’m still your younger sister, after all.”

“Very well.”

Laquel maintained the upright demeanor expected of a noble heir, never allowing himself to appear disheveled or imperfect. He pursued excellence in everything he did.

Though many noblewomen admired his refined and sharp features, Laquel remained steadfastly unswayed by personal emotions.

Even though he loved someone deeply, he had agreed to marry the daughter of a count—a woman he had never even met.

His strict separation of duty and emotion left even Lord Meredith shaking his head in disbelief.

How could he forsake the woman he loved for the sake of the family name?

Reflecting on these newly acquired memories, I offered a quiet smile.

“Ophelia, I heard from the royal physician that you were diagnosed with amnesia. Are you feeling better now?”

“My memories have been returning little by little over the past few days. I remember almost everything now. I’m sorry for worrying you both—and Father.”

“After hearing from Father, I wanted to rush here immediately but couldn’t. I apologize.”

Thankfully, her memories returned just in time.

Relieved, Eilian broke into a grin. Laquel, however, remained stoic.

“For our family to produce an empress… How is His Majesty? Have you seen him since the coronation?”

“Hmm… As rumored. Cold, merciless, and breathtakingly beautiful.”

“A man with such looks can afford to be a little aloof. If I were in his position, I’d spend every day flirting with the empresses.”

“Eilian. Watch your tongue.”

Laquel shot his younger brother a sharp glare.

But Eilian paid no heed, munching on a raspberry cookie while resting his chin on the table.

A free spirit through and through.

“How is your artistic work coming along, Eilian?”

“What kind of art? Oh, lately, I’ve been obsessed with music. I recently bought a harp, but it’s too big and heavy to carry around—it’s such a shame.”

“To squander the family fortune so recklessly without a hint of remorse…”

“It’s not like it’s going to waste. It’ll all become yours eventually anyway. Think of it as me using it ahead of time.”

Eilian shrugged nonchalantly, unabashed.

Their bickering patterns hadn’t changed since childhood.

From what I recalled of Ophelia’s memories, they clashed over the same issues repeatedly. Laquel’s fastidious nature made him critical of Eilian’s carefree lifestyle.

“It’s fortunate Eilian is so free-spirited. If he had ambitions for power, it might have torn the family apart.”

Sibling rivalry over inheritance was common among noble families. In extreme cases, brothers even drew swords against each other.

But the Merediths were far removed from such conflicts.

Eilian, the second son, picked up a brush instead of a pen as soon as he learned to read. “I’ll become an amazing artist!” he declared, smearing paint across canvases.

Of course, Ophelia was never part of that world.

She was raised like a delicate flower in a greenhouse—this was who Ophelia Meredith was.

The option to inherit the family legacy was never given to her.

Her story no longer felt like someone else’s. After all, I had become her.

A faint headache settled over my brow.

“But what brings both of you to the palace? Did Father send you?”

“Is it strange for older brothers to visit their youngest sister, now an empress? We simply came to check on you.”

“Speaking of which, are the empress or the first empress giving you trouble? I briefly crossed paths with the first empress earlier—she didn’t seem pleasant at all.”

“Eilian! Do you have any idea how much trouble a single careless word can cause?”

Eilian appeared completely unfazed by Uriel’s prestigious background.

All that mattered to him was art and inspiration.

His impulsive decision to dive into the freezing sea one winter because he lacked inspiration was vividly etched in Ophelia’s memory.

“And Ophelia, you must tread carefully in the palace. On the day of your coronation, you acted so unlike yourself. You can’t imagine how shocked Father and I were upon hearing about it.”

“Ah, but a scandalous anecdote or two is necessary to make a splash in high society. Besides, it ensures you stay memorable in His Majesty’s mind.”

“Eilian, you truly are…”

“Both of you, please stop fighting…”

I swallowed a sigh and pressed my fingers to my temple. Though only ten minutes had passed since leaving Pompoo behind, I already missed him.

I’d deliberately left him behind, fearing my brothers might react poorly to seeing him.

Watching two grown men bicker like children drained me, exacerbating my headache.

“By the way, Ophelia, you seem different since entering the palace. Could it be… you’ve fallen in love?”

Eilian’s question, sharp and perceptive, caught me off guard. I realized I had been acting less like Ophelia and more like Yeon-hee.

Having spent the most time with her, they were quick to notice the change in their sibling.

Perhaps it was natural. I blinked slowly and offered a faint smile.

“During my maiden years, I rarely left the estate. Now, I live in a different space and meet a wider variety of people…”

“You must remain cautious in your actions, Ophelia. Father seems concerned about your behavior.”

“Why is that?”

“He mentioned you’ve become less demure than before. I share his sentiments. Try to limit leaving the empress’s quarters, especially interacting with men other than His Majesty—it won’t help your reputation.”

“Brother, this isn’t the Rainhardt Empire era. Why are you talking like some old-fashioned relic?”

Eilian frowned, exasperated.

It seemed expressions of frustration transcended worlds—I almost retorted, “What century do you think this is?” 

Unperturbed by his younger brother’s pointed glare, Laquel sipped his tea.

“So Lord Meredith said that, did he?”

I began piecing together fragments of Ophelia’s memories, one shard at a time.

Due to her frail health, Ophelia had spent most of her life confined to the estate. To her father and brothers, she was a sweet, pure, and sheltered girl—like a fragile flower.

The youngest daughter of the Meredith family never rebelled against her elders. She always responded softly with a gentle smile, saying, “I’ll do as you say.”

Reflecting on Ophelia’s memories, I found her behavior frustratingly passive. Even when she yearned to attend social gatherings, she merely endured silently, gazing out the window.

Aside from her chronic frailty, which worried those around her, she had grown up without causing her family any grief.

When informed she was chosen as an empress candidate, Ophelia accepted her fate quietly, perhaps seeing it as repayment for the love and care she had received from her father and brothers.

Above all, she harbored immense guilt over her mother’s death during childbirth.

“It’s my fault Mother passed away.” Young Ophelia shed silent tears every night, blaming herself.

Lord Meredith and her brothers never instilled this guilt in her. On the contrary, they doted on their youngest daughter, raising her with love and care.

“Father still wishes for me to grow like a flower.”

“What? No, wait—what did you say?”

“Do you wish for me to sit indoors, nourished solely by a man’s love? To grow beautiful and delicate, untouched by harm?”

“Ophelia. Your words seem unusually sharp today.”

Laquel’s face darkened with displeasure. Perhaps my factual statement came across as sarcasm.

Pouring tea into my cup, I lowered my gaze, lost in thought.

Though Lord Meredith was undoubtedly a loving father, his affection had inadvertently stifled Ophelia.

“He locked his youngest daughter, full of potential, inside a well.”

You are fragile, weak, and delicate. Therefore, you mustn’t step foot into the dangerous world outside. You are the beautiful flower of the Meredith family, Ophelia.

For over twenty years, the owner of this body had been fed these words repeatedly.

Someone came to mind, and I swallowed a bitter smile.

Unaccustomed to my sudden change in demeanor, my brothers stared at me intently.

“Are you alright, Ophelia? You look pale.”

“My head has been hurting a little since earlier. I think I might have a headache.”

“It seems you’ve stayed in the palace too long. Let’s return to the baronial estate.”

“Already? Then I’ll see you both soon. Laquel, Eilian.”

“I’ll miss you, Ophelia. Next time, I’ll bring my harp—I want to play something for you.”

That massive instrument?

Eilian’s cheerful laughter faded as Laquel forcibly dragged him out of sight.

Alone in the drawing room, I rubbed my throbbing forehead.

I had assumed she was simply a well-raised maiden, but perhaps she had suffered silently for years.

To no one in particular, I muttered under my breath:

“Your life wasn’t as smooth as it seemed.”