CHAPTER 23: CHAPTER 22. THE OTHER DAUGHTERS

Liselotte’s carriage rolled slowly through the wide stone avenues that led toward the palace, each turn of the wheel sounding heavier than the last, as though the earth itself wished to remind her of the burden pressing down on her shoulders.

The capital is magnificent, its towering spires of marble and gold gleaming under the midday sun, flags fluttering high with the crest of the empire, and the streets lined with curious citizens craning their necks for a glimpse of the future consort.

To the people, she’s a figure of grace and fortune, a woman who would soon walk beside the emperor, yet Liselotte felt none of the glory they saw in her. All she felt was dread, cold and heavy, pooling in her chest and refusing to leave.

It’s not the grandeur of the palace that frightened her, though its sheer size and power could swallow anyone whole; it’s the shadow of the emperor himself. She had never met him, not properly, yet already whispers had reached her ears: whispers of reluctance, of disdain, of an emperor who did not wish her as his empress.

The moment she first heard those words, Liselotte’s heart had sunk, and since then it had never risen again. It was as though she had been thrown into the jaws of a beast with no means of escape, each passing day only tightening the bite around her. The more she tried to steady herself, the more hollow she felt, as though something essential inside her had already begun to crack.

There was a time when she had dreamed of what her life might become as empress. She had imagined herself walking beside the Emperor in the beauty of the palace halls, his hand firm yet reassuring on hers, their bond not only political but intimate, sealed by affection and trust.

Dietrich de Erengrad, the young alpha who led the greatest empire on the continent—how many omegas had whispered about him in hushed voices, their cheeks flushed? How many had envied her when the imperial betrothal was announced? She too had once let herself believe in those tales: the stories of a strong, handsome ruler who could protect his empire and his mate with the same strong resolve.

But the illusion did not survive long within the walls of power. The closer she came to him, the more she saw not strength but reluctance, an emperor weighed down by duty yet unwilling to extend even the smallest piece of his heart to her.

And then, as if to sharpen the wound, Liselotte remembers someone who she met a few moments before: Roxanne de Borgia. The contrast was cruel. Where Dietrich carried his crown with obligation, Roxanne carried her blade with conviction. Where the Emperor sat on a throne surrounded by courtiers and whispers, Roxanne stood at the borderlands, alone, unshaken, commanding respect without the need for ceremony.

She radiated something Liselotte had never seen in the man who will be her husband: a power that does not hide behind ritual and a grace that does not rely on titles. Strong, beautiful, and untouchable, Roxanne is an alpha who chose her battles, who chose her place, and who stood as if she belonged to no one and yet defined everything around her.

And it was not only Roxanne who opened Liselotte’s eyes. She had seen, too, the way the Grand Duke looked at Vivianne when they first met at the Rothschild estate. That gaze, soft but unyielding, tender yet fiercely possessive, had struck Liselotte more deeply than she cared to admit.

It was not the gaze of an alpha indulging her omega out of duty but of a strong alpha that had found its mate. Her hand never left Vivianne’s, her presence wrapped around her like armor, and when Liselotte saw Vivianne’s soft smile beneath that protection, she knew: that was what it meant to be mated. To be accepted not only in title but also in essence, body, and soul.

She had tried to reason with her family. She had pleaded late into the night with her mother, Genevieve, her voice breaking with fear. She had turned to her older brother, who was supposed to be her shield, begging him to see her not as a pawn but as his sister.

Yet no matter how desperately she spoke, her words dissolved like smoke against their ears. Her mother’s eyes shone only with pride and ambition, and her brother’s voice carried the same stubborn certainty: this marriage was her duty and their family’s triumph, and her fears were nothing but childish weakness.

"But what if he doesn’t mark me?" Liselotte had whispered that night, clutching her mother’s sleeve as though it were the only thing tethering her to safety.

The thought of being left unclaimed, of standing forever at the emperor’s side without his bond, will be a terror greater than she could admit. To be the wife in name but not in truth, it’ll be a slow, living death she could not endure.

Her mother’s answer had been calm, almost dismissive, yet sharp enough to cut away what little hope Liselotte had clung to. "We can think about it later. The best thing for now is that you marry the emperor. Once the vows are done, you will be his legitimate mate. No one will question your place, no matter if the emperor chooses another omega."

Genevieve’s ambition blinded her, blotting out the trembling of her daughter’s hands and the tears that swelled in her eyes. To Genevieve, all of this is the culmination of everything she had worked toward, the fulfillment of dreams long buried; to Liselotte, it’s the beginning of a nightmare that she could not wake from.

As the carriage reached the gates of the royal palace, Liselotte pressed her gloved hands together so tightly that her knuckles ached. She forced her breathing to steady, though every breath felt like it was borrowed.

She knew she was walking into something from which there could be no escape, something vast and merciless, far larger than herself, and though the world might one day see her draped in jewels and silk, her head bowed beneath a glittering crown, she could not rid herself of the image of a lamb being led to slaughter.

The carriage finally came to a stop before the grand gates of the palace. Sunlight glinted across the gilded spires, the entire structure radiating majesty, yet Liselotte could not bring herself to admire it.

Her heart pounded as the door of her carriage opened and a pair of royal attendants extended their hands to help her step down. Their faces are polite, even welcoming, but to Liselotte, every bow and every smile felt rehearsed, as though crafted for the benefit of appearances, not out of genuine respect.

She looked up, half-expecting, half-hoping, that the Emperor himself might be waiting at the steps. He is her betrothed, his soon-to-be legal consort, the man with whom her life is about to be bound inextricably. Should he not have come to greet her? Even if only to show the court that she’s acknowledged?

But there’s no sign of him. No majestic alpha figure in regal robes descending the stairs, no commanding presence watching her from above. Instead, only ministers, courtiers, and noble ladies stood in neat rows, their smiles sharp, their eyes glittering like blades hidden beneath silk.

A hollow ache stirred in her chest. If he would not come to greet her now, what would he do after the vows? Would she be left alone at every turn, standing as nothing more than a symbol while another omega claimed his attention?

As she walked forward, her gown trailing behind her, Liselotte felt the weight of a hundred eyes upon her. They bowed, yes, but their gazes lingered, searching, calculating.

Some looked at her out of their curiosity, others as though she were a pawn already in play on a board she could not see. Even the servants, lined neatly at the sides, seemed to study her too closely. Their courtesy is flawless, yet behind the downcast lashes she imagined whispers—judgment, amusement, pity.

Her thoughts began to spiral. "Did they all know something she didn’t? Had the Emperor already made it clear to them that I’m unwanted? Was I being paraded like a lamb before wolves, only to be silently mocked for believing I could never be their empress?"

Liselotte’s steps faltered for the briefest moment, and she quickly straightened, lifting her chin higher, though her stomach was knotted so tightly it felt as though she could not breathe. She told herself to be strong, to appear unshaken, but the longer she walked under their watchful eyes, the more her dread grew claws.

Her mother’s words echoed faintly in her ears, "once the vows are done, no one will question your place. But as she looked into the polished faces around her, Liselotte could not believe it.

They would question her. They would whisper behind her back. They would test her at every corner, waiting for the Emperor’s disinterest to show itself, waiting for her to stumble so they could tear her down.

And all because the one person who should have been here to anchor her, to shield her, to make her feel wanted, had chosen not to appear at all. The smile she forced onto her lips is fragile, but it’s the only shield she has.

And then, in the silence of her chambers, the past began to haunt her. All those years she had spent tormenting Vivianne, mocking her, belittling her, reminding her of her lower birth, and taking pleasure in her pain came flashing back like shards of glass cutting into her mind.

Scenes she had once cherished as proof of her power now twisted into grotesque memories, each one striking her with guilt so sharp she found herself pressing her nails into her palms just to stay steady.

For the first time, Liselotte wished she could run to the very woman she had once despised. To throw herself at Vivianne’s feet, to weep and confess the ugliness of her own heart, and to beg for forgiveness.

Perhaps then, she thought, the dread that strangled her might ease, if only for a moment. Perhaps Vivianne’s absolution, her mercy, would be enough to free her from the chains that now bound her more tightly than any imperial duty ever could.

But the thought of it shamed her as much as it comforted her. "What right did I have to seek forgiveness when I had done nothing to deserve it? Why should Vivianne, now the beloved Grand Duchess, radiant beneath the devotion of her mate, even spare me a glance?"

Liselotte could almost hear Vivianne’s voice, calm and cold, reminding her of every cruelty, every humiliation inflicted upon her. And yet, a part of Liselotte longed for it anyway, longed to be scolded, punished, or even cast aside, so long as it came with the chance to kneel before Vivianne and say the words she had never once spoken before: "I was wrong. I am sorry, Vivianne."