A Witch Lives In The Emperor’s Bedroom - Chapter 1

The hour when the evening glow faded into dusk.

Standing at the entrance of the basement with a plate in her hands, the maid, Gina, heaved a long sigh for the umpteenth time.

“Ugh, damn it. Why did I have to lose at rock-paper-scissors?”

Stomping her foot in frustration, she reluctantly began her descent, one cautious step at a time. The further she ventured down, the stronger the stench of mold became, making her stomach churn. To make things worse, there were only a few sparse candles along the way, barely illuminating the steps.

“I should’ve brought a candlestick with me.”

In her dread of coming down to the basement, that thought hadn’t even crossed her mind.

As she carefully made her way down step by step, she suddenly missed her footing on the last step and tumbled to the floor.

“Ouch!”

Gina rubbed her throbbing knee, grimacing. The chicken neck and a few potato pieces that had been on the plate had scattered somewhere in the darkness.

“Just my luck….”

Feeling around in the dimness, Gina gathered up the food and placed it back on the plate. It was probably now covered in dust and damp mud, but she didn’t care—it wasn’t her meal, after all.

Soon, Gina reached the small room at the far end of the basement and knocked on the door.

“Miss Isabella.”

There was no response from inside. Not expecting an answer anyway, Gina took out the key and unlocked the door. Her nose wrinkled as she scanned the room.

The tiny room was thick with mold and humidity, lit only by a single candle no larger than her thumb, leaving the space shrouded in darkness. In the corner of the wretched room sat Isabella White.

Isabella, reading a book by the flickering candlelight, looked as if she were a piece of garbage abandoned on the roadside. Her flaming red hair, once vibrant like a blazing sun, was now tangled and filthy, falling messily over her shoulders as if it hadn’t seen a comb in days. Through the dirty strands, her face appeared gaunt and smudged with grime.

Even the vagrants wandering the streets weren’t in such a state—they, at least, could make use of the public baths provided by the city.

Her dress was a sight, too. Torn and patched up in various places, it was little more than a rag now.

The phrase “it gets worse every time” seemed almost coined for her appearance.

Isabella’s dress was torn so badly it barely held together, exposing her petticoat in patches, and her bare feet, poking out from under the hem, were riddled with cuts and callouses—rougher even than those of the maids.

“Hello. I brought your dinner,” Gina announced, stepping closer without so much as glancing at Isabella. She set the plate down on the battered, crumbling table and wiped her hands on her apron with a few brisk swipes.

“Did you lose the draw today?” Isabella asked in her usual raspy voice. Her voice had grown hoarse from the meager water ration, as if scraping glass with nails.

“Yes, Miss,” Gina replied, biting back irritation at the grating sound.

“Ah, well, too bad for you.”

“Just eat and leave the plate outside the door,” Gina instructed flatly.

“Sure. Thanks.”

Without another word, Gina quickly exited, locking the door firmly behind her. Isabella settled in front of the table with practiced ease. She clasped her hands in a quiet prayer, then picked up her fork.

On the plate lay a few coarse chunks of potato and a chicken neck, both speckled with dark flecks from where they’d fallen to the grimy floor. Without any sign of disgust, Isabella blew on the food, brushing off as much dirt as she could, and began eating. In fewer than five bites, her plate was empty. She prodded the chicken neck a few more times in disappointment before finally setting her fork down.

“Thank you for the meal.”

There was barely enough to call it a meal, but Isabella still concluded with a reverent thanks. She sat for a long moment, staring at her empty plate with unreadable eyes, then stood up to slide the plate through the small opening at the base of the door.

But before she could reach out, the sound of a lock being turned echoed through the room, and the door swung open.

Creak…

Standing in the doorway was Rosalie, her sister.

Rosalie shared Isabella’s striking red hair and amber eyes, but she looked entirely different—polished and pristine, adorned in an extravagant dress and jewelry that spoke of immense wealth. Where Isabella had a somber, desolate look, Rosalie epitomized the elegance of a well-bred noblewoman, her entire appearance radiating charm, warmth, and a refined beauty. Only her gaze, as she looked at Isabella, was anything but warm. It was icily indifferent, enough to make even the fiercest monster recoil.

“Rosalie.” Isabella gazed at her sister, a touch of bewilderment in her expression.

Rosalie looked Isabella over with undisguised disdain. She held a neatly folded handkerchief in one hand, as if she’d planned to knock on the door without touching it directly.

“It’s been a while, Rosalie. How have you been?” Isabella greeted her. Despite living in the same mansion, it had been exactly thirty-three days since the sisters last met.

With a sour expression, Rosalie shook her head, dismissing Isabella’s question.

“If you have time to ask about my well-being, why don’t you start by washing yourself?

“Oh, sorry. Do I smell?” Isabella took a step back, looking embarrassed.

“No place to bathe in this room?” Rosalie asked, though her tone suggested she already knew the answer.

“Actually, I do have a small tub,” Isabella said, pointing to a corner of the room. There sat a wooden bathtub, covered in patches of what might have been mold or worse.

Rosalie bit her lip, as though suppressing a wave of nausea.

“But,” Isabella continued, “I’m limited in the amount of water I can use each day, so I can’t bathe often…”

“You think I don’t know that already?” Rosalie snapped, and Isabella quickly closed her mouth, watching her sister’s reaction.

“Bring it all down,” Rosalie commanded, turning with a graceful motion. In response to her order, several maids descended the stairs and stopped at the door, their expressions clearly showing their distaste at being sent to such a place. They held a dress, petticoat, hair accessories, and soap.

“My fiancé is paying a brief visit today. We’ll be having tea and a chat.”

“Your fiancé…?”

“Yes. His Grace, the Grand Duke Zenos Ferdian,” Rosalie replied hastily, unable to hide her eagerness to broadcast her betrothal to Zenos, the emperor’s brother and a grand duke of the empire. Her face practically glowed with excitement as she clasped her hands together.

“It’s been a long time since I last saw him. He’s been busy assisting His Majesty with affairs of state, even participating in minor skirmishes along the border. He’s making time to visit today despite his demanding schedule.”

“That’s… that sounds wonderful.”

“Are you mocking me?” Rosalie’s tone turned icy, her smile fading. Isabella waved her hands quickly in protest.

“Oh, no! How could I possibly mock you?”

Rosalie glared at her, dissatisfied, but she didn’t have time to dwell on it.

“Hurry up and wash yourself, then change. I don’t want you disgracing the family name.”

“Wait, me too?”

“His Grace knows I have a brother and a sister. It would look strange to leave you out of our tea time, wouldn’t it?”

“Ah…”

“Stop standing there dumbly and start cleaning up. Do I need to do it myself?” Rosalie asked as she pressed a handkerchief-wrapped hand against Isabella’s back, nudging her forward and gesturing to the maids.

After a brief, muttered exchange among themselves, Gina and Emma reluctantly entered the small room, looking anything but pleased. It seemed they’d drawn the short straw for the unwanted job of helping Isabella bathe.

“Just make sure she’s clean. Don’t bother trying to make her beautiful; that would take far too long,” Rosalie instructed, folding her arms and then striding back up the stairs with an air of disdain. She planned to change into an even more elaborate gown and freshen up her makeup before her fiancé’s arrival.

“Ouch, that’s hot!”

Seated in the tub, Bella flinched as steaming hot water was poured over her shoulders, sending up clouds of steam.

“Just bear with it; there’s no time to let it cool,” Emma said indifferently, continuing to douse Bella with the scalding water. Bella’s skin turned red from the heat, but no one seemed to care. Bella merely furrowed her brow slightly, letting them proceed without complaint; she knew that if she objected, they’d probably retaliate by pouring ice water on her instead.

“That should be enough to get rid of the smell. Let’s not overdo it,” Gina muttered to Emma, irritation plain on her face as she realized this was her second trip down to the basement today.

Once the bath was over, Bella carefully stepped out of the tub, casting a nervous glance at Gina and Emma. She was embarrassed to stand naked before them, but rather than offering her a robe or towel, they merely tossed her an old cloth.

“Dry yourself.”

With no one to steady her, Bella cautiously wiped herself down, trying not to slip on the wet floor. She could feel their eyes on her bare body, their stares filled with unspoken judgments.

“Such a scrawny body.”
“And she calls herself a noble.”

Their gazes said it all.

Once Bella had mostly dried off, other maids approached to help her dress. She shut her eyes tightly as they strapped a corset around her, wincing from the constriction. The maids, oblivious to her discomfort, continued tightening the laces, pressing down on her chest and abdomen.

“G-Girls, could you… wait a second—”

“Hold still. We don’t have time,” Emma replied, tightening the corset even more.

Bella’s mouth opened in shock, but the maids didn’t so much as glance at her face.

“This dress, then?” one of the maids asked, holding it up.

“It’s too flashy. Let’s go with this one. If, by some miracle, Miss Bella stands out, we’ll all lose our heads.”

“Miss Isabella? Stand out?” Gina scoffed, and Bella shrank slightly at the sound.

“You never know. Better safe than sorry,” another maid replied, shrugging. Gina rolled her eyes but seemed to reluctantly agree.

In the end, Bella was put into a plain, pale lavender dress—a garment with a notable price tag but utterly devoid of lace or embellishments. The skirt’s outdated, narrow cut was a style usually worn by elderly, ailing women trying to avoid attention rather than young noblewomen.

“Her hair should be good enough like this, right?” Gina asked.

Emma gave Bella a disdainful look, nodding as she inspected her face. Bella’s hair, tied simply at the nape of her neck, matched the plainness of her dress. Rosalie had insisted on her own hairstyle—voluminous waves cascading down her back—so Bella wasn’t allowed even a single loose strand.

“All done. Let’s go,” Emma announced. The maids gathered their tools and exited, chatting among themselves as they ascended the stairs, paying no attention to Bella.

Bella quietly followed them up. Halfway up the stairs, she suddenly stumbled and instinctively reached out, grabbing Emma’s skirt for balance.

“Goodness!” Emma shrieked, startled, and dropped the jewelry box she was carrying. Although neither of them fell, the contents scattered across the floor.

“What are you doing?” Emma shouted, her temper flaring as she scolded Bella. Shrinking under Emma’s glare, Bella listened to the maids’ grumbling as they hurriedly gathered the fallen items, muttering openly about her clumsiness.

As she glanced down, Bella noticed a small butterfly brooch lying near her feet—a humble piece Rosalie would never have bothered with. Gently, she picked it up and pinned it to her chest. Oddly, the modest brooch complemented her simple dress rather well. The maids, too busy with the scattered jewelry, didn’t notice.

Once Bella emerged from the basement and reached the parlor, a maid opened the door for her. Unused to this treatment, Bella nearly reached for the handle herself, then flinched in surprise.

“You’re here?” asked Lady Martha, the Baroness, who was busy adjusting the angle of the teacups. Like Bella and Rosalie, the baroness had striking red hair and amber eyes and possessed a remarkable beauty. She exuded the same poised elegance as Rosalie, moving with effortless grace.

The White family was known for generations of carefully preserving its distinctive red hair and amber eyes. Unlike most families, who had long abandoned such practices, they chose marriage partners based on these traits to ensure their lineage’s unique appearance endured.

Bella grasped her skirt with both hands, curtsying politely. Lady Martha, however, waved her off dismissively, as if even that small gesture annoyed her.

“When His Grace arrives, save your formalities for him. You understand what might happen if you embarrass us, don’t you?”

“Yes, Mother,” Bella replied calmly.

“At least there’s no smell anymore,” Martha remarked, just as the parlor door opened again and Rosalie entered.

As expected, Rosalie was dressed to impress. Her voluminous skirt sharply contrasted with Bella’s flat, outdated one. Around her neck gleamed the blue diamond necklace—a royal piece given to her by Zenos, a privilege of nobility.

“What’s that?” Rosalie asked, her eyes catching on Bella’s butterfly brooch.

“Oh… I just thought I’d try it on. What do you think?” Bella asked, offering a shy smile.

Rosalie stared at Bella’s smile for a moment, then abruptly reached out and ripped the brooch off her chest.

“Ouch!” Bella gasped, clutching her chest as the pin pricked her. But Rosalie, seemingly oblivious to Bella’s discomfort, paid it no mind.