Between Destruction and Pleasure - Chapter 4

‘That’s when it started.’

Catherine thought to herself, reflecting on the moment she decided on her own way to survive.

Simply crying quietly didn’t make anyone take care of her.
Speaking softly and politely didn’t work, either.
No matter how much she tried to stay still and calm, the bullying only intensified. Worse, the people she cherished often became collateral damage, getting hurt because of her.

She had to scream that she didn’t like it, that it hurt. And when screaming didn’t work, she had to throw things, even resort to violence if necessary, to make it clear that no meant no.

Ironically, the more she embraced the role of the villain, the more lenient the cold Empress became toward her. Even the servants started paying slightly more attention to her needs.

That day, Catherine had treated her wounds, but the aftermath had been harsh. She was sentenced to an extended period of confinement that lasted over a month. For a child, it was a particularly cruel punishment.

Left alone in the silent Ivy Castle, Catherine endured her solitude and fear, swallowing her tears as she waited for time to pass.

‘And then there’s Siren.’

The thought of Siren weighed heavily on Catherine’s heart, and she closed her eyes.

She had been terrified, so how much worse must it have been for someone younger, like Siren? What kind of days was Siren living now? Compared to Siren’s circumstances, Catherine considered herself lucky. At least she was still able to live, outwardly at least, as part of the “royalty.”

Catherine cast her gaze toward the tower where Siren was confined and bit down hard on her lower lip.

But all of that had been the trials of childhood.

The adults, on the other hand, were far more subtle and discreet in the ways they tormented Catherine and isolated her.

‘Stop it. I’m getting lost in negative thoughts again.’

Catherine shook her head, trying to dispel the chain of dark memories. Slowly, she rose from her seat and walked to the window.

“Let’s see….”

The sky was painted in red as the sun set, bathing the horizon in the colors of dusk. It had been a long day, and the maid had already come by at lunchtime. Catherine knew she wouldn’t return today.

Peering down from the second-floor window, Catherine caught sight of a guard dozing off, just as usual. His head bobbed as he leaned against the wall, and the surroundings were eerily quiet.

All she needed to do was distract or deceive the guards at the back gate.

As soon as the sun set, Catherine changed into a dress she’d normally never wear. It was a sleek, black gown that clung tightly to her curves, with a plunging back that left little to the imagination. The dress accentuated her figure, making her look both striking and alluring.

But of course, she couldn’t step out like this.

She pinned up her long, flowing silver hair into a tight bun and secured it. Then, she pulled on a black, chin-length wig, carefully adjusting it in place. Standing in front of the mirror, she barely recognized herself.

Throwing on a large cloak to conceal the rest of her attire, Catherine quietly slipped out of her room and began making her way outside.

As expected, Guard John was fast asleep, sitting on the ground with his back against the wall, even snoring faintly. Catherine passed him without a sound and headed toward the back gate.

Though her heart raced with nerves, she reminded herself that this wasn’t her first time sneaking out. Based on her prior experience, she knew the back gate guards wouldn’t be much different from the ones she had dealt with before.

The Empire’s discipline had been in shambles for years.

Catherine fiddled with two silver coins in her robe pocket as she approached the two guards stationed at the gate.

“Good evening, gentlemen. Thank you for your hard work,” she greeted warmly.

The guards, caught off guard by her kind tone, turned their attention to her without suspicion. The loose robe she wore effectively hid her form.

“Oh, it’s you again?”

“Yes, it’s me. Here, these are for you,” she said, holding out the silver coins.

“Who’s this?”

One guard seemed familiar with her, but the other looked at her curiously. The first guard quickly took it upon himself to explain.

“She’s a maid from the Ivy Palace—the one near the Princess’s residence.”

“Ah, I see. But why is she here?”

“Apparently, they’re always sending her out to run errands. Must be her regular chore.”

At this, the new guard gave Catherine a once-over, his gaze briefly softening with pity after hearing the words Ivy Palace.

“Oh dear, you must have it rough.”

“Well, it’s an urgent errand. I need to get this done by tomorrow morning. I’ll be on my way now!”

“Alright, be careful out there!”

The guards chuckled to themselves, pocketing the silver coins as they waved her off with an almost cheerful farewell.

While maids of noble descent could come and go freely with their positions, handmaids had no such privilege. Those assigned to the palace were required to report their reasons to the head maid and obtain an official pass to leave the premises.

However, that system had long since become meaningless.

Palace staff often opted to skip the hassle and simply bribe the guards with a few coins to bypass the process. None of the other royals paid any attention to this laxity, but Catherine, through observation and experience, had noticed it over time.

Once she slipped out of the palace, Catherine headed straight for Ballroom, a social club located in the city.

The mere act of leaving the palace made the air feel fresher, almost invigorating. Still, she couldn’t linger outside for long. The streets at night were filled with vagrants and opportunists.

Before entering Ballroom, Catherine pulled out a black mask adorned with a purple feather and secured it over her face.

This was precisely why she had chosen Friday night for her outing.

Every Friday night, Ballroom hosted a masquerade ball. Masks allowed attendees to conceal their identities, and even if someone recognized another, the custom was to pretend not to notice. It was a place where anonymity and discretion were the unspoken rules.

Inside, the air was warm and slightly stifling, a stark contrast to the chill of the night outside.

The dimly lit space was bathed in a soft, colorful glow from the various lamps scattered throughout. Drunken revelers moved languidly, swaying to the music as they sought out partners. In the shadowed corners, others engaged in hushed, secretive conversations, their eyes glinting with intrigue.

At one table, a group was deep in a game of cards, their tense glances betraying the stakes involved as they placed their bets cautiously.

Catherine let herself melt into the scene, moving unhurriedly, her eyes gliding over the room filled with people intoxicated by the music, the atmosphere, and the wine.

She found a seat a few spaces away from the bar, where three men sat in a cluster. They, too, wore masks, their faces partially hidden.

The moment she approached, their attention shifted toward her. One openly ogled her, while another licked his lips suggestively.

“The whiskey that arrived today is excellent. Would you like a glass?”

Catherine nodded absentmindedly at the server’s recommendation, her thoughts elsewhere. She wasn’t a heavy drinker and usually stuck to wine, champagne, or light cocktails.

But tonight, for some reason, she wanted to let herself feel the haze of intoxication.

‘I guess yesterday’s events are still bothering me.’

Though she was accustomed to such treatment, it still hurt every time. She had long grown used to the disregard shown to her within the imperial family, but being humiliated so openly in front of a crowd, like at the ball last night, was a rarity these days.

She had retaliated in her own way, but the sharp realization that no one in the Empire was truly on her side left a stinging void in her chest.

Especially when she met Neron’s gaze, cold and disdainful as if she were nothing more than an insect, an overwhelming sense of helplessness swept over her. Even now, though she had overcome much, Neron remained a frightening figure to her. He had been since her childhood.

If only she weren’t a princess—if she didn’t have this hollow title, this fragile pride—perhaps she wouldn’t feel this constant ache.

Taking the small glass from the server, Catherine handed over a silver coin as a tip before tossing the whiskey back in one swift motion.

A burning sensation spread down her throat, followed by a fiery warmth that coursed through her body. Grimacing slightly, she muttered to herself,

“Ah, this is strong.”

“Yes, it’s been aged for a very long time,” the server replied.

Before she even noticed, her glass was refilled.

Out of the corner of her eye, Catherine saw one of the men seated nearby give a small wave, a gesture inviting her to join them. Ignoring him, she turned her gaze back to the bar, pretending not to notice.

Her fingers toyed idly with the glass as she focused her attention on the snippets of conversation drifting through the air.

“I was worried for a while, but luckily, the rabbit auction went off without a hitch.”

“Yes, this batch of rabbits was especially fresh, so the reception was excellent.”

“…Where are these rabbits sourced from?”

“From various places,” one of the men replied nonchalantly. “Those who failed to pay their taxes on time, orphans without parents… Though it’d be much easier if we had another war and could bring in a fresh batch of prisoners.”

The “rabbits” they were referring to were a euphemism for slaves. Officially, slavery did not exist in the Empire. Any trade or auction involving slaves was strictly illegal. But in reality, these dealings happened in secret across the land.

Being caught was considered a high treason offense, but the real issue lay with the imperial family. They neither had the capability nor the will to crack down on such operations.

“Have you tried bringing it up with Duke Williams?”

“Don’t even mention it. I hinted at it, and his glare could’ve killed me on the spot.”

“Hah! That man’s got a surprisingly strict moral streak for someone of his station.”

“Such a shame. If Duke Williams were to involve himself in this, we could even push to legalize it.”

Catherine, who had been quietly listening, let out a faint scoff.

The mere participation of one man could supposedly legitimize a long-standing illegal practice? She was well aware of Lucas Williams’ immense influence as one of the most powerful figures in the Empire, but the statement felt exaggerated.

Stories about him abounded in places like this, but Catherine had rarely seen him in person.

Though she didn’t show it outwardly, Catherine harbored a keen interest in politics.

Being the imperial outcast that she was, no one at social gatherings bothered to discuss such matters with her. To quench her thirst for knowledge and stay informed, Catherine often found herself at the masquerade balls held at the Ballroom on Friday nights.

“Not that any of this will ever be of use to me…” she thought bitterly, pouring herself another glass.

She sipped slowly—this was her third glass. The server had left the bottle by her side, and she helped herself freely, warmth spreading through her body as the alcohol took effect.

Though Catherine had attended the Ballroom regularly, she had never drunk this much before.

Her vision softened, slightly blurred, as she scanned the room again. The once-gentle music shifted into a sultry dance tune, prompting many of the attendees to gather in the central hall with their partners.

Some had arrived as couples, while others sought out partners on the spot, casually inviting strangers to dance.

It was then that someone approached Catherine.

It was the man who had waved at her earlier, inviting her to join him.