Charlotte - Chapter 32

And then Mia was born.

The king and queen must have been overwhelmed with joy—and regret.

“We should never have taken that in.”

Charlotte finally understood why they had stripped everything from her and handed it to Mia. Because none of it had belonged to her in the first place.

“Everything is ready.”

With a heavy creak, the steward opened an unusual-looking door and spoke to someone outside.

Multiple sets of footsteps entered the room.

By then, Charlotte was thrashing in her restraints, sobbing uncontrollably. She had no strength left to even look at who had arrived.

“Oh my….”

A small voice, tinged with faint confusion, reached her ears.

Charlotte lifted her tear-streaked face.

It was Mia.

The moment their eyes met, the girl recoiled in fear, as if she had encountered something monstrous. She buried herself between the king and queen, hiding behind them.

The two adults glared at Charlotte as if she had done something to harm Mia, shielding her even more protectively behind them.

They didn’t seem to see that Charlotte was completely powerless, bound and gagged, incapable of doing anything.

Her family—the people she had believed to be her family only hours ago—looked at her with pure disgust.

Unable to bear it any longer, Charlotte lowered her head.

Tears spilled onto the cold floor.

Perhaps satisfied that she had finally accepted her place, the king spoke.

“If it were up to me, I would have had you executed on the spot. But Mia has chosen to be mErikiful.”

Charlotte said nothing.

She only wished for this nightmare to end.

“Instead of taking your life, I will ensure that you never forget what you truly are.”

At the king’s signal, the steward stepped forward again.

Charlotte flinched but didn’t dare look away.

“You will be reminded—constantly—of your true origins, even when others call you a princess without knowing the truth.”

The clinking of metal rang in her ears, but she forced herself to ignore it.

It didn’t matter what they did.

It would end eventually.

“This is the only solution, since this gentle child has grown attached to you and does not wish to be separated from you.”

Charlotte squeezed her eyes shut.

“Let every moment of your life be a reminder of Mia’s merci.”

She scoffed internally at the absurdity of his words.

And then—

Heat.

A searing, unbearable heat surged against her back.

A split second later, the suspicious warmth turned into pain—an agony so overwhelming that it stole even her screams.

Now she understood why they had gagged her.

She had thought it was to keep her from speaking to Mia.

But it was really to prevent her from biting off her own tongue and ending her suffering.

Mia had chosen to spare Charlotte’s life.

And so, Charlotte had to live.

The stench of burning flesh filled the air.

Only then did Charlotte realize what was being pressed against her back—a scorching-hot piece of iron.

And she knew, without needing to see it, what was being branded into her skin.

[SLAVE]

That was the new name given to her today.

***

After that day, Charlotte remained ill for a long time. A high fever raged within her, refusing to break. The branding had become infected, festering without proper treatment.

Mia, frustrated that the toy she called “sister” was lying uselessly in bed, complained to the king. Only then did the steward visit, inspecting Charlotte’s wounds with an air of irritation.

The medicine he carelessly smeared onto her back was, at least, effective. After two more days of suffering, Charlotte was finally able to sit up.

Mia was overjoyed to see her awake. Beaming, she made her request.

“Lottie, now you can write the annulment papers.”

That bright, innocent voice—so casually demanding to rip away the last shred of Charlotte’s existence—was the last thing she heard before she collapsed once more.

She wished she wouldn’t wake up.

Because when she did, she would no longer be Leo’s fiancée.

—

Kneeling beside the bed, treating Charlotte’s feet—cut from walking on shattered glass—Mona listened to her story.

She trembled violently, then finally shot to her feet.

“The lord must be told. How could they—how could they do such a thing to you…?”

Mona bit her lip and turned her head to the side, as if she couldn’t bear to look down at Charlotte from above. As if she felt ashamed.

Seeing her expression, Charlotte suddenly recalled something Leo had once said—The people of Rosa are kind.

She could believe it now.

But relying on that kindness was an entirely different matter.

Charlotte’s voice was steady as she responded.

“Go ahead. Tell him. Blind with rage, he’ll make an enemy of the king.”

“That’s…!”

Mona opened her mouth immediately—but no rebuttal came.

No matter how great Leo was, no matter how powerful House Kartenon and its knights were, going against the king was no simple matter.

By tomorrow, after the wedding, news of Leo’s condition would spread throughout the kingdom. Even the noble houses allied with Kartenon might change their stance.

If war broke out now… victory was far from guaranteed.

Rosa itself could be branded a house of traitors.

Mona felt tears pricking her eyes again.

She made all these calculations—alone. This tiny, frail woman bore the weight of it all, without a single soul to share her burden.

Had today’s conversation not happened, Charlotte might have carried it alone for the rest of her life.

That beautiful face, so unyielding in its quiet endurance—Mona had once mistaken it for arrogance.

Now, the thought of her own ignorance was almost laughable.

“It would have been easier if you were just cruel.”

The words slipped from Mona’s lips.

And then, as if her legs had given out, she sank to her knees before Charlotte.

Pressing her forehead against her own bony hands, she whispered ceaseless apologies.

“I was wrong. I didn’t know anything, and I still insulted you. I’m sorry. Punish me. I’ll accept it. Please, just don’t pretend it doesn’t matter.”

Even as Mona begged, Charlotte remained silent.

She only gazed at her, unblinking.

Then, carefully, Charlotte lowered her hand.

Her fingers brushed against Mona’s bowed head.

The sound of her own hair shifting, barely audible in the stillness, was the only sign she had moved.

Does she even know what it’s like to hold a switch in her hand?

The thought struck Mona suddenly.

Had Charlotte, with those frail, withered hands, ever once held something meant to strike another?

***

Since losing his sight, Leo’s world had been an endless, unbroken night.

It made no difference whether his eyes were open or closed—there was never even a single flicker of candlelight in the darkness. He no longer knew the colors of the world.

When Mona announced the morning, it was still night. When the clock in his study struck noon, it was still night. And now, lying in bed, preparing to greet tomorrow, it was just another night.

A thick, impenetrable darkness clung to him like a heavy shroud. It had never left him.

Or so he thought.

Leo opened his eyes.

A faint crease formed between his brows as he turned his head slightly, sensing something amiss. After a moment, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood.

Reaching for his cane by instinct, he gripped it tightly and stepped toward the center of the room. There, he turned his head, as if surveying his surroundings.

His frown deepened.

Guided by an inexplicable feeling, he moved toward the window. It was always shut. Ever since he lost his sight, the windows had remained locked tight—curtains drawn—lest he misstep and fall.

Leo reached out, his fingers brushing over the heavy fabric. Carefully, he traced along the edges. The curtains were still securely fastened, with no gaps for light to seep through.

Then where…? Where was this brightness coming from?

Leo slowly retraced his steps, searching again. He could feel the light, somehow.

It was illuminating his sightless eyes, though there was no visible source. Even now, his world was bright.

Failing to find an answer, he eventually gave up and returned to bed. Tomorrow was his wedding day. A long, grueling day awaited him, and rest was the wisest course of action.

Closing his eyes, he expected sleep to claim him. Instead, the white light pressed against his vision. It lingered, insistent, until exhaustion finally pulled him under.

And he dreamed. In his dream, Charlotte was there.

Dressed in a wedding gown, she twirled gracefully before him, smiling as she asked, “Do I look beautiful?”

She was radiant. Blinding.

Leo couldn’t remember what he had answered. When he woke, it was morning.

The day of his wedding.