Noael’s central palace was a sight of singular beauty, unrivaled anywhere else in the world.
The dazzling marble floors shone in harmony with thick crimson velvet carpets, and the sky-piercing spire ceilings soared above, perfectly matched by colossal monolithic pillars that supported them.
Exquisite furnishings, all crafted from cedarwood, stood like meticulously carved works of art.
Masterpieces sculpted from white ivory—creations into which their makers poured their very souls—stood as hymns and offerings to the great kings of Noael throughout the ages.
Yet among all these marvelous sights, the most radiant of all was none other than the Queen herself, seated upon her throne.
Queen Evelyn lounged lazily across her throne, arms folded, gazing down at everything in the hall with an air of lofty indifference.
This scene was as ordinary as any other day, but for those seasoned courtiers who furtively watched the Queen’s expression and every move, today was without a doubt the worst of days.
“Ahem.”
“Ahem!”
As the court officials exchanged nervous glances, the fifth-ranked court official, Prime Minister Palgas, coughed and stepped forward. “Ahem, ahem. Now, I hereby declare the court meeting officially begun.”
With the aged Prime Minister’s lingering cough, this long-anticipated court assembly at last commenced.
It began, but nothing progressed.
“So, may I ask what today’s agenda and topics will be?”
Faced with the question from Lord Xionov, in charge of court finances and treasury, Prime Minister Palgas finally unfurled a long scroll and examined it carefully.
Rustle, rustle—
“Let me see. The first topic: Updates regarding the recent troublesome ruffian group harassing the nobility—the Cloth Gang.”
“It’s not the ‘Cloth Gang,’ isn’t it the ‘Bathrobe Gang’?”
“Ah… bathrobe. Updates on the black Bathrobe Gang… let’s see, hmm, why is the text so small…”
“Whew.”
“Mmm…”
At the Prime Minister’s indistinct mumblings, the officials collectively sighed in helpless frustration. Prime Minister Palgas had once been an outstanding statesman, but that was twenty years ago.
Decades later, the same mumbler still led the meetings… Yet, none among the court could easily replace him. Lacking both the courage and the necessity.
At least, until yesterday.
Lord Xionov glanced around, searching for the competent young lady—no, girl—whose face was unforgettable, but she was nowhere to be seen in the vast hall.
Just then, someone tapped Xionov lightly on the back. Turning, he found the bald, one-eyed minister—Lord Filav, the Lord of External Affairs—eyeing him from nearby.
“Lord Xionov, I don’t see any trace of her. Do you know what’s happened with Erika Angelina? What exactly occurred?”
“Why are you asking an old man like me, Lord Filav?”
“Why? Because aren’t you the one who hates Erika the most, Lord Xionov? Could it be that you finally concocted some brilliant scheme to have her ousted?”
“Me? Mind your words. I’m currently one of Her Majesty’s confidants and a member of the King’s Party.”
“Hmph, say what you like, old Xionov.”
Lord Filav and Lord Xionov carried on their private conversation in the corner, ignoring the ongoing court meeting. After all, without Erika Angelina, these gatherings were nothing but an empty, ostentatious shell.
A bunch of old men bantering and passing the buck—what’s there to see? They could even spend all morning arguing heatedly about ‘how a single cat dropping mixed into the stone used for building the city wall caused a rice price surge, which in turn affected the flavor of the court’s free coffee due to endless western rains.’
Even Queen Evelyn seemed to have lost interest, sinking into thought as she sat with her eyes closed.
Xionov observed the Queen’s face as he spoke, “I really had nothing to do with this incident. In fact, I’d like to know what happened myself. All my people were purged by that Erika just days ago.”
“I see. I heard that last night, the Queen and Erika secretly scaled the palace walls at midnight and slipped into the city.”
“In the city?”
“Maybe they made some mistake out there.”
“I see.”
Xionov nodded perfunctorily. He knew full well that Erika Angelina was not someone to fall from grace over a simple misstep. That girl, who looked not much older than his own daughter, had seen through all his carefully laid schemes at a glance, then dismantled them all in just one day.
She even ferreted out the hidden Clara from her secret base and held her hostage as a Court Maid, leaving him with no choice but to submit.
How had she discovered it? Clara’s hideout was meant to be so secret that even he didn’t know its location—arranged by the organization itself for his peace of mind.
Yet that day, he was prepared to die gallantly, only for Clara to be thrown at his feet.
Not only despair—he’d nearly cursed aloud in fury, “Peace of mind my foot! You hid my daughter right under that witch’s bed, didn’t you?!”
Thanks to Erika, the spark of rebellion led by the Dawn Society had been stamped out before it even ignited.
Like a child preparing to light a skyrocket, only for someone to douse the match with a fire truck before it could even spark.
Though he hated to admit it, that ‘witch who brings disaster’ was a terrifying enemy. Could she really possess some power like foresight, as her nickname suggested? Was she truly born a slave?
What was more baffling: not a single clue about her past or real identity could be found. All that was certain was her connection to the church via the name ‘Angelina,’ and her purchase as a slave by the Leonis family, as recorded in the Enslavement Record.
But before that, there was nothing—a darkness deeper than any abyss.
If she were a normal human, surely there’d be some trace of her existence. Unless she’d lived like a wolf, wild and untamed, until finally entering society—otherwise, there should be records or testimonies.
But Erika Angelina left no such traces at all, as if her existence had been erased by the world itself—an utter void.
It was chilling.
‘In society, she moves with grace—perhaps still a bit raw, but every gesture elegant and refined. She’s nothing like a wild stray. Perhaps a fallen noble…’
A fallen noble with ambition, a scion of a royal branch? That’s exactly what Xionov suspected was Erika’s true identity.
A fallen noble infiltrating the palace, bewitching the Queen, manipulating politics—no wonder the nation tottered. Maybe it was all revenge against the country for causing her family’s downfall—at least, that’s what Xionov believed up until yesterday.
But today, he’d learned something—
“Things aren’t going so smoothly. I never thought I’d end up missing her.”
“Indeed. And if something goes awry, Lord Xionov, you’ll surely be blamed.”
“Why’s it always my fault, Lord Filav?”
“Wasn’t it you who worked the hardest to drive a wedge between Erika and the Queen? Calling her a witch, spreading Rumors in the marketplace—wasn’t that your doing?”
“…Just different stances, that’s all. Back then, I had my reasons. For the sake of the greater good, I had to estrange Erika and the Queen…”
“Then you shouldn’t have failed, hehe. Thanks to you, Erika is now shunned by the Queen and punished. You really should be celebrating.”
“……”
Xionov had no answer to Filav’s mockery.
He had, in fact, always dreamed of bringing down Erika and Queen Evelyn, but that was back when he had secret funding and arms through the Dawn Society, confident he could reform a decaying nation by their power.
Now all that was gone, and if Erika—the only one able to influence the Queen—disappeared forever, Xionov couldn’t even imagine what would become of the palace.
He didn’t even want to try.
Filav continued, “With the mad, willful Queen unleashed, someone has to hold the reins. But who wants to grab a tiger by the neck? What a bother…”
Xionov agreed. How had the once-close Evelyn and Erika Angelina come to this?
For now, at least, it was not a good sign.
What if all those slanderous Rumors he spread had finally taken effect?
‘Not good.’
Much as he loathed to admit it, as long as his daughter was still a Court Maid, that witch Erika was essential for peace in the palace.
“So, Lord Filav, do you know where Erika Angelina is now, or what she’s doing?”
“Old age catches up with you… I just remembered.”
The Lord of External Affairs gave a wry smile—this sly old fox. He played the fool in public, but always profited behind the scenes. Not that Xionov was any better, but it didn’t stop him from criticizing others.
To exaggerate, probably everyone in this palace pretended to be a fool on purpose. The moment anyone showed a hint of competence, all the trouble fell on them, and all that awaited was a stack of files and ninety-nine scapegoats.
So he too was happy to play dumb—and it had worked well so far. A good method, popular with all.
For the past year, Erika had been the one taking on all those troublesome, exhausting tasks… so where was she now?
At this, Filav revealed Erika’s whereabouts.
Xionov’s eyes bulged in shock. It was the last place he’d expected. The very place Erika should never go.
Or perhaps, the most fitting place of all…
“…The Dungeon?”
Clang, clang.
“Erika Angelina, your meal has arrived.”
Erika, lost in thought behind iron bars, looked up to see a plate of food delivered by a blonde maid. Her hair was neatly tied back, a black ribbon upon her head, and she looked down at Erika with open contempt.
“Miss Clara, what’s for lunch today?”
“Cream of mushroom soup. Hmph, how ironic! You manipulated the foolish Queen, threw innocent people into prison one by one, but you never thought you’d end up in the Dungeon yourself, did you?”
Clara, daughter of Lord Xionov, delivered a sharp critique as she handed food to Erika, now locked in the palace Dungeon. Watching Erika behind bars brought her no small satisfaction—a long-awaited revenge.
Clearly, she disliked Erika. Of course she did.
After all, thanks to Erika, Clara was now forced to work as a Court Maid—a job no noble young lady like her should ever have to do.
“I never imprisoned anyone innocent. Only the truly guilty were caught,” Erika replied calmly, brushing her hair behind her ear and sipping the mushroom soup.
“Who’d believe you?”
“Believe it or not, it’s the truth. Just because you doubt it doesn’t make it a lie.”
Clara scoffed. While she talked, Erika observed her—her face was rosy, with no sign of bruises or injury.
“Are you getting used to palace work?”
“Thanks to you!”
New maids always suffered some bullying from the veteran palace staff, but it was never worse than the way nurses haze rookies—just setting some ground rules. Maybe because she took the brunt of it, she gained sympathy from senior maids, helping her through the toughest days.
Not that Clara realized any of this.
“So what now? Palace gardener, Erika Angelina… no, Erika Angelina, now a nobody? Are you going to be executed?”
“Do you hope so?”
“I can’t lie about it.”
What a blunt girl. Erika decided to joke to shift the subject: “You didn’t spit in my soup, did you?”
“……”
Clara’s face went red. “I did not! There’s no need anyway. You’ll die after being abandoned by the Queen, so pitiful.”
“Always insulting and provoking me—have you thought, if I actually broke out of the Dungeon, what would you do? Could you handle the consequences?”
When Erika spoke that line—like something out of a movie—Clara laughed out loud as if hearing an absurd joke. “Break out of the palace Dungeon? Unless it’s a corpse, nobody ever escapes from here—not a maid or a prisoner! Angelina, you should know that better than anyone, right?”
That was true, ordinarily—but her circumstances were a bit unusual.
“Oh? Visitors? My, Erika, you’re such a popular girl. Even in jail, people come to see you.”
From the dim corridor, someone approached, a torch flickering in their hand, and came to stand before Erika’s cell. With a key, she unlocked the door.
“You’re from the Leonis family… What are you doing here?”
“Oh my, Clara? Are you a maid here now? Haven’t seen you since Evelyn’s birthday banquet last year, have I?”
“Ah, ah…”
“Maid suits you. Anyway, could you step aside? I’m going in.”
Emil Leonis brushed past Clara and strolled boldly into the cell. She squatted down and unlocked the shackles on Erika’s wrists and ankles.
Clack, thunk.
“You’ve reflected enough in the Dungeon for half a day—now it’s over. I’m releasing you, prisoner Erika Angelina! I am now your guardian!”
It had only been a few hours, but Erika still acted pleased at regaining her freedom, gently massaging her reddened wrists and ankles. Even half a day in the Dungeon was no novel or fun experience.
“Ah, wh-what…”
Clara seemed unwilling to accept that Erika was now free, trembling against the wall—perhaps still traumatized from being scolded earlier.
“Told you, can you really handle a witch who’s out of her cage?”
“Uu, uwaa…”
Deliberately trying to scare her, Erika growled low, her crimson eyes reflecting blood-red in the firelight. Clara slumped to the ground, shaking as Erika gave her a brilliant, healthy smile.
“Just kidding.”
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