"What a chaotic breakfast…" Greta muttered.
Pressing her fingers into her temple, she recalled the absolute disaster at the dining table. Hellene, still furious at her, had gone straight to their father, exaggerating the story, as always, turning the whole thing into an absurd spectacle. She even went as far as bruising her own servant and blaming Greta for it. The childish antics of a grown woman who should have known better who should have understood what could and could not be said at the table.
But, as Greta had predicted, their father, who always favored Hellene, believed every word that spilled from her lips. No matter how ridiculous her tales were, they somehow managed to sound like reality in the ears of Lord Von Meier.
Rather than drag herself into more trouble, Greta had simply excused herself. She locked herself away in the library, scouring for any way she could arrange a meeting with Duke Matthias Von Ignaz, the one duke in this empire who remained untouchable by Emperor Dietrich Maximilian.
Greta was convinced that Matthias Von Ignaz was the key to exacting her revenge on Ingrid Anneliese—the queen, punishing her for all the cruelty and betrayal she had inflicted upon Greta in a past life.
"If my timeline is right, that means Frederich has already been born…" she murmured, thinking back to the moment she had awoken two weeks before her ill-fated wedding to the emperor.
Dietrich's reasoning for seeking a concubine had always struck Greta as absurd. Apparently, since the queen was too preoccupied with their son, the emperor had decided he needed someone else, traveling from region to region, handpicking whichever woman caught his eye. And, somehow, that absurd journey had led him to Greta in Ehrenwald, far out in the west.
Looking back, the entire thing baffled her. Not only had she never set foot in the capital since Dietrich's coronation, but she had never shown any interest in him. And yet, he had chosen her without hesitation, skipped the usual courting phase, and practically dragged her into a separate palace, far away from the queen. Almost as if he had orchestrated every step, planned everything down to the finest detail.
"That's impossible; probably just the delusional obsession of a lonely emperor," she muttered, rubbing her forehead as the weight of it all made her head pound.
Two weeks, such a short span for everything to unfold. Greta still hadn't figured out how to meet the Duke of the frozen land of Aesthal. Lost in thought, she carelessly knocked over a thick, dark-blue book, sending it tumbling to the floor.
"What book is this?" she murmured.
As she bent down to pick it up, she caught sight of a pair of crossed legs, elegantly poised, clad in polished black shoes far too luxurious for a mere servant. Someone was sitting across from her at the table.
Greta's breath hitched. Had she been so absorbed in thought that she hadn't noticed someone entering the library? She shot up, intending to address them, but when she looked again, there was no one.
To be sure, she leaned down, peering under the table. But there was nothing. No lingering presence, no shadow of movement. Just empty space, as though the whole thing had been a hallucination.
But she wasn't hallucinating, she was sure of it. She could swear she had seen a man's legs, crossed with impeccable grace. That glossy, high-end footwear was no servant's attire. If it had been a servant, she would have found them.
Driven by curiosity, Greta rose and wandered around, searching for any other soul in the library. Yet, once again, she found nothing. She was utterly alone.
"This is insane… I know what I saw…" she whispered, still clutching the fallen book.
Examining the cover, she squinted.
Frozen Lands of the South.
A book she didn't recall picking up this morning.
Glancing back at the table, she ran through her selections, volumes on herbal medicine, old financial records from the Von Meier family, and her own notebook. She hadn't chosen any fairy tales, let alone something titled Frozen Lands of the South.
Without dwelling on it further, she flipped open the pages and began to read.
And soon, she was completely enthralled.
It was intoxicating, each word leapt off the page like a vivid illusion, pulling her into a world she had never known. It consumed her, and before she realized it, she had devoured the entire book in two hours.
While a normal person might take weeks, savoring each passage, Greta had flown through it, lost in its grip.
"This… It's almost like a real vision of Aesthal…" she whispered in disbelief.
Slowly, flipping through page after page of the book in her hands, Greta felt as if she were being sucked into an entirely different dimension, one she had never imagined before, not even in the depths of her literary escapes.
Then, as her fingers turned another page, something strange happened: Her fingertips were pulled in, as if the book itself were swallowing her whole. Panic gripped her, and she instinctively dropped it with a sharp gasp. Just as she was about to retrieve it, a knock at the door interrupted her thoughts.
It was a maid.
"My lady, the master is expecting you in his study," the maid announced, bowing slightly in respect.
At the Von Meier mansion, such gestures toward Greta were rare, thanks to Hellene's relentless scheming. Her sister made it her personal mission to intimidate, threaten, and even fire any servant who dared show Greta a shred of deference. Being ignored, belittled, even by a mere maid, was something she had long grown accustomed to.
"I'll be there," Greta replied, her voice steady.
Her gaze drifted back to the fallen book. She reached for it, but before her fingers could close around the cover, she froze, it was back on the table as if it had never fallen at all. A chill crawled down her spine, unsettling her to the core. She wasn't about to linger and find out what would happen next. Without hesitation, she turned her heel and left the library, heading straight to her father's study.
Upon arrival, she found him hunched over his desk, poring over stacks of documents, letters, receipts, contracts. Greta had a strong suspicion that most of them were from people with a vested interest in her father's affairs, but not out of goodwill. No, these were demands, outstanding debts, overdue taxes, imperial fees.
'The Empire, of course.' Greta's mind churned.
It wasn't as if Dietrich Maximilian's dealings with Imperial taxation and collections had ever been a cause for concern. He was shrewd and ruthless when handling finances, especially in the western territories. But lately, the west has been falling into ruin. Monster attacks sent civilians into a panic, trade guilds refused to operate due to Ehrenwald's failing standards, and year after year, extreme crop failures pushed the land dangerously close to financial collapse.
In the end, Dietrich would sign away whatever was necessary, negotiating on parchment sealed with the Empire's administrative stamp, securing what little remained of their autonomy. But Greta knew what the real price would be, their so-called freedom would come at the cost of her life, dangling at the end of a noose.
Her father's desperation was painfully clear, especially judging by the sheer number of letters cluttering his desk.
Yet, despite all the paperwork, one particular envelope caught Greta's eye. It bore an unfamiliar seal—a lion's head, embossed in gold. Letters like this rarely made their way to the Von Meier mansion. It was from the South—Aesthal.
Before she could dwell on it any further, the door creaked open behind her.
"Did you call for me, Father?" Hellene's voice rang out as she stepped into the study.
"Oh, yes. Stand beside your sister. I'll get to this soon," their father muttered without looking up, distracted by the mountain of documents before him.
While the head of the Von Meier family buried himself in his work, Hellene shifted, casting Greta a sharp, venomous glance, her expression a mix of contempt and cruel amusement. A moment later, her lips curled into a smirk, a mocking kind of triumph flashing in her eyes.
"What's so funny, Hellene?" Greta asked, keeping her tone steady, though irritation simmered beneath her words.
"Oh, just celebrating your big win," Hellene quipped, her voice dripping with condescension.
Greta narrowed her gaze. "Did I win the lottery or something? Should I be throwing a party?"
"You'll hear it straight from Father in a moment," Hellene whispered, barely containing her satisfaction.
Just then, their father set his pen down, finally turning his attention toward both daughters.
"Do you know why I called you here?" he asked, his tone measured.
Neither answered, but deep down, Greta knew exactly why. Her father wanted to discuss the emperor's upcoming visit—two weeks from now. And that meeting would inevitably lead to one thing: marriage.
"Our lands are in a dire situation," he began, clasping his hands together. "In two weeks, the emperor will be arriving to discuss the state of our declining territory."
Greta exhaled slowly, bracing herself.
"The debts owed to the Empire have accumulated beyond reason. We now owe a total of five hundred thousand gold pieces—with an outstanding interest of ten percent over the last five years. And let's not forget the damage caused by the border monsters, forcing us to foot the bill for repairs and citizen relief." His voice was heavy, each word carrying the weight of inevitability. "I assume you understand where this is going."
Neither sister spoke.
"The emperor's arrival presents a rare opportunity for us to settle this debt, to bring stability to our domain," their father continued, his piercing gaze moving between them. "As my daughters, I expect you both to consider the offer the emperor will present, at the price that has been set."
Hellene smirked knowingly. Greta, however, remained focused on the letter from Aesthal.
"So, Father," Hellene asked, feigning innocence, "what exactly does the emperor want in exchange?"
Greta scoffed, already fed up. "Is it marriage?"
Their father let out a breath. "Yes, Greta. If we're lucky, one of you will be chosen as his consort. That is, unless you'd prefer to offer your sister as—"
"Does this deal with the Empire actually benefit you, Father?" Greta interrupted, cutting him off.
He frowned. "What do you mean? Of course, cooperating with the Empire is always beneficial."
Instead of replying, Greta stepped forward, snatching up the envelope with the lion's seal. She held it up, presenting it to him.
"Before you start selling your daughters to the Empire," Greta said coolly, "why don't we consider another option? Have you even thought about reaching out to Aesthal? Perhaps it's time we sought aid from Duke Matthias Von Ignaz instead."