Episode 169
Seventeen years ago, when Philemon’s belly was still flat,
“Your Majesty, you summoned me.”
“Ah, Sarah, welcome.”
Philemon, who had been resting in an armchair, stood up cheerfully as Sarah entered. Sarah’s usually stoic face turned pale.
“Please don’t get up. You’re carrying a child now.”
“But I’m happy to see you.”
“We saw each other earlier…”
“Hehe.”
Philemon chuckled lightly. Sarah, looking at her with slight disapproval, asked bluntly,
“…Aren’t you worried about His Majesty?”
Artius had left for the battlefield a month ago.
Sarah also had family fighting in the war, but it wasn’t something you said to a pregnant woman.
Philemon’s expression momentarily hardened. Sarah, realizing her mistake, quickly apologized.
“I’m sorry. That was presumptuous of me—”
“No, you’re right. It’s not right for me to be laughing and chatting while my husband is away at war…”
“No, that’s not what I meant…”
Sarah was taken aback. Philemon sometimes said strange things.
Like just now, implying a wife shouldn’t enjoy herself while her husband was away working.
She had heard some families treated women like property.
‘…But House Asta isn’t like that, are they?’
Discriminating against daughters was something only backward families did. And the old Duke Asta had doted on his daughter, proudly passing down his title to her.
Even backward families maintained a facade of equality in public. Philemon’s attitude was more like…
‘A Heilan.’
She had heard Heilan society was deeply patriarchal. But why would Philemon, a Ravanta noble, sound like a Heilan?
Philemon, realizing her slip, quickly changed the subject.
“Ah, I-I said something strange. Of course, I’m worried. About Artius, about Sister Zelda. But…”
She was a terrible liar. Unable to come up with a convincing excuse, she changed the topic again.
“By the way, Sarah, listen. Artius told me a funny story.”
“…What is it?”
Sarah sighed but played along with her clumsy attempt to change the subject. Philemon, relieved, smiled brightly.
“He said Princess Chelon cursed at him. It was quite funny. Something about him pretending to have dementia the day after borrowing money. Hehe.”
“…Is that funny?”
“Of course, it is.”
Sarah couldn’t understand. It wasn’t a common curse in Ravanta, but why did Philemon look so sad while laughing?
Philemon had always been an enigma, even back in their socialite days.
‘No, I still don’t understand her. We fought so fiercely, pulling each other’s hair, and yet she hired me as her lady-in-waiting?’
And…
“Have you thought about it?”
“Didn’t I already refuse your offer?”
“Please reconsider, just once.”
“Why would the baby need a godmother? With Your Majesties and Duchess Asta around, what would people say?”
That was the other thing.
Asking the woman whose hair she had pulled to be her child’s godmother.
It felt wrong, and it would look bad. And Duchess Asta and Artius wouldn’t approve.
They were the ones who had broken up their fight.
But Philemon wouldn’t budge.
“You never know.”
“…?”
Sarah thought she saw a flicker of something in Philemon’s eyes, something unsettling. Philemon quickly composed herself and shook her head.
“No, it’s nothing.”
She smiled weakly, trying to brush it off, but it was too late.
That expression was etched into Sarah’s memory.
Philemon failed to persuade Sarah that day, but she didn’t give up.
As Philemon’s belly grew, so did the frequency of her requests, and Sarah’s refusals.
Lately, Philemon had been plagued by nightmares, often dozing off in her armchair, only to start moaning, her face contorted in distress.
“Ugh… Ugh…”
‘Sigh, there she goes again.’
Honestly, she should tell Vivian or Cecilia. The other maids would just say, ‘Huh? She never talks in her sleep,’ or ‘Are you still holding a grudge against Her Majesty?’ It was frustrating.
Just as Sarah sighed and reached out to smooth Philemon’s furrowed brow,
“D-don’t go…”
Philemon reached out, her arms flailing. Sarah jumped back, startled.
‘I thought she was awake.’
She hadn’t wanted to wake her, but the nightmare seemed intense. It might be better to wake her.
Just as Sarah reached out to shake her shoulder,
“Chelon, Chelon…”
“…Your Majesty?”
“I’m sorry, forgive me, my daughter…”
“…!”
Sarah gasped, horrified.
She had assumed Philemon was dreaming about Artius or Duchess Asta, who were away at war.
Philemon, startled awake by Sarah falling backward, sat up, gasping for breath.
“Gasp…! Haah, haah…”
She saw Sarah on the floor and quickly got out of her chair.
“Sarah! What happened? Are you okay?”
“Ah, yes, I’m fine…”
Philemon seemed unaware of what she had said in her sleep.
Sarah felt an even stronger sense of unease.
‘Her Majesty called out the name of the enemy princess.’
And she had called her “daughter,” begging for forgiveness.
Sarah, flustered, quickly rationalized.
‘…Is she stressed because of the pregnancy?’
She was frail, after all. Even though she had recovered significantly, her constitution wouldn’t change overnight.
Sarah clung to that explanation because it was easier.
So she ignored the growing sense of unease, the strange sleep-talking, pretending not to notice. She stayed by Philemon’s side, waking her gently whenever the nightmares seemed too intense.
And then, the day the war ended,
Two pieces of news arrived.
The first was that her mother, Marquis Fortrun, had died from a poisoned arrow wound during treatment. And…
“Waaah!”
“Your Majesty! Your Majesty! Wake up!”
Philemon had died giving birth to her daughter.
Sarah was numb with shock.
She didn’t even look at the baby. She just stared blankly at Philemon’s lifeless body.
Philemon’s face, cold and still, looked strangely peaceful, as if she had finally found rest after a long and arduous life. Not like someone who had died during a painful childbirth.
No, actually, there seemed to be a hint of lingering regret.
She soon found out why.
“She passed away without even holding the baby.”
Chloe, who had assisted with the birth, informed Sarah.
‘…I was planning to refuse her offer definitively. I never thought…’
She had known Philemon was frail, but everyone had said she had recovered significantly. She had expected her to survive childbirth.
She had braced herself for her mother’s death, but not Philemon’s.
It felt unreal.
Sarah remained by Philemon’s side, numbly, until Artius arrived, even before the news of his victory.
Artius arrived, the news of victory followed, and while Artius wept, clutching Philemon’s body, Sarah returned to her room.
A letter lay on her desk. The sender was Philemon.
“Your Majesty…?”
Sarah frantically tore open the letter. The content was simple, consistent with Philemon’s earlier requests.
[I’m sorry. Please take care of Elonia, even though it’s shameless of me to ask.]
Sarah clutched the letter and wept silently.
Such a selfish person, from beginning to end.
An incomprehensible person.
The person who had treated her coldly at first, yet had always treated her with kindness afterward.
The person who had treated Sarah as a friend until the very end.
She had hated her, and yet, she couldn’t hate her.
She couldn’t ignore such a person’s dying wish.
Sarah, as if in a trance, went to the Imperial Princess’s Palace.
The palace, which should have been filled with joy and celebration for the newborn princess, felt strangely cold, as if an unwelcome presence had arrived.
Sarah stopped in front of the nursery, agreeing slightly with the chilling atmosphere.
‘If it weren’t for the baby, Lady Philemon might still be alive.’
She immediately stopped herself.
‘What am I thinking?’
She couldn’t face the baby now. How could she be a godmother with such thoughts?
Philemon had misjudged her. This was too much for her. Just as she turned to leave, squeezing her eyes shut,
“Ah, Lady Fortrun.”
The nursery door opened on its own. It was Vivian.
“You came just in time, Lady Sardia. Have you seen Her Highness yet?”
“…Lady Hellington.”
Alisa also popped out, smiling cheerfully. Sarah felt even worse.
How could they smile like that when Her Majesty had just died?
Just as Sarah’s face began to contort,
“Ah…!”
“Come on in.”
Vivian and Alisa grabbed her arms and pulled her into the nursery.
Unlike the cold hallway under the dark night sky, the nursery was warm and cozy, bathed in orange light.
Canaria and Cecilia, who were rocking the cradle and adjusting the mobile, greeted Sarah warmly.
“Ah, Lady Fortrun. Her Highness just fell asleep.”
“She’s so cute. Take a look.”
“…”
Sarah didn’t want to see the baby. But it would be rude not to, now that she was here.
Reluctantly, urged by her colleagues, she closed her eyes tightly and turned towards the cradle. Then slowly, she opened her eyes and looked at the baby.
“Ah…”
Her eyes widened instantly.
Sniffle, sniffle. Snort.
The baby, exhausted from crying, breathed softly, occasionally sniffling.
Sarah took a step closer, then another. The other maids willingly stepped aside.
Sarah stared intently at the baby’s wrinkled, red face.
‘She looks like her.’
She looked so wrinkled and red, it was hard to believe she would grow into a person, but the resemblance to Philemon was uncanny.
Vivian whispered beside her.
“She looks just like Her Majesty, doesn’t she?”
“…Yes, she really does.”
Sarah replied, mesmerized.
Even though she had just entered the world, she seemed to carry Philemon’s presence.
“Hold her.”
“…Me?”
“Yes. You’re her godmother.”
“That’s right. Appointed by Her Majesty herself.”
Canaria and Cecilia smiled kindly.
Sarah hadn’t been particularly close to the other maids. And yet, they accepted her as the godmother.
‘I was just resenting the baby…’
Sarah had always thought Vivian and the others were carefree and shallow. But they were much stronger than her.
Unlike her, they hadn’t wavered in the face of Philemon’s death. They were fulfilling their duties.
Philemon had been a truly good person. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have been surrounded by such good people.
Sarah looked back at the baby.
A baby whose face, less than a day old, was already etched with sorrow and pain.
A baby who had lost her mother and was being neglected by her father.
A baby who had been so loved before birth, yet unloved after.
A poor, pitiful baby.
Sarah carefully lifted the baby.
“…Heavy.”
And.
“…Warm.”
A warmth, like springtime, spread through her chest, and she hugged the baby tightly.
The baby stirred, her tiny fingers curling and uncurling, letting out a small whimper. The scent of milk filled the air.
Sarah gently touched the baby’s tiny fist, and the baby gripped her finger tightly. Startled at first, Sarah then felt an overwhelming sense of love for this small, fragile being.
‘This is the precious baby Lady Philemon saved with her life.’
She hadn’t thought she could love the baby.
But she had fallen in love at first sight.
Fallen in love with this little angel who had descended from heaven.
She didn’t know why.
She just did. She wanted to love this baby.
The icy wall around her heart, which had seemed eternal, melted away in an instant, completely thawed by Elonia.
Sarah gently touched her forehead to the baby’s.
“Welcome, Lady Elonia.”
She had lost her mother, and this baby princess had lost hers too.
Perhaps it was a sense of kinship born from shared loss.
She didn’t want this angel to feel the absence of a mother.
Sarah closed her tear-filled eyes and greeted her warmly.
“I’m Sarah. Your godmother.”