Chapter 19

When Asla arrived at the hotel following May, the manager—who had been waiting despite the early hour—greeted her and Enoch with utmost courtesy. It wasn’t just because they were a ducal couple, but also due to the immense wealth and power of House Ventus.

Unaware of just how vast Enoch’s accumulated fortune truly was, Asla simply admired the manager’s diligence and politeness as he led them to their room.

Enoch, after telling May and Asla to rest well, saying he had urgent matters to attend to, quickly left.

Asla quietly watched his retreating back.

Was he not tired? What reason could he possibly have to keep pushing himself even at this hour?

‘Stop worrying about his health and take care of your own first…’

Grumbling internally, Asla decided to spend the rest of the dawn asleep. Later, she was gently awakened by May’s cautious touch.

“Milady, Lady Gloria Sherita has sent a carriage.”

Her mother—someone she hadn’t wanted to see.

Just thinking about facing the woman who didn’t even attend her wedding made Asla feel stifled, like something was lodged in her throat.

“I suppose I should get ready quickly.”

Yet she betrayed no emotion. After a light wash in the bathroom, she emerged to find May hesitating nearby.

“Um… Milady, what color dress shall I prepare? Would white be best, perhaps?”

Asla cast her gaze out the window, slowly closing and reopening her eyes.

“It’s fine. The weather is beautiful today, so something bright and fitting for a clear day will do.”

“Yes, understood! I thought the same!”

Relaxing at Asla’s calm tone, May grinned brightly and dashed off toward the dressing room.

Asla silently watched her go.

‘How famous she must be…’

The last Queen of the Holy Kingdom, Gloria Sherita, was known even in the Empire for being stern and unyielding. A woman brimming with pride, believing herself above all as one who served the gods.

But Asla no longer wanted to be bound by the shadow of the fallen Holy Kingdom.

Wearing white—the symbolic color of purity and divinity—did not make one truly noble or pure inside.

They were all just hypocrites.

Gone was Asla Sherita, the docile princess who had never once rebelled against her fate.

It had taken two years after the fall of her kingdom for her to truly open her eyes.

With May’s help, Asla styled her hair in the latest trend and wore a pale beige dress that reached her knees, adding a bold red ribbon around her waist.

She gazed quietly at her reflection in the full-length mirror.

Standing there was a woman dressed in the elegant fashion of the Empire—sophisticated and beautiful.

She would show her mother, clearly and without words, that the girl who once clung to white gowns trailing along the floor was gone.

When she spotted the carriage Gloria had sent waiting at the hotel entrance, Asla hesitated for a moment before asking May,

“What about the Duke?”

“Since dawn yesterday, he’s barely slept and has been working nonstop. Secretary Talet said he had a mountain of urgent matters but put everything on hold to return to the estate.”

Asla stopped in her tracks and slowly looked up toward the floor where Enoch was staying.

‘Did he really come all the way back because of the divorce petition I sent?’

Just how many ventures was he involved in that left him with barely a moment to breathe?

“…I see. I’ll go alone. It’s fine. If the Duke asks for me, just tell him I’ve gone to meet my mother.”

“Yes, Milady. Please take care.”

Asla leaned back into the seat of the carriage, watching May wave at her through the window.

The divorce with Enoch was a problem, yes—but right now, what mattered more was uncovering the truth behind everything she didn’t yet know.

What should she ask her mother first?

Should she start with a polite greeting?

Or should she ask why she never came to her wedding?

Since they had never been a particularly affectionate mother-daughter pair, all those questions felt pointless. Asla didn’t want to waste time on them. While she was still deliberating on what to say, the carriage began to slow and then came to a halt.

Someone opened the door from outside and peered in.

Asla recognized the familiar face and spoke calmly.

“It’s been a while, Ralta.”

“I greet you, Princess.”

“Use the proper title.”

“You’ll always be the Princess to me.”

Asla sighed as she looked at the wrinkled face of the stubborn old man.

Tall and ramrod straight, the elderly man was High Priest Ralta Loite, once the most prominent of the Twelve High Priests of the Holy Kingdom. After the kingdom’s fall, instead of entering the Holy Temple, he had chosen to remain at the side of the former Queen, Gloria Sherita.

‘Still as obstinate as ever.’

Asla thought that Ralta wasn’t truly serving Gloria—he simply refused to accept that the Holy Kingdom had fallen.

“This is the place.”

Taking Ralta’s hand, Asla stepped down from the carriage and looked up at the house where her mother now lived.

The three-story house, built from pale beige bricks, was large and clean—clearly new construction. Considering the royal family had been left in debt after the fall of the Holy Kingdom, it was hard to imagine how her mother could afford such a fine residence.

‘Did the Imperial Temple really fund this place?’

She tried to piece things together. Even at a glance, this was an upscale neighborhood. Owning a house like this on such valuable land in the capital made her mother’s financial backing highly suspicious.

“You’ve certainly become an Imperial citizen, Princess.”

Ralta’s disapproval was written all over his face as he scanned her outfit, making no effort to hide it. Asla let out a quiet scoff.

Calling her “Princess” meant nothing when they still treated her like a doll. With her chin lifted, she replied coldly.

“My surname is now Ventus. Of course I have. We’re both busy people, so let’s not waste time on petty arguments. Just show me to my mother.”

“…Yes, Your Grace.”

Ralta frowned but found no words to counter her. He led Asla into the house.

Now that he thought about it, Asla had always been quiet and well-mannered, but she was never an easy opponent. That commanding presence hadn’t changed at all.

After knocking on the parlor door where Gloria was waiting, Ralta stepped aside.

Asla’s chest tightened as she entered the clean, elegant parlor.

The fine wooden furniture, the luxurious carpet and curtains—everything was extravagant. Yet her mother still wore a white dress in the style of the old Holy Kingdom.

’Hypocrite.’

Asla scoffed inwardly and bowed stiffly to Gloria.

“Have you been well?”

“Yes, Princess. You’ve finally come to visit me.”

“You’re in good health, I see.”

“Of course. Have a seat.”

‘Princess? Really?’

Seeing Gloria’s pleasant smile made Asla’s stomach churn. Why did it feel so much like Margo’s? The resemblance made her dizzy with disgust.

‘Stay calm.’

Acknowledging how deeply she’d been scarred by Margo’s emotional manipulation, Asla took a steady breath and sat on the sofa.

Gloria looked youthful for her age and seemed healthy. Pouring tea into Asla’s cup, then her own, she smiled.

“To think my daughter would finally come to see me. I was quite upset, you know. But I shall be generous and forgive you.”

“….”

Staring down at the pale yellow tea, Asla said nothing. She simply drank. Her mother had always been shameless, not just today.

“I heard you’ve submitted divorce papers to Duke Ventus? Is it because you still feel guilty about going against my wishes in marrying him? Well, no need to worry anymore.”

“Excuse me, Mother. What did you just say?”

Asla interrupted, startled by the absurdity of Gloria’s words. In response, Gloria’s expression turned stern.

“You dare interrupt your mother before she has finished speaking? How disgraceful, Princess.”

“Calling me ‘Princess’ is the first mistake, Mother. I am no longer a princess. How long do you plan to live trapped in the Holy Kingdom’s past?”

“To think I gave birth to such a blasphemous child… The late King, who gave his life for our kingdom to the very end, would weep in sorrow.”

As Gloria placed a hand on her chest and offered a prayer of repentance to the gods, Asla felt as if her very soul was being stripped away. She struggled to keep her composure.

“I just…”

She wanted to ask how Gloria even knew about the divorce, but after learning the previous day that Ian Hertha had also known, she realized it was naïve to think her mother wouldn’t. 

It had been her own wishful thinking to try and keep things quiet.

Gripping her teacup tightly, Asla realized she needed to first shake Gloria out of her delusion.

“I’m not divorcing because of you, Mother. I’m doing it because I want to.”

“Heavens! A princess of the Holy Kingdom getting divorced—aren’t you ashamed of what people will say, Princess?”

“Not at all.”

“What happened to our sweet princess? Do you need etiquette lessons all over again?”

“I’m an adult, Mother. And—” Asla snapped.

Gloria’s sharp gaze, which once made her shrink, no longer frightened her. She was sick and tired of being called “Princess” and treated like a child.

The stubborn last Queen, still clinging to the fading glory of a fallen kingdom.

“The Holy Kingdom is gone. It’s time to wake up.”

“Asla Sherita!”

“It’s Asla Ventus.”

Asla calmly corrected her mother’s furious shout. Then she added with a faint smile: “If the divorce goes through, you can call me Asla Sherita again. Though, I doubt we’ll see each other again. Just like always.”

Gloria’s eyes flared with fury, but she bit her tongue—perhaps because there was nothing left to say.

Asla had never grown up close to her mother. From birth, she was raised by a wet nurse and priestesses. She and her mother had rarely spent time together.

A heavy silence settled in the parlor after their sharp exchange. But strangely, Asla felt lighter.

Letting everything out like this had helped settle the unease Gloria’s presence stirred in her.

After all, Asla had always been told she had to appear as a polite, obedient princess to Gloria.

‘Nanny said it had to be that way…’

Asla suddenly felt a chill run down her spine.

“What’s wrong, Asla?”

Gloria, now using her name without titles or formal speech, sounded casual and relaxed.

Startled by her mother’s sudden change—meeting her request so easily—Asla could only stare, momentarily forgetting to respond.

Has her mother always been this easy to speak with? 

Had the wall she felt all her life been a mere illusion?

Or had someone—herself, or another—deliberately built that wall to keep them apart?