The Villainess Does Not Want to Die

Chapter 36: The Imperial Palace

Just being stuck in the same carriage with people I didn’t particularly like was enough to sour my mood, but the thought of being in such a magnificent carriage made it slightly more tolerable.

Compared to the carriage Alina and I had once admired for its soft sofas, this one rendered that memory laughable. Back then, I thought that carriage was amazing—how naive.

I suppose human greed truly knows no bounds.

The things I once considered blessings now feel endlessly insufficient.

It should have been enough that Eileen and Libian didn’t bully or strike me during the ride, yet lately, even sharing the same space with them has become intolerable.

The journey was comfortable, with no nausea or discomfort, but there was one issue: I couldn’t freely smoke because of the Duchess’ watchful eye. As a result, I felt cold and shivery, my fingers trembling slightly from withdrawal.

Despite my restlessness, the carriage rolled on without incident, arriving in the capital just as the sun began to rise after a week-long journey.

The city was massive—so much so that even from the hill we passed, its end wasn’t visible.

Still, considering that six million people lived there, wasn’t it rather small?

The wealthier commoners likely crammed into coops with tiny bedrooms squeezed into living rooms, while the poor languished in leaky, cramped shanties.

Our carriage, of course, avoided those filthy neighborhoods and factories where workers were ground down like cogs in a machine.

What I saw were splendid gardens, grand mansions, cleanly paved streets, and well-dressed people strolling about.

The carriage passed through the seemingly purposeless outer walls of the city, rolling into its heart.

Compared to this, the capital of the Duchy of Vitelsbach seemed like a humble provincial town.

The streets were alive with uniformed officers, knights in gleaming plate armor, children in school uniforms, and robed magicians. 

Women shopped with their children, and couples strolled hand-in-hand, their displays of affection almost vulgar.

The city was brimming with energy—so much so that it made me want to hide.

“Marisela, once we arrive at the mansion, bathe thoroughly and change into the white dress we’ve prepared. We’ll be meeting His Majesty the Emperor before dinner,” the Duchess instructed.

“Yes, Duchess.”

At my response, she frowned and rubbed her face.

“…From now on, call me Mother. Within the family, I don’t mind how you address me, but outside, everyone knows me as your mother.”

I almost blurted out a retort.

You’re not my mother. My mother was a prostitute from the slums. She loved me in her own way but struggled to show it.

But I stopped myself.

Lately, my thoughts had been slipping out far too easily, unfiltered. It seemed I was just another fool at the mercy of hormones.

“…Yes, Mother.”

Even so, the nobles must already know the truth. No commoner was fooled by the charade, so why would they be?

The carriage entered a street offering a clear view of the enormous castle at the city’s center, stopping before a grand mansion.

While it wasn’t as large as one might expect for hosting balls, as the Duchess had lamented earlier, it was still impressive.

Servants from the estate greeted us, guiding Libian and me into the mansion. 

The Duchess and Eileen, more familiar with the place, walked confidently ahead.

One servant, perhaps eager to show off the well-maintained estate or oblivious to who I was, kindly explained the mansion’s history and offered to accommodate any preferences I had.

She even shared anecdotes about troublesome male guests asking her into their rooms, a clear attempt to make me sympathize.

When I asked for a quiet, secluded room, she hesitated briefly before leading me to one.

It was a corner room with a window offering a panoramic view of the city. Despite being unused, it was immaculate, with a large bed, a bookshelf stocked with novels, and enough space for two pianos.

I resolved to purchase a guitar when I went into the city.

After settling, I followed a servant to the bath.

It reminded me of when I first arrived at the orphanage and was overwhelmed by servants helping me bathe. The difference now was that my body wasn’t malnourished or filthy.

Servants undressed me, wrapped me in soft, white towels, and proceeded to wash me with oils and powders that filled the air with fragrance.

When I tried to bathe alone, they insisted with such firmness that I relented.

They washed my hair, covered me in scented foams, rinsed me with warm water, and dressed me in an elaborate white gown made of silk adorned with small jewels.

The gown, though elegant, was uncomfortably revealing, with a low neckline, short sleeves, and an impractically long hem that trailed behind me.

As if that wasn’t exhausting enough, they sat me before a mirror, styled my hair, applied makeup, and adorned me with feathers and jewels.

When I asked why such effort was necessary, they replied that it was a servant’s duty to make their charge as beautiful and comfortable as possible.

At that, I closed my mouth, finding nothing more to say.

Dressed and prepared, I stepped outside to find the Duchess similarly adorned and waiting for me.

“Let’s go to the palace,” she said.

I nodded and followed her into the carriage.

Neither of us spoke during the ride. We weren’t close enough for idle chatter, and silence didn’t bother me.

The Duchess, however, seemed uncomfortable and eventually handed me a catalog and a pen.

“Someone will visit tomorrow. Mark what you want. It’s unseemly for you to shop in person.”

I didn’t respond, merely taking the catalog.

As the carriage crossed a massive bridge and drew closer to the imperial palace, she spoke again.

“Marisela, you haven’t forgotten the etiquette for meeting His Majesty, have you?”

“Of course not. How could I? You corrected even the slightest mistake in posture with a cane across my face.”

The Duchess winced, her heavily powdered face shimmering in the light as she murmured, “Must you always speak this way…?”

“If you’re unhappy, you can do what you always did—beat me with a cane and insult my mother. And if that doesn’t suffice, you can lock me in a room again,” I replied with a saccharine smile.

“That’s not what I meant…”

“Oh, my mistake. Mother, I meant. I was only saying everything’s fine. Whatever happened in the past, it’s not worth remembering, is it?”

The Duchess forced a smile of relief.

There were no issues between us.

And even if there were, some problems are best left buried.

The carriage stopped before the palace gates, which groaned open with a slow, heavy creak.

I glanced to the right and noticed soldiers struggling to turn some mechanism, suggesting the gates were being opened manually, not magically.

We passed through a garden in full bloom, vibrant flowers lining the path.

I kept up small talk with the Duchess, feigning interest and agreeing with her here and there as we made our way into the palace.

Inside, we walked along a long corridor lined with red carpets. Countless guards stood in orderly rows, their crisp uniforms a stark contrast to the knights stationed at each door, clad in ornate armor and armed with swords.

After passing through numerous grand halls and corridors, we arrived at the audience chamber.

Inside, I saw several girls around my age, all dressed impeccably, each holding the hand of a woman I assumed to be their mother. 

They bowed gracefully before the Emperor, greeting him as part of some formal ritual.

So this was what it meant to “debut” in high society.

It was essentially a presentation—a performance where the daughters of the elite were introduced to the Emperor or the Crown Prince and his consort, showing off the etiquette they had spent so much time practicing.

Like an assembly line producing noble ladies, these girls, all dressed in white, moved forward in turn. 

They performed their rehearsed bows, exchanged a few polite words with the Emperor, and then exited the chamber.

It was laughable.

Whether it was me, dragged here by the Duchess, or those girls acting out the same routine to join high society, we were all the same—just players in an elaborate, mechanical charade.

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