Olivia had discovered the power of the jeweled box by chance.
In her first life, she had spent nearly twenty years in this annex. Despairing, despairing still, living so burdened by life that she could hardly breathe, too much a coward even to end herself properly, praying only for the day death might come on its own.
And then one day, unable to bear her fury, Roella shoved her against this fireplace, and she died.
“I am the Empress, I am his wife! How dare trash like you!!!”
That rage had been unjust to Olivia. She had never wanted Ezekiel, had never once rejoiced in such a life of captivity.
“Shameless wench! Only Count Ruttgard is pitiful! To think he risked his life for a thing like you!!!”
Olivia could not understand what that meant. Why would Theodore? In truth, she had not even known if the Count of Ruttgard at that time was Theodore or another. For twenty years she had been locked away, knowing nothing of the outside world.
It seemed, as she died, she had grasped the jeweled box without thinking. Olivia still remembered vividly the pain of that moment, the dimming vision. The jeweled box had fallen into the blood she spilled and shone with light.
And when she awoke, she had returned to a certain day at the age of twenty-two.
At first, she thought her previous life had been a dream. An absurd nightmare.
But what she had dismissed as strange imaginings of a dream soon unfolded in reality. The letter from the Count of Ruttgard that she had read in the dream truly existed, and once more she learned that she was a true imperial princess.
After reading that letter, she fled at once. She gave no thought to how far she would go, how she would survive. With only a bit of hoarded allowance and some clothes, she left behind everything she loved, everyone she had loved.
But the fate of a princess pursued her easily. Not long after the death of the former Count of Ruttgard, the Schwaben Ducal House, learning of Olivia’s survival, hunted her down and captured her to eliminate the variable.
Even then, Olivia became Ezekiel’s plaything.
That time, she endured about three years. Threatened that if she killed herself carelessly, Ruttgard would suffer reprisal, she submitted to becoming his concubine.
Seeing no one, not even permitted a walk in the gardens, she lived caged in this annex, eating the meals Ezekiel gave, wearing the clothes he chose, feigning tender kisses on command, parting her legs whenever he wished, bred like livestock.
Without certainty, for three years she fidgeted with the jeweled box, wishing desperately to begin again, restraining that wish….
But in the end, Ezekiel killed Theodore.
On the day of his execution, Ezekiel came to her in higher spirits than usual, presenting her with gifts, treating her more tenderly than usual in bed.
And when she lay exhausted, he smiled and told her.
“I executed Theodore Ruttgard today.”
“What, what are you saying? You swore you wouldn’t kill him! You said if I obeyed, you’d leave Ruttgard be…”
“Even so, how could I let a rebel live? If I freed a traitor just because his mistress begged, what would become of the realm?”
As she cried out in trembling horror, Ezekiel kissed her with a look of satisfaction.
“He was a rebel from the start, Biya. Keeping him alive was already too much. Hiding you itself was treason. And then he dared to raise soldiers.”
“You said you would spare him. You said if I did as you asked, you would leave Ruttgard alone.”
That was the only thing Olivia could say.
For what had she endured a hopeless life? Why had she smiled for a hateful man?
Only because she wanted Ruttgard safe.
All the good years of her life had been in Ruttgard. The Count of Ruttgard had raised her like a daughter, and the memories of that place sustained her life.
So she endured. Even knowing Theodore despised her. Even imagining what the people of her beloved homeland must think, seeing her live as the Emperor’s mistress.
And Ezekiel must have known it as well, for he smiled as if to mock her and said:
“Yes, since you’re here, I’ll only execute Theodore and spare the rest. What is that rebellious face for, Biya? You ought to thank me.”
Olivia, wide-eyed, could not even weep, choking on sobs. And yet she had no choice but to thank him, to kiss his instep. For there were surely still survivors of Ruttgard.
But no matter how she thought, she could not accept it.
Loyal Theodore would never commit treason. It had to be a false charge, or else Ezekiel had pressed him so far he had no choice.
In the end, Olivia cut her wrists with the jeweled box in hand. She hardly felt the pain.
If she could truly return, then good. If not, she would simply die. After Theodore’s death, she could not live on like this. Even if all the others of Ruttgard must be sacrificed, she could bear no more.
She thought it would have been better had she died sooner. Had she never fled, only killed herself straightaway, then Ruttgard, then Theodore might have been spared.
She could not tell if the crimson that clouded her sight was tears of blood, or the spreading flood of her own life.
But this time she clearly remembered the jeweled box shining.
And she was given yet another chance.
This time she realized she must not flee alone, and so she told Theodore everything she knew. That she was in truth a princess, that the Schwaben Ducal House conspired—all of it.
She knew he despised her. Simply to have been protected by the former Count was grace beyond compare, and it was unjust to burden him further.
But there was no one else from whom she could seek help.
This time she thought all would go well. Theodore was wise and strong, surely he could protect her and safeguard Ruttgard.
And the ending was this.
In the end, it was her fault again. Because of her, Theodore once more bore the stigma of traitor and died, and Ruttgard was destroyed.
Olivia, clutching the jeweled box, gazed down at it quietly. Her eyes burned though no tears spread, perhaps because they had already dried.
'This time I won’t fail. I will live. I will save them.'
She had not fled but walked into Ezekiel’s grasp again, for the sake of seizing this once more.
And she endured. In order to begin again.
A ragged sigh tore through her parched chest.
'I’m all right.'
She repeated it. She would be all right, forever. She had begun again, and she could protect those she cherished.
This time, she would accomplish it. She would not flee, she would not rely on others—she would save them by her own strength.
Herself, Theodore, and Ruttgard.
Olivia gripped the jeweled box and walked toward the bedchamber. She thought breaking glass there would make less sound than at the window.
She shoved the glass table hard, overturning it.
Crash—!
The table shattered with a great noise.
Shards flew and cut her leg, but she paid it no mind. Wrapping her hand with a robe’s sash, she picked up a sharp shard. If her hand were wounded first, it would be harder to cut until she reached the artery.
There was time enough. Roella’s fury would not calm easily, and no maid would dare enter the bedchamber. Few indeed could come as far as where Olivia was.
So all she needed was her resolve.
It was not the first time. Olivia dug the glass shard into the artery at her wrist with precision. Once, twice, thrice… moving again and again as if this were her sole duty.
And at last, three hours later, when Ezekiel, having come to terms with Roella and taken his leisure, arrived at the annex, what he found was a woman pale as snow, lying in a pool of blood, breathing her last.