The first day of the remaining seven began earlier than Merope could have imagined.
She was woken up not by sunlight softly falling through the guest room curtains as usual, but by firm knocks on her door and the voice of an elderly maid named Grimm who, from the very second Merope opened her eyes, stood straight-backed with a face showing zero mercy.
”Merope-sama, it’s time to begin training,” she said, her tone polite yet unarguable.
”N-now?” Merope blinked, still half-asleep, staring at a window where the sky wasn’t even fully bright yet.
“But it’s still dark…”
”A queen candidate wakes up before the sun, Merope-sama.
Not after it.”
Merope stared at Grimm’s stern face for a moment, then sighed deeply and dragged herself out of the warm blanket she had only enjoyed last night.
Outside the window, the sky was still a deep purple mixed with gray, and the only sound was the birds just starting to wake up—much like her.
”Fine, fine,” she muttered, yawning widely as she dragged herself toward the vanity, “I’m up, I’m up…”
And just like that, without mercy, Merope’s subsequent days completely transformed.
The first lesson was walking.
”Not like that, Merope-sama.
Back straight, chin slightly lifted, steps must not make a sound.”
Merope tried again, this time with a thick book balanced on her head as a training tool—something she felt resembled a punishment more than a lesson.
The book fell for the seventh time before she managed to walk more than five steps without dropping it.
”Why do I have to walk like I’m carrying a plate on my head?” she complained softly, though she kept trying earnestly whenever Grimm raised an eyebrow.
In the corner of the room, Felt sat cross-legged on the sofa, snacking while watching with an amused look.
“Welcome to the exact same misery I went through before,” she said, devoid of sympathy.
”You learned this too?!” Merope exclaimed, shocked.
”Yeah.
And I still fail half of it,” Felt replied proudly, as if it were an achievement worth celebrating.
Grimm turned her sharp gaze toward Felt.
“Felt-sama also still requires additional practice, if I may remind you.”
”HUH?
Why are you suddenly attacking me?!” Felt nearly choked on her snack.
Merope couldn’t hold back a small chuckle at that, though the book on her head nearly fell again due to her shaking shoulders.
She quickly re-straightened her posture before Grimm could scold her again, though a teasing smile still lingered at the corner of her lips.
The next hours were spent in similar fashion—walking, stopping, bowing with precise angles, sitting with a back not allowed to touch the chair’s backrest by more than a few inches.
In between lessons, Merope several times had to restrain herself from using her Authority of Vainglory simply to speed things up—a tiny temptation she always brushed aside upon remembering Reinhard’s warning.
By midday, when Grimm finally permitted a brief break, Merope collapsed onto the sofa beside Felt with a long groan.
”I just realized,” she muttered, staring at the ceiling, “being a queen is really exhausting.”
”That’s why,” Felt offered her a glass of cold water, “even I think twice when asked if I really want to be queen.”
The second lesson, far more challenging, was controlling her own Authority of Vainglory.
Reinhard stood in the backyard of the residence with Merope, far from anyone’s sight, as the afternoon sun began to redden the edge of the sky.
”Your power activates too easily,” Reinhard explained, “even from the tiniest intent.
You made me float just by thinking I would be able to.
That’s dangerous—imagine if during an official event, you accidentally thought of something, and your power reacted without you asking.”
Merope nodded seriously, though clearly nervous.
“So… I have to learn not to think?”
”Not not thinking,” Reinhard corrected gently, “but learning to distinguish between thinking and willing.
Try it.
Think of me floating again—but this time, don’t actually desire it.”
Merope closed her eyes, concentrating hard, repeating the phrase in her head like a mantra: just a thought, not a desire, just a thought, not a desire.
Reinhard didn’t float.
She opened her eyes, slightly surprised by her own small success.
“Eh? It worked?”
”It worked,” Reinhard confirmed, a faint smile appearing on his face again—a rare smile that, in recent days, had begun to show more often than before.
Yet that success wasn’t always consistent.
Several subsequent attempts ended in minor failures that, while harmless, frustrated Merope enough—a potted plant in the corner of the yard suddenly bloomed fully uninvited just because she passed a fleeting thought over it, and a pebble she stepped on accidentally turned into fine dust when her mind drifted elsewhere.
”Sorry,” she muttered for the umpteenth time, staring at the pebble now reduced to a pile of dust beneath her feet.
“I really didn’t mean to—”
”It’s alright,” Reinhard cut in, his tone remaining patient even as night began to fall.
“This isn’t something mastered in a day. Even I took years to master full control over my own power.”
Merope looked at him, slightly surprised by that confession.
“You struggled too?”
”Everyone does,” Reinhard answered simply, then added softer, “The important thing isn’t how fast you master it, but how hard you try without giving up.”
Those words embedded themselves deeply in Merope’s mind, and as they continued training until stars began dotting the night sky one by one, she practiced with a resolve much calmer than before—no longer forcing herself to perfection overnight, but simply trying, little by little.
The third lesson was the hardest for Merope to swallow: practicing how to answer questions about her origins without lying directly, yet without revealing the actual truth.
”If someone asks where you came from,” Felt explained, this time in a tone far more serious than usual, “just say you lost your memories.
That’s not a lie—that’s the reality.
But never, under any circumstances, talk about those ruins, about the Witch Hunt, or about—” she paused, lowering her voice, “—about who your sister was.”
Merope fell silent hearing that.
The word sister still felt strange spoken about someone whose face she couldn’t even truly remember clearly—only a faint echo, an unfamiliar warmth sometimes appearing at the edge of her dreams, never clear enough to grasp.
”I don’t even know much about her,” Merope murmured softly.
“How can I hide something I don’t even fully understand myself?”
Reinhard, sitting nearby, answered in his usual calm voice.
“That might actually protect you. You don’t need to lie about something you yourself don’t know the answer to.”
Those words should have been comforting.
Yet for some reason, deep in Merope’s chest, something felt like a minor wound just touched—the bitter realization that she would soon stand before the entire kingdom, bearing the name of a sister she couldn’t even fully remember.
Felt, noticing Merope’s changing expression, sighed and sat closer, her tone softening from before.
“Hey,” she said, “don’t think too hard about it tonight.
You still have a few days to practice.
Besides—” she nudged Merope’s shoulder lightly with her elbow, “—you’re already pretty good for someone who only spent a week learning how to be human again.”
Merope blinked, then smiled faintly, accepting that simple comfort with relief.
“Thank you, Felt.”
”Well, don’t get all emotional,” Felt quickly looked away, her ears turning slightly red.
“Come on, time to practice dinner etiquette. Reinhard, you join too so Merope has a proper example—don’t be like me this morning.”
”I’ve heard about it all day,” Reinhard replied flatly, though his eyes gleamed playfully, “no need to repeat it, Felt-sama.”
”OI!”
Merope’s small laughter broke out that night, and amidst the relentless exhaustion of training, it ended with something warm—not just lessons on etiquette or power, but a silent lesson on what it felt like to have someone to lean on, even amid uncertainty over who she truly was.
…..
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