Marcos Gildark stepped forward again, ensuring the ceremony’s proceedings weren’t disrupted further.
“If there are no further interruptions, let us move to the next agenda. Official introductions from each Royal Selection candidate, alongside the visions they bring for Lugnica’s future.”
One by one, the candidates stepped forward, explaining their goals and visions with differing styles and emphases—some with firm confidence, others with carefully chosen words like seasoned diplomats.
Merope stood among them, listening with sparkling eyes, as if watching a performance far more marvelous than a mere series of formal speeches.
“Wow, they’re so great at explaining their goals,” Merope whispered, turning slightly toward Felt beside her, “right, Felt?”
“Don’t be impressed by that, idiot,” Felt whispered back, her tone sharper than usual, “they’re your rivals, you know.”
Merope blinked, slightly startled by Felt’s sudden serious tone.
“You’re my rival too, you know,” she whispered, with a playful tone trying to lighten the mood.
Felt merely snorted softly, though the corners of her lips twitched slightly holding back a smile, before refocusing her attention to the front of the room.
Then came Emilia’s turn.
She stepped forward gracefully, her long silver hair shimmering softly under the hall lights, and the moment she began speaking, the entire room seemed to sharpen its attention without needing prompts.
“It is a pleasure to meet you all, esteemed members of the Council of Elders, and everyone present,” Emilia spoke.
Her voice sounded as clear as a silver bell, reaching every corner of the hall.
“My name is Emilia. I have no family name, so please just call me Emilia.”
No manufactured humility and no arrogant distance.
It was simply a sincere, straightforward introduction.
“The country I envision is a nation where everyone can live as equals. Whether human, half-elf, beastman, or even a child living in the slums. Everyone should have equal opportunity and dignity. The nobility should not stand above others simply due to bloodline, and commoners should not be looked down upon simply due to birth.”
Emilia paused her sentence, then looked straight at the palace higher-ups.
“If I become Queen, I hope to use that power to create a Lugnica free from discrimination and prejudice.”
Merope stared at Emilia with wide eyes, something in her chest throbbing warmly hearing those words—especially upon “free from discrimination and prejudice,” a sentence that somehow felt so personal, so close to what she had experienced firsthand just weeks ago in a village that nearly pelted her with stones. Enjoying the story? Read on at g.com.
She understands, Merope thought, without fully realizing a small smile forming on her face.
Or at least, she tries to understand.
Yet before applause or any official response could follow Emilia’s speech, a trembling, raspy voice shattered the silence meant to honor the moment.
“A half-elf…” Bordeaux rose from his seat, his body shaking, voice trembling heavily with deep disgust and agitation.
“A silver-haired half-elf! Guards! Where are the guards?! How can such a vile and cursed creature be permitted into this sacred hall?”
The entire room froze.
Emilia herself stood stiffly in place, her face pale yet trying to maintain composure though her eyes shook slightly hearing the accusation.
Miklotov, sitting beside him, furrowed his brow and spoke calmly, “Lord Bordeaux, please watch your mouth.”
“Watch my mouth?!” Bordeaux glared wildly at Emilia, his trembling finger pointing.
“Look at her! Her appearance is identical to the Witch of Envy from ancient legend! The demon that devoured half the world! The monster that brought suffering to the world in the name of envy, feeding on fear and reveling in slaughter! And now, she dares to aspire to seize the throne?! What a shameless, despicable woman!”
Merope felt her chest tighten hearing those words, her body tensing instinctively—not just due to the cruelty of the words themselves, but because of how familiar the feeling now radiating on Emilia’s face was: the terror of being viewed as a monster simply for a face they never chose.
Yet before anyone could mediate further, Bordeaux turned, his eyes shifting sharply toward Merope.
“I can tolerate candidate Merope,” he shouted, “because even though she is the witch’s sister, she is not the worst witch! But the Witch of Envy?! She even killed the other witches!”
Before anyone could react, a small yet firm motion occurred in the center of the hall.
Merope stepped forward quickly, positioning herself right in front of Emilia, spreading both arms wide as if her tiny body alone was enough to block the fury directed at the girl behind her.
“You mustn’t bully!” she shouted, her voice echoing loudly across the room, far louder than her previous nervous whispers.
The entire hall fell into a different silence—no longer gripping tension, but pure shock witnessing a newly introduced candidate, someone who should still be finding her footing, standing tall to defend another candidate before a furious elder.
Bordeaux blinked rapidly in disbelief.
“W-what did you say?”
“You called Emilia evil just because of her face,” Merope continued, her hands still outstretched, her eyes staring straight without flinching though her voice shook at the end of the sentence, “but you don’t even know what kind of person she is, right? You just looked at her face, and immediately judged her evil. That’s just like what they did to me at the village—looked at my face, and immediately got scared, even though I hadn’t done anything.”
She took a single breath, her voice steadier now.
“Emilia just said she wants to make a world without discrimination. Then you go right ahead and discriminate against her in front of everyone, just because of her face. That… that’s unfair!”
Behind her, Emilia stared at the small back standing protectively in front of her with wide eyes, shocked and touched simultaneously—a total stranger she met today, accused of being a sister to a legendary witch herself, choosing to defend her without a single moment of hesitation.
Merope turned slightly, still with outstretched hands, shouting proudly to the entire room.
“If that’s the case, I’ll just go ahead and state my reason for becoming king,” she said, her voice no longer shaking at all.
“But we hav—” Marcos tried to interject, clearly attempting to restore the agenda’s preset order.
“Just let her speak,” Miklotov cut in, his tone calm yet firm, eyes staring at Merope with something resembling genuine curiosity.
Merope took a deep breath, lowering her hands slowly from her protective stance, yet standing tall in her spot, facing the entire room now completely focused on her.
“I want everyone to be happy!” she proclaimed, her voice full of honest passion, lacking the complicated diplomatic words of previous candidates.
“I also want people who share a face with past witches not to face discrimination—to the point where people like Lord Bordeaux acknowledge it.” She glanced briefly at the man, without hatred in her eyes, just simple resolve.
“In short, I want everyone to be happy.”
Those words, simple as they sounded, dropped into the room with unexpected weight—lacking tangled rhetoric, lacking grand promises of reform or policy, just a pure desire spoken with a sincerity hard to fake.
Several elders exchanged glances, some holding back small smiles at the innocence of those words, while others still harbored doubts not entirely erased by good intentions alone.
…..
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