Yet there were these moments—just fleeting seconds—where I thought I saw something else beneath his icy exterior.
A hint of warmth, a flicker of curiosity.
Yes, a flicker of curiosity to see how I look after being skinned alive!
But whatever, he is definitely good at acting.
Like that afternoon in the garden.
I lounged on a chaise, pretending to enjoy the sunlight, with cucumbers above my eyes, maids rubbing my feet, and two others standing near my head—one fanning and the other giving me grapes.
Of course, I would have eaten grapes myself if it weren't for the other two massaging my hands.
Then he appeared out of nowhere, as he often did.
His sudden presence startled me, yanking me from my thoughts and sending the cucumber on my eyes flying directly into the mouths of the two maids.
Bad luck for them; if they had waited a moment longer, my salty tears, which were about to fall, would have given the cucumber a salty flavor.
"You're in the garden again," he remarked, his tone almost… thoughtful.
But before I could even respond, he added, "I trust you're not straining yourself."
I smirked then, despite the knot of anxiety tightening in my chest.
"Hardly," I said, lifting my cup of revolting tea.
"It's the one place I can breathe without someone hovering over me."
His eyes narrowed slightly, but I could swear I saw the ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips before he nodded.
His gaze lingered just a moment longer than usual before turning away, leaving me to wonder—as always—what was really going on in that head of his.
That was how it was with the emperor: cool, distant exchanges, each one short enough to leave me grasping at straws, wondering if I had outsmarted him or if he was playing a far deeper game than I realized.
But I was careful—so careful—to play my part perfectly.
I had to.
I touched my stomach more often now, patting it gently as though there were something precious growing inside.
Yes, fat.
I need to eat and have at least a bump, or my head will go into a dump!
I began to eat more, pretending to have cravings that kept the maids running around the kitchen for dishes I didn't even want.
My brisk, confident strides transformed into slower, deliberate steps, as if the weight of an imaginary child was actually pulling me down.
Even my expressions changed—I practiced that soft, dreamy look that mothers-to-be wore, as though lost in thought about baby names or nursery colors, too preoccupied to notice anything else.
Seeing all the movies and reading web novels about evil stepmoms becoming kind mothers, even when I skipped college, was definitely my lifesaver.
But the frustrations were always lingering there.
Things were not interesting for me in the upcoming days.
The damn tea continued to taste like bitter poison, and I could only feign enthusiasm for so long before I felt my patience thinning.
Alone in the garden, I often fumed at how absurdly out of control this situation had become.
The entire point of this charade was to buy myself time, to escape the emperor and his suffocating palace.
Instead, I had spun myself into a web of lies, and each day, I sank deeper into it, with no sign of release in sight.
Weeks passed, and somehow, I had fallen into a bizarre routine.
The emperor visited sporadically, his detached concern the only thing consistent about his appearances.
The maids were ever-present, fluttering around me like overly concerned birds, giving me no space to think, let alone plan.
It was suffocating.
Yet, through it all, I carried on—playing the role of the expectant mother, fooling everyone around me.
But each day that passed made me question how long I could keep up the act.
Could I maintain this illusion until I found a way out?
Or was I running out of time, trapped in a performance that might eventually collapse around me?
The days blurred into one long, exhausting act, and I began to wonder if the greatest danger wasn't getting caught, but losing myself in the lie I had created....
*****
The butler approached, bowing with the precise formality that always preceded news from within the palace.
His movements were measured, as though he had rehearsed each step.
The emperor watched him, seated on his throne, his posture regal yet relaxed.
The hall was silent save for the soft shuffle of the butler's shoes against the polished marble floor.
"Speak," the emperor commanded, his voice calm, carrying a weight of authority despite the indifferent tone.
His eyes, however, sharpened with intent, fixing on the man who now stood before him.
He had come to expect nothing less than absolute precision in every report.
The butler, ever meticulous, cleared his throat before he began, knowing that even the smallest detail could alter the emperor's mood.
"It has been two weeks, Your Majesty. The lady appears to be adjusting well," he started, his gaze lowered respectfully. Yet, there was a flicker of hesitation in his voice, a brief falter that did not go unnoticed.
The emperor raised an eyebrow, a single gesture that demanded more, though his lips remained pressed in a thin, unreadable line.
"Go on," he instructed, the quiet command leaving little room for delay.
The butler continued with his report, his tone as neutral as ever, though there was a subtle shift in his stance, as if preparing for the emperor's reaction.
"She follows a strict routine," he said. "In the mornings, she spends time in the garden. The maids report that she eats more now and has even begun requesting additional meals between her usual ones. She complains of cravings—though nothing unusual for someone in her... condition."
The emperor's face remained impassive, but there was a flicker of something sharp in his eyes, a glint that hinted at deeper thoughts swirling beneath the surface.
"And how are the maids?" he asked, his voice calm but carrying that quiet intensity that always commanded immediate answers.
"They remain attentive, Your Majesty," the butler responded promptly.
"They are by her side constantly, ensuring she does not exert herself. She rests frequently and often speaks of the child—though there are moments when..." He trailed off, hesitating just enough to pique the emperor's interest.
"When what?"