Sister-in-law of the Heroine in a Childcare Novel - Chapter 47

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Chapter 47

If only she had been plain. If only she had lacked grace. If only she had been vulgar. Then Cleo would have felt the sweetness of victory.
But the Eldest Daughter of House Marquis Rand excelled far beyond her peers.
In the empire, whenever an emperor’s coronation was held, the empress’s enthronement followed as a matter of course. An unmarried man could not be crowned. So when the previous emperor died suddenly, and the then-crown prince—now the current emperor—prepared to ascend, they searched desperately for someone to become empress.
Even competing against that renowned Eldest Daughter of the Integraia Family for the empress’s seat, she had seemed to hold the advantage.
The Integraia Eldest Daughter knew etiquette and carried herself with dignity, but she lacked the magnetism that drew every eye to the Marquis Rand’s daughter, or so they said.
The Empress Dowager had summoned her privately and spoken of being quite pleased with her.
Hearing that, Cleo’s teeth clenched.
At this rate, she would never win.
To become empress—exalted and noble—and bear the future emperor’s child. To stand in the grand Imperial Palace, bathed in everyone’s praise and envy….
She would mock me.
Perhaps that was why.
She had fed that poison—which she’d obtained by chance—to her own sister.
Standing before her sister as she drained the poisoned cup and coughed blood, Cleo trembled with exhilaration and dread.
That was the moment.
Before death took her, in a voice utterly serene, her sister—the one she despised above all—looked down at her with contempt and spoke.
“Pleased that I’m dying? Stupid, wretched thing.”
In that instant, Cleo felt as though struck by lightning.
The renowned Eldest Daughter of House Marquis Rand had lived with a bored expression, as though mocking the entire world.
She read every book after a single glance. Every courtesy she learned, she performed flawlessly. Even as a mere pastime, her needlework surpassed that of professional servants, and her poetry sounded more genuine than any poet’s. Love, affection, passion—she knew them not, it seemed, as she brushed aside all praise with an air of tedium.
She gazed upon others’ desires, their lack, their hunger—as though it were all beneath contempt.
Yes.
She had no passion for life. Her only amusement seemed to be mocking Cleo, who burned with inferiority and hatred and rage toward her.
So she had “chosen to die.” Whether she became empress or not, whether she lived or faded away—there would be no way for Cleo to surpass her!
Not because she drank the poison, but because living held no interest for her!
After the Eldest Daughter of House Marquis Rand drank poison and died, her father—who had never once sought her out before—called Cleo to speak. His words were simple.
“The Empress Dowager promised to place that child in the empress’s seat. Since circumstances have changed, you must fill the vacancy.”
His eyes held contempt.
“I shall have you formally registered, but you will never match your sister. The empress’s seat will belong to the Integraia Family. I harbor no hopes, but do your best.”
Cleo’s murder of her sister became as though it had never occurred. The Eldest Daughter of House Marquis Rand had simply died in an unfortunate accident. Cleo’s teeth clenched.
She would bear a son.
She would seduce the emperor and bear a son before anyone else.
And she would make that child emperor.
Her sister had died as though the empress’s seat itself was nothing, but the son Cleo bore would be more exalted than her sister—absolutely!
She would make the House of Marquis Rand, which had looked down on her, grovel like insects before her!
To achieve that, she could do anything.
Seducing the emperor had been effortless. Each time she saw the rigid Integraia Eldest Daughter—so concerned with propriety—she felt as though she were seeing her sister, and the sight displeased her. But they were not the same person, after all.
The servants who dared whisper that she had coveted the emperor’s side and poisoned her sister out of jealousy—she would never forgive them. She had borne a noble son, and earlier than even the empress. House Marquis Rand itself had cooperated in elevating their bloodline to the throne of the future emperor.
The name of the dead was forgotten. Survival was success. She had felt elation growing within her.
So, could she truly hesitate to manipulate a mere girl with no one to depend upon and use her as she pleased?
It was easy. The girl looked at everyone with eyes that hungered for affection, yet could not voice her need—not even to herself.
Yet. Even thinking that. Why was it…
‘What if you thought of it this way?’
That voice, kind even to the point of gentleness.
‘The foolish, ignorant child who mistook the Imperial Consort’s affection for truth—she died then. And a fake, born from the Imperial Consort’s sin, took her place.’
The voice that spoke of death so calmly overlapped with the memory of the past. A fake born from my sin? What? You? Yet even knowing it was meant merely to mock.
“Pleased that I’m dying? Stupid, wretched thing.”
Those hollow, mocking eyes surfaced in her mind.
Princess Titania laughed with eyes like an empty mirror. In them were reflected not the face of her betrothed whom she so craved, nor the features of her mother whose attachments she could not sever—but only her own face, frozen in terror and fury and confusion.
‘So please, I look forward to working with you in the future, Imperial Consort.’
Watching that, Cleo felt something.
This could not be the Titania from before.
This could not be the girl so ignorant and foolish that her inner emptiness showed through.
Because this—this was….
“You seem to be in quite a hurry, Imperial Consort.”
At the sudden sound of a voice, Cleo stopped in her tracks.
“…What business could possibly remain for me, Young Duke?”
The Imperial Consort forced a smile. Yet her eyes restlessly probed for the other’s reaction. Raymond, dressed in a black uniform and cape, wore an expressionless face.
“Surely today your betrothed finally awoke. I thought you would rush to her side at once….”
Yes.
The changed Titania had clearly saved that girl—Bibi, was it?—with some hidden purpose in mind.
And could the Young Duke, with that ghost-like face, truly not know? Him, who seemed obsessed with the name Castrain itself?
“Or perhaps there are circumstances unknown to the world? After all, Princess Titania’s beauty is certainly exceptional, but considering the beauty of the House of Castrain itself—there is scarcely reason to seek comfort in any one person.”
“I do not judge people by their appearance.”
“A truly admirable sentiment. But Young Duke, you did not call me here merely to say that, did you?”
He would not resort to harassment within the Imperial Palace.
Nor would he suddenly come to question whether she had acted rightly or wrongly.
The Imperial Consort would never, of her own accord, admit that she had “fabricated” the curse on Princess Titania. She might make mistakes, might be deceived by others, but she would never voluntarily confess. Everyone understood that.
“Who did you join hands with?”
Quick-witted Cleo immediately grasped that he was asking where she had obtained the “evidence” she now possessed.
“That is hardly my concern. How could I possibly know that some wicked enemy of the Imperial Palace would leave such a dangerous thing about?”
“I did not ask where you obtained the object. I asked whom you partnered with.”
The emotionless voice was truly threatening. Hearing it, one could almost understand why the emperor, bound up in inferiority toward House Castrain, felt such resentment.
Just now he had managed to bow his head before the emperor while scheming, but normally he was so stiff.
As if capturing and killing some Magic Beast was such a grand accomplishment.
It was no different from butchery, when all was said and done!
“I have many people helping me. I hardly need to refuse the good intentions of those who voluntarily aid me.”
In the darkness, Raymond’s golden eyes shone with an ominous gleam. A deep, insidious scent—as though luring insects from the shadows—suddenly filled the air.
“…I see. I had already anticipated that you would not speak frankly.”
“Then why ask me such a banal question….”
“What I wished to say is something else.”
Screeeeeeeech!
A horrifying shriek rent the air, piercing to the ears.
The Imperial Consort watched, dazed, as the Magic Beast that had been lunging for her ankle was crushed alive without so much as a whimper, its blood spraying across her.
Raymond planted the sword he held into the ground. Something black and foul-smelling dripped from his knuckles to the floor.
Ah, the Imperial Consort understood instinctively.
That was the lure—the bait that drew Magic Beasts. He had held it so casually in his hand, and approached and spoken to her with perfect ease.
Soaked in fresh blood, the Imperial Consort heard Raymond speak to her in a voice remarkably calm.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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