Philomel the Fake
Chapter 2

In the novel, I... No, the novel isn’t really about me!

She didn’t want to admit that the villainess who’d met such a terrible fate might be her. They simply shared the same name, that was all. The name Philomel wasn’t common, but it wasn’t unique either. She felt somewhat uncomfortable, however, since she’d gotten the impression many times while reading that the Philomel in the novel resembled her.

For example, the novel described an incident in the character’s childhood, used as a plot device to depict the girl’s evil nature. In the book, Philomel lost a necklace that her father had given her as a birthday present. Not wanting her father to hate her more for it, she accused a maid of stealing it and tried to have her killed.

A similar incident had actually happened to her, but she hadn’t blamed the maid for any sort of malicious purpose. She’d truly believed the maid had taken it. The necklace had vanished, and the last person to clean the room had been that maid, leading to the misunderstanding.

After the maid was proven innocent, her nanny had scolded her severely, and she’d apologized to the maid. She’d had no intention of getting the girl killed, either. In hindsight, she recalled that she’d said something along the lines of “I’m going to kill her!” but it had just been an angry outburst.

While it was true that she’d said such a thing, the novel didn’t describe what Philomel had been thinking at the time and just depicted her as pure evil.

“No. This is just a random story someone wrote based on rumors, not facts,” she said, shaking her head and trying to calm her anxiety.

“I’m coming in, Your Highness,” she heard the nanny’s voice from outside the door.

“W-wait, give me a second!”

She rushed to her desk, shoving the novel in a drawer. She’d be in for an endless lecture if the nanny found out she’d been reading a romance novel while confined to her room.

“You weren’t wasting time again, were you? You should be studying.” The nanny stormed inside before Philomel had given her permission to do so, frowning as she looked around the room suspiciously.

“Don’t be absurd! I was studying.” Philomel pointed at the thick history book on her desk, but the nanny was a distrustful person. She inspected the room carefully before coming to stand in front of Philomel.

“Please, you need to behave yourself from now on. If you misbehave, it’s those in your service who suffer for it.”

“Right...”

The nanny was gearing up for another sermon. She was the only person who could talk back to Philomel, with the exception of the emperor himself. She’d also been the empress’s nanny and nursemaid, and though she’d never fed Philomel from her breast, everyone called her the nanny.

The empress had trusted and relied on this woman like she was her own mother and had brought her along to the palace after she married. Eustis had respected his deceased wife’s wishes and made her his daughter’s nanny as well, giving the woman full authority over Philomel’s care and education. Because he was indifferent to his daughter, it was the nanny who had sole control over anything that involved Philomel.

“His Majesty has informed me that I’m to teach you a proper lesson this time around.”

“Hmph. You’re lying.”

Eustis wasn’t interested enough in Philomel to give such an instruction. The nanny, however, knew that this tactic was often very effective when dealing with Philomel, and had used Eustis’ name a lot in her attempts to rein the girl in.

For example, she’d promise Philomel that she’d be allowed to eat with her father if she did well in her etiquette classes, or perhaps visit his office if she did well on a test. If Philomel managed to do as she was asked, the nanny would make a variety of excuses to postpone her receiving her reward. Only after dozens of these promises had been broken did Philomel realize she’d been duped. It was largely the nanny’s fault that she’d lost interest in the classes meant to teach her the duties of an heir.

“What did you just say? How could you accuse me of lying? It’s a terrible habit to doubt someone’s word without good reason. You’ll force me to teach you a stronger lesson if you keep this up.” The nanny’s voice rose as she made a fuss, knowing that I’d seen right through her.

“Oh, all right. All right. I’ll be more careful who I accuse in the future,” Philomel promised, submitting quietly.

The nanny was getting on in age, but she was still quite plump and strong. Even if she used the cane on her, she never hit her very hard. Not that it was any less frightening to a child-like Philomel.

“Please, I beg of you. I have no idea who you take after, that you’re so headstrong. Her Majesty Empress Isabella was so well-behaved at your age...”

The nanny had told her this many times, but being reminded of another way that she didn’t resemble her mother strung more than usual today.

“Nanny...”

“Yes?”

“Am I so different from my mother?” Philomel asked cautiously.

“Yes. Astonishingly so. Her Majesty was smart and mature from an early age. Not only that, she was still such an innocent soul at times...”

The nanny loved nothing more than comparing Philomel to the dead empress and, consequently, eating away at the young girl’s self-esteem. While this was something the nanny did on a daily basis, today the words felt pointed, like she was suggesting that her charge wasn’t the real princess after all, just like the book had. Philomel’s mood plummeted further.

“That’s why you need to behave yourself on Founding Day—”

Philomel let her mind wander as the nanny droned on, but her eyes jerked open at the mention of the upcoming celebration. “Founding Day?”

“You weren’t listening, were you?”

“I can take part in Founding Day?”

“Of course you can. It’s a national event, and you’ll be allowed to go outside for the day despite your punishment.”

Founding Day. Founding Day in my ninth year. She’d read about this day specifically in the book! After her nanny left, Philomel took out Ellensia, the Imperial Princess once more and skimmed through it.

There it is.

She’d been looking for the part in the story where Ellensia, the protagonist, attended the Founding Day celebration held in her village when she was nine years old. Ellensia was the same age as Philomel, which meant the celebration described in the book was the same one that the nanny had been talking about. Ellensia had wanted to see it, but the rain had been heavy that day, and the event had been delayed.

Philomel remembered laughing at the preposterous idea that Founding Day would be delayed because of rain. Founding Day is the most important festival in the Belerov Empire, and the date is decided every year by an oracle.

As tradition demanded, the best magicians and scholars who specialized in the weather had concluded that there would be no rain on this year’s Founding Day, either. But that wasn’t all that had happened in the book. After the celebration was delayed for three or four days, the high priest had passed out, delaying the event even further for a week.

“Of course. The book is just fiction.”

How could the high priest, protector of the empire, just fall sick? She felt a lot better after realizing this. Now all she needed to do was relax and wait for the wonderful weather that was sure to greet them on the day of the festival. After the celebration passed without incident, she’d take the book to her father and make sure the vile author got their just deserts.

Philomel smiled and snapped the book shut.

* * *

I was so sure I was right... Philomel, dressed in pretty clothes, stared in shock at the pouring rain outside.

“Your Majesty, I’m afraid we’ll have to postpone the event...” the distressed chancellor informed Eustis.

They were sheltering in the memorial hall to stay out of the rain, unable to make their way to the outdoor venue that had been prepared in front of the palace. The official in charge of the festival was sweating profusely as he explained that an unexpected rainstorm had rolled in.

“All right. Delay the event. Set a new date and report back to me,” the emperor ordered.

The many members of the imperial family and the nobility who’d gathered to hear the emperor’s speech began to prepare to return to their homes or temporary lodging.

It’s really going to be delayed, just like in the novel? Philomel felt her heart sink. The novel had to remain just a novel—it couldn’t be allowed to become her reality. Otherwise, it would make it true that she wasn’t her father’s biological daughter.

“No! We can’t delay it!” Before she’d even really thought it through, she was screaming at the top of her lungs and charging out into the rain.

“Your Highness! No!”

A handful of people rushed after her, trying to keep her from getting wet, but Philomel had already run to Eustis. Looking up at him, she said in a pleading voice, “Father.”

A faint furrow appeared on Eustis’ handsome brow.

“Please, Father. Don’t delay the event. Please?”

Her father was silent.

“You can give your speech inside the hall. Please hold the festival as planned.”

Everyone was glancing cautiously between father and daughter, shocked by the princess’s sudden outburst.

“Please, Father, I’m begging you...” Philomel’s eyes were filled with moisture that was just as likely to be rainwater as it was tears.

“Your Highness... That’s just not possible. Please have some decorum,” one of Philomel’s maids murmured quietly. Philomel knew very well that demanding the speech be given indoors was preposterous.

Belerov had been founded with the sun god’s blessing, and the Founding Day event was only meaningful when held on a clear, sunny day. Postponing it wasn’t simply because outdoor activities would be difficult in the rain. She knew all this just as well as anyone else. But… But still!

“Let us leave,” the emperor eventually said, tearing his eyes away from her.

“Your Majesty, your daughter is...” Count Polan, the chancellor, began hesitantly.

Eustis turned his attention to the count and the others present. “Must I humor a child’s whims? And one that dares to block the emperor’s way because she wishes to go ahead with the festival?”

The anger in those blue eyes silenced any further protests. Many knew that despite his charming good looks, the emperor could be as cruel as a demon. People still often wondered in secret if it was true that he’d assassinated not only his brothers but his own father in order to take the throne for himself.

“Let’s go,” Eustis said, turning away coldly.

With that, the gathered crowd began to take their leave one by one. They cast sidelong glances at the princess, who was standing alone in the rain, but no one spoke to her. There was nothing to be gained from involving themselves with a princess the emperor so despised.