The Day the Empress Was Born (2)

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[To become strong enough that no one dares defy your will.]

The gentle knightess never knew how deeply these words would shape the future of the second Imperial Princess, Qiana—a three-year-old far too precocious for her age.

The tiny girl murmured the phrase under her breath.

Her voice, still newly formed, stumbled every time. She’d trip over “strong enough,” pause at “powerful,” or bite her tongue on “defy.”

Not once did she say it smoothly.

Yet she persisted. Repeated it. Again and again.

Even when Herathel carried her back to the private study reserved for the second Imperial Princess, the child was still practicing.

Still failing.

“To be… strong enou—enough… to make everyone… too scared to dis-dis-obey…”

“Too scared to disobey Your Highness’s will.”

Herathel lifted the small princess onto a chair too tall for her, gently stroking her hair as she finished the sentence. She sighed.

“There’s no need to rush, my dear little princess. You’re only three. Your future stretches long ahead. Don’t fixate on one phrase. Instead of parroting these words, calm your heart and begin our lesson. Right now, you shouldn’t dwell on making others ‘dare not defy your will.’ You should nurture the innate power gifted to you… Remember: your talent is your weapon. Cultivate it well, so it becomes your enemies’ worst nightmare when the time comes… Do you understand?”

“…No…”

Qiana shook her head.

Herathel gave a wry smile. “Of course you don’t. You’re still so young. It’s my fault for speaking this way… In short:”

She stood, placed a history book on the desk, flipped open its stiff cover, and pointed to the first line on the first page—*A General History of the Human Continent*.

“Come now, Your Highness. Our lesson begins.”

Exactly.

No matter how grand a dream, without knowledge and experience, it remains mere fantasy.

To make it real, one must strive and study—starting *now*.

And so their lessons began.

Herathel: a gentle, learned tutor with deep experience.

Qiana: a bright, obedient child-princess.

Day after day, their bond deepened through these fixed study sessions.

Years passed. Until Qiana’s tenth birthday.

For seven years—from age three to ten—Herathel devoted herself as the princess’s private tutor.

Mornings: noble etiquette and refined speech.

Afternoons: history, politics, economics, military strategy, customs, mathematics.

Evenings: Herathel would sit by the princess’s bed, reading tales of Heroes from books Qiana had gathered from all corners of the realm.

Every day. Every week. Every month. Every year.

Neither ever grew tired of it.

Then came the final night before Qiana’s tenth birthday.

Dressed in nightclothes, Herathel tucked a prepared Hero storybook under her arm and approached Qiana’s chamber.

*Knock knock knock.*

A voice answered—still childlike, yet hinting at maturity. Clear. Pleasant.

“Herathel? Just a moment! I’m changing… Oops!”

*Thud!*

A crash echoed from inside.

Herathel pressed a hand to her forehead, shaking her head.

After two minutes, the door opened. A small face peeked out—violet hair flowing, amethyst eyes bright. At only nine, she was already strikingly beautiful.

A red mark bloomed on her forehead.

Undoubtedly from the fall.

“Herathel! You’re here~” Qiana chirped.

Herathel nodded. “I am. May I come in?”

“…You can… but don’t be shocked, okay?”

The nine-year-old fidgeted.

Herathel narrowed her eyes, trying to peek past her.

Qiana slipped out, shut the door firmly behind her, and frowned. “You must apologize! I never gave you permission to inspect my room!”

“You’ll see it soon anyway, won’t you~?”

“…Tch! Herathel, you’re so annoying!”

“Oh? Is my little princess angry? Need kisses, hugs, and being lifted high~?”

“Never! Hmph!” Qiana crossed her arms—but then lifted them, turning her head away. “But… if you *insist*… I’ll graciously permit your impertinent request!”

“Pfft… Such a cute princess~”

Herathel lifted Qiana onto her arm. Though her frame seemed that of a noble lady, her strength—honed to high levels—made carrying the under-seventy-pound child effortless.

Qiana hugged Herathel’s neck. Herathel smiled sideways at her.

“Now… what’s in your room?”

“I’ll tell you… but you mustn’t tell Father, my brothers, sisters—*anyone*! If they find out… I’d die of shame!”

“I swear. Not a word to anyone but us… So? What is it?”

“…Treasures! I traded gifts from ministers for them… secretly gathered from every market in Soniel!”

“What kind of treasures?”

“————If you’re *so* curious, Herathel… I’ll grant your wish!” Qiana declared proudly, pointing at the doorknob. “Open it. I want to share my treasures with you!”

What could possibly be inside?

Herathel’s curiosity flared. Her free hand grasped the knob and pushed.

*Creak.*

The door swung open. The room lay bare under Herathel’s gaze.

Her expression turned peculiar.

No treasures filled the space.

More like… junk.

Tattered books stacked in corners. Model figurines scattered across the floor. A few faintly glowing magic stones littered the bed.

“…*These* are your treasures?”

“Yes!” Qiana nodded vigorously, cheeks flushed with earnest excitement. “I searched every market in Soniel! Every Hero-related thing I could find!”

“…Heavens. You traded the pearl necklaces and jewels the ministers gave you… for *this*?!”

“But I didn’t *want* those! I only want things about the Hero…” Qiana pouted, voice trembling slightly. Then she bounced on Herathel’s arm, suddenly giddy.

“Hey, Herathel! If I love the Hero this much… will he know? Will he come meet me?”

“If he meets me… will he fall for me?”

“If he falls for me… must I marry him?”

“Yikes! No no no… marriage is too embarrassing! Yikes…”

“But…”

*But what?*

Herathel stared helplessly at the nine-year-old princess already dreaming of love. She sighed inwardly.

—*This is my fault. All my fault… I shouldn’t have filled her head with Hero tales.*

And…

Would she ever *see* him?

The Hero?

A legend vanished from the human continent over a millennium ago…

*Should I tell her the truth?*

————————*No. Not tonight.*

Herathel stroked Qiana’s hair, voice tender.

“He will. He’ll come for you when you’re grown… And if he refuses? I’ll drag him here myself. Happy now, my little princess~? Now let’s read. Bedtime soon—you have your Vocation Determination Ceremony tomorrow.”