No One Ever Loved Me - Chapter 50

“Cecilia? Cecilia?”

Marchioness Federica looked at me with concern.

I had stopped reading mid-sentence.

“Are you alright? You look unwell.”

“No, I’m fine. I just got lost in thought. I’m sorry—where were we?”

I quickly found my place in the book and pointed to the paragraph with my finger.

The book Federica had chosen was a dreadfully dull history text.

It chronicled the kingdom’s founding myths and the tales of its early heroes—with all the excitement of a dried-up sermon.
It was, in its own way, a remarkable feat—to make legends so boring.

“We were at the part where Parthéorus descends to the underworld to retrieve his wife, yes?”

The hero, cursed with an unnecessarily long name, couldn’t give up his thrilling adventures—even after getting married.

He had left his new bride behind, traveling far and wide, only to receive devastating news:
His wife, unable to bear the loneliness, had taken her own life.

Determined to see her again, Parthéorus descended into the underworld to beg its ruler for her return.

But the king of the underworld refused—claiming the dead could not return.

Instead, he offered Parthéorus a gift: a fairy who looked exactly like his late wife.

And what did Parthéorus do?

He happily accepted the replacement and returned to the land of the living.

“It’s hard to stay focused when there’s no clear moral to the story.”

I read the final passage, which described how Parthéorus lived happily with the fairy, and how their son became the first king of the realm.

“Are we supposed to learn that a little compromise makes everything better?”

Federica smiled faintly.

“The point of the myth is to bestow divine legitimacy—by making the first king a child not of mortals, but of something greater.”

“Still, this book is considered required reading. Shouldn’t there be some kind of takeaway?”

No doubt the Marchioness had chosen this thick, dry tome to test me.

It was telling that she herself wasn’t paying much attention to the reading.
Her eyes were fixed on the window, watching the tree branches sway in the wind like it was the most fascinating spectacle in the world.

“To me, it only shows that Parthéorus didn’t actually care who his wife was, as long as she looked the same.”

He reminded me of Edgar.

Despite the complete change in Cecilia, he never once questioned it.

As long as it didn’t inconvenience him, he didn’t care who—or what—was inside her.

That made him no different from Sarah, who accepted the change because it made her life easier than dealing with a suicidal mistress.

And it wasn’t just them.
Everyone who had once known Cecilia behaved the same way.

They might have felt something was off—but quickly shrugged it off.

Even her old nanny Martha had only expressed sadness that Cecilia had changed.
It never occurred to her that the very core of her mistress might have been replaced.

“I wonder what it would feel like to know you’re someone replaceable.”

If it were Cecilia, surely she’d be devastated.

That poor girl had always yearned for affection.

To realize no one even noticed her disappearance… it would have torn her heart apart.

“Everyone is replaceable,”
Federica said quietly, her voice cool and matter-of-fact.

“Is that so?”

“Of course.”

“But to you, Her Majesty is your beloved granddaughter. Could you find someone to replace her?”

I expected her to be angry.

She adored the queen deeply.
I had long suspected she withdrew her warmth from me because she feared I’d try to use Martha’s vulnerability for my gain.

“Martha probably thinks I can be replaced. She could find another old woman just like me.”

Federica gently traced the rim of her teacup with a fingertip.

“But I’ve never tried to imagine the reverse.”

“Do you think you could replace her?”

I closed the book in my lap.
I was genuinely curious to hear Federica’s answer.

She loved the queen in a way that was unmistakably sincere.

If Martha’s soul were replaced—if someone else took her place the way I had with Cecilia—would Marchioness Federica notice?

I wanted to understand why Ricardo had recognized me.

Whether it was science or some divine force, he had known.
He saw right through me.

He liked me. That much was clear.
But it wasn’t affection or lust.

Ricardo Bastian wanted all of me.
And he was ready to offer everything of himself in return.

“No. I couldn’t.”

The Marchioness answered softly.

“I loved her before she was even born. Watching your own child give birth to their child… it’s a kind of awe I can’t describe.”

My fingers trailed along the book’s corner.

“Edgar could do it.”

The words left my mouth with practiced calculation.

“If Elodie’s social status were no longer an issue, I truly believe Edgar would have replaced me without hesitation.”

Sympathy flickered in Marchioness Federica’s eyes.

It was a feeling I detested—but I endured it.

In truth, the person I truly wanted to question wasn’t her. It was someone else entirely.

I had pushed Ricardo off the terrace when he started probing my identity.

Fortunately, he was strong and agile—he landed with ease.

There were so many things I wanted to ask:
How did he know? What did he plan to do with that knowledge? What did he mean when he said he no longer had a reason to wait?

But I shoved those questions—along with the image of Ricardo—into the darkest corner of my mind.

“The sad part is,” I said softly, trying to center myself again,
“if I could replace Edgar… I think I would.”

“Oh my.”

The Marchioness gave a polite expression of surprise, though her face didn’t so much as flinch.

“I’m sorry. That was far too personal. I’m sure it made you uncomfortable.”

I reopened the book in front of me.

Thankfully, I had dog-eared the page, so finding my place was easy.

“Please forget I said anything. It wasn’t something I should’ve shared… not with you, not with anyone. I suppose reading about Parthéorus just made me feel a little bitter.”

Marchioness Federica finally turned her eyes away from the window and looked at me.

“Are you going to trouble my Martha over this matter?”

It was an unexpectedly blunt question.

“Is my problem really something that would cause trouble for Her Majesty?”

“That depends on your perspective,” she replied.
“Count Linton may not be worth the Queen’s direct concern, but he certainly doesn’t belong to a family that can be easily dismissed.”

Just like succession, divorce also required the King’s approval.

The kingdom didn’t run on royal decree alone.

Without the taxes collected from vast noble territories, the government couldn’t function.

So marriages among nobles were just as politically significant as succession.

To prevent one family from amassing too much wealth or power, the King could approve or deny their marriages—and divorces.

Edgar had many friends. If the King were to approve a divorce against Edgar’s will, the other nobles might very well take Edgar’s side to resist an overreach of royal authority.

Half a year ago, I hadn’t known any of this.

I naïvely believed that all I needed was evidence of Edgar exploiting Cecilia, and the court would naturally grant a divorce based on the law.

How foolish and simple I had been.

“My Martha is a Queen who stays out of politics,” Marchioness Federica said firmly.

“That’s all His Majesty ever asked of her when they married.”

“Then Her Majesty is… his lovely flower, I suppose.”

I realized too late that my choice of words had been careless.

“Don’t worry,” I added quickly. “I wouldn’t dream of placing a heavy burden on such a delicate stem.”

Federica’s eyes sharpened as they pierced through me.

“Lady Cecilia, you truly lack refinement.”

“But doesn’t that bring you some relief?” I replied.
“I admit I had hopes when it came to Her Majesty, just as you suspected. But now that I understand it’s impossible, I no longer intend to cling to her.”

A long silence passed between us.

Eventually, Federica’s stern gaze softened.

“When you’re old, you run out of energy to stay angry,” she muttered.

“You’re not that old yet, Marchioness.”

“Oh, but my joints ache, and I can hardly walk without a cane. I’m at the age where no one would be surprised if I closed my eyes one morning and never opened them again.”

“But you’ll endure—for Her Majesty’s sake. I’m sure of it.”

I knew nothing about relationships like theirs, but I said what seemed appropriate.
The kind of love I’d observed between parents and children always looked like that.

“Yes, yes… I suppose I keep waking up each day for Martha’s sake.”

She gestured for me to come closer.

I moved from across the room to sit beside her.

“Cecilia… when you get old, you start to see everything—whether you want to or not.”

Her hand reached out and gently covered mine.

I flinched.

I still wasn’t used to sudden, intimate contact.

If I could prepare for it, I could act composed.
But when it happened unexpectedly, my body instinctively recoiled.

“Cecilia, you’re a terribly lonely person.”

Even someone far younger than Federica would’ve seen it.
A wife ignored by her husband—my loneliness was as plain as day.

“You asked what kind of lesson we can take from the story of Parthéorus, didn’t you?”

She changed the topic so suddenly it startled me.

“This book may not mention it—it’s written for children, after all—but there’s a theory that he didn’t live happily ever after.”

That thick tome was for children?

“They say he realized the fairy wasn’t really his wife…
And that she, in turn, suffered from knowing she was just a replacement.”

I nodded like a dutiful granddaughter.
But in truth, I still didn’t fully understand what Marchioness Federica was trying to say.

“Royal political marriages are forbidden by law.”

I hadn’t known that, but I nodded as if I had.

“The first king believed that a marriage born of contract couldn’t bring happiness, and an unhappy marriage couldn’t possibly bring peace.”

At that, Marchioness Federica let out a dry chuckle.

“And yet, noble marriages of convenience are not only allowed, but encouraged. Isn’t that amusing?”

Her voice turned wry.

“His Majesty and Martha have a contractual marriage. Martha wanted to become queen, and the king wanted a queen who would stay out of politics. Our family, the Federica line, had its prestige—but my husband passed early, and we lacked a proper heir to inherit the title.”

So, this was the untold truth of how the Queen had become Queen.
It wasn’t something I’d ever been particularly curious about.

What intrigued me more was why Marchioness Federica was suddenly revealing her inner thoughts.

“Parthéorus wanted everything—his title, his glory, his home—but ended up with none of it. Martha wanted to be a beloved wife and a queen. But in the end, she could only have one.”

Abruptly, the Marchioness reached out and gently cupped my cheeks with both hands.

“Cecilia, learn to live with loneliness. You can do it. If you give up Edgar, you can still live as Countess Linton.”

Ah. I understood now.

Marchioness Federica wasn’t just offering advice—she was projecting Martha onto me.
She was handing down what she believed was the “right” way to live.

“Don’t hurt my Martha. And don’t hurt yourself either, Cecilia.”

“And… don’t stir up the world too much while you’re at it?”

I answered, still held between her palms.

“I won’t trouble Her Majesty the Queen.”

It wasn’t a lie.

Marchioness Federica possessed a wisdom that only came with age, but even she couldn’t see through someone who was already broken.

Her heartfelt plea had no effect on me at all.

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