No One Ever Loved Me - Chapter 87

This wasn’t good. I’d let Ricardo distract me from my real purpose.

“I was told you were looking for me.”

The chamberlain stood calmly, waiting for instructions. He didn’t rush me, even though I was clearly lost in thought.

“Her Majesty wishes to request an audience with His Majesty. As you know, I’m still new to my position, so I wasn’t sure who would be the most appropriate messenger.”

“I’ll find someone suitable, Lady Cecilia.”

The King and Queen were not known to be close—far from it. But the chamberlain showed no surprise, simply accepting the order with grace.

“It’s regarding the debutante ball. Please let His Majesty choose a convenient time for the meeting.”

The King didn’t want the Queen involved in politics. If she started seeking him out without an official reason, it could stir up the wrong kind of attention.

The chamberlain raised his eyes slightly. His thin white hair caught the light above my gaze. I hadn’t noticed before, since he always stood with a slight bow, but he was tall for his age.

“Are you concerned for Her Majesty?”

“I’m her only lady-in-waiting. I’d rather she not become the target of unnecessary rumors.”

His stern face softened.

“As you wish.”

His tone was slightly less formal than before, but somehow more sincere. With a gentle bow, he turned and walked away, his steps light and swift.

I wondered if he, too, had once been placed here under Marchioness Federica’s influence.

Thinking back to Lorraine, it wasn’t an unreasonable guess.

The Marchioness had likely planted her own eyes around the Queen—not necessarily to make her happy, but to ensure she remained safe.

I returned to my room and began sorting through my thoughts.

Elodie had lost the baby.

For a mother who’d begun to love her child, the difference between miscarriage and stillbirth was immense.

Counting back the dates, Elodie would have been seven months pregnant.

A baby carried for that long, born cold and lifeless—anyone in her place would need someone to blame.

Thanks to Ricardo, who had revealed Edgar’s true feelings to her that day, her grief had found the right direction.

“Good. Everything’s falling into place.”

Love could make someone whole—but more often, it led them to ruin. Unfortunately, love that truly completes a person is rare.

Emotions fade. People mistake intensity for permanence, only to realize later that what they thought was healing was actually breaking them apart.

They say taking something back after giving it is the cruelest thing. And those who’ve once been satisfied often become desperate to feel that way again.

I saw it as a kind of addiction.

There was something strangely admirable about those who kept chasing it, convinced the next time would be different—as if they’d never been hurt before.

“Lady Cecilia.”

A knock, and my assigned maid entered with a silver tray full of letters. There were far too many for just one day.

“Her Majesty asked that these be held until you were more settled, so you could focus on adjusting to the palace.”

In other words, the Queen had been intercepting my mail.

I opened one letter without thinking—then paused. Maybe the Queen hadn’t meant anything harmful after all.

“From the Count of Linton.”

Without reading it, I picked up another.

“Also, from the Count of Linton.”

Looking over the tray, I realized nearly half the letters were from him.

Edgar had been writing constantly. I even spotted three letters with the same date.

“One from the Countess of Rosette.”

That caught my attention. I broke the seal and read.

“Hmm.”

After skimming through the excessive flattery, the message boiled down to this:

She wanted me to invite Isla to the debutante ball so that she could pay respects to the Queen. She framed it as my duty—as Isla’s older sister—to support her future.

“This one needs a reply.”

The maid, quick to understand, brought over writing materials. I wrote that the Queen was currently very busy and, after seeing Isla’s behavior at Marchioness Federica’s luncheon, I couldn’t in good conscience extend an invitation.

I handed the letter over without sealing it.

“Lady Cecilia, I don’t read letters that aren’t mine,” the maid said, cheeks flushed.

Ah. I realized the misunderstanding and explained.

“It’s not that I don’t trust you. The Linton estate never gave me permission to use the family seal, so I used to mark my letters with my own initials. But I left in a hurry and didn’t bring it with me.”

Even small things like this could chip away at Edgar’s reputation—and that would help me.

As I expected, a bit of sympathy showed in the maid’s eyes.

Strangely, that sympathy didn’t bother me like it used to. Maybe because I’d orchestrated it myself.

“Then we’ll need to have a new seal made for you.”

“Would you help me with that?”

The word help felt awkward on my tongue.

Sir Juan once told me—commands can be ignored, but a request from someone you know is harder to refuse.

“You’ve helped me settle in faster than I expected. I know you’ve done a lot to make it easier for me to focus on Her Majesty. I appreciate it.”

Even if she wasn’t quite a friend, she wasn’t a stranger anymore.

“I’m just a maid, my lady. I’ve done nothing special to deserve thanks…”

“That’s not true. You knew I wasn’t sleeping well, so you chose flowers that promote rest and placed them in my vase. You kept useful items within reach, and replaced things I struggled with. That’s not ‘nothing.’”

There were several maids assigned to me. But she was the only one who showed that kind of thoughtfulness.

“I know it was you.”

The maid lowered her head, nervously fidgeting with her fingers.

“I didn’t think you’d noticed.”

“Every time it’s your turn, my room feels noticeably more comfortable. Of course I noticed, Anna.”

Her head snapped up.

“You… know my name?”

“I heard one of the other maids say it. May I call you by it from now on?”

“O-of course! It would be an honor, Lady Cecilia.”

It was just a name. And yet, in a society built on hierarchy, it meant everything. Gaining the favor of someone equal or above your status was difficult here—just like in my old world. But those beneath me? A single word, even something small like using their name, could deeply move them.

I had promised myself I’d be careful. After Penelope and Margaret, I should have learned.

I shouldn’t have said her name. Stirring up a little sympathy, acting like I was pitiful—that would’ve been enough. But I’d gone one step further the moment I met her hopeful gaze.

“I think I’ll be writing quite a few letters from now on. I’d like the seal done quickly.”

“Absolutely! I’ll place the order right away.”

Anna rushed off like the wind.

I let out a sigh as I watched her disappear down the hall.

Well, now that it’s done, maybe she’ll go around telling people how pitiful I am because of Edgar. That wouldn’t be the worst outcome.

A few quiet days passed after that. Nothing happened.

The King gave no response. The Queen waited.

“Cecilia.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

I’d been spending more time alone with the Queen in her private chambers. She’d grown noticeably listless. Other than the occasional visit from Marchioness Federica, she had no guests.

And whenever the Marchioness left, the Queen’s mood seemed even heavier.

“I wish Grandmother would stop coming.”

I didn’t answer right away. On the surface, it seemed like the Queen welcomed her—but she didn’t.

“The Marchioness cares deeply for you, Your Majesty.”

At that, the Queen replied with a flat, “I’m sure she does.”

“But I always feel worse after seeing her.”

The words were raw, unfiltered emotion. I watched her in silence.

“Want to guess why?”

“Are we playing a guessing game now?”

“Why not? Just the two of us here, with nothing to do. Might as well keep ourselves entertained.”

She was stretched out on the sofa.

Several sketches for the debutante stage were spread out on the coffee table. But since Penelope still hadn’t been granted permission to enter the Queen’s wing, they were currently useless.

“Is it because the Marchioness has high expectations of you?”

I chose my words carefully, trying to gauge the Queen’s mood.

“Expectations… Do you think Grandmother really expects so much from me? Isn’t she just a simple woman who only wants me to be happy?”

Yes. Marchioness Federica truly wanted only the Queen’s happiness.
But the Queen was not happy.
And so, the Marchioness shifted her focus to keeping her granddaughter safe.

Yet even without Marchioness Federica’s efforts, the Queen was already safe.

A Queen who didn’t participate in state affairs and couldn’t bear the King’s child posed no threat to anyone. She wasn’t even worth opposing.

“Your Majesty is too greedy.”

I adjusted my tone so it sounded light, almost teasing. The Queen propped herself up on one elbow, her expression unreadable.

“What did you say?”

“The Marchioness gives so much, but it’s never quite enough for Your Majesty. So of course you feel unsettled every time she visits.”

She narrowed her eyes at me but eventually sat up properly.

“So, you’re saying I should be satisfied? That I should just accept it all and be content?”

I shook my head.

“Everyone has desires, Your Majesty. It’s natural. And it’s just as natural that you sometimes find the Marchioness difficult to accept.
But it’s also a fact that she has given everything she has left—entirely to you.”

I understood the Queen.

Marchioness Federica loved her—but she didn’t love only her.
The Queen knew this. I saw the shadow flicker across her face, the one that revealed she, too, had noticed.

“Grandmother…”

“Misses your mother.”

I finished her sentence for her.

“Yes. She wants me to be happy. Because I was born in exchange for my mother’s life, she believes I must be happy.
But in her eyes, I’ve always just been a replacement for the daughter she lost.”

The Queen’s voice was tight with pain.

“Your Majesty…”

I quietly moved closer and sat beside her.

“You can be happy.”

“How? Tell me—how exactly am I supposed to do that?”

She snapped back, sharp and brittle. It was the first time she’d dropped the mask of indifference and let me see her frustration fully.

“His Majesty doesn’t seek me out. I wouldn’t be surprised if he planned to give even the debutante ball to that woman.”

She was anxious. The King’s mistress was pregnant again. I had heard she’d lost more than one child in the past, so this time, she was being guarded with extreme care.

“You can, Your Majesty.”

I gently placed my hands over hers.

“No one ever said you couldn’t.”

She had liked that clumsy speech I gave at the banquet.
She was trapped—not by the King’s orders, but by her own fear of provoking him.
She’d confined herself.

“Only you can make it happen. Not Marchioness Federica, not Lord Ricardo. Only you can save yourself.”

It was a poor excuse for encouragement. It lacked weight.
I wasn’t speaking from duty. I wasn’t trying to be noble.
I was simply saying what she wanted to hear.

“Go to His Majesty.”

A skilled manipulator would’ve scoffed at my approach. I wasn’t a manipulator—certainly not a skilled one.
But I understood how to speak to desire.

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