Crown Prince, I hate you!

Five years with Hailon. Of those, four as the Crown Princess.

Though I never lived within the palace walls, beyond them, I was, without question, the Empire’s Crown Princess.

Even something as simple as walking forward had been drilled into me hundreds of times, all for the sake of a few minutes of ceremonial perfection.

Compared to those days, the few seconds it took to cross this modest ballroom felt almost trivial.

As I moved through the room, I felt the weight of countless gazes—each carrying its own meaning. Among them, however, a particular set of eyes burned with a distinct intensity, standing out as sharply as a blade.

“I’m Berian Clody,” I said.

At my introduction, the faces before me twisted in a symphony of discomfort and disbelief.

‘How amusing.’

Among them, one face stood out: Rowen Portian.

“Lady Clody. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“Yes, it has. Lady Portian.”

Rowen Portian, daughter of Viscount Portian. Her face—and the faces of those gathered around her—were painfully familiar, each tied to memories I’d rather forget.

‘A Crown Princess who couldn’t even outshine a concubine? Ha.’
‘No wonder His Highness won’t even look her way—she’s utterly incompetent.’
‘If I were her, I’d be too ashamed to show my face in public.’

Rowen. Measured by time alone, she had tormented me longer than even Helen.

Unlike Helen, Rowen rarely confronted me directly. Perhaps she was wary of my title. But the sneers, the veiled insults, the baseless rumors that spread through the social circles—those were her doing. Always her.

And she did it all with a sweet, innocent smile, as if she had no idea what harm she caused.

I had no doubt her words today would be no kinder. I already knew this, and yet, I waited, bracing for what would come next.

“That dress is truly stunning, Berian.”

A surprising start.

Her approach was unfamiliar—subdued, even awkward. Yet her calm tone carried an edge I hadn’t noticed before.

Still, her words didn’t rattle me the way they might have in the past.

To be honest, I hadn’t come here intending to stir up trouble.

Standing as the representative of my family, and within the royal palace no less, I had no intention of drawing unnecessary attention to myself.

“Thank you. You look lovely to—”

“However…”

Rowen interrupted me before I could finish.

“To make such a stunning appearance without an escort… how unusual.”

‘Of course.’

Rowen’s voice dripped with feigned sympathy, her words barely concealing the ridicule underneath. Behind her, the women in her group remained silent, but their expressions—hidden beneath their fans—were painfully obvious.

‘As predictable as ever.’

People like Rowen were plentiful in the social circles—those who took pleasure in looking down on anyone they deemed beneath them.

As I listened to her words, a wave of anger surged through me—not just at her, but at my former self.

Why had I endured comments like these with a forced smile, pretending not to understand? Why had I allowed myself to be shattered inside, clinging desperately to an illusion of grace and composure?

‘Pathetic.’

Hailon’s voice echoed in my mind, uninvited. It wasn’t a memory I welcomed, but in that moment, I understood the disdain I had once seen in his eyes.

Perhaps, in this regard, I truly had been pathetic.

“Lady Rowen.”

Lost in my thoughts, I hadn’t realized how much my expression had changed until her name left my lips.

“Yes, Lady Clody?”

Her smirk faltered as her eyes met mine, the chill in my gaze piercing through her thin veneer of confidence.

“You haven’t changed at all.”

“Pardon?”

My words caught her off guard, her tone wavering as she stared back at me.

“When we last met, and even now—you’re exactly the same.”

My eyes swept over her, from the tip of her shoes to the depths of her gaze. The tension in the air thickened, and Rowen stiffened, her shoulders locking for a brief moment—but only briefly.

“Hah.”

A soft laugh escaped her lips, and her smug expression returned just as quickly.

To Rowen, I was no threat. No matter my tone or demeanor, she believed I lacked the power to challenge her.

“You must have spent your time at home well, Lady Berian. You’ve even learned how to glare now.”

Her finger lightly tapped my shoulder in a patronizing gesture as she continued, her voice tinged with mockery.

“But this isn’t the cozy safety of your mansion anymore. A face like that won’t do you any favors. What a pity. Does the Clody household not teach proper etiquette for social gatherings?”

“…”

I remained silent, and Rowen, mistaking it for defeat, smirked triumphantly as she turned back toward her group.

‘Utterly ridiculous.’

Berian Clody—the quiet, timid girl who couldn’t speak her mind or defend herself. She had always endured Rowen’s taunts with silent resignation.

Because of that, Rowen believed this dynamic, this hierarchy, would never change.

It had to stay the same.

And yet—

“Does the Portian family also neglect to teach noble etiquette?”

“…?”

Rowen froze mid-step, her eyes widening as she slowly turned back to me.

My voice was calm, but my gaze—sharper and bluer than ever—cut through her like a blade.

“To speak so rudely to a count’s daughter… how unbecoming. Is this some peculiar new form of noble decorum?”

I tilted my head slightly, my tone cool and cutting as I added, “Even the daughters of newly established baronies would surely know better.”

The words struck their mark with precision. Rowen’s pride—rooted firmly in her family’s status—wavered. I could see it in the way her smirk faltered, replaced by the growing flush of anger on her face.

“Ha! What nonsense—”

“Oh? Do you not understand? I suppose that makes sense. If you’d known it was improper, you wouldn’t have acted so poorly.”

My mocking tone landed like a sharp blow, and Rowen’s face turned crimson as her composure began to crack.

“It was my mistake. I didn’t think a viscount’s family would lack even the most basic education.”

“Berian.”

“Maybe you should hire an etiquette tutor?”

“Berian!”

“My name!”

My voice rang out sharply, cutting through the room like a blade. Our gazes locked, the air between us charged with tension.