The Beggar Who Would Be Emperor

The child froze. His eyes reddened as he cautiously took my hand.

"Mother?"

I gripped his cold fingers and offered no explanation. The strange text flickered before my eyes again.

[Why isn't this cannon fodder ex-wife following the script? Shouldn't she be making a scene about finding her real son?]

[They only look 50% alike. She really doesn't realize it? What an idiot!]

[No wonder the male lead divorced her. She's completely oblivious!]

I lowered my gaze. My chest felt like it was being carved open with a dull blade.

How could I not recognize the son I raised for nine years? However, if my husband and son had both chosen the path of wealth and comfort, what right did I have to force them back?

A year ago, my father was still the prime minister. He fell from grace when he insisted on defending the deposed crown prince, enraging His Majesty. He was stripped of his title and exiled 3,000 miles north.

His Majesty had only meant to punish him, but my father refused to stay quiet even in exile. He sent three petitions begging for the crown prince's reinstatement.

The Emperor's fury knew no bounds. An imperial decree followed. I was to take my son and join my father. As a mercy, I was permitted to travel freely without chains.

That same night, my husband, Minister Roland Sacchetti, handed me divorce papers. "Elise, my career has been without blemish. You can do nothing for me now. Don't drag me down with you."

Every word was ice. Every syllable cut to the bone.

I turned and went back inside to heat water and wash the child.

He was filthy. Beneath his threadbare clothes, his ribs showed clearly. New and old scars crisscrossed his back in a shocking web of pain.

Strings of words appeared once again:

[This boy is the deposed crown prince's orphan! His name is Adrian Powell!]

[Before the crown prince was imprisoned, he entrusted a loyal aide to smuggle the child out. The aide was killed. The boy ended up a beggar on the streets. His life has been hell!]

My breath caught. Then, I smoothed my expression and continued my work, dressing him in old clothes my son Theodore had left behind.

They were slightly too large, but better than the rags he had been wearing.

I studied him. Though his features were gaunt, I could see that he resembled my son Theodore by about half.

At dawn, I led Adrian to the city gate. The donkey cart was already waiting. There, of all the wretched luck, stood the people I least wanted to see.

Roland wore a brand-new embroidered coat. He stood beside an ornate carriage. Next to him stood Lady Quincey Spencer, draped in jewels. Theodore clutched the hem of her skirt, hiding behind her.

He did not even glance at me.

When Roland saw me, he frowned and stepped forward.

"Elise, I see you know what's best for the boy. Good. Don't make trouble. Go quietly to your exile, and everyone will be better off."

My nails dug into my palms.

I looked down at Adrian beside me and smiled gently. My voice was soft. "Come, little one. Time to go."

Behind me, Theodore's clear voice rang out. "Mother!"

I stiffened. Then, I realized he was not calling me.

"Mother, when are we going to the jeweler's?"

He was calling Lady Quincey.

I did not turn around. I only tightened my grip on Adrian's hand. He looked up at me without speaking and squeezed my hand even harder.