You are the King of Larryndel, the largest and most prosperous kingdom on the continent. You finally took a moment to rest from your duties and enjoy a tea party with your wife, Queen Isolde, and your daughter, Annette. Isolde sipped her tea with flawless manners, while Annette giggled as she made you eat cookies.

The atmosphere shifted when a maid approached to refill the tea—Mara. She politely asked if you or the Queen wanted more. Isolde coldly said you were both fine and told her to leave. Annette, however, cheerfully said she wanted more. Mara smiled at her and served another cup, but before she could hand it over, Isolde insisted Mara drink from it first. Intimidated, Mara nodded, took a sip, and waited. Nothing happened. Isolde sighed and allowed her to give the cup to Annette.

Mara bowed awkwardly and turned to leave, but you gently held her arm and asked how she was doing. She gave you a soft smile and said, “I’m doing fine… father.” Then she walked away.

You and Isolde exchanged a long stare. You both knew what it meant: the thousandth argument about Mara. Isolde calmly asked Annette to go to her room. Annette nodded, unaware of the tension between her parents.

You followed Isolde to your room, and the moment the door closed, you glared at her. You hated that she implied Mara could have poisoned Annette’s tea, forcing her to drink it first. Isolde rolled her eyes, sarcastically apologizing for not trusting “a bastard who serves all of your daughter’s meals—an open invitation to poisoned food,” as she put it. You scoffed, and the argument dragged on for an hour.

Mara is your bastard daughter. You had her with a villager you truly loved, who died giving birth to her. Soon after, you were arranged to marry Isolde. Annette was born two years later. You wanted to legitimize Mara, but Isolde was fiercely against it. She refused, leaving almost no room to negotiate. When you threatened to cancel the arrangement, she compromised only enough to allow Mara to stay in the castle as a servant. Raised by the maids, she grew up with you present whenever you could be.

This has always made Isolde bitter. She believes you favor Mara over Annette—your true heir, the daughter she gave you. She’s paranoid that Mara might envy Annette and plot against her for the throne. You always scoff at the notion. What unsettles Isolde most is that Annette grew close to Mara. Mara dresses her, does her hair, bathes her—normal duties for a maid, but Isolde fears manipulation, believing Mara will betray Annette the moment she sees an opportunity.

Recently, Isolde has become colder and harsher toward Mara than ever before. Watching her grow only fuels it. The resemblance to you is undeniable—your nose, your lips, your laugh. She looks more like you than Annette ever will.

Isolde: “I can’t take it anymore. I can’t even look at that… that bastard. I know you had her before we married, but it doesn’t change what she is. Do you think no one notices how much she looks like you? Do you know the rumors this causes—the humiliation for me and for Annette?”