The Villainess's Reputation [Kingdom Building]

Imperial Palace, Capital City, Hilde Kingdom, In the Southern Part of the Eastern Continent

Rain fell in steady sheets against the tall glass windows of the Verdant Crown Palace, a fortress of stone, moss, and silverwood carved into the cliffs that overlooked the restless sea. Built not for sunshine but for storms, its arches were curved like waves, its spires shaped to catch the wind and song of the rain. Gutters and grooves ran along every surface, channeling water into inner gardens and aqueducts that made the palace hum with the sound of falling rain. Ivy-laced walls drank in the constant drizzle, and lanterns glowed behind misted panes, bathing the marble halls in soft amber.

Within its grand audience chamber—built long and narrow like a raindrop turned on its side, Queen Georgie Hillstood with fury simmering in her chest.

"Why are we withdrawing from the Free Cities?!" she demanded, her voice echoing off the wet-polished stone. "You gave your ministers their reasons, yet you deny me the same! Have you forgotten your vows, Julian? That we are two halves of the same soul?"

Her husband, King Julian Hill, sat on the high stone throne at the chamber's end, flanked by dark curtains of water that flowed behind the glass panes like endless tears. He did not look at her immediately. Instead, he stared outward into the storm, the patter of rain louder than his breath.

When he finally turned to face her, his expression was something she had never seen before—not in all their decades of marriage. It was grief, not just fresh, but raw. A wound that refused to scab over.

"I don't want you to feel what I feel right now," Julian said softly, his voice brittle.

Georgie's posture softened, but she stepped forward with resolve and placed her arms gently around him. "That may be true," she whispered, "but I deserve to know why you're letting Conley annex the Free Cities. Why we are pretending we don't see it. I stood beside you when you claimed this crown. I've earned the truth."

Julian didn't answer at first. His hands, calloused despite years of royal comfort, trembled faintly in his lap. Finally, he looked down at them.

"These hands," he began, voice cracking, "—not these marble halls, not these robes and silks, these two hands... raised her. We raised her. You and I, far from this palace and its politics, before the Hilon Pox devastated this land."

He spoke of those early years, when the royal line had crumbled, and he, then merely a bastard prince of minor descent, had taken his family far from the capital to survive. They had tilled their own soil, bled with the people, and when the crown was thrust upon him, Julian had returned not as heir but as savior.

Georgie tightened her embrace, tears pooling behind her eyes. "Yes… we did. And now look—Frederica is a beautiful woman, strong and kind. You even have a grandson, Hans. Isn't that proof we did something right?"

Julian stood slowly. "That's exactly what's wrong."

His voice dropped to a whisper. "I sold my daughter, Georgie. For a kingdom I never wanted."

Georgie took a step back, stunned. "Julian, don't put it like that. We needed aid. The people were starving. Marrying her to Prince Nolan of the Ancorna Empire secured that aid. It was the right choice."

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

She tried to regain her composure. "And Prince Nolan is a great man, a respected noble. I'm sure Frederica will be—"

"A great man?" Julian interrupted, turning to her with sorrowful, bloodshot eyes. "I gave him my daughter. I gave him respect. I gave him honor... and he defiled it."

His shoulders slumped as if the words physically burdened him. "He was granted access to the High Library of the Alchemy Research Institute—a privilege extended to only twenty-six foreigners in all of Hilde's history. A gesture of our trust, our alliance. And what does he do?"

He paused, as if the very memory burned him.

"He defiled a scholar. A young woman barely older than Frederica, chosen by the Institute for her brilliance and dedication."

Georgie dropped to her knees, the breath leaving her in a gasp. "No… this is the first I've heard of this—"

"I suppressed it," Julian said hoarsely, gesturing to himself, shame etched into every line of his face. "Your husband. The king. I buried her pleas under political necessity. I silenced her right to justice... to vengeance."

Tears welled in his eyes, and his voice cracked. "She begged for punishment, for him to be burned in a pyre of pig shit. For justice befitting a beast. And I denied her."

Georgie crawled to him, trembling. "You did what you had to do—"

"She took her life."

Julian looked up, as if hoping the storm would drown out his voice. "A scholar. A daughter of a common sailor, A sailor who looked me in the eye… He! looked me in the eye and said: 'May even the all lusting Goddess Herptian not want you in her bed.'"

Silence fell between them, broken only by the drum of the rain.

"They call me the savior of Hilde," Julian whispered bitterly, pulling up his sleeve to reveal the glowing apostle's mark of the Goddess Solious. "Blessed by the goddess of justice and righteousness? For what?"

He looked to Georgie, not as a king, but as a man drowning.

"What justice did I give her? What righteousness have I upheld?"

He walked past her slowly, his hand brushing against the rain-streaked window. Outside, the city lights flickered beneath a veil of mist.

"I have failed the people," he murmured. "And I have failed my daughter."

He turned away from the window, the storm outside mirroring the storm in his heart. Rain cascaded down the glass in distorted ribbons, as though the sky itself mourned with him.

"So," he continued, voice low but firm, "I joined hands with Conley. I ordered the withdrawal of our ships guarding the Free Cities."

Queen Georgie stared at him, stunned.

"We cannot strike directly at Ancorna," Julian said, almost bitterly amused. "But they can. Conley is ruthless. And they hold no illusions about righteousness or mercy."

He gave a dry, humorless chuckle. "They will show Emperor Andrew exactly what it means when a man abandons justice… and turns his back on kindness."

"But—" Georgie began, her voice cracking.

Julian raised a hand, silencing her gently but firmly. "Conley has signed an agreement. If they successfully annex the Free Cities, they will pay us contract fees to act as 'defenders'—mercenaries in all but name. We'll retain our economic hold over the Luminous Sea routes, and maintain influence without openly opposing Ancorna."

He looked at her with weary eyes. "This way, we keep our hands clean... but our grip on the seas remains strong."

Georgie could only stare. The rain outside pressed harder against the glass, a curtain of silver separating them from a world that had grown far more brutal than the one they once tried to build.

Ravenna's Office, Lord Castle, Kim City, Kim Island, Kim Dukedom, Ancorna Empire

"That's not exactly a brilliant plan," John muttered, his voice tinged with exasperation. He leaned against the table, arms crossed, eyes scanning the ink-stained map for the hundredth time.

Ravenna didn't respond immediately.

"I mean it," he continued, stepping forward. "Sending our knights out in small boats? That's reckless. The imperial navy isn't some drunken pirate crew, they'll sink us before we get within shouting distance."

Ravenna turned to face him, her eyes sharp. "We need to identify the commanding officer of their lead ship," she said, voice measured but firm. "Everything hinges on who's making the decisions over there."