From Death To Destiny Chapter 2

They swiftly took down the executioner and dragged her away from the guillotine. A carriage arrived just in time, its door flung open, and without giving her a chance to protest, they forced her inside.  

 

With bullets raining down, bombs exploding, and screams echoing, Margarita trembled, burying her head between her shoulders.  

 

Only when they reached the quiet outskirts did her trembling subside. There were five people in the carriage. Their faces were rough and hardened, yet their gazes were strangely filled with warmth. That realization gave her just enough courage to speak.  

 

“Who… are you? Why did you save me?”  

 

A woman with unkempt brown hair, loosely braided, answered, but it was in a language Margarita couldn’t understand. A surge of fear washed over her. Could it be that Allen had sent assassins? That even execution was too merciful a fate for her?  

 

The thought of horrific torture flashed through her mind. It would be better to throw herself out of the moving carriage and die instantly. She lunged toward the door, but the man seated beside her quickly grabbed her.  

 

“That’s dangerous, Your Highness.”  

 

The pronunciation was unclear and awkward, but this time, she understood. The honorific ‘Your Highness’ barely helped her regain her composure.  

 

“Who exactly are you?”  

 

“We are from Isiria.”  

 

“…Isiria?”  

 

It was only then that she realized—the words the brown-haired woman had spoken sounded similar to the hushed whispers exchanged among Isirian nobles. A language Margarita had never been allowed to learn, let alone be curious about.  

 

“You’re rebels… aren’t you?”  

 

“Yes.”  

 

The blunt response sent chills down her spine. She had heard endless warnings from her nanny about the terrifying cruelty of the Isirian rebels. If she ever encountered them, she should take her own life to preserve her honor.  

 

“I—I…”  

 

“Your Highness.”  

 

Before she could even finish asking them to grant her a painless death, the man took her hand. His rough, scarred hand was warm. There was no contempt or scorn in his eyes—so different from what she had endured her entire life.  

 

“We came to rescue you. To protect you.”  

 

“Protect me…? Why?”  

 

“Because you are our sovereign.”  

 

Sovereign.  

 

A word she had never once associated with herself cut through her heart. A deep ache spread in her chest, and her throat burned.  

 

“…Sovereign.”  

 

The homeland she had cursed, the country she had resented.  

 

To Margarita, Isiria had always been nothing more than a birthplace that shackled and tormented her.  

 

Isirian parasite.

 

She could still hear those whispered words from behind folding fans, piercing her like a knife.  

 

How many times had she prayed that she had been born a beggar in Castor instead? At least then, she wouldn’t have to endure such ridicule.  

 

She had spent her entire life resenting and cursing Isiria. Why did that cursed place cling to her like an unwanted shadow?  

 

And yet, it was Isiria that had come to save her.  

 

At this moment—when everyone else had turned their backs, when all they wanted was for her to die—Isiria had come for her.  

 

“Let’s go back to Isiria. Everyone is waiting for you.”  

 

A heart she thought had long since withered began to beat again.  

 

Since birth, Margarita had been raised in the Castor imperial palace. She had never set foot on Isirian soil.  

 

She didn’t know what crops grew there, what color its trees were, or what kind of bricks its houses were built from. The emperor would fly into a rage if she so much as showed a hint of curiosity about Isiria—but she had never been curious. She had only hated it.  

 

Yet now, the country she had despised filled her with a desperate longing.  

 

Isiria. My country.  

 

“…Alright.”  

 

And so, for a week, they ran without rest. Sometimes they rode ponies, sometimes they crossed mountains and rivers on foot. There was no time to change clothes, and the stench was unbearable. Sweat and grime streaked her face.  

 

But those days were more joyous, more fulfilling than any she had ever lived.  

 

Once they reached the hideout, she could wash up properly, change clothes, and disguise herself. The thought filled Margarita with anticipation as they turned into an alley leading to the hideout.  

 

And at that moment—  

 

Gunfire erupted.  

 

“No! Theo, Luka—No, no! Vanessa!”  

 

In an instant, the people she had grown attached to over the past week collapsed to the ground, twitching.  

 

The narrow alley was soaked in blood, and soldiers rushed in with their rifles raised.  

 

She recognized their deep blue uniforms immediately.  

 

The Castor Empire’s imperial guard.  

 

“Thanks to you, we found the Isirian rebels’ hideout.”  

 

At the end of the line of soldiers, Allen stepped forward.  

 

Sunlight streamed behind him, wrapping around him like a halo. He looked like an angel descending from the heavens.  

 

But beneath him lay a field of corpses.  

 

The ones who had taught her—for the first time—that there were people who genuinely wished for her happiness.  

 

They were all dead.  

 

“How could you? How… how could any human—”  

 

Unlike her, disheveled and reeking, Allen stood there pristine—his golden hair neatly groomed, his transparent, pale skin glowing.  

 

The stark contrast between them felt like a cruel omen of their countries’ fates.  

 

Was Isiria destined to be trampled under Castor forever?  

 

Was this the price of having a foolish ruler again and again?  

 

“I hate you.”  

 

She pointed at Allen as he approached.  

 

As a child, those words used to make him sad. But now, he merely smiled—amused.  

 

She had created that cold, unyielding shell of his.  

 

“I regret every moment I ever knew you.”  

 

Allen pulled a pistol from his coat.  

 

The cold barrel pressed against her forehead.  

 

Yet Margarita did not close her eyes.  

 

She glared at Allen, unflinching.  

 

Death was near. But she no longer feared it.  

 

Click. The cylinder spun.  

 

Margarita curled her lips into a smirk, just as Allen often did.  

 

Once the sound stopped, he would pull the trigger.  

 

Gathering all the hatred in her soul, she spat out her final words.  

 

“I will curse you even in death.”  

 

***

 

Gripping her forehead, which burned like fire, Margarita opened her eyes. The damp air, mixed with the scent of herbs, made her cough violently. A delicate canopy made of beautiful lace swayed before her eyes.  

 

Heaven?  

 

She thought she would end up in hell…  

 

But why aren’t there any wounds on my hands?  

 

“Where…?”  

 

Before she could even finish speaking, the canopy was suddenly pulled back. Beyond the physician inserting a stethoscope, she could see a maid organizing a washcloth and a basin. She blinked at the strangely familiar scene.  

 

“You’re finally awake. Why on earth did you go to the lake in the detached palace? I told you several times that it was dangerous.”  

 

A woman dressed in a dazzling red gown approached, pouting her lips. Even as she tended to the patient, her glittering rings, bracelets, and extravagant necklace stirred a memory.  

 

She was the nanny who had left the palace around the time Margarita debuted in society. As an orphan, Margarita had desperately begged her to stay, the only person she could rely on. But the woman had left without hesitation. Margarita had heard that she had died of an endemic disease on her way to the fief granted to her by the emperor. Upon receiving the news, Margarita had refused to eat and cried for an entire week.  

 

So why is she here now?  

 

“Thanks to His Majesty’s quick judgment, you were brought back to the main palace and treated by the royal physician. Otherwise, you might have slept forever. When will you finally come to your senses?”  

 

Letting the nagging words go in one ear and out the other, Margarita looked around. The moment she spotted the calendar displaying the Castor Empire’s year 375, October, her dry lips parted.  

 

Eight years ago.  

 

“Inform His Highness the Crown Prince and His Majesty that Her Highness Margarita has regained consciousness.”  

 

“Understood.”  

 

The doctor, nodding haughtily, exited the room, snapping Margarita back to her senses.  

 

So, it’s that time. The autumn when she was fourteen, three months before her debutante.  

 

Margarita had drowned in the lake of the detached palace and survived.  

 

The one who had called her to the lake was Allen. Normally, she would have ignored him, but his expression had been so serious that she followed him. The lake, dotted with red and yellow autumn leaves, had been stunningly blue.  

 

She had waited for a while, but he remained silent. When she finally said she would leave, he suddenly held out a ring.  

 

“What is this? Are you proposing?”  

 

It was so old and worn that she let out a scoff. The opal at its center was so cloudy it was on the verge of breaking. Seeing him hesitate and fail to respond, her temper flared.  

 

“Don’t joke around!”  

 

It was a political marriage, devoid of love. In their childhood, when they had pulled at the same fabric and giggled together, there had been a bond akin to sibling affection. But now, only resentment remained.  

 

She hadn’t expected a grand proposal like others received, but at the very least, it should be something that wouldn’t bring her shame. Yet he dared to present her with such a tiny, old, and worn-out opal ring.  

 

If this was meant to mock her for her position, he had succeeded.  

 

So much for pretending to be a gentleman—he saw her just like everyone else did. An insufferable fiancée who didn’t know her place.  

 

Did he think this would make her quietly fade into the background? Without her, he wouldn’t even have the right to inherit the Isirian Peninsula. If anyone should be wary, it was him.  

 

She threw the ring into the lake. With a soft plop, it barely made a ripple. Watching Allen stare blankly at the sinking ring, she felt a little relieved.  

 

“You—no matter what… Allen, what are you doing? Get out of there right now! Allen!”  

 

Over that worthless, old ring, Allen had jumped into the lake.  

 

Despite its calm and serene surface, the lake in the detached palace was notorious for frequent drownings. Terrifying rumors never ceased, yet it was considered sacred ground, untouchable even by the emperor.  

 

“Allen, no!”  

 

The moment she saw him vanish into the water while desperately reaching for the ring, Margarita’s rationality vanished as well.  

 

Allen was the empire’s hope, its future, its light.  

 

From the moment of his birth, he had been thrust into a succession war and had saved the emperor, proving himself the perfect crown prince.  

 

The emperor often muttered that even a hundred of his other children could not compare to Allen alone.  

 

If such an Allen were to drown because of Margarita, a mere parasite…  

 

Just imagining it made her shudder.  

 

Her body moved before she could think. If anything, it would be better to die together.  

 

As water filled her lungs, she finally saw Allen’s shocked face approaching her.  

 

Oh, right. Unlike me, who never learned a thing, you know how to swim.  

 

She had nearly died after suffering from a severe fever for nearly a week. The lost opal ring was never found. It was a wound neither of them wanted to reopen, so they never spoke of it.  

 

Yet, contrary to her memory, an opal ring was now on Margarita’s hand. Boldly on the ring finger of her left hand.  

 

“His Highness the Crown Prince has arrived.”  

 

At the attendant’s announcement, she quickly lifted her head.  

 

Before she could say anything, the nanny granted permission, and the door opened.  

 

And then, he entered.  

 

His white uniform, embroidered with delicate gold threads, gleamed. His eyes, as clear and blue as the tropical sea, were dazzling. His golden hair, radiant like the sun, curved into stunning waves, so beautiful it sent chills down her spine.  

 

Allen, you are…  

 

Whether in the past or the distant future, only the word “perfection” ever came to mind.  

 

“Margarita.”  

 

He approached without a clue, tilting his head slightly. Sunlight from the window scattered in his eyes, filled with worry.  

 

Disgusting.