Card Apprentice Daily Log

Chapter 2742: Corey, Princess Of Scots (Part III)

Date: Unspecified

Time: Unspecified

Location: Kingdom of Scotland, Lothian, Edinburgh, Palace of Holyroodhouse

Children? After spending most of my childhood raising my younger brother, I had grown to despise them—the noise, the dependence, the way they quietly consume your life until there is nothing left that belongs to you. I had never intended to marry. The thought of bearing children had never crossed my plans except as something to avoid.

Yet the witch’s words settled in my bones. I did not dismiss them. Instead, I stepped into witchcraft. If fate had a script for me, I intended to read it. And if possible, edit it.

To my annoyance—and eventual satisfaction—I possessed an exceptional aptitude for it. Incantations came easily. Ritual structures made sense. The geometry of cursework felt almost intuitive. Where others struggled for years to stabilize a spell, I required days. Where scholars debated theories, I saw patterns.

By nineteen, I had surpassed what that forest hag had shown in her final moments. And I saw my death. Crystal Clear. It unfolded exactly as she had described. Since then, I have had only one purpose. I will not die such a death. The world once again felt worth living.

At the age of twenty two, I learned that my death would have as it was supposed to happen no matter what I do, it was inevitable. Still, I didn’t give up. I doubled down and began to go through the forbidden witchcrafts buried in the palace’s tomb. It had become the reason I live now.

By the time I turned twenty-four, I had grown tired of James.

If not for the promise I made to my mother, I would have killed that ungrateful little bastard years ago. I protected him. Raised him. Shielded him from threats he never even noticed. And in return, I received more expectations, more obligations.

Then my father summoned me, I didn’t go. Because, I knew they would end up giving me a reason to destroy it all. So, he sent James. That little asshole asked—formally—for my agreement to marry the Emperor of Zhongguo. The man was twice my age, grotesquely indulgent, and already burdened with an Empress, seven consorts, and twelve concubines. I would not even enter his palace as a consort. I would go as a concubine.

A Princess of Scots, a concubine, is that a joke? No, that was the truth. They had sold me without even me knowing.

In exchange, the Emperor granted tax-free use of the Silk Route under his control to the royal family and secured pilgrimage rights within his empire for the Church.

By now, I was no longer surprised. These people had shown me repeatedly that loyalty, sacrifice, and blood meant nothing compared to profit and power. They spoke of duty and divine will, they were just tools to protect their interest. I wasn’t surprised that James would also side with them.

I was prepared to kill them all—father, brother, court, clergy—and let the kingdom burn along with their so-called god.

But I didn’t. Instead of burning the court to ashes, I accepted the arrangement. Not quietly, not blindly—but strategically.

Before giving my consent, I made James grant me a boon. A binding one. I could claim it at any time, for any reason, in the present or the future. No conditions. No delays.

He agreed without hesitation. That little idiot didn’t even ask what I might demand one day, so long as my acceptance secured the trade route, pleased the Church, and solved Father’s diplomatic problem. He thought he was winning something. He had no idea he had just signed away leverage he could never calculate.

The very next day, they sent me to Zhongguo without any delay or ceremony of mourning. They just wanted to send me before I changed my mind. I traveled across borders and seas to enter the Emperor’s palace not as a consort, not as an equal, but as one more concubine among many.

And what do you know? I fulfilled the witch’s prophecy perfectly. I died after giving birth to my second child.

...

After King James left the training hall—claiming he needed to hunt down those responsible for the supposed assassination—instead of answering Coryn, silence settled between the twins and Martha.

”Who is Corey, Martha?” Reven repeated the question to their personal maid.

Martha met their gaze, loyalty and hesitation warred quietly behind her eyes. Her king had ordered her never to reveal the truth about their origin to the twins. But she had already broken that silence earlier, if only partially. There was no restoring what had been chipped away.

She studied them—the unified body, the floating head and arms, the residual aura of Conjoined still humming faintly around them. They had the power to know the truth. So she began, ”If I tell you. There will be no going back.”

The training hall remained still, the faint daylight lingering from their earlier display. Martha exhaled once, as though shedding a weight she had carried for years.

”Corey,” she began, ”was the late Princess of Scots, the elder sister of King James, the thirteenth concubine of the Emperor of Zhongguo, and your birth mother. We held her funeral in Zhongguo and brought her ashes along with you two. I remained by the King’s side throughout it all, serving as one of the Royal Knights assigned to His Majesty’s protection.”

Coryn and Reven stood still, their expressions drained of color as Martha’s words settled over them. The revelation was too explosive. They reacted with absolute silence. In the span of a few breaths, their whole past turned into a lie.

The man they had believed to be their father turned out to be their uncle, brother to their late mother, whom they didn’t even know existed until today. This was nothing like what they had thought.

”How did she die?” Reven asked. She understood that their father’s lie had come from a place of love. And, knowing the inner workings of royal families, she also understood there had to be a damning reason why they were raised as Princesses of Scots rather than Princesses of Zhongguo.