Early one morning, in the chapel, Margaret was kneeling in front of the altar and praying fervently. To be more accurate, she looked like she was praying fervently.
The chapel was the best place to sort your thoughts out without being disturbed. That was something Margaret’s mother had taught her.
“It’s rude to interrupt someone when they’re praying. Even if you’re normally popular, people won’t disturb you there.”
“More importantly, whenever there’s something you want to complain about, it’s usually God’s fault.”
Remembering what her mother had said, Margaret put her hands together, closed her eyes, and bowed her head. To others, she would have looked like a devout believer, and the words she mumbled to herself would, from a distance, have seemed like a prayer. But under her breath, so quiet not even someone beside her could have heard, she was saying, “I’ve come this far, so why is it I can’t make it this one last step, God?! I finally, finally managed to get myself a prince, you know?!”
Margaret put on an act for men, but never for God. Not only would she tell him the truth, she would demand things too.
“The prince is head over heels for me, but if that damn woman won’t surrender, it might all get turned around when the king comes back! Do you understand that? Get to work already, would you?”
Her head bowed, Margaret clenched her interlocked fingers tighter.
“Okay, yes, I’m grateful for the good fortune I’ve had so far. I mean, a girl born in the slums like I was is doing well if she makes it to the age of ten still healthy. And I grew up to be prettier than just about anyone. And mom managed to land herself a baron before I got sold off to some old pedo. And all those wealthy noble boys are losing their heads over how cute I am. Even the prince prefers me over that ruthless psycho he was engaged to. Now I’ve just gotta keep running toward my happily ever after!”
The more Margaret talked, the more her frustration grew, and her mumbling got louder and louder.
“Do you know how hard it was to get this far? Sure, the guys were easy to win over, but the bullying from the other girls was just awful. Those blue-blooded sows need to get their act together! Bunch of monkeys who think they’re so much better than me! ‘Stay away from my fiancé!’ Huh? You’re the ones who drove your fiancés away with your overbearing attitudes. Who told them to their faces that you were only marrying them for political reasons, huh?! Are you all stupid, panicking when I’m a little nice to your men and worrying I’m gonna steal them?! You are stupid, aren’t you?! Just die, you cows! It was your indifference that ruined their image of you and made them look elsewhere!”
Margaret’s voice kept getting louder. Her shoulders heaved with anger.
“Acting friendly and compassionate is the very basics, right?! Men are simple. If you just tell them, ‘You’re the only one for me!’ and, ‘I understand you. You’re trying so hard!’ and, ‘No matter what anyone else says, I’ll always be with you!’ they’ll be into you! And you tell me, ‘Don’t say anything to a man he doesn’t need to hear.’ Huh?! You’re the ones not saying what needs to be said, damn it! I’m putting in the work to be likable! Put some effort in, you goddamn high-society do-nothings! You get married with that kind of attitude, pump out one son, and then you go on to live the high life?! What is this bullshit?!”
Boiling over with rage, Margaret was now shouting at the top of her lungs.
“You act all smug, not even paying attention to your own ‘customers,’ and if someone like me comes in and takes over the ‘contract,’ you say they’re ignoring the rules of ‘business’?! Then do the work to win them back, you elites! Even the lowliest whore knows how to look after her regulars! I’m not gonna buy that you can’t do it!”
Margaret was so angry that she forgot she was pretending to pray.
“I’m going to make Prince Elliott mine and look down on all of them! My mother may have been a prostitute from the slums, but she worked her way up to a baroness by carefully choosing her clients. With the looks I inherited from her, I’m going to shoot all the way from a baronial house to the very top!”
Margaret put her foot on the altar and struck a victory pose. It didn’t get more impious than that. Finished with her venting, she took a deep breath and calmed down. She crossed her arms and glared up at the sky. In front of God.
“Still, if I can’t do something about that Rachel, my future with Prince Elliott isn’t looking so rosy. I don’t know for sure, but she doesn’t seem that into him. He’s so cool, so why does she take that attitude with him? George is cool too, though, so she may just be used to it. But Prince Elliott is extra cool. What’s she so dissatisfied with?”
Mostly, what was inside.
“Well, she does look good. Maybe it’s because she’s used to having men fawn over her.”
Probably not.
“Ever since she went into the dungeon—maybe it’s the thin clothes she wears now?—her looks stand out all the more. She really has that figure without a corset? I mean, her waist is like this, and her bust... Is she seriously not padding it? And looking at her butt, she’s got long legs too...”
Margaret had been paying a surprising amount of attention. Although, unlike the stupid men, she wasn’t getting all excited about a little skin.
Margaret snapped back to her senses. “Wait... Her face is a match for mine, and her figure’s ridiculously good. And she’s a duke’s daughter, and smart? The king and queen are fond of her, and she’s able to fend off anything Elliott throws at her...”
Margaret was aghast. She glared at the altar, thrusting a finger at the statue of the Lord.
“Hold on, God! What’s the meaning of this?! She’s highborn, blessed with talent, and has good luck! You’ve been showing favoritism to Rachel! Isn’t it your job to distribute fortune equally?! Work for all the donations people give you, you wage thief! Um...not that I object to your showing me a little extra fortune, okay?”
Margaret brought her hand to her chin, thinking as she paced back and forth in front of the altar.
“Where did this difference come from? No, am I thinking about this wrong to begin with? Rachel’s been given too much, right? I haven’t fully joined the upper class yet, but there are nobles out there who are less impressive than her, right? What is it that made her allotment of divine grace so much greater than mine?”
Margaret suddenly stopped. Her fingers were quivering.
“It can’t be... But it must... This has to be it!” Spinning around ninety degrees, she pointed at the statue of the Lord again and shouted, “God, the truth is you’re a sucker for good looks, and you have no self-restraint, right?! Rachel and I are lucky because we’re pretty, and Rachel gets even more special treatment because of her figure! That’s it, right?! Damn it! I’ve solved the mystery!”
Margaret stomped her feet as she shouted crackpot theories at the altar. She’d gone beyond impiety and into the kind of blasphemy that could get you smote.
“The pieces all fit! Damn it! If that’s the reason for God’s favoritism, I’ll never be able to beat Rachel! You dirty old pervert! If that’s how it works, all my almsgiving up until now has been pointless! Damn it all! I always thought if I just prayed, everything would work out somehow! Give me back my innocence!”
Margaret had never had the kind of praiseworthy faith that asked nothing in return, and the total value of all the alms she’d ever given was so low that she could easily pay that much again with what was in her wallet, but she was going to totally ignore that.
Hearing some sort of clamor, the priest rushed to the chapel and saw that the doors were ajar. He thought that maybe an animal had gotten inside and was yowling about something.
“Did a cat in heat get in there?” He approached to investigate, but before he could open it, the double doors opened. “Hm?”
A pretty girl with her hair in pigtails had her hands on the handles. She was hanging her head, and her shoulders were trembling.
“Oh, hello, little girl. Is something the matter?” the priest asked.
“God is...”
“Yes?”
The adorable girl looked up to the heavens, her face twisted into a demonic grimace.
“God is dead!”
“What?!”
As the priest fell on his backside, Margaret ran off crying.
“Damn it! Damn it all! Even if God doesn’t love me, I’m still gonna rise to the top!”
Even if God favors Rachel because he’s a sucker for a pretty face, I’m going to knock her out and be the one to marry Prince Elliott! Go, go, Margaret! You can do it, me! You don’t have to pay interest, but I want my donations back, God!
Even if God was favoring her rival, Margaret wouldn’t give in. She had all the vitality of a weed, and she was willing to do anything. She’d outdo Rachel with her own pretty face and gumption.
Margaret glared ahead of her as she ran. “Wait, I know... It might be fun to pit noble against noble. If I stir up those ugly girls who were after Prince Elliott, the ones gunning to take Rachel down... Yeah, I’ll try that next!”
Margaret thrust a fist toward the rising sun.
“Who needs you, God?! I’m not gonna lose!!!”
Rachel had just heard about Margaret’s rampage from one of her maids, who’d snuck in to report to her.
“I see. So that’s what she’s like,” Rachel remarked.
“Yes. She talks to herself a lot. She said everything that the person in charge of investigating her took three days to find out.”
“They must be kicking themselves now. If only she could have said it all sooner, it would have saved them some work.” Rachel took a sip of her tea, which had gone cold, and looked up to the roof. “Still...”
“Yes.”
“Her idiocy could prove a pain.”
Just as she was about to head back from making her report, the maid crouched down and pulled out a throwing knife. She glared silently toward the stairs, but Rachel raised a hand to stop her.
The door opened from the other side, and a girl with a ponytail came down the stairs, her armor clanking. She was dressed like a traveling knight in simple armor and a cape.
“It’s been too long, Rachel. Sorry, I wanted to come sooner, but I was delayed! I did come straight here without dropping by the house first, though.”
“Don’t worry about it, Martina. I’m glad you came.”
The maid got the prison guard’s chair for Martina.
Rachel smiled. “Now, before we start catching up, would you care for some tea?”