Everyone had a different definition of happiness.

For the majority of people, being loved was a necessity, especially during childhood when they had little self-control and acted on emotion. They had a strong desire for approval and sought out the love of their parents. Once they became adults, many of them yearned to spend their lives with someone. They learned to love. They wished to be loved back.

As far as Charlotte could remember, she was never loved. Her sister loved the idealized version of her. Her father raised her as a successor, but that wasn’t love. Her fiancé chose to spend his life with her for political reasons, without love.

The late queen probably loved Charlotte. There was no clear evidence, but she likely did.

However, in the end, Charlotte barely remembered her mother, as she only knew her from portraits and stories. Being loved by a stranger didn’t make her feel happy.

Do I just want to be acknowledged, or…?

Do I want someone to love me?

Charlotte didn’t really know what her definition of happiness was.

Either way, it didn’t matter anymore.

Not only did she have to work around the clock, there were days when she had to go without sleep. And not only did her efforts never amounted to anything, they were often dismissed as something that was expected of a crown princess. There was a movement for improving the working conditions of employees in the country, but with each newly established systems, the harsher her own life became.

More than that, legally speaking, the crown princess didn’t classify as an employee, so she wasn’t eligible any of those benefits.

There were so many people around her, and she wasn’t even the only successor, yet she had to shoulder everything simply because Frederick could have done it with ease.

If something were to befall Frederick, the mechanism of the country would come to a halt, leading to a serious crisis. Yet, no one wanted to entertain such a possibility. No one understood the danger of placing so much responsibility on one person just because they were skillful. Not even Frederick, despite being aware of it.

He wasn’t the kind to turn a blind eye to such risk either. In other words, he had deemed such a situation was nothing to worry about. His abstract optimistic view determined that everything would be fine, especially because he had an excellent prime minister and a successor who was just like him.

His judgment was baseless, clouded from his burning desire as a father not to burden Juliet in any way possible.

As a successor, Charlotte was probably top-tier, even by global standards. She was proud of her accomplishments, which were comparable with her heavy responsibilities.

Charlotte did her best until she turned eighteen. Her natural talent was too good to be called ordinary, but not outstanding enough to be called a genius. Despite that—despite not having the same abilities as Frederick—she endured his massive expectations and achieved a passing mark, so—

—It should be enough.

She had sacrificed enough. She had suffered enough.

Now, it was their turn to suffer.

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