The World Is Mine For The Taking-Chapter 1194 - 183 - Milham’s Royal Family (1)

Myrcella’s POV

"Mother... may I speak with you for a moment?"

The words left my mouth more quietly than I intended, as if raising my voice even a little might cause something fragile to shatter.

The Queen—my mother—looked up from her desk, and my chest tightened instantly.

She looked exhausted. No, that wasn’t even strong enough. She looked worn down. The kind of exhaustion that didn’t come from a single sleepless night, but from weeks of relentless pressure. Dark circles clung stubbornly beneath her eyes, deep and unmistakable, as though sleep itself had been avoiding her. Her posture was still straight, still dignified, but there was a subtle heaviness to her shoulders that hadn’t been there before.

"What is it, Myrcella?" she asked.

She smiled at me. That same gentle smile she always used, practiced and warm, the kind meant to reassure others even when she herself had nothing left to give.

Even now. Even when she was clearly at her limit.

She was still willing to listen to me.

That realization made guilt coil in my stomach. I could see it so clearly. How drained she was and how close she seemed to being pushed past what anyone should endure. And yet, she made time for me without hesitation.

I felt awful for it. Truly.

But if I didn’t say this now, I knew I never would.

She was always busy. Meetings stacked upon meetings. Nobles demanding explanations. Ministers pushing their own agendas. Every waking hour was claimed by someone or something else. This brief moment—this fragile pause—was the only chance I had.

So I took a breath and told her about my plan.

I explained it carefully, choosing my words as best as I could. I laid everything out as clearly as possible, even though my heart was pounding the entire time. I half-expected her to interrupt me as well as to tell me she didn’t have the energy for this right now.

But she didn’t.

She listened.

Her eyes softened as she considered my words, her expression shifting into something thoughtful and distant. When I finally finished, there was a short silence. It was just long enough to make me nervous.

Then she smiled.

"That’s a wonderful reform, Myrcella," she said. "What you’re trying to do for the kingdom is truly admirable. Honestly, I think I should be the one taking notes from you."

"T-That’s—!"

The words stumbled out of me before I could stop them. My face heated up immediately.

"I-I’m really not that worthy," I said quickly, shaking my head. "I was just... trying to think of a way to protect the kingdom’s interests. Its prosperity, too. And I thought—maybe—I could help you. Even a little. You’re carrying so much already."

It wasn’t false humility. I genuinely meant every word.

I could see it so clearly. The pressure pressing down on her from all sides. The nobles, always watching her with thinly veiled contempt. The ministries, constantly demanding solutions while offering none themselves. Every decision she made was scrutinized, questioned, and twisted into something political.

It was crushing.

I was terrified she wouldn’t be able to bear it forever.

That fear sat heavy in my chest, refusing to leave. It felt like if I looked away for even a moment—if I let my guard down—she might finally collapse under it all.

That thought scared me more than anything.

"You’re already doing more than I could ever ask for," she said softly. "And because I see you giving it your all, I’ve been pushing myself too. I truly believe you’re worthy of becoming a ruler someday."

"I... I don’t think I am," I admitted.

The words tasted bitter, but honest.

I wasn’t ready. Not even close.

The responsibility of ruling a kingdom wasn’t something you could simply want. It was a weight that crushed people. I could barely imagine myself carrying it without breaking. Who was I to even think about plotting against my father? About a coup d’état? The thought alone made my stomach churn.

If that ever happened—if all that pressure landed on me—I was certain I’d crumble just as quickly.

Now that my father was gone, the future felt disturbingly clear.

In a year. Maybe less.

Julius would be crowned king.

He wasn’t ready. Anyone with eyes could see that. But he was the legitimate heir. The one the law demanded sit on the throne.

And yet, he had committed arson. A reckless, unforgivable crime that couldn’t simply be ignored. Because of that, he’d been thrown into the dungeon, supposedly being disciplined until he could be trusted not to do something so dangerous again.

Once he was deemed "fit," the throne would be his by default.

My mother ruled only because the law allowed it.

There was an old rule—one so rarely mentioned that most people had forgotten it even existed. It stated that if a king died without an immediate successor capable of ruling, his wife would temporarily assume the throne.

For the first time in history, that rule had been used.

But only temporarily.

The moment Julius was considered ready, the crown would be taken from her and placed on his head instead.

And the nobles hated every second of it.

They didn’t want a woman ruling them. They tolerated her presence only because the law forced them to. I could feel their resentment in every whispered conversation as well as every forced bow.

It felt inevitable. Like the kingdom was inching toward some ugly conclusion, and no one knew how it would end.

"You underestimate yourself," my mother said calmly, breaking my thoughts. "You’ve done everything you can to keep order in this kingdom, even while it’s been on the brink of chaos."

She looked at me then—really looked at me.

"I truly believe you would make an excellent ruler one day," she continued. "Honestly, I feel that everything would be better if you were the one holding the reins."

She paused, her expression shifting, her gaze drifting somewhere far away.

"But this kingdom isn’t ready to accept a woman as its ruler," she said quietly. "I hope that can change. I hope that one day, you’ll be able to sit on the throne and make this kingdom great again."

"Great...?" I echoed.

The word felt heavy.

"I don’t know about that," I admitted. "I really don’t."

Could I actually do something like that? Could I restore the kingdom to the glory it once had? To something better than this slow, painful decay?

Could I truly rule?

I didn’t know. I had no confidence in myself. No certainty that I wouldn’t fail the moment it truly mattered.

"You can," she said firmly, without hesitation. "Even someone like me—who knew nothing about ruling when this began—can see that you understand what this kingdom needs."

She smiled again, and this time, there was no exhaustion in it. Just warmth.

"Even if you doubt yourself, I don’t believe there’s anything you wouldn’t be able to handle," she said. "I trust you."

Her voice softened.

"You are my daughter, after all."

Something shifted inside me then.

The doubt didn’t disappear. The fear didn’t vanish. But for the first time, they weren’t crushing me completely.

I felt like I might actually cry.