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    Chapter 012. The 21-Year-Old Princess (1)

    Meriwood halted her steps and looked up at the tapestry hanging in the central hallway.

    It depicted Rosalyn and her mother, Beatrice, woven with warp and weft. The sheer size of the piece gave it a majestic beauty.

    But what caught Meriwood’s attention more than the picture was the layer of dust that had gathered on the tapestry.

    ‘How could you just let this happen?’

    After Beatrice’s death, there were few things left to remember her by, making this tapestry all the more significant and important.

    However, it hadn’t been cared for at all.

    It was no surprise. The Princess’s Palace had no one responsible for it. There was no head maid, no chamberlain—only a few young maids and soldiers.

    Because of this, Meriwood couldn’t bring herself to scold the servants for the state of the palace, even though it pained her. She knew they were doing their best just to maintain even this much.

    In the end, all of this was because the owner of the palace, Rosalyn, had neglected it.

    “Your Highness…”

    Meriwood’s eyes filled with tears as she looked at the youthful Rosalyn in the tapestry.

    People said that a house reflected the inner self of its occupant. She worried that Rosalyn’s inner world might be just as desolate as this neglected palace.

    Perhaps that’s why she held out hope, rather than resentment, for the prince of Feitan.

    She hoped that the person Rosalyn had hidden away deep within the palace was someone important to her. That Rosalyn wasn’t truly alone.

    “Please wake up soon. Your nurse has come, and you won’t stay lying down forever, will you?”

    Sniffling, Meriwood hurriedly wiped away the moisture from her eyes.

    ‘She’ll wake up soon. Our princess is strong; she’ll get up again,’ Meriwood told herself, quickening her steps.

    Time was running out. She had to prepare the palace before Rosalyn woke up.

    * * *

    Late at night, Sionne stirred as he sensed movement near the door. His blue eyes, accustomed to the darkness, focused on the door.

    ‘Knock, knock, knock.’ The uninvited guest, who had come under the cover of night, knocked twice on the solitary cell door.

    “Who is it?”

    But when Sionne spoke, the figure vanished.

    When the presence had completely faded, Sionne cautiously approached the door.

    “What is this…”

    He picked up a white piece of paper that had been slipped under the door. He lit the candle beside his bed and unfolded the note.

    ‘I’m certain I told you this after I arrived in Anata, didn’t I? I’ve said it several times, but this has nothing to do with me.’

    ‘It seems that now is the time to watch and wait. If you care about your people, you will keep our deal a secret.’

    ‘I’ll contact you next time. Destroy this note once you’ve read it.’

    The letter was difficult to read due to the crude Feitan language and the clumsy cipher used.

    After reading the note, Sionne let out a dry, bitter laugh. It wasn’t signed, but there was no mistaking that it had come from the Emperor of Hernia.

    In short, it read: ‘”You ruined things. I’m not going to help, and keep your mouth shut.”‘

    “Well, isn’t this just pointless.”

    Sionne ripped the note a few times and tossed it into the candle flame.

    After shaking off the remaining ashes from his hands, he sat on the edge of the bed.

    He hadn’t expected much from the Emperor, but hearing that he’d been abandoned made the gravity of his situation sink in even further.

    ‘Sigh.’

    Running his large hand over his face, he inhaled deeply. The smell of burnt paper lingered in his nostrils.

    “Worst case scenario.”

    If Rosalyn didn’t wake up, he could be executed for attempting to assassinate a member of the royal family.

    But even if Rosalyn woke up, it wouldn’t mean Sionne could escape his situation.

    ‘“Shit, you really can’t kill a woman, can you?”’

    Sionne recalled the last face he had seen—Rosalyn’s.

    It was difficult to define exactly what kind of expression it had been, but he could clearly see the murderous intent in her eyes.

    “So, whether I do it or not, I’ll die anyway.”

    If that were the case, he should have just—

    ‘“I should have killed her properly.”’

    Had he done so, he could have avenged his fallen homeland. He might have even been able to beg the Emperor to spare Merilyn and Anna.

    But instead, he had foolishly let his last chance to kill Rosalyn de Anata slip away.

    ‘“If only I could get one more chance.”’

    Regret and self-recrimination began to fuel a growing desire for violence.

    ‘“I’d kill her for sure this time!”’

    At that moment, Sionne’s heart began to pound as if reminding him of its presence, so hard that his chest ached with each thud.

    “Haa.”

    His breathing grew heavier.

    These were the signs that always came when he was being dragged back into a memory from his past.

    ‘“Damn it… not the palace… not here.”’

    Red hair, a blood-soaked face, gasping lips. At first, it was the scene of Rosalyn collapsing.

    “Haa, haa.”

    But as the bloody face began to blur, it shifted into the pale face of another.

    ‘“Let me go… just let me go…”’

    A decaying face. A mangled body. Those parched lips barely managed to utter a final plea.

    The sudden flash of his trauma turned Sionne’s stomach. The helplessness from that day returned, weighing down his entire body.

    “Haa…”

    Sionne gritted his teeth, trying to suppress his accelerating breaths.

    Yes, he wanted to kill her. He really wanted to, but…

    ‘“It’s impossible. Not yet.”’

    When he admitted this to himself, the vividness of the memory began to fade, as if mocking him.

    “Stupid bastard.”

    Sionne cursed himself bitterly. The fact that his trauma had been triggered just by thinking about killing her made him feel disgusted with himself.

    ‘“Stop pretending, Sionne Feitan.”’

    At this moment, he found himself more revolting than even Rosalyn. It was almost unbearable.

    * * *

    It was two days into Sionne’s confinement.

    “Mmm.”

    A faint groan escaped Rosalyn’s lips.

    “Your Highness!”

    Meriwood, who had been massaging Rosalyn’s legs, called out to her in alarm. In her urgency, she had inadvertently addressed Rosalyn as ‘“Your Highness.”’

    “My head feels like it’s splitting.”

    Rosalyn muttered, pressing a hand to her forehead.

    “Your Grace, are you conscious?”

    “Nurse?”

    “Yes! It’s me, Meriwood. Do you recognize me?”

    Meriwood clasped Rosalyn’s free hand between her own.

    “Of course. How could I not recognize you, Nurse…”

    Rosalyn trailed off, frowning as she tried to focus her vision.

    For some reason, her nurse felt unfamiliar. The deep wrinkles around her eyes and the pronounced lines on her face seemed odd.

    “It’s such a relief… You have no idea how worried I was.”

    “Nurse.”

    Meriwood began to tear up, and Rosalyn decided to stop overthinking it. The person welling up with tears before her was clearly her nurse.

    “Don’t cry. Anyone would think I came back from the dead.”

    “You ‘did’ come back from the dead! You hurt your head so badly, oh…”

    “My head?”

    “I need to fetch the doctor right away! Please wait just a moment, Your Grace.”

    Meriwood, talking to herself in a flurry of words, hurried out of the room.

    ‘“When did I hurt my head?”’

    Lying beneath a familiar ceiling, Rosalyn tried to recall the events, but nothing came to mind.

    That wasn’t the only thing that seemed odd. Why had Meriwood gone to fetch the doctor herself, when she could have sent another maid to do it?

    ‘Hmm.’

    Her suspicion reached its peak when the unfamiliar doctor introduced himself.

    “It’s an honor to meet you, Grand Duke of Anata. My name is Perry Jean.”

    “Say that again. Who am I?”

    Rosalyn sat up in bed and asked the question again.

    “…You are the Grand Duke Rosalyn de Anata.”

    The doctor, puzzled by the question, answered innocently.

    “Are you working for Lucas? You’ve got some nerve to address me as ‘Anata.’”

    “Pardon? No, I’m not—”

    “Either way, you’ll have to pay the price for meddling with ‘Hernia.’”

    The doctor glanced at Meriwood for help, silently pleading with her to intervene.

    “Your Grace, I’m not sure what’s upsetting you, but this doctor—”

    Meriwood tried to explain quickly, but before she could finish, Rosalyn cut her off.

    “Enough, Nurse. Where is Gilbert? Bring him to me.”

    “Pardon? Who…?”

    “What do you mean, who? Gilbert Blanchet, of course. Is there another Gilbert?”

    Meriwood hurriedly covered her mouth with her hand to stifle the sob that threatened to escape.

    “Gilbert! Gilbert Blanchet!”

    Rosalyn impatiently called for Gilbert herself.

    “What could he be doing, not showing his face when his master has awakened?”

    But there would be no answer. Gilbert Blanchet had died in battle four years ago.

    Perhaps it wasn’t Rosalyn who was the truly lucky one, but Sionne.

     

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