Chapter 019. The 21-Year-Old Princess (8)

It was already the last night Rosalyn would spend at the Imperial Princess’s palace. And as always, she was plagued by insomnia.

Though she had been falling asleep earlier lately, she still couldn’t drift off until after midnight.

“Hmph.”

When she couldn’t sleep, she usually turned to work. But today, all her documents had already been loaded onto the carriage, leaving her with nothing to do.

She idly flipped through books she had already read.

“If this is how it’s going to be, I might as well go out.”

Rosalyn grabbed her sword and stepped outside. She thought perhaps exhausting her body would help her sleep.

Her sword training had been slack lately, as she tried to avoid the Emperor’s scrutiny, and her body was itching for activity.

Step, step.

The dark, silent hallway felt eerie, as if the end of it had been swallowed by the darkness.

“……”

But to Rosalyn, it was a familiar sight—so familiar that it didn’t faze her.

Her education as an heir had begun when she was eleven, and it had been intense. Keeping up with Lucas’s progress had required nothing less.

But to the young Rosalyn, it had felt cruel. No matter how much praise her teachers gave her, no matter how proud her mother was of her high marks…

She wasn’t happy. All she did every night was pray that tomorrow wouldn’t come.

The prayers had stopped around the time she turned fifteen. By then, she had surpassed Lucas in performance, and keeping up with her lessons had become easier.

“Was it around that time?”

That must have been when she had started sneaking around at night. She wandered the palace, avoiding the eyes of the servants.

Not that she did anything particularly remarkable.

She climbed trees in the garden, ate leftover food from the kitchen with her hands, and climbed onto the roof of the palace to look at the stars.

“Oh, I found that, too.”

She had discovered a small hole in the palace wall—a hole just big enough for a rebellious teenage girl to squeeze through.

But she had never actually gone through it.

Despite her many acts of rebellion, that was the one line she didn’t cross.

She was afraid someone would notice that she wanted to run away—especially her mother.

She couldn’t allow that.

“……”

Rosalyn stopped in front of a massive tapestry. She tilted her head back to look at the face of Empress Beatrice depicted in the fabric.

“Mother.”

The tapestry was more worn than she remembered, but it was enough to trigger a memory.

‘My princess, my little princess.’

She recalled her mother’s death. The voice that had desperately called for her as life slipped away echoed in her ears.

‘You must always be strong, and you must overcome everything.’

She remembered how her mother had gripped her hand in those final moments. Despite being on the verge of death, her strength had been unnerving.

‘You must become the Emperor.’

The Empress, facing death, had been unreachable in her final moments. Always strict and aloof, in the end, only a harshness remained, and she repeated the same words over and over.

‘Rose, you must survive…’

Such a bleak final message. There were no words of love, no easing of past grievances.

She had simply repeated the things she had said so many times while alive, even in the face of death.

“Don’t worry.”

That was why she could never go against her mother’s wishes.

To Rosalyn, Beatrice was someone she couldn’t understand, but had to.

Eleven years of enduring finger-pointing and whispers as the Emperor’s lover. Ten years of being suspected of poisoning the first Empress.

Her mother had survived those 21 years of struggle for Rosalyn’s sake. She couldn’t turn her back on her mother now.

‘I will return.’

Rosalyn swore it to herself.

She had no intention of ending her life in Anata as Lucas wished. If death was demanded, then she would repay him with death in return.

‘When I come back, everything will return to its proper place.’

The throne that had been within her reach, the truth behind her mother’s death, the honor of her maternal family.

When she returned from Anata, all of that would come back to her. She would make it so.

‘I returned from the battlefield after seven years; I’ll return from Anata in three.’

Perhaps losing her memory of those seven years was a gift from the gods.

The “Rosalyn de Anata” who had been like a living corpse had been in no state to do anything. Maybe the gods had returned her to “Rosalyn de Hernia,” someone who could accomplish anything.

Perhaps they were telling her to take back what had originally been hers.

‘So don’t be upset that I’m leaving the tapestry behind.’

Meriwood had insisted on bringing the tapestry along, but Rosalyn had no intention of adding more baggage.

‘I’ll hang it in the main palace next time.’

With that thought, Rosalyn picked up her sword and continued walking. Before she knew it, her feet had led her to the hole in the palace wall.

She was too big to squeeze through it now. But for some reason, she wanted to see it again tonight.

* * *

Finally, the day of departure for Anata had arrived.

The Anata group planned to leave in the morning to avoid any delays. As a result, the palace was bustling with people of all kinds from early in the morning.

The knights of the conquest unit were chatting as they waited for their lord, the servants were busily loading luggage onto the carriages, and the coachmen were checking the condition of the horses before departure.

Among them, only Sionne stood still, watching. He found it strange that the once desolate palace could be so lively.

“Prince… no, Sionne!”

Someone tapped his shoulder.

It was Meriwood, her forehead dotted with beads of sweat. She pulled a bundle of paper from her bosom.

Wrapped in the paper were bread and cheese.

“Here, something to snack on for the road.”

“Oh, thank you.”

Over the past few days, Meriwood had been quietly looking after Sionne.

To be precise, it had started after he had shed tears in front of her. It seemed that his tears had left a deep impression on her.

“I wanted to look after you myself, but since we’re not traveling together, I can’t help it.”

“You’re not coming with us?”

“No, Her Grace said it was too dangerous for me, so she won’t let me come.”

Merilyn frowned, her eyebrows furrowing, but then she leaned in and whispered in Sionne’s ear.

“So, I plan to stop by our estate and follow later. Once I’ve arrived in the north, she won’t be able to send me away, right?”

Merilyn leaned back and shrugged her shoulders.

“I’ve been meaning to sort through some things I’ve had for a while, so the timing worked out. But don’t tell Her Grace.”

Sionne nodded in agreement.

At that moment, the noisy surroundings fell into sudden silence. Everyone stopped what they were doing and bowed in one direction.

Rosalyn, having finished her preparations, stepped out of the palace. Dressed in a sharp uniform and wearing a cape, she looked every bit the war hero she was.

“I greet the sole ruler of Anata!”

Jacob was the first to greet her with a respectful bow.

“I greet the ruler of Anata!”

The other knights followed in unison.

“You may stand at ease.”

Rosalyn nodded slightly in acknowledgment. At her word, the knights straightened up with a synchronized sound.

She scanned the group she had personally selected, looking over both the knights and the servants.

“Yes, I am the Grand Duke of Anata. And you, who serve me, are now people of Anata as well.”

Without raising her voice, Rosalyn’s presence was commanding, and her words carried weight.

“Today, we depart for our land.”

Anata—a barren and dangerous place. It would soon be their home.

“As you’ve heard, it’s a harsh and perilous land. Perhaps even worse than you’ve been told.”

The knights’ faces were set with firm resolve, while the servants looked anxious, weighed down by the grim reputation of Anata.

“But we do not falter, and we do not die.”

Rosalyn’s eyes met each of theirs as she spoke.

“We only win and conquer.”

Her confidence was palpable, evident in her voice.

“And so, Anata, once infamous, will become a name of glory.”

Her words seemed to lighten the expressions of the group, if only slightly.

“From now on, people will remember us as victors, as conquerors.”

Her words were bold, even arrogant, but they were reassuring. The life Rosalyn de Anata had lived gave her words a sense of gravity.

“Because we will make it so, as we always have.”

At that moment—

Clap, clap, clap. The sound of slow, mocking applause broke through the air.

“Well, well, what a speech.”

Lucas de Hernia appeared, clapping half-heartedly as he approached.