Beneath the Surviving Princess's Joyful Facade - Chapter 14

When the carriage reached the palace, it was early afternoon.

The central palace, covered entirely in marble, dazzled with the strong sunlight streaming through the hallway windows, the white light piercing the eyes. Meant to inspire awe, the effect was rather one of creeping unease, especially considering the king’s various deeds.

Following the attendant, Eirik supported his wife in silence as they walked down the corridor. His outward demeanor was one of perfect decorum, but his eyes roved over the palace’s every detail.

Twenty years ago, the young king had secured his throne with little difficulty, thanks to the formidable Salachez family on his mother’s side. But twelve years ago, after the war began, something changed in the capital. The king’s behavior flipped overnight, or so it seemed. The central palace itself had seen so much bloodshed that before one stain could be cleaned, another’s head would roll.

How many had died on the very marble he now walked upon? And what of the stones he would soon tread? Whose body had lain there?

So many had perished that, by now, only sycophants remained, and there had been no troubling news for some time. The gaps between the framed pictures, the corners where console tables met the walls, and the carpets—all were impeccably clean, without a trace of blood.

Led to the king’s office, Eirik sat upright on the sofa. Miesa, prevented from climbing onto the table, lay sprawled on the floor.

King Vermelique II appeared after a long wait, glancing briefly at the princess before making a show of polite interest.

“Miesa looks much better,” he commented.

It wasn’t untrue. In less than two months, Miesa’s complexion had improved, and her once skeletal limbs had begun to fill out.

“Good news will come soon, right?” the king asked, his smile wide.

Before Eirik could respond, the king added, his tone turning cold, “The maids have been saying some interesting things.”

Eirik’s face stiffened as the king, with a smirk, continued, “Despite the blood-soaked sheets from the wedding night, the princess’s lower parts were untouched when they went to wash her.”

“And even now. They say that every morning the sheets and the princess’s body are spotless when they check your marital bed. Why, are you not pleased to have an heir with royal blood?”

Eirik felt a shiver like ice spikes driving into his back. He had made the mistake of assuming the maids wouldn’t report such intimate details.

“Yes, speak up. Why have you not touched my sister? Are you thinking of annulling the royal marriage with the priest?”

“It’s not that. Of course not,” Eirik replied calmly, despite the trap laid out before him.

The king, unsatisfied with the response, pressed on, “So, the Cladnier family mocks the royal family by leaving this lovely Miesa untouched? Is that treason against the royal family?”

Eirik clenched his fists silently. The king’s accusations of treason left no room for escape. He could accept his own fate, but what about his parents and the loyal vassals of the Cladnier family? With only seventy knights permitted to reside in the capital, they would be easily crushed by the royal guards and the city watch.

As countless thoughts raced through his mind, the king gestured towards his wife.

“Miesa. Come here.”

Miesa stumbled towards the king. Feigning a concerned brother, the king asked softly, “Does your husband undress you at night?”

But Miesa only showed interest in his shoes. Growing impatient, the king grabbed her hair roughly, lifting her up.

“Has he touched you here?” he demanded, poking her chest and reaching towards her groin.

Miesa jumped, her frail voice trembling, “It… it hurts.”

Eirik’s eyes widened.

“It hurts… here,” she whimpered, rubbing her body and then sitting down, spreading her legs and pointing awkwardly.

“It hurts here… like this.”

Eirik’s face went pale. Who is this woman, fabricating such things he has never done?

“Enough. It’s not pleasant hearing about my sister’s bed affairs,” the king said, as if he hadn’t just asked, shoving Miesa away. She flailed her arms towards Eirik.

“Do you like him? Go on, take your wife,” the king ordered, pushing her with his foot as if she were filth. Eirik, with a face drained of color, stepped forward and lifted his wife in his arms.

Eirik silently climbed into the carriage. Miesa, nestled in his arms, was already fast asleep, her soft snores filling the quiet space.

They were alone. Mrs. Maleca had stayed behind at the palace, claiming other business to attend to. Of course, she would. She had her own accountability to face.

As soon as they arrived at the mansion, Eirik dismissed everyone.

“I will attend to my wife. No one is to come to the second-floor west wing,” he ordered.

He felt Mrs. Dialle’s eyes on him from a distance but paid no mind. He instructed a servant, “Go to the knights’ quarters and fetch Cullen. Have him stand guard on the second floor.”

Just then, Miesa started thrashing and yelling in his arms.

“Ah! Ah, ugh, ah!”

Ignoring her, Eirik carried her to the bedroom and laid her on the bed.

“Ah, ah! Ahhh!”

“It’s no use. No one in this house will believe I mean you any harm.”

Soon, Cullen arrived, sword in hand, panting from his hurried run. After giving him brief instructions, Eirik returned to the bedroom and locked the door securely. He walked toward his wife.

“No one can hear us now,” he said.

Miesa lay on the bed, twisting her lips as she stared at the ceiling.

“Whether you scream or cry, no one will come.”

“……”

“It also means that whatever you say, no one will hear.”

She remained silent. Eirik tried again, “So, say something. I know you can communicate.”

Miesa responded with a cackle and wrinkled her tiny nose, grinning. Realizing this would take time, Eirik pulled up a chair.

“I’m good at waiting.”

“……”

“If you’re hungry or need to use the restroom, let me know.”

He spoke firmly. She ignored him, and they remained in a standoff.

How long has it been?

Finally, Miesa, who had been laughing at the ceiling, shifted her gaze to Eirik. Their eyes met. Slowly, she sat up and looked directly at him.

For the first time, she faced him squarely, appearing almost like a different person. The awkward crinkle of her nose smoothed out, and her usually vacant eyes became clear.

In the white afternoon sunlight, her seated form on the bed was stunningly beautiful. He had never seen such an expression on her face before. There was a noble grace that seemed almost otherworldly.

The woman before him was not the wife he knew. He was momentarily speechless, captivated by her transformation. Miesa, too, scrutinized his face intently.

After a long silence, Eirik finally spoke, “What was that act you put on before the king?”

He didn’t expect much of an answer, but her response stunned him.

“‘They will hunt for meat like hyenas, looking for weaknesses. We need to show them we are doing well.’“

Her voice was firm and eloquent, far beyond mere basic communication. If anything, she sounded refined and commanding.

Miesa raised an elegant eyebrow, her lips curling into a graceful smile as she quoted another phrase.

“‘Dear, you might as well not concern yourself with Miesa at all. Miesa doesn’t desire your attention.’“

She added in a very gentle tone. Eirik stared at Miesa with confused eyes. Those were words he had definitely heard before.

Then he noticed her hand in his line of sight. Despite her calm expression, her hand was trembling slightly with tension.

“Miesa.”

Noticing his gaze, his wife abruptly turned away and burrowed into the bedcovers.

Eirik watched her back for a while, then stood up. He couldn’t believe that the woman who usually smiled sheepishly and made odd noises could be so coherent. What thoughts had been running through that small head of hers all this time?

She had witnessed her mother’s death at the age of eight.

She must have also seen the king kill her other half-siblings one by one.

To survive, had she chosen to endure humiliation and mockery worse than what animals faced? The king treated her like a dog, and even the maids did not regard her as a human being.

His head felt like it was about to explode. Just thinking about the life this frail woman lying before him had led was overwhelming.

“I didn’t mean to pressure you,” he said.

Was that all he could say? A bitter smile crept up Eirik’s lips.

“It’s just that…”

What could he say? Could he offer words of comfort for all those years of suffering when he had only known her for barely a month? Could he say it must have been hard? Would such shallow words even offer any solace?

Unable to finish his sentence, he turned away with difficulty.

Miesa slept until evening. Eirik neither left her side nor got close enough to examine her, just watched from a distance.

At dinnertime, Mrs. Maleca arrived and began inspecting here and there. She must have feared she would be executed for her false report to the king, but somehow, she had managed to escape punishment.

Mrs. Maleca, under the pretext of waking the princess, closely examined the bed as she pulled back the covers. She probably thought that the delayed consummation had finally taken place after Eirik barred the servants from entering.

Eirik let Mrs. Maleca rummage around, thinking that such a misunderstanding might be better. Dinner, eaten alone while his wife snored on the bed, tasted as rough as sand in his mouth.