Beneath the Surviving Princess's Joyful Facade - Chapter 16

In the end, it seemed the man won, but the Pointy did not retreat easily. She continued to ramble on with explanations.

“First, wash her hair with this, then use this oil to treat the ends of her hair. Next, wash her body with this, dry her off, and then apply this…”

Lie. She usually just used one bar of soap for everything.

Well, considering that at the palace they washed her with lye like doing laundry, using soap here was indeed an upgrade.

The man nodded earnestly, trying to remember everything. “I understand. You may go rest now.”

The Pointy left. The man, making sure she was completely gone, finally turned to Miesa. Despite his assertiveness with the royal maid, he now looked awkward and unsure.

“Um… can you do it by yourself?”

Miesa scoffed. How could a madwoman be expected to do something as meek as take a bath?

She shook her head in response, and the man sighed heavily, taking out the glass bottles one by one. Miesa sighed as well.

The man was big, with large hands. Seeing him clench his fists once, Miesa decided. It would be best not to go against this man’s wishes.

“Why are you standing up… no, wait.”

When the man saw her bare body, his eyes widened. He clapped his large hand over his mouth and then covered his face. His forehead veins bulged.

“For heaven’s sake…”

His brows furrowed, and his neck turned crimson. Something had clearly agitated him. His knuckles whitened as he gripped the glass bottles tightly.

Why? she wondered. Whatever the reason, she realized her body was unlikely to remain unscathed here as well. Though she hadn’t done anything wrong.

Well, had she ever done anything wrong to deserve the beatings she received? Quickly resigning herself, Miesa closed her eyes tightly.

If it was going to happen anyway, it was better to endure a few hits and cry it out while crawling on the floor like a bug. Some would laugh at her, others would run away, but they all left her alone in the end. That was the result she wanted.

This man had been quite gentle with her, but it was foolish to expect anything from humans. He must have built up a lot of anger behind that face he made whenever she ate messily.

It wasn’t that no one had ever been kind to her. It always ended badly, that was all.

As she braced herself, the expected violence did not come. Instead, a cautious hand touched her. Opening her eyes, she saw the man carefully examining her body. He seemed to be inspecting the old scars and lash marks.

“How deep did it cut to leave scars like these?”

Sympathy? It was a rare reaction, but she wouldn’t refuse it. She turned to show him the scars on her back. A groan escaped his lips.

“Who did this? Who could have done this?”

Who else but him?

“This… who on earth…?”

I can answer that much. Miesa replied curtly, “The King.”

The scars he was pointing at were mostly left by her brother, Vermel. The man’s breath caught in his throat at her answer, and he shook his head in disbelief before turning away.

“Lean back here and lie down slowly. But why is your lower back so red?”

That was from earlier when you came in, and the Pointy one dumped hot water on me to cover up the cold bath…

But explaining was too much effort. Miesa silently complied with his instructions. The man gently lifted her hair, guiding her head to the edge of the tub.

“I’m going to try this, so let me know if it’s uncomfortable. It’s my first time doing this.”

You could just wash me like a dog. Then again, they are nobles; they probably don’t wash anyone themselves.

Miesa closed her eyes, letting her thoughts drift as the man carefully lathered the soap. Surprisingly, he was more gentle than the royal maids.

In Miesa’s mind, the man constantly shifted roles. Sometimes, he was a respectful, almost commendable noble. Other times, his lack of reaction to her antics made him boring. Occasionally, when she acted particularly outrageous, he couldn’t hide his disgust, but overall, he was one of the better ones.

Yesterday, he had been an ungrateful nuisance, despite her saving him. Today, he was sympathetic, examining her scars.

To Miesa, the black-haired man was akin to a newly hired nanny. He fed her, occasionally held and comforted her, but his size made him a bit intimidating.

“How am I supposed to treat the ends of your hair with this?” he muttered.

Miesa shook her head, indicating she didn’t know. He adapted quickly, skipping that step. Not bad, she thought, with a satisfied expression.

The real issue arose after he finished rinsing her hair. He hesitated, his face turning red again.

“Uh, now I need to wash your body…”

Why was he suddenly stammering like she did? Miesa stood up and spread her arms.

The man lathered the soap and gently scrubbed her. She giggled involuntarily when he brushed a ticklish spot.

His face turned beet red again, almost to the point where she wondered if people could die from such a color.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

Why apologize? His discomfort made her uneasy. What’s wrong with him?

“Can you… rinse off by yourself now?”

He was avoiding her gaze, but he didn’t seem angry. It wasn’t a look of disgust either.

Ah, embarrassment. There’s also something called embarrassment, isn’t it?

Miesa disliked him again. A madwoman shouldn’t care who scrubbed between her legs. His embarrassment spread to her like a contagious disease.

As she made her displeasure clear, his face hardened.

“Now, just rinse off,” he said.

He dried her off and started applying the oil. Thanks to her frown, he didn’t seem embarrassed anymore.

Wearing her nightclothes, Miesa stepped out of the bathroom, followed by the man holding a towel.

“You need to dry your hair completely,” he said.

She tensed up, expecting it to hurt, but his touch was gentle. Unlike the maids who seemed to enjoy yanking her hair, his careful strokes were soothing. She could get used to this, maybe even enjoy washing her hair every day.

“Now, get some rest,” he said.

He looked like he needed it more than she did. With a thud, he collapsed onto one side of the bed and soon, his breathing changed, indicating he had fallen asleep.

Will he sleep deeply tonight? Miesa rolled her eyes, waiting.

Enough time had passed that the man must be sound asleep. She silently slipped out of bed, noting with relief that he didn’t stir. Here, attempts to move would usually end with him pinning her down with his log-like arms.

She tiptoed to the door, ensuring it was securely locked, then headed to the bathroom. How long had it been since she had a moment like this? Standing before the mirror, she cleared her throat and felt a sense of satisfaction.

In the palace, there was hardly anyone worth imitating, 

but here, there were a variety of individuals. Especially the elegant and refined speech of Margravine Cladnier, which Miesa particularly admired.

“‘I had some last night, so it should still be in my bedroom. Look there first,’” she recited with an air of grace.

Such simple words, yet so dignified. Miesa straightened her back, adopting an air of serene warmth.

“‘My goodness, you eat so well. This small amount costs 20 Parses?’“

She tapped her chin with a finger, mimicking a thoughtful gesture.

“‘Not everyone likes rich foods, so there’s no need to buy much. Order 5 Ders per week to bake cookies and bread for Miesa.’“

Perfect. Pleased with her performance, Miesa smiled slightly at her reflection in the mirror.

5 Ders… 5 Ders… She recalled a conversation she had overheard while being kicked and shoved aside in the king’s office:

“‘There’s an outbreak of food poisoning in the northern part of the capital. The price of medicine for 5 Der has risen to 7 Jeres and 2 Parses. A patient needs to take 30 doses to recover…’“

Who said that? She couldn’t recall the face.

Now she could understand just how severe the price hike was. A laborer would have to work for seven days to afford one bottle.

Sometimes, the true meaning of things only became clear with time. That’s why Miesa memorized people’s words, storing them in her mind to use later. For instance,

“‘How much sedative did you use on her?’“

That was the black-haired man. His tone became stiff, and his voice dropped.

“‘About two bottles of 1 Döner each.’“

That was the Pointy one. She wasn’t sure how much sedatives cost, though.

What else…? Miesa’s thoughts drifted back to to Margravine Cladnier.

“‘As you know, the princess has now become a cherished member of our family.’“

Miesa stared blankly at the mirror.

She liked Margravine Cladnier. Unlike the black-haired man, the Margravine didn’t force emotions out of her, which made her even more likable.

Then she felt a gaze from afar. Turning her head, she saw the black-haired man standing at the doorway, his expression rigid.

Did he see everything?

Their eyes met through the mirror, but Miesa didn’t panic. After all, they both held secrets over each other; one more wouldn’t matter.

“‘Dear, Miesa is practicing. Please don’t make a sound.’“

The man stood silently, watching her with a mixture of emotions.

***