Beneath the Surviving Princess's Joyful Facade - Chapter 8

“They say she looks just like His Majesty.”

“Well… I only saw His Majesty from a distance, a long time ago,” the Margravine murmured, still not taking her eyes off the princess.

“She’s supposed to be twenty years old,” Edil added.

“Yes, that’s right,” the Margravine replied, lapsing into silence.

The room fell quiet. The princess, having successfully removed her socks, crawled over and began to play with the hem of the Margravine’s skirt.

Edil expected her mistress to slowly rise and leave the room. Though the Margravine would not swat away the innocent touch as if it were dirty, she would not usually let someone treat her skirt as a toy, either.

But the Margravine simply watched her son’s wife in silence.

After some time, she spoke again, “They say she witnessed more than half of the royal family being brutally slaughtered at such a young age. It must have been unbearable, enough to drive anyone mad. And now, being used in such a manner…”

“Madam?” Edil was startled by the unexpected compassion in the Margravine’s voice.

“So pitiful. Such a beautiful child,” the Margravine continued.

“Beautiful?”

“Her features, her eyes… such a lovely shade. She just needs to be properly cared for.”

Edil was perplexed. When had the Margravine noticed such details? She bent down to take a closer look at the princess’s face, obscured by her bowed head.

The sapphire blue of her eyes did remind her slightly of the Margravine’s own daughter, Rosier, who had passed away young. Perhaps this resemblance explained the Margravine’s sudden change in attitude. Edil observed her mistress with a puzzled expression.

***

The next day, the princess seemed to take a liking to the Margravine of Cladnier and sought out the living room once more.

“Miesa, come in.”

The Margravine’s greeting carried a touch more genuine warmth than the day before.

“Oh, is this the…?”

Two ladies, who were already seated in the living room, stood up simultaneously. Their faces twisted with a mixture of curiosity and unease, having already heard about the princess.

“Yes, our discussion is over, so I won’t be seeing you off,” the Margravine said, dismissing her guests with a gentle smile. She then gestured to the princess.

“Miesa, come over here.”

The princess, distracted and limping slightly, wandered over, her hair a tangled mess.

Raising an eyebrow, the Margravine signaled for her maid to bring a hairbrush. At that moment, Mrs. Dialle, the royal maid, mumbled an unsolicited explanation.

“Even if we brush her hair, it doesn’t stay neat for long…”

The Margravine nodded and responded politely. “I see. It must be quite a challenge.”

As she took the brush and started to untangle the princess’s hair gently, the princess grumbled but soon became quiet when the Margravine handed her a piece of pie.

“Oh, she’s calmed down… No, she’s staying still now,” Edil, the maid from the Cladnier estate, remarked in surprise. The Margravine smiled faintly as she carefully worked through the knots.

The princess, distracted by the pie, sat still. The Margravine’s mind wandered to the last time she had brushed someone’s hair. As the princess’s hair became more presentable, the Margravine’s smile grew.

Once she finished brushing, the Margravine observed the princess, who was happily munching on the pie. The sunlight highlighted the princess’s shiny hair and her contented demeanor. However, the Margravine’s gaze stopped at the sight of the princess’s ragged nails.

“Bring some scissors,” she instructed.

Concerned that the princess might scratch her own face, the Margravine called for her maid.

Mrs. Dialle, who had been standing idly, interjected, “We do try to take care of her nails, but she throws a fit whenever we attempt it.”

“Is that so? Perhaps she’s afraid of the scissors?” The Margravine pondered briefly and then asked for some caramel.

“Shall I hold the princess while you cut her nails?” Mrs. Dialle offered, stepping forward.

“Let’s try without that for now. If it doesn’t work, I’ll ask for your help,” the Margravine replied with a gentle smile.

The maids brought the scissors and caramels to the table. The Margravine placed a small caramel piece in the princess’s mouth, making her eyes widen.

“Tasty, isn’t it? If you stay still, I’ll give you another,” she coaxed.

With gentle encouragement, the princess remained calm as her nails were trimmed. The Margravine laughed softly at the sight of the princess’s cheeks puffed out with caramel.

“All done,” she announced.

The princess, still chewing on the caramel, lifted one foot and began tugging at her stocking. Watching her struggle, the Margravine tilted her head.

“Do you want your toenails cut too?”

“Oh, madam, let us handle that,” Edil exclaimed in surprise. But the Margravine leaned over and reached for the princess’s foot.

“My knees aren’t good enough for me to get on the floor. Miesa, could you lift both feet onto the sofa?”

The princess, understanding the request, placed her feet on the sofa and lay back. Just as the Margravine was about to remove her stockings and hold her bare bony feet, Eirik entered the living room, looking bewildered.

“What… is happening?” he muttered, surprised.

“I was about to trim Miesa’s toenails,” the Margravine replied nonchalantly, brushing the princess’s feet. Eirik’s brow furrowed at the sight.

“……”

For someone who often treated her son with such sternness and distance, this display of tenderness was unexpected.

Eirik had many things to say but held his tongue. The Margravine, noticing his discomfort, chuckled and gestured for him to come closer.

“Come, look at this. Miesa eats so adorably, with such determination.”

But Eirik’s gaze remained on his mother rather than his wife. The expression on her face, filled with a love she couldn’t contain, was the same one she wore when his younger sister Rosier was alive.

In fact, his fiery-tempered mother had become adept at tempering her personality over the years as the Margravine of Cladnier. However, his younger sister, Rosier, had been the one exception.

Shortly after Rosier’s birth, his mother had fallen gravely ill. Upon recovering, she had poured blind affection into her daughter.

When Rosier died in an accident before she turned ten, his mother had lost her mind with grief, leading to many deaths. The household had cleared out all of Rosier’s belongings on the Margrave’s orders, as if Rosier had never existed.

A few months later, the Margravine returned to her former self and sent her twelve-year-old son, Eirik, to the battlefield. While everyone pitied the Margravine for her cruel fate, she sent Eirik off with composed farewells, reaffirming that he was not part of her ‘exception.’

This was a relief to Eirik, who needed unwavering support rather than reckless love, which his mother provided.

Now, seeing his mother dote on the princess, he couldn’t understand what she saw of Rosier in her. It was clear that this behavior was out of character for her. Normally, she might feel light pity, but to touch the princess’s feet with such care was unprecedented.

Eirik thought about this for a moment but decided there was no need to intervene. As his mother reached for the scissors, he stepped in.

“Mother, let me do it.”

“No, it’s fine. I’m already doing it,” she insisted.

Ignoring her protest, Eirik took the scissors and knelt to hold Miesa’s foot. Startled, the princess shrieked and thrashed.

“Wait a moment!” Edil quickly placed a caramel in her mouth.

“Is this alright now?” Eirik asked, glancing at his mother, who nodded with a satisfied smile.

“Yes, it seems Miesa likes sweets.”

With the caramel to occupy her, the princess lay still, savoring the treat. Eirik quietly trimmed her toenails.

“With toenails this long, walking must have been difficult,” he muttered.

Mrs. Dialle, standing uneasily, responded defensively, “She doesn’t walk much. And once, a maid almost lost a tooth trying to cut her toenails. It’s not an easy task.”

Hearing that the princess often struggled with such tasks, Eirik gently but firmly held her foot and carefully trimmed her thin toenails.

“It’s alright. I’ll take care of this from now on,” he said without looking back. He couldn’t see Mrs. Dialle’s expression, but his mother, the Margravine of Cladnier, nodded with a pleased smile.