Beneath the Surviving Princess's Joyful Facade - Chapter 55

Although the incident had been hushed up for years, Mrs. Manere didn’t believe that the Cladnier family, sitting before her, would be unaware of it.

She trusted these people too much. They had secretly contacted her and swiftly dealt with her brother-in-law’s matter, flattened Mrs. Namirea’s nose, and finally got rid of Maleca and Dialle.

“I’d like to hear from Mrs. Manere as well. What do you know about this?” Eirik asked calmly, turning the question towards her.

Manere answered honestly, “It happened five years ago, and I joined the royal court the following year, so I only heard the story.”

Mrs. Manere thought this might be a test. She guessed they already knew everything and were just gauging her level of information and cooperation.

“Captain Tilberg played a significant role in the incident with the Kielar Assassins, didn’t he? He cornered and eradicated them in one fell swoop.”

This part of the story was already known to Eirik. It had reached even the borders and he showed little reaction, only nodding slowly.

“I heard that he asked His Majesty for permission to marry the young madam as a reward for his efforts.”

Eirik’s expression remained calm and composed. Even Margravine Cladnier wondered if he already knew about it.

“And what reason did you hear for his request?” Eirik inquired.

Mrs. Manere shook her head. “The people who told me the story didn’t know the reason. They could only speculate that the man, who had always been like a shadow to His Majesty, might have suddenly developed ambitions for the royal bloodline.”

“I see,” Eirik said, a faint smile appearing on his lips, which Mrs. Manere took as a sign of satisfaction. She smiled modestly in return.

“I might be wrong about some details, but if there’s anything you need to verify, please feel free to ask.”

“Thank you,” Eirik responded.

“Then I’ll take my leave,” she said, rising to depart.

As soon as Mrs. Manere left, a tense, cold atmosphere descended upon the living room.

“Eirik, did you know about this?” his mother, the Margravine, asked.

“No, this is the first I’ve heard of it. It seems your maid knew, however,” he replied.

“Indeed. Edil, explain why you kept this from us,” the Margravine demanded.

“M-Madam…” Edil stammered, dropping to her knees and crawling towards the Margravine’s skirt.

“I thought it was too far-fetched. I wanted to confirm the facts before reporting,” Edil pleaded.

“And you think that’s an excuse?” the Margravine muttered, closing her eyes as if pained by the sight.

“It’s not my decision to make,” she said. “Eirik, what do you think?”

Eirik wasn’t looking at Edil anymore. His eyes were on his wife, who was hiding behind the sofa, only her skirt peeking out.

“Intentionally omitted something is deceit. Especially if the reason for not reporting it is because you didn’t trust my judgment,” he stated dryly.

The Margravine put a hand to her forehead.

Eirik said in a detached voice, “The decision about your maid is yours, mother. Do you need more time?”

“Yes. It’s difficult to decide immediately,” she answered.

“I’ll have Cullen stand by the door,” he said, rising and striding towards the sofa. He picked up the curled-up Miesa and carried her out of the room. Gella, who had been silently observing, hurried after them.

“Young master. Young master—” Gella called out.

“Tell Cullen to bring a well-sharpened sword and wait by the living room door,” Eirik ordered, climbing the stairs.

He too had questions for his wife that needed answering.

“I had asked you to remain faithful. I emphasized that it was very important. Surely, you haven’t forgotten,” Eirik said, seated in a chair, watching her on the bed, much like the day she had returned from the palace.

“I only thought that you had many things you couldn’t talk about with anyone,” he continued, his voice still gentle but carrying an unmistakable chill.

“But given the current situation, I can’t help but think you are deliberately hiding something. So, tell me everything—why you called Tilberg a swindler and why you hesitated to speak of it.”

Miesa glanced up at Eirik. His voice was as calm as ever, but his eyes were not smiling. They weren’t the eyes that observed her with care as before. Now, his gaze seemed to pierce through her.

“I… I mean…”

His eyes felt like they were boring into her, making it hard for her to breathe.

“I will wait.”

It felt like an invisible hand was tightening around her throat. She took shallow, rapid breaths.

Why is Eirik acting like this? She had realized that the maid who had ‘omitted’ reports and ‘deceived’ Eirik and the Margravine would face consequences with a ‘well-sharpened sword,’ but she herself had told him more things she had not shared. Eirik knew that too.

That Eirik’s attitude changed so drastically over not telling one story about Tilberg was incomprehensible to her.

“I… I…”

Her voice trembled pathetically, but he remained disturbingly calm.

“I’m not angry. You just need to explain things to me to avoid any misunderstandings.”

He thinks there’s a misunderstanding about Tilberg asking for her. Miesa blinked, trying to think through all possible scenarios.

“Tilberg…”

Does he think she and Tilberg were conspiring because of Tilberg’s ambition for royal blood? If so, he dislikes Tilberg. Despite having laughed and shared tea with him earlier, discussing Mrs. Manere’s story without a hint of trouble.

Is he also two-faced?

It can’t be. The man who smiled, embraced her warmly, and called her part of his family couldn’t turn like this.

Miesa was as shocked as she had been the day Maleca discovered her.

“What kind of person is Tilberg?” he pressed. Miesa felt her fingers stiffen. She had to answer.

“Tilberg pitied me.”

There was a moment of silence.

“I’m listening.”

He wanted more. Miesa obediently continued.

“He only wanted to save me from being killed by the king.”

“And yet, you called him a traitor and a swindler?”

Miesa nodded quickly. Agreeing or disagreeing was easy. Explaining was hard.

“Yes. He is a traitor and a swindler.”

“A traitor and swindler you were delighted to see? Are you lying even now?”

His face twisted, but Miesa wasn’t lying.

“I’m not lying. I liked him more because he betrayed. I was happier because he was a traitor.”

“If it’s not a lie, then it’s a cunning wordplay.”

Miesa bit her lip.

Tilberg had never betrayed her. If he had desperately tried to smuggle her out of the palace, that might have been seen as a betrayal. No, now the meaning of betrayal itself was starting to blur in Miesa’s mind. Betrayal was not necessarily a bad thing.

When the assassination of the king became difficult, Tilberg had quickly pulled away, becoming the king’s loyal dog. To Miesa, the shouts of “traitor” and “filthy swindler” hurled at him were akin to glorious titles for a hero. After all, Tilberg had survived splendidly.

“Very well. Then how do you explain not telling me this story that day?” Eirik asked.

“……”

Miesa was speechless.

Eirik had killed a maid. There was no reason he wouldn’t kill a king. But the thought of bringing it up made her throat tighten.

Treason. That useless endeavor had taken countless lives. Miesa had never sought salvation. She had prayed for just one person to escape and survive, but everyone had rushed into the flames like moths, leaving their pitiful remains behind.

Miesa wanted him to survive. She wanted him to live, even if it meant selling his honor like Tilberg, to continue breathing, without hearing, seeing, or thinking about treason.

“Why did you hesitate to speak that day, Miesa?” Eirik asked again.

She had been scared that those two words, related to Tilberg, would somehow lodge themselves in Eirik’s mind. That’s why she had deflected that night, and now Eirik was asking for the reason.

She took a deep breath. She could explain this. It wasn’t difficult. But as she inhaled sharply, faces flashed before her eyes.

The maids who had tried to hide and escape with her,

The nameless servants with calloused and scarred fingers,

The knight who had sworn to save her alone.

They were all dead. They had died in front of her.

Even as they died, she had to smile. She had to smile as their bodies lost shape and meaning.

She forgot to breathe out, trembling violently.

“Are you alright?” Eirik’s concern broke through her reverie.

Ironically, the most confusing moment for Miesa was when she finally realized that Maleca, who had seemed eternal, was dead. Someone who seemed impervious to death, who would live forever, had died before her eyes, spewing purple foam. That realization had pushed Miesa into an abyss of fear.

“Are you in pain somewhere?” Eirik asked, his voice growing more urgent.

The fear she had avoided now reared its head like a venomous snake.

In the end, there were no exceptions.

Maleca was dead, and Dialle would soon follow.

She herself would die too. Despite all her struggles to survive.

“Miesa!” Eirik called out, his voice filled with urgency.

She would become another red stain on the palace floor.

She would become a lump of flesh that would make people retch.

Her vision turned red as she began to hyperventilate.

***