Beneath the Surviving Princess's Joyful Facade - Chapter 101

As soon as Eirik entered Duke Salachez’s tent, he quickly shared his plan.

“At midnight, my wife and I will enter the king’s tent. We’ve been invited, so getting in won’t be a problem. Once we’re inside, we’ll take down the king then—”

“Calm down, Margrave,” interrupted the Duke of Salachez, urgently gripping Eirik’s shoulder. “I understand. Your family’s condition would drive anyone mad, but you can’t just throw your life away.”

The plan was so far-fetched that the duke didn’t feel the need to explain why it wouldn’t work. However, Eirik’s face was unnervingly calm, which made the duke even more anxious.

“Will your wife just sit quietly? Do you think the guards will be idle? Oh, you’ve come to cut down the king? By all means, take your time!” he said sarcastically.

“…Assume we’ll fail and plan from there,” Eirik responded, unfazed.

“Your men should focus on protecting the former Margrave and his wife. You and your wife will be executed on the spot.”

“I don’t think so. They’ll make an example of us in front of the nobles tomorrow,” Eirik said, studying the map to identify potential holding areas for captives. They discussed movements and placements for a while before the duke realized he hadn’t asked the most important question.

“Let’s say you succeed. Who takes the throne? Will you sit on it yourself?”

“My wife.”

“…Come on, don’t joke!” Even in the dire situation, the Duke of Salachez couldn’t help but wear a comical expression. “Like this, with your tongue out—”

But then he met Eirik’s gaze and saw unwavering determination in his eyes.

“You’re serious,” the duke murmured, his expression turning uneasy.

Eirik gathered his seven vassals in one tent before going to find Miesa. Cullen and the knights were standing guard outside the tent.

“What’s going on?” Eirik asked.

“The Margravine requested to be alone. Pay no mind to these men,” Cullen replied.

Eirik glanced at the knights Cullen mentioned. Judging from their faces, it seemed like they wanted to say something.

“We heard voices coming from inside and… well, given the situation, we thought it best to be cautious. Apologies for the disturbance.”

“We truly never expected this. That the Margravine was in her right mind…” one of the knights murmured.

“The Commander always has reasons for what he does,” another added.

Eirik frowned and cut them off, “Stay focused.”

Yet, the knights seemed unable to fully contain their excitement. Eirik left them to Cullen and stepped inside the tent, parting the curtain.

Miesa stood with her back to him, facing the goddess statue, muttering something rapidly.

Eirik paused, waiting. When Miesa sensed his presence and turned, he asked offhandedly, “Were you praying to the goddess?”

Miesa shook her head firmly. “She is no longer my deity. She never answered a single prayer, only cursed me. She’s nothing but a demon.”

With that, she reached out and grabbed the statue, hurling it to the ground before Eirik could stop her.

The statue collided with a supporting rock for the tent, shattering with a dull crash into several pieces. The once divine image now lay in eerie fragments on the floor. The suddenness of it left Eirik momentarily speechless.

“You are my god now,” Miesa declared. “You saved me and gave me a reason to live.”

The seven vassals, though brave in their own right, were now ashen-faced. They had returned from the hunting grounds only to be told that the former Margrave and his wife had incurred the king’s wrath and were struck by arrows. The long-standing history of House Cladnier seemed to be at an end, and the vassals could scarcely breathe for fear. Then,

“Has Lord Khalid Cladnier and Emmerich not yet arrived?” Margrave Eirik entered, parting the curtain, and looked around the room.

One of the vassals, with a bewildered expression, asked, “Is the situation so dire that we need to summon those outside the vassal circle?”

“No. I am giving them an opportunity. They have served House Cladnier faithfully.”

Eirik’s words made the vassals exchange nervous glances. The atmosphere was heavy with tension.

Not long after, Khalid Cladnier and his son Emmerich arrived.

They, too, wore expressions of reluctance. Yet, facing the imminent danger to their entire house, they could not bring themselves to flee. Though they could not hide their displeasure, they each took a seat.

“Bring her in,” Eirik ordered, gesturing behind him. A knight disappeared through the back of the tent and soon returned, holding the curtain open for someone to enter.

The figure that emerged was shrouded in a large robe. Eirik stepped aside, offering the highest seat to the newcomer.

If the Margrave was giving up his seat, it had to be for the former Margrave and his wife, both of whom were unconscious and required rest. The puzzled vassals waited for the hood of the robe to be lifted.

When the hood was finally pulled back, revealing the face, it was none other than the Margravine.

The vassals were stunned. She looked so composed and regal that they could only assume it was an imposter. They squinted suspiciously, thinking it must be a look-alike brought in to deceive them. But where could they have found such a woman?

Her features were strikingly similar to the king’s: the same delicate features, the royal platinum-blonde hair, even the same graceful bearing as the former Margravine. Her cold, intelligent expression was unmistakably noble.

“You do not greet the Margravine?” Eirik’s voice cut through the silence, prompting the vassals to hurriedly offer their respects. If they were to deceive others, they might as well deceive themselves too.

The Margravine accepted their bows and then, after a long, calm gaze at each of them, finally spoke.

“I joined House Cladnier after the war, so I do not know how you conducted yourselves on the battlefield,” she began, her clear and precise voice resonating in the tent.

“But what I have observed has been deeply disappointing. Treating me, the Margravine, as if I were a plague was bad enough. Avoiding eye contact with my husband, the Margrave at the time, as if in mourning, was even worse.”

The sound of a chair toppling over drew the vassals’ attention to the back of the tent. Emmerich, pale as a ghost, was staring at the Margravine and Eirik, his face contorted in shock and fear.

“That’s not all,” she continued, her voice cold and unyielding. “Not only do you question the judgment of the head family, but when slanderous rumors about the Margrave spread, none of you took a stand.”

The woman rose slowly from her chair, her gaze sharp as she surveyed the room.

“Is the Cladnier family the sole responsibility of its head? The honor and loyalty the Margrave holds so dear seem absent among the vassals.”

The vassals, sensing something amiss, straightened themselves as they observed the woman and the composed Margrave. Emmerich, looking as if he’d seen a ghost, was speechless, his wide eyes darting between the woman and the Margrave.

“Tonight, I will kill my brother to avenge the humiliation and bring stability to the kingdom,” she declared, her voice steady yet charged with intensity. “Even though the knights of our house and other families have their roles assigned, you have no part in this.”

Her voice grew increasingly unsteady, a crooked smile appearing on her once expressionless face. As she lifted one corner of her mouth, gasps echoed through the room.

“What I mean is, your help is unnecessary. Your loyalty is questionable, your dedication shallow. I cannot trust you.”

Faces grew paler as the vassals realized something extraordinary was unfolding. The only explanations that came to mind were absurd, yet the reality was undeniable.

“Despite this, I’ve gathered you here, risking much, to ensure that even if things go awry, you understand the noble sacrifice of the Margrave and know that the slanderous rumors are false.”

With those final words, the Margrave and Margravine exited the tent, leaving the vassals frozen in their seats, too stunned to speak.

Miesa and Eirik returned to their tent, Miesa once again donning her robe. They spent the remaining time before midnight meticulously reviewing their plan. Suddenly, Miesa asked a seemingly random question.

“Do you remember when we talked about a margraviate once?”

Eirik, taken aback by the sudden change of topic, frowned slightly. “It was so abrupt, I can’t recall. Did we have such a conversation?”

Instead of explaining the context, Miesa pressed on with her curiosity. “Is it theoretically possible for the Margraviate to become independent?”

Eirik considered her question carefully. “It is possible, in theory. However, the Cladis region has severe issues with food production, making self-sustainability difficult.”

“That’s enough for now.”

Eirik raised an eyebrow, puzzled by her line of questioning. “You’ll have to tell me later why you’re asking about this. For now, let’s get you into your armor.”

With midnight fast approaching, Eirik focused on helping Miesa layer on her armor, both of them preparing for the dangerous task ahead.