Beneath the Surviving Princess's Joyful Facade - Chapter 102

The deep, resonant sound of drums echoed. It was midnight.

Eirik, holding Miesa in his arms, headed towards the king’s tent, accompanied only by Cullen to avoid suspicion.

“You should have arrived earlier.” Viscount Maleca, who had been loitering outside the king’s tent, greeted them with a scolding tone but ran towards them with a welcoming smile.

“Margrave, we need to inspect you first,” a guardsman said, as expected, and proceeded to search Eirik thoroughly. Then another guard approached Miesa.

“Please excuse me for a moment.”

Miesa growled fiercely, lunging at him. Eirik quickly intervened, pulling Miesa back and offering an apology.

“She is currently in an unstable condition,” he explained hastily.

“Oh no, we mustn’t keep His Majesty waiting too long.”

“Is there a problem here?”

Captain Tilberg stepped out from the tent, having heard the commotion. Viscount Maleca gestured as he explained on behalf of Eirik.

“The Margravine seems unwell. You remember the incident where she bit off the ear of one of the courtiers?”

Miesa apparently hadn’t behaved herself in the royal palace either. As Eirik stood holding his snarling wife, Captain Tilberg, with a stern face, motioned them to enter.

“Please, go inside. His Majesty is waiting.”

Captain Tilberg remained outside despite Viscount Maleca’s insistence that they hurry in.

“It’s quite noisy out here,” the king remarked as they entered.

“Miesa is a bit unstable today,” Eirik replied, adjusting his grip on his writhing wife to keep her from slipping.

A torture device stood ominously in one corner. If they were ordered to use it, it would be disastrous. Eirik quickly changed his approach.

“But there is a way to calm her. Please allow me to borrow someone.”

By the king’s side, where he lay leisurely on a couch, snacking on fruit, all sorts of officials and servants stared with wide, watchful eyes. Among them were the Carlisle family, Count Sellas, various attendants, and even an incongruous high priest, not to mention Viscount Maleca who had just entered.

“You wished to see the depth of my loyalty to Your Majesty. The Carlisle family and others here are not necessary for this.”

At Eirik’s words, Count Carlisle quickly calculated the situation. Of course, he didn’t want to miss the sight of the Margrave’s face filled with humiliation, but if things went wrong and the king’s mood soured, the repercussions could be unpredictable.

Count Carlisle stood up hurriedly and whispered to the king, “The Margrave is right. We should step back. However…”

The king glared at Carlisle.

Earlier, the king had told his vassals that he was only imposing a punishment to break the Margrave’s spirit and that he had no interest in the bed of a woman who was named an enemy of the royal family. But for Carlisle to spout such nonsense, he wasn’t one to take things at face value. Besides, any punishment was to be decided by the king himself, so how could it make sense for a criminal to choose their own punishment? Before the king could even open his mouth, Carlisle quickly continued speaking, fawningly.

“However, for His Majesty’s safety, the guard captain should remain.”

Then, the king understood Carlisle’s meaning. Seeing that he had rushed outside, it seemed that the fool still had feelings for the monkey.

“Very well. Bring Tilberg in.”

The situation had become more entertaining. The king clapped his hands in delight.

Tilberg entered stiffly like a wooden log and drew the curtain of the tent. He then averted his gaze to an ambiguous spot in the air.

“Then…” Eirik intentionally mumbled to buy time and then set Miesa down. As the footsteps of those who had left the tent faded away, he checked Miesa’s condition and drew a predetermined signal beneath her collarbone.

[Immediately], [King].

Miesa, out of the king’s sight, quickly responded with a hand signal.

[Behind], [Knight], [I], [Handle].

After exchanging a glance, Eirik leaped at the king on the bed, covering his mouth. A king with a slim build was easy enough to subdue with bare hands.

“Mmph… mmm!”

While the king squirmed, Miesa took a step toward Tilberg. Reflexively reaching for his waist, the captain of the guard hesitated at Miesa’s sudden action and stared at her.

“Useless Tilberg,” Miesa quickly whispered. Tilberg flinched and looked at the voice’s owner in surprise.

Miesa harbored no ill feelings toward him. He was still a good friend to her. But at the same time, she knew what Tilberg feared the most.

“Useless Tilberg. Because you couldn’t do it, I had to take up the blade myself.” She lifted her skirt and drew a dagger, smiling coldly.

Knowing what words would effectively break Tilberg, Miesa whispered with a growl, “Watch closely with your eyes wide open. Just like when you stood by and watched me get beaten and kicked by Vermel like an animal.”

Habitually trying to stop Miesa, Tilberg’s body seemed to lose strength, and he stumbled and sat down.

“P-Princess, Your Highness…” Leaving his whimpering behind, Miesa turned toward Vermel.

On the bed, Eirik was pressing down on Vermel’s shoulder with his knee. One hand covered the king’s mouth, while the other pressed on his abdomen to subdue his struggling lower body.

Hadn’t she imagined this moment countless times?

As she climbed the platform with the bed, she saw Vermel’s wide-open eyes and squirming face.

And then she saw Eirik, waiting for her.

Her husband always knew what she wanted even before she did. Miesa smiled in satisfaction.

He was always right. He was wise enough not to listen to her foolish words about not dreaming of rebellion.

“Vermel,” she called his name as she approached. Vermel was desperately trying to say something, his face urgent.

“……!”

“It seems he has something to say,” Miesa noted as she climbed on top of Vermel and gripped the dagger. Eirik also lifted his hand from the abdomen to help her position herself.

Miesa looked down at Vermel’s struggling face for a moment.

She was curious about what he might say. But now was not the time to care about Vermel’s thoughts. If they didn’t end this now, their end awaited them.

Taking a deep breath, Miesa plunged the dagger deeply into Vermel’s heart.

“It was slightly off, but well done. Would you like to stab him once more?” Eirik asked, withdrawing the dagger while still covering the king’s mouth. He pulled the blanket over to prevent the blood, gushing like a fountain, from splattering on Miesa.

“Just to be sure.” This time, Miesa drove the narrow dagger in properly. The king convulsed with a choking sound.

“Well done.”

Now confident, Eirik removed his hand from the king’s mouth.

“S-successor…” The king’s murmurs were cut short.

He trembled, and then his body went limp. It was a death as empty and unrealistic as it was.

“Shall we stab him one more time?” Eirik asked.

“Yes,” Miesa replied.

Taking the dagger Eirik handed her, Miesa stabbed the king’s neck once more. But this time, there was no movement. He was like an object now.

Miesa stared down at the king’s face for a long while. Eirik whispered softly, “He said ‘successor.’ Was he trying to negotiate even in that situation?”

“…If it were Vermel, he would have,” Miesa replied, looking down at Vermel’s body as if it were something filthy.

Eirik stepped back and bowed his head. “Congratulations.”

He then offered the customary greeting to Miesa, usually reserved for addressing the king.

“May the glory and blessing be upon the highest.”

The words “of the goddess” were omitted.

“When… when did you regain consciousness?” Tilberg stammered.

“……”

“Her Majesty was never unclear of mind, not even once,” Eirik answered in Miesa’s stead. He was in the middle of soaking a towel to wipe her face and hands. He glanced at Tilberg’s tear-streaked face and asked, “Did you properly greet Her Majesty?”

“Ah, ah…,” Tilberg seemed still in a daze. Miesa, now cleaned up, looked at her reflection in the mirror, took the towel, and wiped the blood splatters off Eirik’s face.

“How… how painful it must have been for you, to endure such humiliation with a clear mind all this time…”

“Tilberg, this is a joyous day. We should be celebrating,” Miesa responded calmly as she walked forward.

“Carlisle, Sellas, Maleca, Limina, Pariel. Round them all up.”

Duke Salachez was watching the king’s tent from a distance.

If the Margrave were dragged out, he would either be hanged upside down from that tree or immediately thrown into the cage.

Replaying possible scenarios in his mind, he had prepared a plan to rescue the Margrave. Though he was reluctant, he knew he had to save the Margravine as well, so he had also given instructions to the mercenaries waiting with him.

Then, after a long wait, he saw the curtain of the tent being lifted. The person emerging with trembling legs was undoubtedly Tilberg, the captain of the guard.

The Duke narrowed his eyes. The fact that the captain of the guard came out alone was not a bad sign. As he continued to wait silently, Eirik Cladnier, wearing a thin robe, also stepped out of the tent.

It wasn’t just that. When Cladnier signaled to his knight, the knight took out something small and blew into it. The sound of a horn echoed.