Beneath the Surviving Princess's Joyful Facade - Chapter 97

“Is everything ready?”

The king, leisurely ascending the platform, could not hide his anticipation and rubbed his hands together as he sat.

“Bring Anika.”

The king’s concubine, Anika, had been found in his chambers this morning, covered in bruises. Despite her condition, which left her unable to leave the room, the king seemed to have no memory of the incident.

Of course, Count Carlisle had no reason to remind the king of Anika’s state. He merely directed the relocation of the hunting hawk’s cage with a pleasant gesture.

“No, wait. What about that large, long-necked bird trained by the performers?”

“Ah, the performers aren’t ready, but… I will make sure they are better prepared.”

The Counselor, Count of Sellas, bowed deeply before hurrying down the platform, waving his hands like a conductor to direct the servants. As he issued orders and arranged the stage, the distant sound of animal-like cries brought him some relief.

Once the sacrifice was made, the king’s wrath would be quelled for a while, and Sellas could look forward to a few days of restful sleep.

“Aaaah! Aaaaah!”

“If the noise is bothering Your Majesty, shall I have it silenced?”

“No, it’s been a while. Let it be. It seems our guest has regained her strength,” the king laughed, narrowing his eyes. The louder, the better. Eirik Cladnier would come running in panic.

He imagined Eirik’s insolent face, the one that dared to suggest he was right and the king was wrong. How would that face change? The king smiled at the thought.

It would be disappointing if Eirik knelt and begged. He didn’t want that.

No, it would be perfect if Eirik drew his sword here. Then, under the pretext of treason, the king could dispose of them all.

“Don’t tie her up. Surely the Margravine won’t try to escape. Hahaha!” Viscount Maleca shouted loudly to the guards. Usually too timid to even meet their eyes, he was eager to curry favor with the king.

Nobles began to gather. With the young ones off hunting, only the old and the women remained, but an audience was an audience.

The high priest and the priests stood at a distance, whispering among themselves. Preparations continued smoothly, while the monkey from Celia Palace trembled in fear, making ridiculous gestures. The king watched, fascinated.

“Stop! Please stop!” a voice cried out. An elderly woman, it 

Vermel gestured generously for the guards to escort her politely. Of course, this didn’t mean they shouldn’t twist her arms.

“Isn’t she your sister?” shouted the elderly woman from the Cladnier family as she was moved forward.

“Did you really think the royal bloodline had been given to the Cladnier family?” Vermel sneered.

Even Tilberg, the captain of the guard, flinched at the remark. In the ensuing silence, only Miesa’s terrified voice echoed.

The king continued in a mocking tone, “The late king was gravely ill. How could that lowborn Halieti woman have conceived a child?”

People exchanged puzzled glances with one another. How could the Margravine, with her striking platinum blonde hair so similar to the king’s, not be of royal blood? Her eyes, nose, mouth, and slender frame all bore a resemblance to the king.

However, Vermel truly believed in his conviction. He believed the late king’s third wife had committed adultery, and therefore, what he did to Miesa was not abuse but punishment.

Some outspoken individuals had tried to dissuade him, pointing out that at the time, the only male royals were Grand Duke Hagail with his gray hair, the eleven-year-old king, and his younger half-brother. Given Miesa’s appearance, she undoubtedly bore the late king’s blood.

Those who voiced such opinions did not survive for long. The king refused to acknowledge that the royal bloodline extended beyond himself.

“Ah, if the late king saw this, he would grieve over the fallen royal authority,” Vermel intoned in a poetic manner before nodding to the chamberlain. At his signal, the guards brought forth a cage draped in black cloth.

“Excellent,” Vermel said.

“It adds to the dramatic effect,” Count Carlisle chimed in, eager to insert himself into the proceedings even though the idea of the black cloth was the chamberlain’s.

“We have also prepared fresh meat,” added Viscount Maleca, causing the Count to seethe at his lack of tact.

While they vied for the king’s attention, the chamberlain calculated the king’s line of sight and signaled the guards.

Miesa was dragged and thrown in front of the cage. Freshly killed partridges, still dripping blood, were dumped onto her skirt.

The chamberlain, with a theatrical flourish, removed the black cloth from the cage. The starved hunting hawks, smelling blood, began to thrash against the bars noisily.

The earplugs were useless.

The birds’ eyes, beaks, and talons were mere inches from her face, their frenzied movements causing the cage to rattle violently. Even when she tried to avert her eyes, the ferocity of their movements drew her gaze back.

As Miesa lowered her head, she saw the frightening sight of the bloodied, featherless bird carcasses on her skirt. Unable to bear looking at either, she shut her eyes tightly, but the memories of what those birds had once torn apart flashed vividly before her.

Her mother. Her nanny. The maids who had doted on her, all torn to pieces.

Miesa was paralyzed by a fear that transcended terror. She wished to faint, but cruelly, her nerves kept her painfully conscious.

“…Miesa!”

Through the earplugs, she faintly heard someone calling her name. Jolted back to awareness, she tried to turn her head, but the shaking cage stopped her from moving.

Her voice seemed to be swallowed up, and not a sound came out of her mouth. She wanted to cry out for help, to beg for her life, but she couldn’t even breathe.

Unconsciously, Miesa moved her fingers. However, the finger that was supposed to reach her chest stiffened like stone, and the hand meant to clutch her throat wouldn’t lift.

“Miesa! Mie…!”

The desperate cry snapped her out of her daze for a moment. Her fingers moved involuntarily.

[Mother]

Madam Cladnier read the hand signal and froze as if struck by lightning.

That poor child was calling for her mother. Realizing this, her vision went dark with fury. All rational thought fled her mind. As if possessed, she grabbed the sword from the waist of the knight who had been restraining her.

Though she had learned basic swordsmanship, there was no way she could wield a sword properly after decades. Yet, she gripped the heavy weapon with both hands and swung it with difficulty. She flailed wildly, injuring her own hands more than the knight’s legs, but she felt no pain.

“Miesa! Miesa!”

While the royal guards hesitated, unable to bring themselves to harm the former Margravine, she rushed forward and embraced Miesa. Her platinum blonde hair, shimmering in the afternoon sunlight, was now stained with the blood flowing from Madam Cladnier’s hands.

“It’s alright. It’s alright,” she whispered frantically, holding the trembling Miesa. The king, watching this scene, was thoroughly displeased.

“To interfere with the king’s punishment…”

Seeing the old Cladnier woman protect a creature born of sin made it clear that the royal authority had indeed waned.

“Bow.”

“Your Majesty!” Tilberg, realizing the king’s intention, tried to speak, but the opportunistic Count of Carlisle was faster.

“Tilberg. Keep your mouth shut if you don’t want to be next.”

Ignoring the warning, the king took the arrow handed to him and aimed. Where should he shoot to make the Margrave draw his sword?

The arrow flew and pierced the old woman’s shoulder. She cried out but didn’t let go of the monkey in her arms.

Birds of a feather, the king thought with a sneer as he accepted the next arrow. As he aimed again, the target suddenly grew by one.

“Taliesa, step aside!”

They said he passed on the title of Margrave because he was ill, but it seems he still has a lot of strength. Vermel laughed and released his arrow towards the former Margrave, now shielding his wife.