Beneath the Surviving Princess's Joyful Facade - Chapter 98

Even though Eirik turned his horse around halfway, it took him a while to come down the mountain because knights from the Central Defense Force blocked several pathways.

“Margrave, please return to the summit.”

From what Eirik could estimate at a glance, the leaders of each unit were walking around in their uniforms.

If the entire Defense Force had been mobilized, there would be nearly 1,500 people swarming over Mount Masaketa. It was a number too great for him to oppose with those he had painstakingly gathered.

Grinding his teeth, Eirik knew he couldn’t afford to waste time arguing. He left his companions to deal with the guards and broke through the blockade alone, galloping down the mountain at full speed.

He raced through trees and underbrush, making rapid progress down the mountain. However, the closer he got to the flatlands, the more foreboding he felt, spurring him to go even faster.

When he finally broke free from the trees and saw the scene before him, he couldn’t believe his eyes.

A crowd had formed a circle in the middle of the meadow, all facing…

Eirik rode frantically, hoping against hope that what he feared hadn’t happened in his brief absence. It couldn’t be. That large figure couldn’t be a person.

But as he drew closer, the scene came into clearer focus.

The hunting hawk cage rattled noisily, and in front of it, his father was embracing someone, arrows sticking out of his back. Eirik gripped his reins, unable to believe what he was seeing.

“Margrave, why do your parents refuse to acknowledge the king’s authority?” Vermel, perched on a platform, seemed to be enjoying himself, waiting eagerly for Eirik’s reaction.

Though the mocking words reached his ears, they didn’t register. Eirik instinctively dismounted and stared blankly at the bow still in the king’s hand.

His gaze shifted back to his father, realizing that the person in his father’s arms was his mother.

His mother was in a similar state. Her usually neatly tied hair was disheveled and soaked with blood. She, too, was hugging someone. Even without seeing the platinum blonde hair, Eirik knew it was Miesa.

Desperately, Eirik staggered forward and knelt before his father.

“Why…?”

He reached out with a trembling hand, feeling helpless. Then, through the torn clothing, he noticed the glint of armor. His father’s bowed head still radiated warmth.

Eirik raised his head and looked around. The king’s expectant face and the frightened elders and noblewomen surrounding him.

He was alone here, and the royal guards were too close. If he attacked the king now, his entire family would be slaughtered.

“Please allow me to treat them.”

Eirik’s immediate concern was not his humiliation but saving his father and checking on his mother and Miesa. He raised his voice to the king again. “Punish me instead. But please…”

“Oh dear,” Vermel said, unable to hide his disappointment. He clicked his tongue like an unsatisfied spectator.

“Is that all?”

“……”

“Nothing more?”

The king threw down his bow and descended from the platform. Before he even disappeared from view, Tilberg, the captain of the guard, came running over in a hurry.

“He’s still breathing,” the captain of the guard observed, eyeing the three entangled figures and pondering how to separate them. Eirik didn’t spare Tilberg a glance; he had no energy to waste on him right now.

However, the captain’s actions proved unexpectedly helpful. The guards who had blocked the way began to step aside, allowing the Cladnier family knights to approach.

“Make way, everyone,” the Countess of Raviate commanded, raising her voice to let the family’s doctor, whom she had called earlier, pass through. The doctors and knights carefully separated the former Margrave, his wife, and Miesa.

“You must prepare for the worst,” one of the doctors said gravely. Despite the protective armor, fourteen arrows were too many for the former Margrave to survive easily. While the doctor cut the arrow shafts on the spot, the knights anxiously turned to Eirik.

“Madam Cladnier has fainted, yet she still won’t let go of the Margravine,” one of them reported.

It was only after they pried apart his mother’s clenched fingers one by one that they managed to separate the unconscious figures.

“Is it done yet?” an abrupt voice demanded. It was the high priest, who had brought several other priests. He frowned at the sight and snapped tersely, “Call me if you need the last rites.”

Eirik did not respond, focusing instead on assessing the condition of his parents and his wife with a heavy heart.

“They need to be moved on stretchers for treatment,” another doctor stated.

Several sympathetic noble families stepped forward to help. Even the House of Salachez, despite their absent duke, offered their assistance. The former Margrave and his wife were moved first, and Eirik followed, carrying his wife.

Eirik cleared one of the servants’ tents at the rear to lay Miesa down. She appeared to be unconscious or perhaps asleep. Thankfully, there were no visible injuries.

Confirming her faint but steady breaths, he habitually whispered to her, “Stay here. I’ll check on my parents and return.”

He ordered Vallek to guard the entrance and then entered his parents’ tent. Inside, he found an elderly man tending to his father’s wounds. A servant hurriedly approached and explained, “The Marquis of Crispin sent a doctor.”

Eirik’s forehead creased with anger. The same Marquis of Crispin who had allied with the king’s guard to delay his return was now offering aid?

Watching the doctor closely, ready to draw his sword at the slightest hint of foul play, Eirik placed his hand on the hilt of his sword.

The doctor, having examined the wounds, turned to face Eirik. “It seems the deputy commander has become the new Margrave in the meantime,” he said, his tone calm.

***

Her existence was nothing but a curse. Those who had reached out to her had suffered the most dreadful misfortunes.

Who could have survived? Why did good and innocent people have to endure such horrors while she continued to breathe this wretched breath? Miesa couldn’t even open her eyes, overwhelmed by the catastrophic consequences her desperate clinging to life had brought upon them.

She didn’t know how much time had passed. Without hearing any footsteps, she felt a familiar hand checking her breath and caressing her forehead.

“Stay here. I’ll check on my parents and return.”

Why didn’t he resent the one who had caused his parents’ downfall? Why did he still speak to her as if she were family?

In that moment of comfort, Miesa felt an intense shame. She was so deeply embarrassed that she almost couldn’t accept it. Deep down, she desperately wished that his feelings for her hadn’t changed.

Pathetic.

She couldn’t bear her own shamelessness. Miesa covered her face and curled up. Her husband had to bear the burden of a useless wife, endure not only pity but also unjust blame, and has now lost his family. Yet she couldn’t face his disappointment, contempt, or hatred.

What had she fought to live for? His life would be better without her. The last thread of rationality in her mind snapped. Miesa was ready to end her existence.

She quietly rose. She had no lingering regrets, not even the thought of leaving a farewell note for Eirik with the charcoal and slate available. There was no need to leave a scrawled note that would only trouble him. He had always been more than generous to her.

Peeking through the tent flap, she saw a knight standing guard. Retreating into the tent, her gaze fell upon the statue of the goddess.

Of course, you wouldn’t show me kindness, she thought, glaring at the statue before turning away, knowing they would meet soon enough.

She slipped out through a slit in the tent. A servant carrying a bucket of water spotted her and gave her a look of disdain. Smiling brightly, she met his gaze, knowing she wouldn’t see him again, and he glared even harder.

To him, she must have seemed truly mad. The family was falling apart because of her, and she dared to smile.

Miesa walked past the servant. He seemed to be cursing her with twisted lips, but she couldn’t hear it. The earplugs she still wore were helping on her final journey.

The Cladnier family’s camp was busy, but the other tents were quiet. With hours still left before sunset, the knights were out hunting, and the remaining elders had hidden away, afraid of any trouble.

A few servants noticed Miesa as she passed between the tents, whispering among themselves but keeping their distance to avoid any potential issues.

As she wandered through the empty meadow, a smile naturally formed on her lips. The smile she had practiced for so long now came effortlessly. But despite her graceful smile, people still pointed at her as if she were a monster.

And so, she disappeared into the trees.