Chapter 74
Chapter 74
Translation: godsn
'Is this little bitch deliberately trying to get under my skin?'
Yet, seeing the genuinely relieved look in her eyes, it didn't seem like she was mocking her.
Catherine forced a warm tone as she took in Medeia's attire and the waiting carriage.
"What brings Your Highness out today?"
"Ah, I'm going to see the play being performed in District 2. Grandmother must have heard it was entertaining—she told me to go and watch it."
Medeia let her brows droop again.
"It would have been wonderful if Virna could have joined me."
Catherine bit the inside of her cheek and barely managed a smile. Every time her daughter's name left Medeia's lips, fury burned inside her.
"Your Highness, there's no need to worry about Virna. She'll return by the time the diplomatic mission arrives. A mother can't bear to be parted from her child for too long, after all."
She went on to list just how much she cherished and loved Virna.
It was a petty, childish act—a lowly desire to see Medeia, a motherless girl, look envious.
But the Princess, far from casting thirsty glances, responded with something utterly unexpected.
"Oh dear, has the day already come? I'm worried about how to receive this diplomatic mission. The late Minister was so good at handling such matters."
"Pardon?"
"Etienne, I mean. Who would've thought such a healthy man would pass so suddenly? Had I known, I would've sent a physician."
Catherine flinched as if struck.
"......Please don't trouble yourself, Your Highness. At the Minister's age, it's not uncommon for one's condition to deteriorate abruptly overnight."
She quickly regained her composure.
"If anything, I'm more concerned about you, Your Highness."
A look of worry flickered across the noblewoman's face, beautiful as a cluster of blossoms.
"One never knows how the world will turn, after all. You must always take extra care. If anything were to happen to Your Highness—this aunt of yours wouldn't be able to bear it."
There was something insidious lurking beneath her concern.
"You're right, Aunt. Even the Minister—who could shoot down birds in flight—has passed. I must never forget your advice."
Medeia left with a fresh, bright smile.
'......Go on, enjoy yourself while you can. Your luxury won't last much longer.'
Catherine glared with bloodshot eyes until the Princess's carriage disappeared from sight, then abruptly turned on her heel.
Downtown Valdina, District 2.
The play was being held at a grand theater in the heart of District 2.
The third-floor VIP seats, reserved for nobility, were draped with thick curtains.
From the private box, the stage and actors were perfectly visible, but the structure made it difficult for those onstage or in other seats to peer inside—making it especially favored by nobles who wished to remain unseen.
The play began.
As the main characters started appearing one by one, a lithe woman slipped behind the curtains.
"I've come to escort Her Highness the Princess."
She made no sound, and her bow was both poised and respectful.
'A Shadow under Facade's command.'
Medeia gave a small nod.
"Saya, you stay here."
"Yes. Don't worry, Your Highness! I'll make sure no one even suspects you were here—no, that you were here at all!"
Leaving behind Saya, who pumped her fist with determination, Medeia followed the woman with Neril in tow.
They passed through a hidden passageway behind the VIP curtains.
Finally, a door opened, and bright light spilled in.
The antique mahogany interior came into view.
A cheerful blond man with straw-colored hair rose to his feet, arms spread wide—as if he had been waiting for them.
"Your Highness the Princess, welcome!"
The light from behind him reflected off his grinning lips, faintly illuminating the scar still lingering on Gallo's cheek.
Neril kept her hand on her scabbard, tense with wariness.
"Sir Gallo."
Medeia nodded.
An antique round table. On one side sat Gallo and Cesare, while Medeia and Neril took their places across from them.
"Are your injuries all right? I heard you saved one of my subordinates last time."
Gallo placed a hand over his chest and offered a courteous bow—the very image of a leader who cared deeply for his men.
"I should have sought out Her Highness the Princess first to express my gratitude."
Instead of responding to Gallo, Medeia turned her gaze to Cesare.
His well-shaped lips curved slightly.
"Enough. She already knows."
Knows what? Gallo's eyes widened in surprise.
Then, upon seeing the Princess seated across from Acares, his mouth fell open in realization.
"Boss. Don't tell me you already told her everything?"
"She already knew."
Cesare turned his face fully toward Medeia, staring intently.
Her complexion was pale as moonlight, her arms delicate and slender, her hair like shattered silver. No one would imagine that this small girl was the same person who had pierced the Hydra's neck with a crossbow that day.
Her unwavering gaze, her decisive movements, her astonishing wit—every action she had taken that day had left an indelible mark on his memory.
"So, my savior, what reason did you have for summoning me? Have you thought of a 'reward' you'd like to receive?"
"I want to make a deal with Facade."
Medeia signaled to Neril with a glance.
With the disciplined movements of a knight, Neril retrieved a heavy pouch and placed it on the table.
"If you want a private audience, I won't stand in your way."
"It doesn't matter."
Medeia looked at Gallo.
Since he acted as Facade's public face in place of the leader, he would inevitably learn of this matter anyway.
"There's something I'd like your mercenaries to do for me."
Gallo answered swiftly.
"Do you wish for us to support the King on the battlefield? We've already refused Sir Siseo's request once, but... if it's Her Highness the Princess's command, we'll do our best."
"No, I don't intend to send you to the plains."
Cesare, looking amused, raised an eyebrow.
"Go on. I'm sure both the Princess and the King on the battlefield could use new weapons."
His words were also a veiled reference to the dagger Medeia had returned to him earlier.
Neril unfolded a map.
Medeia's pale hand placed a small flag-marked piece over a section in the west.
"Here—this is the Lasai tribe's military provisions storage. Soon, a convoy carrying new provisions will depart from Osof."
From Osof, the supply line stretched to the western plains where the war was currently raging.
"Here. And here."
Medeia's hand struck the flags. Tap. One broke.
"I want Facade to strike them down and burn all the provisions."
Both the stored supplies and the newly transported ones—everything.
"......"
A tense silence filled the room at the Princess's words.
"Your Highness, are you trying to hasten the war?"
"Yes."
"Ending it early by cutting off the enemy's supply lines is sound strategy, but..."
Gallo glanced at Cesare, seeking an answer.
Cesare, however, merely stared at the map with an unreadable expression.
His deep golden eyes, impossible to gauge, slowly turned back to Medeia.
"Princess, weren't you curious back then?"
His straight fingers tapped lightly against the white half-mask he wore.
"Did I really have the leisure to remove my mask while being pursued?"
Though the question seemed abrupt, Medeia immediately understood what he meant and answered indifferently.
"......"
He then turned away and poured a cup of warm tea—a clear, fragrant leaf brew.
Like recognizes like. Cesare understood the girl before him.
People like them never acted recklessly.
From establishing her position as the disgraced Princess to silently severing the Regent's influence—everything she had done so far had been meticulously calculated.
'But she saved me.'
That was undoubtedly not part of the Princess's plans.
The fact that he, of all people, had become an unexpected variable in her schemes was, amusingly, rather satisfying.
If that was the case, then making an exception for her wasn't so strange, was it?
The chilly air in the room softened with the scent of tea.
"Fine. Facade will repay the debt. But on one condition."
Medeia frowned at his ambiguous answer.
"Give me a clear answer first. The condition comes after—"
Just then, something sweet entered her mouth.
"Three bites. Then I'll answer."
He had brazenly spooned a bite of custard pie into her mouth.