Chapter 20
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 20
Unable to contain the resentment boiling within her, Thalia lashed out. A sharp crack echoed through the carriage, and a stinging heat bloomed across her palm.
Thalia flinched, her shoulders hunching as she braced herself to be restrained again. However, the man who had taken the blow remained perfectly composed.
"I shall consider this payment for the crime of laying hands on Your Highness without leave," he said. He tapped his smooth cheek—which bore not even a faint mark from the strike—with the tips of his gauntleted fingers.
"But I have no intention of indulging your tantrums any longer. I suggest you keep in mind that I am no longer your personal guard."
With that cold dismissal, he stepped out of the carriage and locked the door shut.
Thalia remained pressed against the back of the seat, frozen for a long while, before she finally summoned the courage to peer out the window.
Barkas was already gone. Instead, her eyes fell upon servants unloading crates from a wagon and a dazed personal guard hurrying them along.
She wanted to rush out this instant and punish those who dared ignore her presence, but she knew Barkas would not stand idly by. He had never tolerated her cruelty toward subordinates.
Her fingers instinctively curled inward as she recalled the icy gaze he had directed at her the day she had shorn the hair of a maid—a girl she’d caught burying her face in the coat Barkas had left behind.
Thalia yanked the curtains shut. Cradling her stinging palm, she curled into a tight ball on the seat.
After some time, a trumpet blast signaled the start of the journey, and the carriage began to roll. The trek that would surely become a lifelong nightmare had finally begun.
Thalia stared at a single sliver of light leaking through the gap in the curtains before drawing them even tighter. Buried in the dim darkness, she lost herself in a dark fantasy: how wonderful it would be if this procession led straight to hell.
If they could all just go into the grave together, if everything would just end... nothing would make her happier.
*
The imperial pilgrimage was designed to retrace the footsteps of the Great Emperor Darian, the founder of the Roem Empire. The route wound from the north to the west, then curved north again along the Silviska River.
Back when the continent was fractured into ten kingdoms—Wedon, Dristan, Balto, Guin, Osiria, Ribadon, Arex, Valis, Dumnoth, and Sieorkan—Darian Roem Guirta, a royal of Guin, had fled to the central region to escape an invasion by the Balto Kingdom. There, he was adopted by Lord Valender, the leader of the Osirian people and his maternal uncle.
After unifying the various tribes of Osiria, Darian gathered powerful supporters from every nation and launched a campaign to unify the ten kingdoms. After twenty years and dozens of wars, he achieved the impossible, integrating the ten kingdoms into a single, massive empire.
The grand procession departing from the Imperial Palace was both a sacred rite and a crucial display of power, intended to proclaim the majesty of the Imperial Household by presenting the Great Emperor’s descendants to the citizenry. Accordingly, the scale of the march was staggeringly lavish.
Led by the Crown Prince mounted on a massive golden charger, a hundred members of the Imperial Guard marched vigorously through the city center, carrying banners embroidered with the imperial crest. They were followed by the carriage of the First Imperial Princess, Aila Roem Guirta, and her Imperial Guard.
The citizens lining the streets erupted in enthusiastic cheers at the sight of Darian’s bloodline.
The Roem Knights, boasting centuries of tradition, led the procession with solemn faces. They wore pure white combat uniforms embroidered with the imperial crest over Orichalcum armor—the so-called divine mineral. To their right, infantry units marched in a steady rhythm, silver shields engraved with the Imperial Guard crest strapped to their backs.
The disciplined display fueled the crowd’s excitement. Women crowded the roadsides to scatter colorful petals toward the knights, while bards sang hymns blessing the descendants of Darian.
As if in response to the cheers, the First Imperial Princess opened her window. The crowd let out a collective gasp of admiration.
Was there anyone in the world who suited the title of Imperial Princess as perfectly as Aila Roem Guirta?
Her posture was as elegant and straight as a lily. She possessed radiant, rosy skin, lustrous dark brown hair, and large, emerald eyes.
People craned their necks like tortoises to catch a glimpse of her lovely features. Some even chased the carriage as if possessed. Had the personal guards not been maintaining a strict perimeter, the First Imperial Princess’s carriage would have been completely besieged by her fanatical subjects.
Caught in the throes of intense fervor, the people poured out endless blessings toward their beloved princess.
However, when the next carriage appeared—gaudily decorated to the point of ostentation—the festive atmosphere curdled as if doused with ice water. The knights scanned their surroundings with tense eyes.
Those who had been cheering at the top of their lungs just moments ago now held their breath, whispering urgently to one another. They had realized who sat inside: the notorious Second Imperial Princess.
The crowds that had swarmed the main road slunk back, casting glances filled with a mixture of curiosity and hostility. Some made the sign of the cross; others spat on the ground. The knights let out bitter sighs. The reaction was hardly surprising. There wasn’t a soul in the capital who hadn’t heard of Thalia Roem Guirta’s malice.
The Emperor’s illegitimate child had been a lightning rod for scandal since the moment of her birth, and she continued to keep the capital in an uproar with her grim reputation.
Countless servants had been driven out of her Annex Palace in tatters, and some had met even darker ends. Naturally, the citizens of the empire looked upon the Second Imperial Princess with nothing but cold indifference.
"Why don’t you draw the curtains and offer a greeting to the people?"
Unable to watch the awkward display any longer, Edric Rubon, a personal guard, approached the carriage and made the suggestion cautiously. No response came from within.
He looked at the window, draped in thick, heavy curtains, with a dissatisfied gaze.
Since the procession began, the Second Imperial Princess had remained holed up inside without showing so much as a sliver of her face. It seemed she was throwing a deep sulk over her earlier confrontation with Lord Sieorkan.
Edric swallowed a sigh.
She has a beautiful enough face; if she just showed herself, the people’s hearts might soften...
In some ways, he thought she was a remarkably tactless woman.
If she acted with even a hint of charm, there would be no shortage of men willing to give her their very souls. Yet Thalia Roem Guirta acted as if she were determined to be hated. She harassed everyone around her with such a sharp attitude that even her stunning features—the spitting image of her mother—seemed to lose their luster.
How many personal guards had already resigned, unable to endure that terrible temper? Lord Sieorkan, who had stayed by her side for seven years, seemed like a saint in comparison.
Though it doesn’t seem like he’s been taking it lying down lately...
Recalling the sight of his superior tossing the Second Imperial Princess into the carriage like a piece of luggage, Edric turned his gaze forward. Through the ranks of the orderly knights, he could faintly see Barkas, his black hood pulled down low.
Even that man had reached his limit with Thalia Roem Guirta.
In a way, it was almost impressive. Just how much havoc must she have wreaked for a man like Barkas—the very embodiment of imperial loyalty—to resort to such aggression?
Edric wouldn’t have believed it if he hadn’t seen it himself. He began to think that perhaps the Second Imperial Princess possessed a natural, god-given talent for provoking hostility in others.