Concerning the Tale of the Duke's Lady Heading to the Imperial Palace (3)
I opened my eyes and saw a ceiling. A white one. The plaster was evenly applied, and along the edges, vine patterns rose in relief, the kind a craftsman might spend half a day meticulously carving. But embedded in the ceiling, no one would notice unless they were staring up from below. The silver lining, if you could call it that, was that this wasn't the underground dungeon. No place but the Imperial Palace would splurge on something like this. Besides, if it had been my brother tied up in some sleazy pose down there instead of me, it would've turned into straight-up erotic novel cover art. Swords are one thing, but rolling around with men isn't my hobby.
The room had one window, draped with thick silk curtains. Light seeped through the gaps, and the chirping of birds suggested it was morning. The bed was enormous—way too big for one person. Pretty nice digs for a criminal, huh? Sure enough, something clinked around my wrists. I looked down: handcuffs. Me, a guest of honor, at least nominally. The nice person who'd even picked up my accidentally dropped sword... So this was the palace's hospitality.
The cuffs weren't dull iron; they gleamed faintly, a silvery sheen unlike ordinary metal. Probably infused with magic or some special alloy. Either way, no chance of breaking them barehanded. Shouldn't have bothered with that sword aura. A glowing luminous blade just looks cooler than a plain one—I couldn't resist.
I got out of bed, walked to the window, and pulled back the curtains. Morning sunlight flooded in. I opened the window, and cool air rushed inside. Peering down, it was pretty high—third or fourth floor. Jumping might make me recall my past life's past life's past life. Anyway, I raised my hands a bit and...
Thud!
I slammed the cuffs down on the windowsill, over and over. Not a scratch on them, though the sill was now covered in gouges. Thinking about it now, I'm ridiculously impulsive. I was, and Rebecca was too. Guess we really were the same person—we both died that way. Rebecca jumped from the second floor, and her body remembered her neck snapping. Somehow, by miracle or prank, I woke up again... but saddled with the memories of a sturdy guy who'd even done his military service. Not that it mattered; here I was, a handcuffed idiot wrecking the windowsill.
Annoyed, I slammed them down once more. Another scratch on the sill. The cuffs? Still pristine.
"Waking up and already pulling some crazy stunt..."
A voice came from behind. Familiar—low, stiff, laced with irritation, and androgynous. I turned: a knight stood there. The one from last night's banquet who'd clocked my pretty face with her gauntlet. No armor or helmet now, just light clothes, but still veiling her face. The semitransparent cloth hid everything but her jawline, mouth, and neck. She leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, eyeing the sill scratches and cuffs alternately. She let out a deep sigh at me and spat,
"Why are you Vintervalts all like this?"
I made an innocent face, like I had no idea. She approached—eight long strides—and grabbed my collar. She clutched the fabric at my chest and yanked me up. Not quite off the ground, but I had to go on tiptoes. Up close, faint scars ringed her half-visible lips. Old ones, more than a few.
Her eyes met mine and wavered for a moment. My silver hair must've been a mess, spilling over my cheeks, with the sword cut on one side and the gauntlet bruise on the other. A beauty like me looking roughed up? I'd seem the victim for sure. She lowered her hand carefully—more gently than she'd lifted. Phew. Another sigh from her. Fine by me. It was a decent dress, but the chest was stretched now. Thin fabric to begin with, and she'd gripped and pulled with one hand.
She glanced at the stretched cloth, then looked away.
"...Her Highness said to bring you when you woke up. Quit the nonsense and follow me."
Her tone was rough, but oddly lacking real malice. She turned and headed for the door. Guess that meant follow. So I did. Peering out the window confirmed I was inside the Imperial Palace.
The corridor was long. Not the one from last night—different paintings on the walls, slightly different marble floor color.
"Thirsty. Can't you grab me a glass of water before we go? I'd prefer you feed it to me, with my hands like this. Ice water, if possible. The palace must have tons."
"..."
"Not even a reply, huh."
"..."
"Even if I hold a glass, these cuffs'll make me spill. Better unlock them, right? You feeding me isn't bad, but... Ah! Or does the palace always treat guests this way?"
No answer.
"At least assign a servant. And tell me where the bathroom is. I'm not some uncouth type who'll just go anywhere."
Still nothing. Every time I rattled on, her shoulders twitched slightly. Her neck flushed red—annoyed, probably. Footsteps echoed regularly down the hall... but speeding up a bit. I kept talking as I trailed her. What happened at the banquet? How were the other kids? Why was this corridor so damn long? When's breakfast? No water, but food? Maybe coffee after? Her silhouette looked pretty even from behind—why hide the face? Finally, she stopped. Abruptly. I nearly crashed into her.
Sigh— She inhaled deeply, irritation thick, then exhaled. Turned, pulled a key from her belt without a word, and unlocked the cuffs.
Click.
"There, unlocked. Now shut up and follow."
I shrugged instead of answering. Wrists felt light. Red rings circled them like bracelets on my pale skin. I rubbed them, following her. My mouth still itched to talk—silence felt uneasy.
The corridor ended at a corner. Another stretched ahead, its end all glass, green light shimmering beyond. A greenhouse. The glass had translucent patterns—flowers or vines climbing the surface, casting shadows as light filtered through. Not ordinary glass: some clear, some pale green, others amber. Big money obvious.
Inside with her, the air changed. Not the corridor's dry chill, but humid warmth—like a summer forest. Lots of flowers, no roses. Mostly unknowns, but red azaleas stood out. Tall, short, deep-colored, pale—arranged artfully chaotic. Soil damp, leaves beaded with water; recently watered. Center: round table. Two teapots, one plate of treats, two empty cups, two chairs.
The girl wasn't at the table. She stood a bit away, back to us, gazing at flowers? Or just spacing out? Hard to tell from behind. With the knight waiting, I stepped forward. Air felt faintly damp. She turned at the sound. Our eyes met. Blue eyes gleaming, different from yesterday. Curiosity mixed with wariness? Or wariness softened by something subtler.
Her gaze swept my face: sword scar left cheek, bruise right. Lingered on the bruise. Lips parted slightly—like she wanted to speak but swallowed it. Neither of us spoke first, so I walked in. Distance closed. She was a finger's width shorter. Skin white—not my porcelain pale, but healthy glow. Faint shadows under eyes, reddish tint. Sleepless? Cried?
She glanced at me, then the table. A rude head tilt—sit? I didn't pull a chair, just leaned fingertips on the edge, crossed legs, and spoke.
"You told me a secret last time, remember?"
She stiffened slightly.
"Your dad burned alive in the marketplace."
No reply, but shoulders twitched. Head half-turned, staring nowhere.
"Here's one in return."
"..."
Her face said let's hear it. Lips pressed tight, blue eyes fixed on me. Sunlight poured over the cups, green-tinted through the glass onto the table.
"Looks like this, but I'm actually a guy."
Her mouth half-opened. Eyes blinked a beat late. What bullshit? Face so funny, I chuckled unwittingly. Hadn't laughed in ages. She stared long, unable to look away. Well, she's stunning enough to hold anyone's gaze. Still, not mute—say something.