A Beast Bearing Venom
Because her marriage had already been arranged, she lacked even the pretext of needing to secure a match.
Had the Second Imperial Consort died, the Empress and First Consort Cleo would have scrambled to sink their claws into Titania, openly tearing each other apart to use her. Yet her birth mother still breathed, however frail and confined to her secluded palace, making it difficult for either faction to make an overt move. If some catastrophe befell Titania, the Emperor would fly into a rage over the ruined match with House Castrein. And so, the imperial court’s power brokers merely exchanged wary glances, careful not to upset the delicate balance.
Yet if this had been the original Titania, she would never have begged her fiancé for retainers on the grounds that she had no one she could trust.
The Titania Sol Kite Hamastion of before had desired, above all else, to appear before Raymon as an untouchable, proud imperial princess. To that end, she would throw petulant tantrums, screeching about how the Emperor doted on her and demanding to know how House Castrein dared look down on her—even when neither she nor her listeners believed a single word. In truth, the Emperor cared nothing for Titania, though he would occasionally grant her an audience if she used her fiancé as an excuse. He was more than happy to play along if it gave him leverage to pressure House Castrein. But for Titania to bare her throat and confess the humiliating reality—that she had not a single reliable knight, nor even a maid she could depend on—was unthinkable.
What shocked Raymon most, however, was her final demand.
"People who can kill, and who can save."
It was an unmistakable request for personnel proficient in medicine, poison, and the blade. In a sense, it was an explicit declaration of intent to strike a deal and place her faith in House Castrein. Whatever tasks the princess assigned to agents dispatched by the duchy, reports would flow directly back into Castrein hands. Should those agents conspire against her and frame her, she would bear the brunt of the ruin entirely alone. If she ordered them to harm someone allied with Castrein, they might disobey her command or turn their blades against her instead. Yet she was prepared to shoulder every ounce of that risk.
The princess’s gaze, cast down upon the teacup she had shattered with her own hands, had been chillingly bleak. It was unnatural. She looked far more wretched than he had ever seen her. The golden hair that was once meticulously groomed hung dull and limp, and her jade-fair skin had lost its luster, looking gaunt and sickly. Yet beneath her long, delicate lashes, her cold, luminous eyes burned with startling clarity—like a wounded beast baring its fangs, smiling through festering venom.
"...Perhaps everything she has shown us until now was an act."
"Pardon? Sir, that sounds even crazier!" Cassian practically jumped out of his boots. "Wouldn't it make more sense that an imposter stole the princess's face and is playing a role?"
"However diminished it may be, the imperial lineage carries the blessing of Light. She would not fall prey to such vile sorcery."
Even if they could no longer consciously grasp or draw upon it, the imperial family remained the sole heirs to the Power of Light in this era. By its very nature, Light held dominion over all other elements; if properly awakened and harnessed, it could bring even the mighty House Castrein to its knees. Given that the imperial house had been the first to lose its divine heritage, the chances of such an awakening were virtually nil, but faint power was power nonetheless. True imperial scions were naturally resistant to foul curses and dark magic, and they carried a slight immunity to poisons. Of course, such protection meant nothing against a lethal toxin potent enough to overpower that natural resistance, nor would it save her from a severed neck.
Even so, the sensation gnawing at Raymon was unsettling. It defied reason. The imperial dynasty had long surrendered its pride, degrading from the guardians of the realm into its parasites. And of all people, this princess—the one universally decried as a foolish, vicious, unruly puppet who had only just opened her eyes from a coma...
'Can you bring yourself to trust House Castrein?'
'You'd do well to keep me alive. I can be quite useful, we know each other's weaknesses, and we have the public pretext of our engagement. Besides, you could execute me whenever you wish, so there's really no rush, is there?'
Her smiling face had possessed the unmistakable aura of a born sovereign.
'Do you intend to use House Castrein?'
'Let's call it mutually beneficial.'
Remembering the supreme composure with which she had spoken, Raymon had realized the chilling truth: perhaps this princess intended to use House Castrein as a weapon to swallow the imperial court whole.
The tears she had wept when Raymon danced with June, the eldest daughter of Count Orland... Were they a lie as well? Could it be that she had already divined the whereabouts of Flamberge's Rage even then? Had she been testing him to the bitter end, probing to see if Raymon was the sort of man who could be swayed by a sliver of pity?
Though they were indoors, the air around him felt frigid. Her information network had eluded everyone's notice. A princess who had never debuted in high society, who possessed not a single loyal follower within the palace walls—just how long had she been laying this trap?
'Lest you misunderstand, Young Duke Raymon.'
Laughing brightly, she had dragged the fine linen tablecloth and flung it aside, sending every delicate tea service crashing to the stone floor just to put on a show for the listening maids. Careless of the jagged porcelain shards grazing her fingertips, Titania had delivered her parting words.
'My goal isn't to drag you down the aisle. You can rest easy on that front.'
'......'
If her true aim was to leverage the military might of House Castrein, the engagement was nothing more than a convenient cover. A powerless princess stripped of authority and legitimacy needed a shield to formulate her plots in peace, far beneath the radar of her rivals. Was everything up to this moment merely a series of tests for Raymon? And knowing that he would never yield his heart to her...
'Oh, and going forward, I'll keep acting like an empty-headed lunatic in front of everyone else, so there's no need to be alarmed.'
His thoughts swirled in chaos. Since the day he first learned of Titania's existence, Raymon had never felt this thoroughly shaken.
"...I must speak with my father."
"Sir?"
"This is not a matter I can judge on my own."
At Raymon's absolute finality, Cassian gaped dumbfoundedly, opening and closing his mouth twice before clamping it firmly shut.
"How dare you... lie... to my face!"
It was, quite literally, a lion's roar.
My own ears rang from the sheer volume, so the maids taking the brunt of it were surely suffering ruptured eardrums. And rightfully so—I had drawn a deep breath straight from my diaphragm, fully prepared to cramp my abdominal muscles just to project that shriek. Channeling every ounce of strength I had, I seized flowerpots, chairs, crystal decanters, and anything else within reach, hurling and obliterating them across the chamber.
Crash! Smash!
"Y-Your Highness Princess Titania!"
"Please, calm your fury!"
Oh, this was delightful. Nothing beat throwing an unhinged tantrum, especially when it inflicted sheer misery on the very vipers who had been tormenting me all along. The little spies, who had been slinking around trying to pry into what Raymon and I had discussed, couldn't even flee while caught dead in the blast radius of my royal meltdown.
Naturally, I didn't chuck anything directly at their heads. The shrapnel flew everywhere, of course, but it wasn't as if a foul-tempered royal smashing furnishings was breaking news. First Consort Cleo and the First Prince routinely beat servants and smashed rooms whenever boredom struck.
Best of all, Titania was known to be an utter fool. Even if the maids scurried away now, they knew that if they crept back later with groveling apologies and sweet flattery, she would look down her nose at them and magnanimously forgive them like a gracious benefactor. In other words, if they were genuinely terrified or disgusted, they would have fled the room already. To Titania, looking pretty was the single most important pursuit in the universe; no matter how much she resented the maids who dressed her, she could never bring herself to banish them outright.
That was precisely why First Consort Cleo had planted these women at my side. Cleo despised useless vermin above all else. If these maids wanted to secure their coin or save their skins, they had to drag back at least a scrap of whatever conversation the freshly recovered princess had shared with the young duke.
Narrowing my eyes with venomous malice, I bellowed at the top of my lungs:
"You swore to me that I was the most beautiful woman in the world, even when I was sick!"
In that exact instant, the panicked eyes of the maids darting across the wreckage shifted completely.