Chapter 54
Chapter 54
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 54
Chapter Title: Princess Raphaelle's Anticipation
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“His Majesty is up to no good again.”
A sweet rebuke flowed from her red lips.
Every time her neatly manicured nails scratched across the soft paper, the attending maids flinched and stole glances at the princess.
Hot steam billowed from the center of the spacious bath tiled in gold, while the faint scent of oil floated languidly through the humid air.
Raphaelle, leaning halfway against one wall of the bath, let the invitation slip from her hand with a plop.
The invitation stamped with the emperor's seal hit the slick, wet floor and quickly turned to mush.
With her eyes closed, Raphaelle whispered as if in a half-dream.
“Add more oil.”
The attending maids poured oil into the bath without a word. The expensive oil melted away lavishly, as if it were mere water.
“A new scent.”
“Yes, Princess. It's oil imported from the East—supplied only to the imperial family for now.”
“Is that so?”
A rare satisfied smile graced the princess's lips. Raphaelle let the pearl bracelet coiled around her wrist drop carelessly before the maid's feet, just as she had the invitation moments before.
“From now on, bring me only things no Nexus woman has.”
“Yes, Princess.”
The maid quickly bowed her head.
Raphaelle drew in a deep breath. The thought that a fragrance no woman of Nexus could ever exude would emanate solely from her filled her with considerable satisfaction.
As she blinked her watery eyes and rose from the bath, the maids—who had been bowing from a distance—hurried over and wrapped the princess's naked body.
The curvaceous feminine form walked unashamed to her chambers, water dripping in steady plops, though she paid it no mind.
Raphaelle kept no noble ladies-in-waiting at her side. She whispered at tea parties with noblewomen that she wished only to share friendship with fellow ladies, but the truth was otherwise.
Better to have lowly folk nearby than to bare her true face to the self-serving daughters of noble houses.
No one feels shame exposing themselves to dogs or pigs, after all.
“Shall we begin your makeup, Princess?”
Raphaelle nodded lightly.
Familiar hands soon began skillfully tending to her face.
“It's already getting so noisy.”
“Yes, we just received word that the army has arrived in Wayne. The palace is in the midst of preparations for the banquet.”
“Is that so?”
Raphaelle gazed quietly at her reflection in the mirror.
Blue eyes like an abyssal depth, golden hair signifying Nexus's glittering wealth and glory.
“She looks so much like Arthur.”
A chuckle escaped her. It bordered on self-mockery.
“Very fortunate.”
As layers of color built upon her bare face, she assumed the familiar visage of Princess Raphaelle known to all.
“Wait.”
Raphaelle tilted her head slightly. The maid applying red tint to the princess's lips recoiled, wondering what she had done wrong, and quickly stepped back.
Raphaelle's brow furrowed faintly as she stared into the mirror. An unwelcome face floated into her mind.
Jet-black hair in a stifling straight line, skin so white it bordered on tacky—that woman.
Beth Jens.
“I said to do my makeup, not make me look tacky.”
The maid trembled, brush in hand, at the icy voice.
“S-Sorry, Princess. I was just doing it as usual—”
“As usual?”
“Ah, no—I mean, I'm sorry. Forgive me, Princess.”
The maid dropped to her knees and clasped her hands pleadingly.
Raphaelle snatched the silk handkerchief from the vanity as if oblivious to the sight. Though her face remained serene, the rough way she scrubbed her lips was merciless.
In an instant, the area around her mouth flushed bright red. Even with her face ruined by the smeared rouge, the princess didn't so much as blink.
The other maids, stealing glances, were left dumbfounded, frantically exchanging looks.
“Look at me.”
Raphaelle finally turned her head.
The young maid's eyes quivered with terror. The princess before her was dazzlingly radiant, her beauty every bit as cutting.
“Don't make me look tacky. Understand?”
The princess caressed the maid's cheek with gentle fingers.
“Do it over. No one else in the palace matches your skill yet.”
Raphaelle closed her eyes, enduring the throbbing ache in her temples.
As always, the emperor proclaimed victory with a banquet to welcome the returning army. But that first evening was reserved solely for Dever. Under the guise of encouraging the warrior fresh from the front lines, it was truly to keep him in check.
The dinner invitation sent only to royals and Dever laid bare Emperor Hoyden's ambition and distrust in equal measure.
Only the emperor himself remained oblivious to the farce.
“Princess, this is a newly imported necklace.”
The maid proffered a purple jewelry box.
“No Nexus woman has purchased one yet.”
Proud of the detail, the maid's voice brimmed with vigor.
Raphaelle gazed down at the necklace with indifference. She knew it well. That chain of fine diamonds meticulously set at intervals along a gleaming white platinum band—the necklace.
“No Nexus woman has it, but that doesn't mean no one possesses it.”
Raphaelle's fingertip traced the row of tiny gems.
“That's why I can't let you go.”
No matter how precious the item, it always passed first through Duke Dever's hands. This one irrefutable fact both enraged and thrilled Raphaelle.
She was certain Dever's side was preferable to that of some hollow princess.
This time would prove no different. She had always acted with wisdom.
“Necklaces bore me.”
A woman who held a man possessing everything would envy nothing.
Raphaelle plucked the ornaments from her neatly combed hair one by one.
“How can their eyes be so dull?”
Stroking her now somewhat plain tresses, she recalled that single night at the battlefield hospital.
Even her own pathetic quivering at the slightest whisper of wind toward Dever remained vivid.
How she had gnawed her lips and heaped curses in the carriage ride back. At foolish Dever. At Beth, feigning innocence to steal his soul. And at herself, who had merely watched it unfold.
Night after night, she had chewed over the agony of something unattained being snatched away. But even that pain now felt distant, faded.
What use was some fleeting breeze?
She sneered at her own lapse—forgetting that even a storm battering that war demon of a man meant nothing.
All he needed to do was hand over Cliff Manor to her.
Raphaelle Manor to Raphaelle Cliff—anything would suffice.
“Bring the dresses.”
The maid lifted several gowns suited to Raphaelle's tastes. The blue eyes scanning them slowly halted on the final one.
“Nice color.”
The maid holding the sky-blue dress beamed. She was the same girl who had panicked moments ago over the princess's lips.
“But I'm not in such a laughable state yet that I'd wear this. Not quite.”
“You did well regardless.” Raphaelle added the quiet praise, gesturing to the lemon-hued gown matching her hair.
At that moment, a rhythmic knock echoed from the door at even intervals.
With a gesture from Raphaelle, the door opened, admitting a woman dressed slightly differently from the other maids.
Once the makeup attendants had discreetly withdrawn, the woman approached Raphaelle.
“Princess, the duke has arrived.”
“He won't come straight here.”
“No, he said he'll inspect the army first.”
Of course. That man would never meekly head straight for the palace.
“Snubbing the emperor is his pleasure, isn't it?”
Raphaelle uttered the words casually—treasonous to any other ear. Yet the woman listening showed no change in expression, long accustomed to the princess's bold tongue.
“And that girl?”
“Well, there's been an unexpected turn.”
“Unexpected turn?”
Raphaelle calmly clasped her hands.
Her impeccably refined appearance seemed too noble for one prying into others' shadows.
“They say she's vanished.”
“Vanished? Where to? With whom?”
The questions tumbled out with a hint of urgency.
“No one knows. Word is the Molly duke and duchess are searching for her, but no luck yet.”
“And Dever Cliff?”
“Even he... seems unaware.”
Pfft. Raphaelle couldn't stifle the laugh bubbling up.
The mighty Duke Dever, losing track of one mere girl. The thought of witnessing that ridiculous spectacle with her own eyes soon invigorated her like nothing in ages.
“But I can't fully trust those words.”
“Pardon? You... don't trust me?”
The face of her most loyal subordinate drained of color.
Her name was Bell. She had attended Raphaelle since her social debut, handling every task—from covert investigations to beholding the princess unmasked.
The astute princess always rewarded secrecy handsomely, and Bell lived buoyed by the pride of being more than a common maid.
But distrust? Her countenance darkened, fears of obsolescence swirling.
Raphaelle, ever perceptive, missed none of it.
“No, not you—the man.”
She soothed her trusted hound with a warm smile. No master discards a useful dog prematurely.
Raphaelle straightened her attire. Lighter makeup than usual and long, straight hair like her debutante days lent her an uncanny resemblance to the Raphaelle Manor of old.
Raphaelle Manor, when her mother yet lived.
Her voice softened, tinged with quiet reminiscence.
“It could be that man's own little drama. Perhaps he's tucked her away in some basement, just for my eyes.”
The words were chilling, at odds with her serene tone.
Raphaelle fell into thought. Her opponent was Dever Cliff. That wolf whelp wouldn't release a pitiful quarry unscathed.
“We'll watch a while longer. I've the leisure for it now.”
A grand melody heralding the banquet's start swelled beyond the closed window. The encroaching dusk steeped the sky in deepening hues.
Raphaelle gazed long upon her garden, awash in beautiful violet. It was hers alone—a space inviolate. She cherished her exquisite garden, untouched by any other.
Only when all had surrendered to shadow, lanterns encircling the garden flickering to life, did she stir her stiffened legs.
A night where truth lay shrouded, and lies alone gleamed bright.
“What expression will you wear as you sit there?”
Raphaelle harbored no doubt: this night was hers.