I closed my eyes for just a moment—or so I thought.
When I opened them again, I was shocked to discover that everyone's sleeping area had been neatly organized except for mine.
It seemed everyone had been awake for quite some time. There wasn't a hint of sleepiness on any of their faces. Even the knights had already finished preparing for departure and were eating breakfast.
I slept far too late.
When exactly had I fallen asleep? I couldn't remember. I was surprised once by the fact that I'd slept so deeply, and twice by the realization that I'd slept—for the first time in what felt like forever—without even a dream, let alone a nightmare.
But the most surprising part was discovering that I'd been sleeping soundly while people ate breakfast all around me.
While I'd been stretched out with my legs extended, people had apparently been sitting in a circle around my sleeping form, having their meal.
Like I was sleeping on the dining table itself.
"Why didn't anyone wake me up?" I asked Lamia resentfully.
She was lying nearby, drinking the leftover meat soup from yesterday.
Lamia answered calmly while munching on food. "Oh, you're awake? You were sleeping so soundly that the Marquis told me not to wake you."
"Even so, you should have woken me up properly...!"
The chief's wife offered me a bowl of soup with a warm smile.
"Did you sleep well? Here, have a bowl of soup. A hearty bowl will give you energy to move around all day."
I took the bowl without thinking, still flustered.
The Uttar people seemed to have no problem with a late sleeper like me sitting in the middle of their breakfast circle.
But Callius's knights buried their faces in their bowls, desperately avoiding eye contact with me.
One of them accidentally made eye contact and burst out laughing—which proved disastrous for him.
"Pfft! Gulp! Gulp! Cough!"
He choked on his soup spectacularly, setting off a chain reaction of badly suppressed snickers.
I scanned the circle with narrowed eyes until I found Callius.
He'd been eating and conversing with the chief across from me. Only now did he notice I was awake, and he smiled—warmly, genuinely, maddeningly.
I glared at him, trying to express my profound dissatisfaction.
But he interpreted my expression with infuriating serenity, smiled even more gently, and nodded as if to say Good morning.
I can't even chase after him to demand why he embarrassed me by telling Lamia not to wake me up!
With a tearful expression, I turned to Lamia with one last glimmer of hope.
"I didn't... talk in my sleep, did I?"
Lamia blinked innocently, her cheeks stuffed with meat as she chewed.
"You were talking in your sleep."
Then, as if it were no big deal whatsoever, she offered me food.
"Try this. The soup is so warm, it feels like all your fatigue just melts away."
Callius, Lamia, and everyone I trust here are all so indifferent to my mortification!
I whispered, lowering my voice as much as possible. "How exactly did I sleep-talk?"
"You were snoring a little. I guess you were really tired."
"I snored?"
"Yes."
I touched my forehead in shame. Actually, I wanted to tear my hair out, but I couldn't embarrass myself any further in front of so many people.
Lamia patted my shoulder heartily. "Hey, why are you so embarrassed about something like that? Besides, you don't even snore that loud. Not many people heard you."
"Really...?" I felt marginally relieved.
Lamia urged cheerfully, "Eat quickly. If you eat well, your nose will clear up."
"...!"
It was abundantly clear she was teasing me. When I glared at her, my face sullen and upset, Lamia just chuckled playfully.
But that ship had already sailed.
With a sigh, I gave up and drank the soup. There was nothing else to be done about it now.
And I have to eat breakfast in front of all these people with my face still unwashed. My hair must be an absolute mess too.
I pulled the hood of my leather jacket down as low as it would go.
The soup tasted like yesterday's leftovers—which it was—but contrary to my expectation that it would be less delicious, it actually tasted richer and more flavorful than it had the day before.
It was a hearty, warming taste that seemed to fill me with strength for the day ahead, exactly as the chief's wife had promised.
After everyone finished eating and began cleaning up, I was served a proper breakfast by my maids in a corner of the ker.
The Uttar children sat around me at a respectful distance, watching with open curiosity.
They whispered among themselves—evidently fascinated by my morning routine. Some of the younger children, still not adept at controlling the volume of their voices, spoke loudly enough that I could clearly hear their conversation.
"I guess the Princess doesn't know how to wash her face by herself."
"Maybe she can wash her face herself, but just doesn't want to?"
"Shh. That's because she's a Princess. Princesses don't usually wash their faces alone."
"Why not?"
It was a very pure, genuinely curious conversation.
I didn't sense any ill will in their questions, but it felt... strange. Like something fundamental about my life was being questioned in a way I'd never considered before.
I felt my confidence wavering slightly.
Do children like them really think someone like me can't wash her own face? But I've never washed my face on my own before...
Even though I'd been looked down upon and abused throughout my marriage, there had always been servants present to help me wash my face.
Even when my lip had been split open by Viscount Pelsus, I'd endured the maid's rough, resentful hands as she'd "helped" me clean the blood away.
I'd thought it was natural for things to be that way, simply because I'd always lived that way.
But as I listened to the children's innocent conversation, I wondered for the first time why I'd never even thought of washing my own face.
There's no law that says a princess can't wash her own face, is there?
Vanessa frowned and moved to shoo the children away, apparently annoyed by their chattering.
"You rude little brats! How dare you gossip in front of Her Highness the Princess?"
I beckoned Vanessa over before she could frighten them.
"Leave them alone, Vanessa."
"But those children are mocking Your Highness! And they're calling you 'Princess' instead of 'Imperial Princess'—it's disrespectful. They deserve a good beating."
"There's nothing wrong with what the children said. And they simply don't know the distinction between 'Princess' and 'Imperial Princess.'"
I kept my voice calm while the other maids continued combing my hair.
"You know that perfectly well, but your reaction is excessive. If you act so immaturely toward children, what will people think of me?"
"..."
Vanessa, who'd been hearing unpleasant corrections from me since yesterday, glared at me with barely concealed coldness.
"I will report this matter in detail to Her Majesty the Empress."
"If you do that, she'll be disappointed and think you're making useless reports about trivial matters."
I didn't support the threat—I simply accepted it as inevitable.
I was now completely unhesitating in my dealings with Vanessa, having judged her unworthy of caution. She needed to be watched, certainly, but not carefully managed.
"You're too obvious in your methods, and your actions are transparently petty. Kavala doesn't trust people like that—she uses them."
Vanessa pouted and stepped back at my words, her face flushed with impotent anger.
The balance of power between us had shifted decisively in my favor. The other two maids, sensing that Lamia had also aligned herself with me, were now watching our exchanges with careful attention.
One of them is just pretending to be naive and uninvolved. Maybe both of them are.
It was exhausting to constantly be wary of the people around me.
The Uttar children, having witnessed me prevent Vanessa from chasing them away, now approached with more confidence.
One child, who'd been watching intently as the maids brushed my hair and fastened my cloak, asked with remarkable bravery:
"Can't the Princess dress herself?"
I answered honestly. "I've never done it before."
"Why not?"
I asked back with a slightly bitter smile, "Well... why do you think?"
An unexpectedly perceptive answer came from the child—one that hit me like a physical blow.
"Isn't it because the Princess just wants to sit still and look pretty?"
"Just... sit still?"
"Yes! If the Princess just sits there quietly and looks pretty without doing anything, wouldn't these older sisters have an easier time?"
The child pointed to my maids with complete innocence.
"If the Princess moves around on her own and gets dirty, these older sisters would have to wash you again and dress you again, right?"
The child sighed deeply—a comically adult gesture from such a small person.
"I wish my younger sibling would just stay still sometimes. He's not good at anything yet, but he keeps trying to do everything himself. That makes things really hard for me."
"So...?"
"Yes. But Mother keeps saying my little brother should do his share of things too. She says that's how he'll learn. But sometimes it's just too much of a hassle to have to clean up after him when he makes mistakes."
I felt like I'd been struck in the head with a hammer.
The child was absolutely right.
If I had tried to do things and learn things on my own, Andrea would have found it increasingly difficult to control me as I grew older and more capable.
To sit still and be pretty without doing anything.
To be a doll who could be dressed up and displayed.
To be a fool who could be used for their own purposes.
I realized with devastating clarity that this was exactly what Andrea and Viscount Pelsus had wanted from me all along.
I had been so foolish.
I'd thought that the imperial family would treat me—a princess—with at least a minimum level of respect, simply because of the prestige associated with royal blood.
But they'd never wanted me to have dignity or capability.
They'd wanted me helpless. Dependent. Incapable of doing even the smallest things for myself.
Because a person who can't even wash her own face or dress herself certainly can't plot against them. Can't escape them. Can't survive without them.
Every time I'd tried to learn something, to do something independently, Andrea had subtly discouraged it.
"Why are you trying to do that yourself, Chloe? You'll only hurt yourself. Let the servants handle it—that's what they're there for."
"A princess shouldn't concern herself with such menial tasks. It's beneath your station. Just sit still and be beautiful—that's all you need to do."
"You tried to do it yourself and made a mess? See, this is exactly why I tell you to leave things to the professionals. You're not capable of these things, Chloe. Stop trying."
And I'd believed him. I'd internalized the message that trying to do things for myself was inappropriate, unseemly, evidence of my inadequacy.
I'd become exactly what they wanted: utterly dependent, completely controllable, too helpless to threaten them in any way.
The child was still looking at me with innocent curiosity, completely unaware of the revelation they'd just sparked.
I managed a small smile—genuine this time, despite the painful self-awareness blooming in my chest.
"You're very wise for someone so young. Thank you for helping me understand."
The child beamed at the praise, then scampered off to rejoin their friends.
I sat still while my maids finished preparing me for the day, but my mind was racing.
How many other ways have I been deliberately kept helpless? How many skills and capabilities have I been denied, not because I was incapable of learning them, but because my dependence served someone else's purposes?
It wasn't just about washing my face or dressing myself. Those were merely symptoms of a much deeper problem.
I'd been systematically prevented from developing any form of independence or self-sufficiency.
Every area where I might have gained competence or confidence had been carefully undermined.
They'd made me believe I was inherently incapable, when the truth was that I'd simply never been allowed to develop capabilities.
I glanced across the camp to where Callius was speaking with his knights, preparing for departure.
He'd encouraged me to try new things. To eat with my hands when that was the cultural norm, even though I'd never done it before. To adapt to unfamiliar sleeping arrangements. To engage with people whose customs were foreign to me.
He'd never suggested I was incapable—only inexperienced.
And there was a world of difference between those two things.
Inexperienced people can learn. Incapable people cannot.
Andrea had always framed my limitations as fundamental incapability. Callius treated them as mere lack of experience—something that could be remedied through practice and patience.
As if sensing my gaze, Callius looked up and met my eyes across the camp.
He smiled—that same gentle, patient smile that somehow made me feel both seen and safe.
I found myself smiling back, a small but genuine expression.
I don't know how to wash my own face yet. Or dress myself without help. Or do dozens of other basic things that these Uttar children probably learned before they were ten years old.
But 'yet' is the important word. I don't know how to do these things yet.
That doesn't mean I can't learn.
The maids finished with my hair and stepped back. I stood, my preparations complete.
But as I moved to join the others, I made a quiet decision.
Tomorrow morning, I'm going to try washing my own face. Even if I do it badly. Even if it's inefficient and the maids have to help me finish properly.
I'm going to try.
Because sitting still and being pretty—being helpless and dependent—had nearly gotten me killed in my previous life.
And in this life, I refused to be that kind of doll ever again.
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