He could observe her stumbling from weakness, barely supporting herself with arms braced against the cold stone floor.
Even a newborn foal would possess more strength than that.
Unlike her capable mind, her body proved utterly inadequate. A flicker of something resembling pity passed through his golden eyes.
Only three days, and if this were a battlefield, she would already be dead—fertilizer for the corpse mounds.
Then he noticed something disturbing beyond the chapel yard's iron fence.
A figure resembling a bloated wild boar waddled forward with unseemly haste.
Cesare, whose senses had been honed razor-sharp through years of survival, caught their conversation with ease.
"You must not approach!"
"It shall only take a moment!"
"Minister! This conduct is utterly inappropriate!"
While servants struggled with the maids blocking entry, the Princess remained exposed and defenseless.
The bloated figure moved with an agility wholly incongruous to his corpulent form.
The Princess sat motionless, as though she could hear nothing at all.
"Hmph~ So this is the famous cursed Princess. How utterly pitiful."
Upon finding the Princess, he snorted with undisguised contempt.
For reasons he could not immediately articulate, Cesare felt profound displeasure stirring within him.
A few small pebbles from a flower pot beside the window vanished beneath his outstretched index finger.
"Ack!"
The bloated figure screamed as something struck his calf with tremendous force—as though a heavy stone had rolled directly over his leg.
His knees buckled instantly, sending him tumbling face-first into the mud.
"It is an attack! Someone is attempting assassination! Guards!"
Unlike their master's theatrical fuss, the servants found no trace whatsoever of any assault.
"What happened?"
Hearing the commotion, Cissere turned immediately.
The remaining pebbles rolled silently back into the flower pot beneath Cesare's hand.
"Nothing of consequence."
Cesare turned away, his customary expression of boredom perfectly restored.
— The Deluge — Patter. Patter.
By the time the three prepared to depart, rain had begun to fall in earnest.
Due to urgent battlefield reports, Cissere left first, while the other two made ready to exit the palace.
"There must be holes torn in the very heavens—it pours like a deluge."
Gallo grumbled at the sheets of water cascading from the sky.
"Boss, remain here. I shall bring the carriage around."
"That is unnecessary. Let us proceed together."
"No—you shall remain here. I will return swiftly."
He vanished into the rain instantly, as though expecting no pursuit.
Even Gallo—who continued his irreverent commentary despite countless rebukes—sometimes treated Cesare like the First Prince he truly was. As though even raindrops could not be tolerated upon the precious body destined for the throne.
Except that throne might no longer be Cesare's to claim.
Bitter water seemed to rise from somewhere deep within.
Cesare forgot Gallo's instructions entirely and walked alone into the rain, not bothering to retrieve the umbrella Gallo had tucked beneath his arm.
Patter. The sound of rain filled the entire world.
Then his steps halted.
Golden eyes within the silver mask found the figure kneeling beneath the statue.
Pouring rain drenched the girl from head to toe. Water streamed continuously down her deathly pale face.
Though the Princess stumbled repeatedly, she never collapsed. Blood appeared on her hands where they pressed against the stone floor.
Her clenched teeth drew blood that poured from split lips. Soon, pink-tinged drops mixed with rainwater and fell upon the stone below.
Thanks to Gallo's constant chatter, Cesare now knew considerable detail about the young Princess's circumstances.
"Cesare. Do you truly possess iron in your blood instead of humanity?"
The Princess's precarious position—threatened by enemies on all sides, even by blood-sharing family—evoked strangely familiar sensations.
"I do not lose. I will survive."
Ancient memories overlaid themselves upon the image of a girl struggling utterly alone.
"Ah!"
The Princess's arm supporting her weight against the white stone suddenly buckled.
As her body pitched forward, Cesare stepped closer—amusing enough, without even realizing he had moved.
The Princess gritted her teeth visibly. She struggled with both arms to raise herself once more.
He could sense the indomitable will never to break in those bulging veins.
Then the Princess lifted her head.
Her rain-soaked eyes found Baroness Pinatelli standing behind the chapel, then lowered once more in perfect submission.
Cesare stepped back. He caught the faint smile curving the Princess's lips.
"You stage a most interesting performance."
Belated laughter escaped him.
Even he—who had discerned the Princess's scheme—had nearly approached her. Others would be thoroughly and completely deceived.
Cesare had to acknowledge the Princess possessed exceptional talent for eliciting sympathy.
Medea remained oblivious that someone was laughing at her display. She was expending everything she possessed merely to maintain consciousness amidst the freezing rain.
Not yet. Not yet. Hold on a little longer.
At some point, the world fell utterly silent.
The sound of rain striking her ears ceased entirely. Medea startled and raised her head.
What blocked the pouring rain was a large black umbrella hovering above her.
Who?
She looked around frantically. However, no one could be found in the empty chapel yard.
— The Queen Mother's Palace — The Queen Mother's expression soured considerably after hearing Baroness Pinatelli's report.
"Whom does she resemble to be so obstinate? Certainly not my son."
"What precisely does she desire? Why this stubborn defiance? She created this entire catastrophe unnecessarily."
The Queen Mother felt disgust rising in her throat.
Baroness Pinatelli spoke while carefully wiping her hands with cloth soaked in hot water.
"Your Majesty, do you recall the maid who offered to accept punishment in Her Highness's stead?"
"That insolent creature who dared to interfere?"
"Yes. That maid named Neril is the reason Your Majesty first came into conflict with the head maid. Madame Cuisine nearly killed that child, and consequently Her Highness became so enraged that she struck the head maid."
"Hmph. If a Princess competes so readily with those beneath her station, what purpose does rank serve?"
"However, Your Majesty—it transpires that this child served in His Late Majesty's personal guard."
Baroness Pinatelli spoke softly, pretending not to notice that the wrinkled hand holding the ring had gone perfectly still.
"For Her Highness the Princess, that maid represents the only living trace left behind by the late King. My supposition is that her obstinacy stems not from opposing Your Majesty, but from protecting that child."
She added that the Princess had not permitted Neril to depart the palace.
"She refuses to let anyone easily touch what remains. Memories of His Late Majesty are sacred to Her Highness— she cannot yield on this matter."
The Queen Mother remained silent for some considerable time.
Her eldest son, who had departed so suddenly, always felt like a nail lodged permanently in her heart. It hurt when extracted, and ached even when left alone.
So she had hated and resented her granddaughter even more intensely...
"Hmph. John was this country's King. Yet you claim the only trace remaining is a mere maid? You must speak sensibly."
Though her words remained blunt, her voice had softened considerably from before.
"Perhaps so for Your Majesty. But understand—for Her Highness the Princess, there exists nowhere else to anchor her heart."
Even when not holding the Princess's hand directly, Baroness Pinatelli cared deeply for her welfare.
Was it because she herself had experienced how cruel the world became when family fell and one lived orphaned and alone?
"I also wandered extensively after my husband departed this world. But I was grown then, and I possessed the King's support."
"Unfortunately, Her Royal Highness had neither. How can we possibly comprehend what she felt—losing both parents, who were her entire heaven, overnight at such a tender age?"
"Are you attempting to assign blame to me now?"
The Queen Mother glared, yet all fury had evaporated from her gaze.
"Certainly not. However, Your Majesty, may I pose one additional question?"
Baroness Pinatelli spoke with a cautious yet deliberate air. Her usual smile had vanished, replaced by solemn gravity.
The Queen Mother nodded her permission.
"Is it not peculiar that the head maid attempted to slander Her Highness so persistently? Beyond a simple grudge over being struck?"
"I believe there exists another reason—a deeper motivation to bring Her Highness down."
"Now that you mention it... it was indeed strange that she came directly to me, claiming concern for Medea. Despite being close friends with Catherine."
After the immediate hatred and anger had subsided, she had grown suspicious of the maid's true intentions— making such theatrical fuss and approaching her specifically, only to worsen matters.
"Therefore... though I knew you would be displeased, I took the initiative to investigate. I shall gladly accept whatever scolding you deem appropriate."
Baroness Pinatelli extended a bundle of documents and offered her apology.
Yet—
"Cuisine, that damned creature!"
The tea table in the Queen Mother's Palace shook violently as her fist crashed down upon it.
To Be Continued
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