Greets Her Highness
"Charming hospitality."
The Greeting
Contrary to Birna's wishes, the first move was not hostility—but courtesy.
The blond man stepped forward and bowed with an easy grin.
"The Façade greets Her Royal Highness, the brave Princess of Valdina."
"Welcome to Valdina,"
Medea replied with a small nod.
Gallo's eyes narrowed slightly, interest sharpening beneath the smile.
"Please, just call me Gallo. I'm a troublemaker by profession—no last name to speak of."
"Very well. Sir Gallo."
"Haha. Titles are wasted on me, Your Highness. Call me however you like."
His raised cheekbones caught the chandelier's light.
Despite his boyish charm, Medea responded with her usual, measured smile.
The fact that Facade's leader had come to greet her first undeniably boosted her prestige.
But knowing they'd been scouting Valdina's streets, she could not afford to relax.
They exchanged light pleasantries—enough to suggest cordial relations, but with careful distance on both sides.
Medea noticed Gallo continually watching the mercenary behind him, gauging his reactions throughout their chat.
Acares.
'So that's the one I need to watch,' she thought.
When she glanced up—almost by accident—their eyes met.
He didn't look away.
Instead, the corner of his mouth lifted very slightly.
Bolder than his leader.
"The Spear of Saint Esther that lit the sky earlier was incredible," Gallo said, rubbing his hands with theatrical admiration.
"I've travelled all over the continent, but I've never seen such a clear sign of divine favor. Surely it won't be long before news of Valdina's victory reaches us—"
"Isn't it a little too neat to be coincidence?"
The unexpected question hung in the air.
Medea turned her head toward the voice.
It was the mercenary.
"Just in time, it flared and vanished. Since when does God's will cater so precisely to human schedules?"
"Acares—what are you saying?" Gallo hissed, flustered. "Your Highness, I apologize. He has a habit of making… unhelpful jokes."
When she saw Gallo glance back at his man in confusion, Medea understood exactly where the suspicion had come from.
Even within Facade, only a handful would notice the residue of a white signal flare.
"It's all right."
She chose to deflect without retreating.
"A faithful Valdina would never dare lie in the name of the Goddess. But I understand that such faith cannot be expected of Facade—who traffic in blasphemy as readily as weapons. I completely understand."
Gallo's mouth fell open.
The mercenary, however, looked intrigued.
"So Her Highness is devout?"
"Of course."
Medea did not look away.
"If I didn't believe in the Goddess's mercy, there is no way I would overlook your… wanton behavior."
Cesare, behind the mask of Acares, had to bite back a laugh.
The same girl who'd used a goddess statue to sway the Queen Mother, and a fake sacred fire to corner the Regent—calling herself "faithful" with a straight face?
"Acares, show some respect to the Princess—"
Gallo poked Cesare's side, panicked.
His boss seemed to have forgotten he was currently disguised as nothing more than Facade's hired blade—and that the woman in front of him was this kingdom's Princess.
Then he replayed her last line in his head.
Wanton? Did she just call my boss wanton?
Gallo suddenly went mute, wearing the look of a man who'd just watched someone slap a thundercloud.
"…What are you doing?!"
The banquet hall suddenly roared with commotion.
A spark flashed in Medea's green eyes.
All three—Medea, Gallo, and Cesare—turned at once.
"Minister! What on earth are you doing?!"
There, at the entrance of the hall, stood Minister Etienne—completely naked, enraged, and pummeling an elderly nobleman.
One Hour Earlier
"Gentle? Quiggin? How dare that wretch mock me?"
The fury that had flared when he first heard the Princess's words had snowballed.
Now, with nowhere left to go, it exploded.
"Claudio—you treated me the same way, didn't you?"
He kicked over a side table.
"You thought that once you found my weak point, you could twist this body however you pleased? Ha!"
The poisonous toad's anger now extended to Duke Claudio, Quiggin's former master.
Etienne knew full well how grotesque he was—how erratic.
He had delighted in the way courtiers grovelled before him, their faces twisted with disgust they dared not show.
But realizing that even Duke Claudio—who'd first reached out to him, claiming to understand—looked at him the same way…
That carved a deep wound into the Minister's pride.
As Claudio's smooth, composed face surfaced in his mind, Etienne's fever surged higher.
"The Princess, the Regent—they're all one brood. You think royal blood is worth something? Trash gets in my way and calls itself divine…"
The thoughts he'd hidden away for years started spilling out.
The scented candles Umberto had been burning, the strange drug Birna had slipped into Medea's wine—now in Etienne's blood—were all fanning the flames.
"Why is it so damn hot in here… Umberto! Umberto!"
No sign of the attendant who was supposed to bring more alcohol.
The bottle in his hand was empty.
Even my pathetic servant thinks he can ignore me now?
He lurched to his feet.
Heat swelled under his skin, as if his entire body were expanding.
The cravat choking his neck, the stiff formalwear—suddenly, he couldn't breathe.
Etienne tore his clothes off, one layer at a time.
Once he'd stripped away every obstacle, he seized the doorknob Umberto had left ajar and yanked it open.
Cool air rushed in, washing over his sweat-slick skin.
In the distance, golden light spilled from the banquet hall like sunlight from a world that didn't include him.
"So that's where you ran off to, you traitor…? Fine. I'll show you exactly what happened."
The music reached his ears.
Cascading notes. Laughter. The clink of glasses. Even the scent of food and perfume drifted down the corridor.
This cold, empty hallway seemed to whisper: No matter how you struggle, you will never belong in that bright, joyful world.
Blue fire flared in the Minister's eyes.
"Is there a place in Valdina this body cannot enter?!"
Etienne stalked toward the light.
At the Banquet Entrance
An elderly noble paled when he saw the Minister standing there—bare-chested, flushed, drenched in sweat.
The stench of alcohol hit him a second later.
"M-Minister Etienne? Why are you—"
"What's this old corpse doing out of its coffin?! Get back in!"
The nobleman bristled—but seeing that the Minister truly didn't recognize him, he realized Etienne must be thoroughly drunk.
"My lord, whatever has happened, let us move somewhere private first. There are noble ladies and young misses present. It will cause an uproar if they see you like this."
He meant well.
But to Etienne—lost in fever and hallucination—those words twisted into something else.
[Who are you to lecture me, you filthy maggot? Trash.]
"Trash? You dare, you walking corpse!"
The moment the old nobleman, swallowing his revulsion, reached out to grasp Etienne's thick, sweat-slick arm—
Stars burst behind his eyes.
Etienne had driven his fist into the man's jaw.
The crash echoed through the hall.
Heads turned.
Whispers flared like sparks.
"What happened?"
"Isn't that Count Etienne? Why is he dressed like that?"
Court attendants rushed to help the fallen noble and seized Etienne by both arms.
"Please, Minister, calm yourself—"
"Let go! Do you hear me?! Do you know who I am?! Let go, you worms!"
He thrashed wildly.
Even the attendants began to falter beneath the weight of his bulk and fury.
The sight of bodies swaying dangerously together drew shrieks from the onlookers.
Etienne raised his head at a particularly sharp cry.
Hundreds of eyes stared back at him.
The chandelier's lights stabbed at his vision.
To him, every face seemed twisted in laughter.
Somewhere in the ringing chaos, he could even hear giggles.
As he scanned the room, his gaze finally landed on a girl in black.
Medea.
When people vent their rage, they look for the easiest target. Someone weak. Someone who won't hit back.
To the Minister, the young Princess was exactly that.
"You…!"
"Aaaaahhhh!"
The Minister screamed and lunged.
"Her Highness is in danger!"
The Moment Breaks ## The Façade Greets Her Royal Highness
Facade's smile masks a hunter's gaze. A Minister loses his last scrap of dignity. And in the center of the storm—the Princess does not move.
[ To Be Continued ]
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