Chapter 12

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Translator: Harry Potta

Chapter: 12

Chapter Title: The Lily Palace's Treasured Nuisance (4)

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Petria opened the window, and a breeze blew in. The wind of Torkan carried a salty tang mingled with a faint fishy scent.

Roxiana still found this air utterly foreign, nothing like the atmosphere back in Kanta Kingdom.

Kanta Kingdom lay deep in the continent's heart, far from any sea. Its capital, Tefus City, was traversed by the mighty Bebe River. Street vendors crowded the riverbanks, and as the sun dipped below the horizon, their flickering lights sparkled like captured starlight, a sight of breathtaking beauty.

Roxiana had adored that view with all her heart.

Even near the Bebe River, a watery scent hung in the air—but it was nothing like the aroma here. Petria had explained that this briny, salty smell came from the sea.

‘The sea...’

Roxiana had never laid eyes on the ocean. Before being sold into slavery, she had been loaded onto a merchant ship, but confined inside a crate, she never glimpsed the world outside.

-“The sea is truly beautiful. When you stand on the shore, it looks like the water and sky are stitched together. Gazing at it clears your soul right up. Someday, Lady Roxiana, you should go see it for yourself. It’ll lift your spirits.”

What would it feel like, that seam where sea met sky?

The spark of curiosity bloomed briefly before scattering like ash.

‘What good would knowing do? What good seeing? Even if I learned of it or beheld it, there’d be no one left to share it with. What then—hoard it all in my eyes alone?’

Roxiana pulled her gaze from the window and shut her eyes.

Days had passed without a morsel of food. She had tried for Petria’s sake, not wanting to worry her, but even swallowing a sip of water felt impossible. The rare spoonful of soup she managed only brought nausea surging back up, forcing her to retch it out.

Her family wandered lost in that dark well, denied any peace—how could she alone shove food past her lips? Each attempt conjured fragments of her parents trapped in that box, twisting her gut into knots.

That horrific scene, so vivid it clawed at her mind. Elise’s voice, lashing like a whip.

-“We tossed them in the well and sealed the entrance tight. Even when spring comes, they’ll never catch the scent of Adelia flowers!”

Every word sliced like a honed blade into her core. Prolonged hunger, mounting pain, and crushing grief conspired to ravage her health at a terrifying pace.

Each time she closed her eyes in bed, her body seemed to sink into the plush mattress, swallowed by darkness. And without fail, the voices came.

A chorus that sounded like one, those familiar tones from her childhood—they kept intruding, nagging at her.

-‘Loti, I get how you feel, but at least sip some water. Humans can’t survive without it.’

-‘Soon enough, you won’t be able to drink from this land’s waters. Stock up while you can.’

-‘Or come out to the garden, Loti. We’ll hold you close.’

-‘Loti, don’t die. You’re the only human left we can talk to.’

Roxiana yearned to scream at them—stop calling me Loti! Don’t use that tender nickname my family cherished, don’t summon ghosts of a world gone forever.

But she lacked even the strength for that, so she endured the aching, mournful, irritating murmur.

As her eyes stayed shut, a savory, sweet aroma flooded the room. Mealtime again, it seemed.

A moment others might eagerly await felt like torment to Roxiana. Petria’s hopeful gaze, the cooks’ devoted efforts poured into every dish, the toil of farmers and fishers who grew and caught the ingredients—it all bore down on her like an unbearable weight.

“Lady Roxiana, the cooks must have outdone themselves today.”

Petria kept her cheer steady, undeterred by the silence.

“Just look at this. It looks absolutely delicious.”

Sorry to ignore even that, Roxiana mustered the effort to turn her head. Layered trolleys wheeled into the bedroom brimmed with an array of dishes.

Crisply roasted quail, a rich soup packed with clams and grilled fish, fresh salad drizzled with tangy fruit dressing, soft bread baked lush with butter, cheese, milk, jam, fruits...

A feast of delicacies no ordinary soul could dream of graced the table.

“I’m sorry, Petria. I...”

Nausea welled up. Roxiana clapped a hand over her mouth. Seeing her fight it down, Petria’s brows drooped in pity.

She had been gaunt when first glimpsed days ago, but now she was skeletal. The bones protruding from her forearms and the backs of her hands looked heartbreakingly frail.

If only she could keep down a few spoonfuls of soup—but Roxiana couldn’t manage even a sip of water. It wasn’t defiance; her body rejected everything on instinct. No one could fault her for it.

Petria wheeled the trolley back out and spotted Floyd standing in the reception room just outside the bedroom.

“Greetings, Your Highness.”

Petria dipped into a swift bow, knees bending slightly. Floyd barely registered it, his eyes fixed on the untouched bounty atop the trolley.

“The Princess hasn’t eaten a thing?”

“Yes, Your Highness. Her grief seems overwhelming...”

“How many days?”

Petria’s heart skipped. Admitting it had been since day one might invite wrath, but she spoke true.

“Nothing since the first day. Even the spoonful of soup she tried came right back up. She hasn’t kept down so much as a sip of water.”

“Not even water all this time?”

“No, Your Highness.”

Floyd squeezed his eyes shut, reining in his temper. A scorching gust swept past Petria—not hot enough to burn, thank goodness, but she recoiled all the same.

Floyd snatched a fruit-laden tray from the trolley and strode into the bedroom.

Roxiana lay abed with eyes closed, her sunken cheeks and pallid lips lending her the look of a corpse.

He set the tray on the bedside table and spoke.

“Princess.”

His voice drew her eyes open. Her pupils roamed blankly before settling on him.

She stared vacantly for a moment, as if failing to place him, then dragged her weakened body upright and slid from the bed.

Her frame emerged from beneath the covers. Even draped in a gown, her emaciation was starkly apparent.

Shocked by that brittle form, liable to shatter at a touch, Floyd didn’t register her actions until she dropped to her knees and pressed her forehead to the floor.

“Your slave awaits her master’s command.”

Her voice was a fragile thread, liable to unravel before it reached his ears.

Floyd could scarcely believe it. She trembled with the mere effort of prostrating herself—yet here she was, pulling this stunt. No one had asked for it.

“Are you mocking me? Or trying to stoke my rage on purpose?”

Roxiana offered no reply. Her platinum tresses splayed haphazardly across the rug grated on his nerves.

Floyd seized her arm roughly, hauled her up, and planted her back on the bed.

“Pull this once more, Princess, and I truly will lose my temper.”

He spat the warning like a threat, but the eyes she lifted to him held steady, unshaken.

“I hear you’re refusing food. Planning to starve yourself to death?”

Again, silence.

What a stubborn fool.

“Think I’ll rage and dump your corpse anywhere if you waste away here? Or did you bribe someone—promise to have you pitched into the sea the moment you croak? If so, why drag it out? Bite your tongue instead—quicker than starving!”

Floyd’s voice climbed with each word, but Roxiana’s face remained an emotionless mask, doll-like and serene. That lack of fear, of sorrow—it scrambled his thoughts into chaos.

She merely sat there in stillness, so why did the version of her in his mind thrash so wildly?

She was the one who’d lost her kingdom, her kin—she should be the one fuming. Why was he the only one boiling over in fury?

Choked with ire, Floyd snatched a fruit from the tray at random. His grip crushed the ripe orange, juice spilling down his bronze-skinned hand.

He gripped her delicate chin, tilting it up, and smeared his finger across her lips. The dripping nectar trailed along, moistening her parched mouth.

Roxiana clenched her lips to refuse, but the sweet-tart juice seeped through the tiniest gap, teasing her tongue. Her body, which had spurned even water, stirred traitorously at the fruit’s allure.

His finger, pulp-clinging, slipped between her parted lips. He worked the morsels into her mouth as he spoke.

“Looks like your maid’s fallen down on the job. Have to pry your mouth open and feed you myself.”

His mocking tone made Roxiana clamp down instinctively. Her front teeth sank hard into the intruding finger, but he didn’t so much as twitch an eyebrow.

“That’s it, Princess. Chew my finger if you must. Swallow something—anything—so you can fire back at my wretched taunts. Claw up my face while you’re at it.”

Only then did she grasp it: he was trying to provoke her anger, to kindle some spark of will to live. After all, even humiliation demanded a desire to endure.