Chapter 27

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Translator: Harry Potta

Chapter: 27

Chapter Title: Rain-Soaked Resolve

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He looked utterly powerless, staggering before barely propping himself up with his arms against the floor.

'Even a newborn foal would have more strength than that.'

His body was worthless compared to his somewhat useful mind. A pathetic expression flickered across his golden eyes.

To end up like that after just three days—if this were a battlefield, he'd already be dead, fertilizer for a pile of corpses.

At that moment, something jarring caught his eye at the fence surrounding the chapel courtyard.

A lump like a wild boar was waddling along.

Cezare's trained senses picked up their conversation.

"You mustn't approach."

"Hey now. It'll only take a moment!"

"Minister! What is the meaning of this rudeness?"

While the servants dealt with the maids trying to block him, the princess was left completely exposed.

With surprising agility that belied his massive bulk, the lump quickened his pace.

The princess didn't stir, as if she heard nothing at all.

"Puhuuung~"

Spotting the princess, it snorted.

For some reason, Cezare felt intensely displeased.

A few small pebbles from a flowerpot on the windowsill vanished beneath his outstretched index finger.

"Argh!"

The lump shrieked as his calf was struck hard.

The impact felt like a massive boulder had rolled into him, buckling his knee and sending him tumbling down.

"Minister, are you all right?"

"Assassination! Someone's trying to kill me!"

Unlike his hysterical master, the servants were baffled, unable to find any trace of an attack.

"……."

"What's wrong?"

Sise sat up as the commotion reached them.

The remaining pebbles rolled back into the flowerpot with a tok under his hand.

"Nothing."

Cezare turned away, resuming his usual bored expression.

Shwaaa. Shwaaa.

By the time the three rose to leave, a fierce downpour was raging.

Sise had departed first due to urgent battlefield dispatches, leaving the two about to exit the palace.

"Did the sky spring a leak? It's pouring buckets."

Garo grumbled.

"Boss, wait here a sec. I'll fetch the carriage."

"Nah, I'll go with you."

"No, you stay put. I'll be right back."

Worried he might follow, Garo vanished into the rain in an instant.

Even Garo, who could shrug off a hail of daggers without flinching, occasionally treated Cezare like the crown prince he was.

As if not even raindrops were permissible on the precious body fated for the throne.

A throne that might no longer be Cezare's, at that.

"……."

A bitter taste rose in his throat.

Ignoring Garo's instructions, Cezare walked alone into the rain.

He didn't bother shaking off the umbrella Garo had shoved between his arm and side.

Tadak tadak. The sound of rain filled the world.

Then, his steps halted.

Beneath his silver mask, golden eyes spotted a figure kneeling before the statue.

The pounding rain soaked the girl from head to toe.

Rainwater streamed endlessly down her face, pale to the point of ashen.

Yet the princess didn't collapse despite swaying. Veins bulged on the back of her hand pressed to the floor.

Blood burst from her clenched teeth.

Soon, diluted pink droplets mingled with the rain and fell beneath the white stone.

Thanks to Garo's constant chatter, Cezare had come to know this little princess quite well.

"Cezare. Are you truly of my blood?"

Her harsh fate—surrounded by enemies, even threatened by blood kin—felt strangely familiar.

"I won't lose. I'll survive."

The image of the girl enduring alone overlaid faded memories of someone else.

"Hngh!"

The princess's arm buckled against the white stone.

As her body pitched forward, Cezare took a step closer—unconsciously, absurdly so.

He saw her grit her teeth.

Straining both arms, she pushed herself up. The bulging veins screamed her unyielding will.

Then the princess lifted her head.

Her wet eyes spotted Marchioness Pinatelli standing behind the chapel and quickly lowered again.

Cezare stepped back. He caught the smile tugging at her lips.

"What an entertaining play."

Late laughter burst from him.

Even he, who had seen through her scheme, had drawn near—what chance did others have?

Cezare had to admit her ploy had a knack for drawing out human sympathy.

Medea had no idea someone was watching her and laughing.

She was pouring every ounce of strength into staying conscious amid the relentless downpour.

'Not yet, not yet. Hold on a little longer.'

Suddenly, the world grew quiet.

The rain battering her ears stopped. Medea startled and looked up.

Blocking the torrent was a large black umbrella placed before her.

'......Who?'

She glanced around.

But no one was in the empty chapel courtyard.

Queen Dowager Palace.

The Queen Dowager's expression soured as she heard Marchioness Pinatelli's report.

"Who does she take after to be so stubborn?"

It certainly wasn't her son, that much was sure.

"What on earth is she after, making such a fuss and causing all this trouble?"

The Queen Dowager clicked her tongue.

Marchioness Pinatelli gently wiped her hands with a cloth soaked in hot water as she spoke.

"Your Highness, do you remember the maid who offered to take the princess's punishment in her place?"

"You mean that insolent wench who dared interfere?"

"Yes. That maid, Neril, was the reason Your Highness clashed with the head maid. You struck her in anger when she nearly killed the girl."

The Queen Dowager furrowed her brow.

"Hah. What kind of princess stoops to such simplistic games with her inferiors?"

"But Your Highness, it turns out that girl was formerly in the late king's Royal Guard."

Pretending not to notice the wrinkled hand with the ring pause, Marchioness Pinatelli continued softly.

"To the princess, that maid is like the only remnant left by the late king. If I may speculate, her endurance isn't to defy Your Highness—it's to protect that girl."

She added that the princess had confined Neril to the Princess Palace.

"So no one can touch her easily. The late king's memory is like Your Highness's reverse scale—you can't back down as the Queen Dowager."

"……."

The Queen Dowager fell silent for a long while.

Her eldest son, gone in an instant, was like a nail lodged in her heart.

Pulling it out hurt; leaving it brought constant ache.

That made her granddaughter all the more hateful and resented...

"Hmph. Johan was the pinnacle of this nation. And all he left behind is that one measly maid? Don't talk nonsense."

Her tone was still curt, but far softer than before.

"That may be true for Your Highness. But you know how it is for the princess—no place to lean on."

Even when she hadn't taken the princess's hand, Marchioness Pinatelli had felt for her.

Perhaps because she had endured the world's cruelty after her family fell and she became an orphan.

"I too wandered lost for years after my husband left. But I was an adult then, and I had Your Highness."

"……."

"The princess was not so fortunate. How could I fathom losing both sky-high parents overnight at such a young age?"

"Are you blaming me now?"

The Queen Dowager glared, but the anger had drained away.

"Of course not. But Your Highness, if I may be so bold..."

Marchioness Pinatelli spoke carefully, with grave caution.

Her smile faded, her face solemn. The Queen Dowager nodded.

"Doesn't it seem odd that the head maid keeps slandering the princess? More than mere grudge over a beating..."

"……."

"It feels like there's another reason she needs to drag the princess down."

"......Come to think of it, it was strange she came to me 'for Medea's sake.' Even claiming close friendship with Catherine."

With the immediate resentment faded, the head maid's motives—barging in and escalating things—now seemed suspicious.

"So... Knowing you'd be angry, I took action first. I'll gladly accept your reprimand."

Marchioness Pinatelli offered a bundle of documents and bowed in apology.

Moments later.

"Quizin, you damned wretch!"

The table in the Queen Dowager Palace shook violently.