Chapter 74

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Translator: Harry Potta

Chapter: 74

Chapter Title: The Crown I'll Take from You

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‘Is this little bitch deliberately trying to get under my skin?’

But seeing the genuine look of relief in her eyes, it didn’t seem like she was mocking her.

Upon spotting Medea’s outfit and the carriage waiting outside, Catherine forced a gentle tone.

“What brings Your Highness out for a trip today?”

“Oh, there’s a play in District 2 that I’m going to see. Grandmother heard it was fun and told me to go watch it.”

Medea drooped her eyebrows again.

“It would’ve been great if Birna could come along too.”

Catherine bit the inside of her cheek and barely managed a smile.

Every time her daughter’s name came out of Medea’s mouth, a fire raged inside her.

“Don’t worry too much about Birna, Your Highness. She should be back right around when the delegation arrives. A mother can’t bear to be away from her child for too long, after all.”

She went on to gush about how much she cherished and loved Birna.

It was a petty ploy, but she wanted to see Medea—who had no mother of her own—green with envy.

Yet the princess didn’t look thirsty for it at all. Instead, she said something utterly out of left field.

“Oh dear, that day’s already almost here. I’m worried about how to receive this delegation. The late minister was so good at that sort of thing.”

“Pardon?”

“Etienne, I mean. For someone so healthy to go just like that in an instant... I never saw it coming. I should’ve at least sent a physician if I’d known.”

Catherine flinched, caught off guard.

“......Please don’t worry too much, Your Highness. At the minister’s age, it’s not uncommon for one’s condition to deteriorate suddenly in just a day or two.”

She quickly regained her composure.

“If anything, I’m more concerned about the former princess.”

A look of worry clouded the beautiful noblewoman’s face, delicate as a flower petal.

“One never knows what fate has in store. Always be extra careful, Your Highness. If anything unfortunate were to happen to someone as precious as you, this aunt of yours wouldn’t be able to bear it.”

It was a concern laced with a sinister undertone.

“You’re right, Aunt. Even the minister—who could make birds fall from the sky—passed away, so I must never forget your advice.”

Medea left with a fresh, bright smile.

‘......Yes, enjoy it while you can. Your luxuries won’t last much longer.’

Catherine glared at the princess’s departing carriage until it vanished from sight, her eyes bloodshot, then whipped around.

Baldina’s District 2, downtown.

The play was held in a massive theater at the heart of Baldina’s District 2.

The VIP seats on the third floor, reserved for honored guests, were shrouded in thick curtains.

From the VIP seats, the stage and actors were visible at a glance, but the structure made it hard to peer inside from the stage or other seats—a design especially favored by guests who preferred anonymity.

The curtain rose on the play.

As the main characters began appearing one by one, a sleek woman emerged from behind the curtain.

“I’ve come to escort Your Highness.”

She moved without a sound, her bow graceful yet deferential.

‘One of Facade’s shadows, I presume.’

Medea gave a small nod.

“Saya, you stay here.”

“Yes, ma’am. Don’t worry, Your Highness! No one will even know you’re here—or that you’re around at all.”

Leaving Saya behind with her fist pumped determinedly, Medea followed the woman with Neril.

They passed through a narrow passage hidden behind the VIP curtain.

Finally, a door opened, flooding the space with bright light.

A luxurious mahogany interior came into view.

A cheerful man with straw-blond hair stood with arms spread wide, as if he’d been waiting for them.

“Welcome, Your Highness!”

The light from behind reflected off his wide grin, illuminating the faint scar on Garo’s cheek.

Neril kept her hand poised near her sword hilt, ever vigilant.

“Sir Garo.”

Medea nodded.

At the antique round table, Garo and Cezare sat on one side, while Medea and Neril took the opposite.

“How’s the wound? I heard you saved one of my men last time.”

Garo placed a hand over his chest and bowed politely, the picture of a leader who valued his subordinates.

“I should’ve come to thank Your Highness first thing myself.”

Medea looked past Garo to Cezare.

His well-shaped lips curved.

“Enough. She already knows.”

Knows what? Garo’s eyes widened.

Then, spotting the princess seated before him, he gaped in realization.

“Boss. You don’t mean... you told her everything?”

“She already knew.”

Cezare turned to face Medea squarely.

Her skin was pale as porcelain, her arms slender. Her hair shimmered like moonlight on water.

No one would imagine this delicate girl was the same person who’d pierced the Hydra’s neck with a crossbow bolt that day.

Her resolute gaze. Her unhesitating movements. Her astonishing ingenuity.

Every action the princess had taken that day was seared into his memory like a brand.

“So, why did my benefactor want to see me? Have you thought of the ‘reward’ you’d like?”

“I want to make a deal with Facade.”

Medea signaled to Neril.

With the precise motion of a knight, Neril placed a heavy pouch on the table.

“If you want a private chat, I don’t mind.”

“No need.”

Medea glanced at Garo.

He was the face of Facade, traveling in place of the leader at times. He’d find out about this anyway.

“There’s something I’d like your mercenaries to handle.”

Garo replied swiftly.

“Support for the king on the battlefield, perhaps? We did turn down Sir Sise’s request once before... but if it’s Your Highness asking, we’ll do our best.”

“No, I’m not sending you to the plains.”

Cezare raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

“Go on. The princess—and the king on the battlefield—could certainly use new weapons.”

It was also a jab at the dagger Medea had returned to him.

Neril unrolled the map she’d brought.

Medea’s pale hand placed a small flag on a spot in the western part of the map.

“The Rasai tribe’s grain depot is here. Soon, a supply convoy will depart from Osorf.”

The midpoint between Osorf and the western plains where the war was raging.

“Here. And here.”

Medea tapped the flags. Snap—they broke.

“I want Facade to hit them and burn the grain stores.”

All of it—the stockpiled reserves and the incoming supplies.

“......”

A tense silence filled the room at the princess’s words.

“Your Highness, are you trying to hasten the war?”

“Yes.”

“Cutting off the enemy’s supply lines is the right move to end it quickly, but...”

Garo looked to Cezare for guidance.

Cezare stared calmly at the map, unsurprised.

His golden eyes, depthless, slowly shifted to Medea.

“Princess, weren’t you curious about me back then?”

A straight finger tapped the white half-mask she wore.

“Did you have the leisure to casually remove my mask while you were being chased?”

Even at the sudden question, Medea instantly knew what he meant and answered indifferently.

“......”

He promptly turned and poured a warm cup of tea. It was a clear herbal brew.

Like recognizes like, and Cezare saw the girl before him for what she was.

People like her never acted rashly.

From establishing her position as the neglected princess to silently severing the Regent Duke’s arm—none of it strayed from her calculations.

‘But she saved me.’

That surely hadn’t been part of her plan.

The fact that he’d become an unexpected variable in her scheme amused him greatly—and satisfied him, too.

So, it wasn’t strange for him to make an exception in return, was it?

A soft tea aroma wafted through the chilly room.

“Fine. Facade will provide that ‘reward.’ But on one condition.”

Medea frowned at the vague response.

“Give me a clear answer first. The condition can come after—”

At that moment, something sweet slipped into her mouth.

“Three bites. Then I’ll answer.”

He’d brazenly scooped up some custard pie and fed it to her.