Rise of the Unfavored Princess

Chapter 161

Chapter 161: Ch. 160: Dog Sh*t

Do you know that feeling when you crest over the edge of a roller coaster? Your stomach bottoms out and all your senses scream that you are in danger, but in actuality, your butt is firmly strapped into the well-regulated ride with a large seatbelt across your lap to hold you in place and you are perfectly safe.

Or how about that feeling when you accidentally step in dog shit and it just won’t come off your shoe? That’s exactly the kind of situation I’ve found myself in.

The untimely death of a certain Lord Bromely was kept under wraps, with the entire family filing out of the Chrysanthemum Opera House in our typical style of smiles and waves. But underneath, madness is brewing.

“Dead?” Emma marvels a few hours later from the comfort of my luxurious palace dwellings, a golden cage that glitters even under the candlelight that surrounds us. “By your hand, your highness?”

“Not quite. But it does appear that way,” I muse. Both Emma and Marie are still reeling from the events I’ve just described to them. One is languidly perched on the arm of a chair like a jungle cat while Marie paces around the empty spaces in the sitting room.

“If I may ask, why did you decide to stab him in the first place?” Marie asks from the side. Emma says nothing, but I’m certain she is wondering the same. I ponder my hotheaded decision as well, one that Sage agreed to far too easily in retrospect. A decision motivated by fear, frustration, and a dark greed that I’d prefer not to acknowledge.

“It’s... uh... complicated,” I simply answer. In retrospect, my plan had rather childish and impulsive, borne of pent up emotions wreaking havoc on my mental state. “But what’s odd is that they’d been fighting before I came. Why the heck were they fighting in the hall?”

.....

It’s like I’m holding a dozen puzzle pieces and all that’s left is for me to put them together.

The death of a key figure like Lord Bromely will be like a stone falling into still waters, sending ripples out far and wide. These waters run deep and now, whether I like it or not, the fish have all been startled. Am I the bait? And if so, just who am I meant to lure in?

I frown to myself. I’d rather be the fisherman than the bait. After all, the bait must be eaten for the fish to be caught.

“You seem awfully calm, your highness,” Marie remarks as she helps a serving maid unload hot chocolate and biscuits onto a nearby table. Ironically, the biscuits that the chefs impeccably fashion into fun shapes fit for a young girl, are shaped like fish today.

“Well, I do have some practice in being falsely accused of murder,” I dryly answer. Why do these false murder cases always happen before my birthday?

Marie misreads my sarcasm for despair, patting me gently on the back to comfort me. “There, there. Don’t mind what he said. You are not cursed, your highness. You are the promised child.”

“Of everything the batty old man uttered, I would say that was the truest,” I snort, although I do feel mollified at being babied a little bit. Since I was dragged into the palace, I can’t seem to stop finding myself in all sorts of trouble, and Marie has been by my side for most of it. “But a lot of what he said was nonsense as well. He spoke of the Devourer already lurking by my side and about how my death would be some sort of sacrifice.”

Marie murmurs a short Helionic prayer of protection, shaking her head at the thought. I’m much less phased as I’ve been staring down the barrel of my mortality for my whole life with the possibility of everything ending when I’m 16. Which begs the question, could the sacrifice he speaks of be in reference to my potentially incoming death?

“What I’m also curious about now is the connection between the empress and Lord Bromely. She appeared a touch distressed at the sight of his dead body. I did not think she possessed such emotion within herself.” I scratch my head, utterly perplexed at yet another puzzle piece.

“Sleeping beasts,” Emma mutters, too quietly for me to hear.

“What was that?” I ask.

“Sleeping beasts, your highness,” she repeats with a wary look, aptly using the analogy I taught her. “You have awoken those sleeping beasts.”

I know that Emma is referencing the strange conspiracy I had left unearthed a few short weeks ago.

“So it seems.” The mood in the room is quite somber as if someone died.

“What’s next? You won’t have to run away again will you?” Marie worries.

“Running away isn’t an option anymore,” I tell my nursemaid, grimly thinking of the guard erected before the hidey hole I used to constantly crawl out of. Perhaps I’ve swum in deeper than I can handle. These next few days and weeks will determine whether I sink or swim. “However, running towards the problem may be...”

My voice trails off and an urge I’ve been trying to bury all evening rises to the surface.

“What if...” I drawl slowly as my mind calculates the risks and rewards, “this is an opportunity?” After all, doesn’t chaos breed such?

Emma gives me a flat stare, seeming to read my underlying intentions like a book. “You wanted this.” Bromely out of the picture. Katya in distress. The social season coming back in full swing right at this sensitive time.

“It’s beneficial,” I say, not denying her claim. “But very dangerous. However, I ought to be a good bait and catch a few, big fish.”

“Very dangerous,” Emma corrects. “It could be a trap. What happened to escaping from the capital in a few years time?”

“Escaping?” I let out a humorless chuckle, recalling the way the vase shard had sunk into Lord Bromely’s chest like a knife through butter. “Look at me, Emma. My likeness is painted for good luck. People travel thousands of miles just to be healed by my hand. There is no more escaping for me. Not in a few years time. Not... ever.”

Facing the bitter truth has never been more difficult. But I can’t keep clinging onto the dream that carried me through my first few years of hardship as a princes.

My hands tighten around the tea cup as I grudgingly add, “So since I can’t leave, I might as well make my stay as comfortable as possible.”

“What do we do next?” She doesn’t know it, but the ‘we’ is incredibly comforting.

I think of Augustus’ disappointment, Julian’s amusement, and Katya’s distress.

“We first play the card people expect me to play. Deny, deny, deny,” I utter slowly. My stomach bottoms out like I’m walking on a tight rope, teetering over certain death either by the hands of the empress or my own miscalculation. “Then, we’ll bring in a new card they won’t expect.”

The only two people in the world that I can say I trust cock their heads to the side in confusion. But a few hours later, Marie is wrapping a blanket tightly around my trembling form, while Emma puts a cold compress on my forehead.

“It’s shock,” Marie tells Augustus’ scowling face. Surprisingly, he’s the first visitor I’ve had after being caught redhanded at a crime scene that I indirectly created. “The princess had a great fright from last night and has been in such a state for hours.”

I’m sweating under the heavy blanket, but remain committed to my performance nonetheless. I stare off into the distance as if still reminiscing on the terrible murder I witnessed.

Augustus steps around her, coming to the side of my bed and looming over me.

“Winter?” he calls, a thread of irritation in his tone.

I stare off into the distance, allowing the shivers to rack my body fully.

“She is too young to handle such a fright. Even my nephew who has a few years on her would be devastated to go through such a tragedy,” Marie continues, wiping away a few tears from her already red eyes. I have to remember to give her a raise for her stellar performance.

“No. She’s different,” Augustus says as he takes a seat next to the bed. “We’re different.”

The last sentence he says directly to me in the bed.

“Which is how I know you are acting right now. The girl who held my letter opener to her neck and has seen the many faces of death at the war front would not be frightened by yet another one,” he sighs.

“Everyone out.”

“But, your highness, she-” Marie tries to politely argue.

“I need a moment alone with my sister,” he presses, cutting her off. I staring intently at the corner of my room so I cannot see them leave, but I hear the door softly click shut behind them.

“I thought I could count on you,” Augustus says quietly. I can hear nothing but his breathing and the constant tick of a clock.

I thought I could count on you, I reply in my head. Outwardly, I continue shivering like I’m in Antarctica. He’s right by my side, but Augustus feels a thousand miles away from me. I suppose it’s the numerous secrets between us, starting of course with the fact that I’m not of this world.

“I just- I don’t-” he stutters, before finding the word that encapsulated all of them. “Why? Why, Winter? You just killed someone! In cold blood! That is wrong”

From his shock, one would not know that he has taken lives himself, but I suppose this hypocritically gentle nature is why he is destined to be the male lead. He sits there for a few more minutes, occasionally shifting in his seat but saying nothing. A crick forms in my neck as I wait for him to say the words I know he’s holding back. If I could, I would turn around and shake him until he said what was on his mind. But finally, Augustus thaws and cracks open.

“I looked into that man, the one that you killed,” he begins. My ears prick up.

“He... He was once very important to Father. But then, somehow, he fell out of Father’s good graces and became a criminal.” The corner of my mouth quirks up at the tame description of Lord Bromely ‘the Kingmaker’.

“Apparently, he was once my godfather. Can you believe that?” he scoffs. I can believe it.

Augustus lets out a long sigh. “Actually, I’m not that mad at you. It’s just... I don’t want you to become a part of this mess. I don’t want you to get your hands dirty as well. That sort of burden should fall on me and me alone.”

I laugh mirthlessly on the inside. My hands have been dirty ever since I stepped foot in the palace. If it weren’t for my own significant efforts in trying to befriend Augustus, would he still feel this same misplaced guilt and duty towards me? Or would he have continued watching me sink into the quagmire of imperial politics along with everyone else?

The crown prince and I sit together as his words marinate. But they have the opposite effect intended, only further sowing the seeds of my determination to take advantage of this current situation.

“Sometimes you just have to stop fighting,” Augustus cautions. “It’s okay not to fight all the time. That is the first thing you learns in a swordsmanship class. Fighting should be a last resort, not the first. Speaking to you, not as your brother, but as a crown prince, there are others ways to go about getting what you want without engaging in such senseless cruelty.” This time I really do roll my eyes at his cheesy but well meaning words. He reminds me of the trust fund kids I saw at university, who did not come from a life of hardship and could not possibly fathom why I preferred to study my butt off rather than party until I blacked out.

Fighting is all I’ve done my whole life, both of them.

Fight to do well in school so my mother’s efforts wouldn’t be wasted. Fight to survive in a new world that was and still is trying to kill me. I scoff and it come out like a cough. If I stopped fighting, I would drown or be drowned. Even when I’m just minding my business, trouble just seems to like to park itself on my doorstep.

Augustus has scarcely left, freeing me from my traumatized act, before my nursemaid replaces his presence with her own.

“Your highness!” Marie rushes back in, dropping into a hasty curtsy before my surprised eyes. The urgency in her tone alarms me as she is rarely so startled.

“What is it?” I wince as my sudden movement to look at her causes the crick in my neck to finally release.

“The empress!” she gasps out, her hands on her knees. “She is here!”