The four men, including Marquis Moss, meticulously inspected the already ransacked room. There were no real guards to protect the princess, not even a dagger for her to defend herself with. Everything had gone according to plan.

Finally, one last man entered the room. The moment he appeared, the others in the room turned to him and bowed their heads in unison.

‘This must be the leader of the rebellion.’

Shaking violently, Robellia raised her head to look at the man.

His hair was almost white, a pale grey. Tall and thin, his face had a sharpness that matched his commanding presence. If he was the leader of the rebellion, he surely had his reasons, but Robellia had never seen this man before. Beneath his white hair, piercing violet eyes fixed on her as if trying to see through her very soul.

“You.”

The man’s eyebrows twitched at her soft utterance. He soon shifted his gaze, as if losing interest, and began to scan the room.

Despite her age, the Princess’s quarters still held remnants of her childhood – dolls and trinkets sat in their places, untouched. The man walked over to a cupboard, picked up one of the dolls, examined it briefly, then tossed it carelessly aside.

“Kill her.”

This time Robellia spoke more clearly.

“Do it.”

She knew her words would make no difference. Her fate was sealed whether she spoke or remained silent.

Robellia had spent her life torn between wanting to die and wanting to live. But now she realised that this might be her last chance to really die. She knew better than anyone what kind of life awaited those who did not die when they should.

The man who had been watching her with an air of intrigue tilted his chin slightly, a gesture to his subordinates.

“Ugh…!” 

One of the knights grabbed Robellia roughly by the shoulders, forcing her to stand. The white-haired man came closer, towering over her. His gaze, more curious than contemptuous, regarded her as if she were an interesting animal.

Robellia shook violently and lowered her head to avoid his gaze. She didn’t feel humiliated by this treatment – it was no worse than the shame she had carried all her life, simply for being the Emperor’s daughter, the so-called princess of this Empire.

Just as she opened her mouth to ask something, the man moved faster. His gloved finger, wet with some unknown substance, pressed firmly against her lips before pulling back.

Instinctively, Robellia raised a hand to wipe her mouth. When she saw the red smear on her fingers, her stomach churned violently. 

“Ugh… ugh!” 

Before she could retch, the man clamped his hand over her mouth. Robellia’s wide, horrified eyes fell on his hand, covered in blood-soaked leather gloves whose original colour was impossible to discern. Her pale face was streaked with crimson as the blood seeped into her skin.

The man’s lips curled into a slight grin. 

“Hello, Robellia.”

The man spoke in a strangely friendly, almost childlike tone, as if greeting an old acquaintance. Even the slight curve of his lips seemed genuinely warm, leaving Robellia momentarily confused. She blinked, unable to comprehend the situation.

“Hm. That’s disappointing.”

The man said, letting go of her face. He rubbed his chin as if genuinely troubled, completely unaffected by the blood smeared across his face and the metallic scent that hung heavily in the air.

“Oh, I see. So many people have been thrown to the wolves that you won’t remember me.”

He said, his voice tinged with mock amusement. His expression was one of unbridled glee, a grin that made Robellia’s heart pound with fear.

Then, as she stared at him, she realised. The silver hair, now dull and lifeless, and the features once so delicate and refined – she recognised him.

“Akan…!”

The name had barely escaped her lips when her jaw was clamped shut again. This time it wasn’t the man’s bloody glove, but the cold, unyielding metal of a gauntlet from the knight standing behind her. The knight’s swift action was efficient, but Akan’s displeasure was evident as his brow furrowed.

Robellia, her eyes wide with shock, struggled to breathe through her nose, her chest heaving as she processed what she had just seen and said.

Marquis Moss stepped in, interrupting their tense reunion.

“Allow me to explain. Your father and brother are dead, Robellia.”

Robellia, her mouth still tightly shut, simply nodded. It wasn’t surprising news; she had expected it. What surprised her was how little it affected her. She hadn’t prayed for her salvation in years.

Meanwhile, Akan wandered around the room, uninterested in the conversation. He picked up trinkets – dolls, cards, poetry books – and threw them carelessly on the floor, as if they were meaningless to him.

Marquis Moss raised an eyebrow, apparently intrigued by Robellia’s lack of reaction.

“You don’t seem particularly shocked. Your other siblings, those who weren’t sent abroad, will soon follow your father to the grave.”

Even this grim statement didn’t move Robellia. Those siblings were practically strangers to her, and she doubted they would have cared about her survival. At best, they might have been surprised by the death of the Emperor and the Crown Prince – but her own fate? Irrelevant.

Marquis Moss lowered his voice slightly as he continued. 

“Still, you’ll live a little longer than they will. For now, you’re still useful.”

‘So I’m to be used again.’

By her father, by her brother, and now even by the rebels. It was amazing how many people had found her “useful”. But that wasn’t a pressing concern for Robellia at the moment.

All her thoughts were with Akan. Akan Roxas was alive. Though she knew he had been spared and sold into slavery, she had never believed he could have survived for so long, especially after learning how slaves were treated. Yet here he was.

She stole glances at him, watching his furrowed brow, the dissatisfaction etched into his features. Was Akan involved in this rebellion too?

“If you promise to be quiet, we’ll let you speak. Do you understand?”

Robellia, already struggling for breath, nodded fervently. The cold gauntlet released her face and she immediately gasped for air. Even this simple action she performed quietly, afraid to make a sound that might provoke them.

As she tried to catch her breath, Akan moved towards the door, apparently preparing to leave. Panic gripped Robellia. She hastily opened her mouth to shout.

“Aka-Ack!”

Thud!

The blow to her stomach was brutal, knocking her to the ground. Pain shot through her, and though she tried to breathe, she couldn’t. Her mouth opened wide, but no air came in. A choked, rasping sound forced its way from her throat.

Clutching her stomach, Robellia put a hand over her mouth and struggled to control her breathing through her nose. Each shallow breath burned as she desperately tried to stabilise herself.

Tears streamed down Robellia’s face, blurring her vision and making it difficult to see. Through her blurred vision, she caught a glimpse of Akan’s face as he turned towards her. His expression was impassive, as if nothing had happened. Beside him, Marquis Moss clicked his tongue in contempt.

The knight who had struck her waved his hand dismissively, and the sound of metal gauntlets creaking filled the room. Robellia looked down at her stomach, struggling to comprehend what had just happened. Her dress, a pale blue, now bore the bloody imprint of a fist. Tears continued to stream down her face, soaking into the fabric.

“I’ll take care of this. You may go.”

Akan, who was about to leave, paused to add a final instruction. 

“If she still can’t follow instructions, ruin her throat. Her tongue might still be useful.”

Bang!

The door slammed behind them.

Surprisingly, Robellia was left in the Princess’s quarters. Marquis Moss, who had stayed behind, laid down the rules for her.

“The only words you are allowed to say are ‘yes’ and ‘no’. Even then, only in response to direct questions. Do you understand?”