—

Akan was in a particularly bad mood that day. 

The plan to use a single test to deal with both Count Restio, who had interfered with the plans of Duke Mos, and Count Meserve, who had betrayed the Duke of Roxas, had proved to be underwhelming. The lack of results made it difficult to justify pursuing the matter further. 

Furthermore, the investigation into the nobles deeply involved in the slave trade was far from complete. The sheer number of those involved, both minor and major, was overwhelming. 

As if that weren’t enough to sour his already bad mood, it hit rock bottom when Marquis Pison demanded to check on the safety of Princess Robellia, whom the Emperor was supposedly “protecting”. 

Knowing that losing his temper would only backfire, Akan postponed the request and made his way to the princess’s palace. The murderous aura emanating from the Emperor made the servants recoil, watching him cautiously before quietly slipping out of sight. 

To outsiders, the new Emperor was still perceived as volatile and ill-tempered. Those within the palace, however, knew otherwise. The way he treated the less than human Princess Robellia showed just how cruel he really was. To expect an ounce of compassion from him was unthinkable. 

The empty corridor, rarely traversed, echoed with the sound of a soft, melodic voice singing. As Akan’s expression turned to a frown, thud, a dull sound abruptly silenced the song. But soon the soft notes began again, faint but persistent. 

Akan quickened his pace, his forehead furrowing deeper with each step. The closer he got to Robellia’s chambers, the clearer the singing became. The guards, equally puzzled by the unexpected melody, hurriedly opened the door. 

Inside, Robellia lay sprawled on the floor, surrounded by m*n with puzzled expressions. Even as she lay there, she hummed a song, her voice carrying a strange calm. It wasn’t until she saw Akan that her singing stopped. 

Irritated, Akan ran a hand through his hair, his annoyance evident as he spoke. 

“Are you mad?” 

The question was directed at the m*n, but none of them dared answer. For the past two hours, no matter how much they beat Robellia, she hadn’t stopped singing. In truth, it wouldn’t be wrong to say that she had gone mad.

Robellia picked herself up calmly. Under her nightgown, her limbs were covered in countless layers of bruises, a deep blue against her pale skin. 

“No…?” 

Robellia replied, as if she thought the question was directed at her. Her voice carried a slightly cheerful tone, almost as if she were in a good mood. Akan ran his hand through his hair again. Mental deterioration leading to moments of lucidity and madness was common. Still, this seemed a bit early for that. 

Akan was well aware of what slavers typically did in such situations. When someone’s mind softened like that, they would reinforce the image of a kind master. At the same time, they would subtly undermine their sense of self-worth, ultimately creating a submissive, willing slave. 

But even if Akan intended to break Robellia into a slave, he had no interest in using such conventional methods. After all, once someone accepted their role as a slave, they might lose their dignity as a human being, but they wouldn’t suffer in the same way. 

Akan had no intention of saving Robellia. 

“Come here.” 

Instead of taking Robellia through the locked main door, Akan led her down the corridor to the dressing room. Inside, the dressing room still contained the clothes and dressing table that Robellia had once used as a princess.

Even as the servants Akan had summoned entered the room, Robellia could only blink in confusion, unable to comprehend the situation.

“Wash her and dress her. Properly.”

Without a word, the maids began to prepare Robellia. They cleaned her bruised body thoroughly, washed her tangled hair, unkempt for so long, and applied fragrant oil before brushing it smooth.

Then they dressed her in a silk slip, an immaculate white petticoat and a blue gown embroidered with gold designs. Because she had lost so much weight, the dress hung loosely, and the waistbands had to be tightened as much as possible.

Akan watched in silence as the maids braided Robellia’s hair neatly. Fortunately, her face wasn’t too scarred at the moment. With a light layer of make-up, it wasn’t noticeable unless looked at up close. Any weight loss could easily be attributed to the turbulent political situation.

“When you’re finished, stand up.” 

Despite Akan’s command, Robellia just blinked and stared at the mirror. It reflected the image of a noble princess – a little thinner and paler, but still regal. Even she could hardly believe that underneath the gown her body was covered in bruises, her battered flesh worn and damaged. She looked disturbingly normal.

The stark contrast was unbearable for Robellia. It was as if her reflection revealed the full extent of her fall, the distance between what she once was and what she had become. Even as Akan pulled her to her feet and led her out of the room, Robellia couldn’t bring herself to smile or cry.

The next place Akan took her was the dining room, as usual. There was only one chair at the long table, as usual. As Robellia instinctively moved towards her usual corner, Akan stopped her.

She hesitated, wondering if she should take off the fine clothes she had just put on. But instead of what she feared, Akan led her to the ornate chair he usually occupied. Forcing her to sit down, Akan gestured and the servants began to bring out dishes.

The food was untouched, pristine and meticulously prepared. At the lavishly set table, with its clean utensils and shining plates, Robellia sat in silent amazement. This extravagant scene had once seemed so normal to her, but now she couldn’t make sense of it. Still, even with the questions swirling in her head, she didn’t dare speak.

“Eat.”

Why? Even at Akan’s words, Robellia hesitated. 

After a long moment of uncertainty, she finally steeled herself and reached for the piece of meat with her bare hand, only to pull it back in surprise, almost instinctively. She realised she couldn’t remember how to use a fork and knife, tools she had known all her life. With clumsy hands, she fumbled with the utensils. 

Warm steam rose from the freshly prepared food. Her trembling hands betrayed her unease as Robellia tentatively picked up a silver spoon and brought it to the soup.

Slurp.

As the warm, savoury liquid slid into her mouth, she was shocked to find saliva pooling beneath her tongue. She had thought she had long forgotten the pleasure of taste. Losing all restraint, Robellia began to devour the soup with desperate haste. 

“Eat slowly. You can finish it all.”

Akan said, almost like a servant, as he brought her bowl after bowl and placed them in front of her. 

Though she kept glancing nervously at Akan, Robellia ate the food before her voraciously. It was the same food she ate regularly, except for the ones that were still steaming hot. Properly dressed and seated at a table, however, the experience was quite different. 

Akan watched Robellia as she ate. It was a simple test, and Robellia had passed it with flying colours. Clothes, a proper meal, kind words – at this point one might expect her to become suspicious or unable to resist asking questions. But Robellia remained silent, as if she had forgotten how to speak altogether. 

“Is it good?” 

“Yes.”

Robellia replied, her mouth full of chewed flesh. Akan’s lips curved into a smile. The human mind is, after all, just another part of the body. When manipulated by external forces, it inevitably becomes conditioned and rigid. 

Akan expressed the first aim of this little game. 

“In a few days you’ll meet the nobles.” 

Robellia’s eyes widened in surprise. Despite the shock, her hand continued to mechanically bring food to her mouth as she processed his words.