“Wasn’t it Marquis Pison who insisted on summoning the princess from her rest, claiming it was urgent?” 

“Claiming it was urgent? That’s hardly fair.”

The much younger Emperor spoke to Marquis Pison as if soothing a child, causing the marquis’ expression to harden. However, after a moment of composure, he curbed his emotions and replaced his stiff demeanour with a genial smile as he turned his attention to Robellia. 

“Your Highness, are you well?” 

Once again, Robellia made no response, her gaze fixed on Akan with an unreadable expression. 

What would happen if she revealed that Akan had imprisoned and abused her? Even if the newly crowned emperor couldn’t be punished, could she find a way to escape his grasp? 

But escape where? For now, someone might need her to oppose Akan, but for how long would she be useful? The uncertainty kept her from making a decision. 

“Yes…”

“You don’t look well, Your Highness…”

“What exactly is your intention, Marquis Pison, with all this sudden and repeated use of ‘Princess, Princess’?”

Marquis Pison’s probing words were interrupted by Viscount Ansley. As a staunch ally of Duke Mos and someone who was rapidly consolidating power, he was not a man Pison could openly ignore. 

“What intention, you ask? His Majesty himself has declared Princess Robellia innocent, so it’s only fitting that she be treated accordingly.”

“It seems you’re not satisfied with that.” 

“I simply fail to understand why someone who overthrew a tyrant would spare a royal who acted as his pawn – especially when that royal is Princess Robellia.”

For a fleeting moment, Robellia had hoped he might help her escape. That hope crumbled in an instant, leaving her palms clammy with sweat. 

Marquis Pison’s survival after the royal coup was due to his ability to walk a fine line, severing ties with the Imperial family the moment they were deposed. He was well aware that the new Emperor would be suspicious of his past. 

Pison’s interest wasn’t in the well-being of the fallen princess, but in using her to expose Akan’s intentions. If she became a weakness or a liability to the emperor, so much the better. 

Akan tilted his head slightly, his hand still on Robellia’s shoulder. 

“Robel was just a victim, wasn’t she?” 

Robellia stared at Akan. The situation was very different from what she had imagined. No one was trying to save her, nor was Akan preventing such an effort. 

The nobles were not really interested in Robellia. They were only curious as to why she hadn’t been executed, and they were trying to figure out the capricious emperor’s intentions. Whether the princess lived or died was of no consequence to them. That cold indifference – more cruel than despising her enough to want her dead – was something Robellia could accept with quiet resignation, sad as it was. 

But she couldn’t understand the Akan. Unlike the nobles, who were indifferent, he harboured genuine hatred for her. So why did he set her up as an innocent victim? Why keep her alive just to give her a taste of hell? 

“Yes…”

At that moment, her frail, defeated figure – thin and cowed – looked truly pitiful. 

Marquis Pison instinctively felt that Robellia was hiding something, something that might be a card to provoke the Emperor. 

“What’s troubling you? Feel free to speak your mind. It makes me uncomfortable.” 

Robellia began to sweat profusely, her discomfort now obvious to all. The focused gaze of Marquis Pison, standing a step ahead, and the scrutiny of all behind him felt like an overwhelming threat. 

It was as if at any moment someone might shout that Duke Roxas, the former Emperor, and all the others had died because of Princess Robellia. Was this what it felt like to stand n*ked before a crowd, exposed to their judgement? 

Robellia’s trembling hand reached for Akan’s sleeve. Her lips moved as if trying to form words, but no sound came out. Akan looked down at her faltering lips, a false smile playing on his face. 

“It’s all right, Robellia. Go on, speak.” 

“I… I… please… room…” 

There were two things that made Robellia nervous. The first was that when she opened her mouth, the words didn’t come out the way she intended. The second, and more disturbing realisation, was that she hadn’t spoken at all until she unconsciously waited for Akan’s permission. 

Akan patted Robellia on the shoulder, as if to encourage her. 

“R-Room… I w-want to go b-back to my room…”

The last surviving royal was drenched in sweat, trembling as if in a downpour, unable to meet anyone’s eyes, even stumbling over her words. The eyes of the nobles grew even colder. 

The only knowledge they had of the youngest princess came from rumour, for she had never been prominent in public affairs. To see her in this state, she looked more like a fool than a witch. Akan’s claim that she had been an ignorant pawn, spared because of her innocence, gained credibility in their eyes. 

Marquis Pison now looked at Robellia with a look of utter contempt. 

“How long will the princess remain in the palace? Surely she has a fiancé, doesn’t she?” 

“Ah, you mean King Prunus? The man forty years older than the princess? Practically on his deathbed.”

Akan’s blunt words stripped away any veneer of diplomacy and revealed the humiliating reality behind the proposed political marriage. Robellia felt a deep sense of shame. She had already known that King Prunus was an elderly widower, but she had been willing to accept such an arrangement if it meant leaving the Emperor, the Palace and the Empire behind. Once gone, there was someone she had hoped to find…

“I said I would continue the alliance without the princess, and they replied that they no longer needed the princess.”

His words were laced with a deliberate cruelty that stabbed directly into Robellia’s heart. He made it clear that even such a humiliating marriage had been rejected, as if no one in the world had any use for her. 

Robellia’s mind spiralled into darkness. She couldn’t understand anything anymore – no family, no friends, just the hatred of everyone around her. What was the point of living? Why hold on when there was nothing to hold on to? The weight of these thoughts suddenly made it hard for her to breathe. 

Her hand slipped from Akan’s sleeve and gripped her own arm tightly instead. 

“I… I just want to rest… rest…”

“All right.”

Akan willingly helped Robellia to her feet. On the ornate throne where Robellia had sat, there was now a small, dark spot where her body had rested. It was as if Robellia hadn’t noticed that her dress was damp. Akan chuckled mockingly at the unintended evidence of her loss of control.

Treat a human like an animal, lock them in a cage and eventually they become one. Even when dragged back into the world, they will long for the comfort of their kennel.

As Robellia stumbled down the corridor, it finally dawned on her that something was wrong.

If her situation wasn’t going to improve, what reason did she have to remain silent? Why fear an execution, especially a painless one? But even beyond these thoughts…

“Were you that desperate?” 

At Akan’s words, Robellia’s face flushed. Her underwear and petticoat were damp and clung uncomfortably to her legs. The realisation that Akan knew what she hadn’t – that she had wet herself in front of a crowd – was unbearable. 

Unable to respond, Robellia allowed Akan to lead her back to the princess’s palace, the prison where she was always expected to obediently spread her legs. She couldn’t understand why she had wanted to return there so desperately. 

Where else could she go, dressed in clothes that reeked of urine? It was the only place. Robellia quickened her pace. 

“Lift your skirt.” 

Akan pinned Robellia against the cold corridor wall. Although the corridor was empty, it wasn’t a private room – it was still an open corridor. The lack of walls or doors made it feel different. Akan urged the reluctant Robellia. 

“Hurry.” 

If she resisted any longer, worse would surely follow – Akan would never let go. Gritting her teeth, Robellia closed her eyes tightly and lifted both her outer and inner garments at once. Her white underwear and stockings were already soaked and ruined from the stream that had run down her legs. Akan looked between her trembling thighs and let out a dry laugh. 

“What a sight.” 

Without another word, Akan grabbed her arm roughly and began to pull her forward. Though her skirts fell back into place to cover her, the humiliation clung to her like a second skin.