Whenever he visited the princess, Ellie greeted him warmly, her presence radiating a cozy, comforting scent. She had been a maternal figure to him after he lost his parents and perhaps even more so to the young girl. And yet, the princess had dismissed her without a trace of mercy. It was a decision so ruthless that it seemed the epitome of cruelty.

At that moment, the girl spotted him from afar. Her face lit up with a bright smile, and she waved at him cheerfully. As her nursemaid was still being led away in tears, the sight of the princess smiling in his direction was, for a moment, horrifying.

“Lord Effenberg!”

She called his name, running toward him. He resisted the urge to turn and flee, clenching his fists as they subtly trembled.

“You’re a bit late today.”

She lightly chastised his tardiness, and he almost doubted what he had just seen. But the heavy air of the servants watching them, the muffled sound of Ellie’s sobs lingering in his ears, and the broken glass scattered around them all confirmed that this scene was painfully honest.

“We saw each other just yesterday.”

His voice emerged stiffly without him meaning it to, but the girl seemed unaffected. His somber mood, his sorrow—none of it touched her.

“Yes, but still.”

She smiled again. Though somewhat strained, the smile appeared to him as something twisted and bitter.

“What happened?” he asked, hoping there was a reason for her actions. Hoping that there was some justification for treating Ellie with such merciless disdain. Otherwise, he wouldn’t know how to look at her.

The girl’s expression hardened visibly. She responded with an air of condescension as if she were reproaching him for bringing up a dull topic.

“She served me tea I didn’t want.”

He waited for her to elaborate, but that was all.

“Is that it?”

“What more would I need?”

She laughed haughtily. For the first time, he felt fear in response to her smile.

The princess had changed. The girl he once knew was nowhere to be found. All that remained was a tyrant who had taken after her father’s wickedness.

Once, he had believed there had to be a reason for her transformation. The mysterious circumstances surrounding the queen’s death, the hasty execution of his master ordered by Rigel as if he had long anticipated it, and the princess’s cold betrayal of his master—they all had to have a reason. She wasn’t this kind of person, and even if it was a lie, she could no longer take it back. That was why he stayed by her side, believing she would explain someday.

However, she never confided in anyone, nor did she trust anyone. It was as if she had rejected the world entirely, and no one could penetrate the walls she had erected around herself. The boy was no exception. A wave of doubt surged within him—was he indeed that insignificant to her? This doubt brought with it a profound sense of exhaustion. Every day spent by her side became unbearably tedious.

“Take your hand away.”

“But, Your Highness, I need to brush your hair—”

“I said, take it away.”

At some point, she began to avoid physical contact with others and refused to acknowledge anyone who wasn’t of royal blood. Everyone around her lowered their heads in submission, constantly striving to appease her. Yet, it was nearly impossible to keep up with her ever-changing moods.

Even so, he remained by her side, witnessing countless others cast aside. He heard the desperate cries and pleas for forgiveness, their voices echoing in his nightmares. Still, he believed in her. He had to, or he wouldn’t have been able to endure. He waited for the day she would finally share the truth with him.

But what if she never had any reason to reveal anything?

Only then did it dawn on him—perhaps everything she had ever said was true. The tea was tasteless, the hair brushing truly clumsy, and the greetings were sincerely displeasing. Nothing more.

Her unrepentant cruelty persisted, and the boy’s growing suspicion eventually solidified into certainty. When he finally became so accustomed to the constant nightmare that it no longer fazed him, when he ceased questioning her obsessive facade of kindness directed solely at him, he was finally able to leave her.

It was a memory from long ago that brought no comfort no matter how often it resurfaced. Ruben pressed his lips together, his expression resolute.

“I see…”

Caros’s response was oddly detached as if he were hearing a story that had nothing to do with him. Ruben frowned slightly, his words deliberate and weighty.

“Indeed.”

His voice was firm, conveying the absolute truth of his account. No one would dare question its authenticity. Caros let out a light sigh.

“I’m not saying you’re wrong, Ruben.”

“…”

“But I can’t help feeling drawn to Her Highness.”

“Godfather.”

“I know it’s strange. I’m aware of how senselessly my friend’s life was taken.”

“…”

“Even so, seeing her act so cruelly troubles me. For some reason.”

Ruben remained silent. The Marquis of Caros was kind, even more so than Saintess Lette. Ruben understood his godfather’s sorrow logically; Caros was the sort who would mourn even for the death of a wicked royal. It wasn’t hard to imagine that if his master, Marquis Klein, were still alive, he would have reacted similarly.

But the kingdom would soon fall. Even without intervention, it was destined to collapse under its own weight. The king, the kingdom’s cornerstone, would be deposed, and the rest of the tyrannical royals would meet the same fate. Among them was Helia. Ruben had long anticipated that he would have to raise his sword against her. She was bound to fall with the kingdom. Memories of a wretched childhood might make him hesitate, but as the leader of the revolutionary army, he had long accepted such burdens.

“Just the needless worry of an old man. Don’t let it bother you.”

Caros’s words were warm, like a comforting embrace. Ruben smiled faintly, a touch of weariness adding a decadent charm to his features.

Yes, he had been prepared for this all along. At the very least, he had to protect those who remained by his side.

***

At that moment, tea and desserts were hastily prepared in the greenhouse garden of the Star Residence, where Helia resided. Sweet tarts made from almond paste, honey, and fruits, along with meringue cookies, accompanied the tea. Despite the urgency, the preparation showed considerable care, reflecting Helia’s habit of enjoying tea.

“The aroma is lovely,” Lette remarked.

Helia remained silent. Detecting the tense atmosphere, the maids quickly completed their tasks and left. The greenhouse, now empty save for the two, was occasionally filled with the birds’ songs.

With a deliberate clink, Helia set her teacup down and finally spoke.

“So, what brings you here?”

Away from prying eyes, Helia did not hesitate to be rude. Despite her lower rank, Lette was a Marchioness and, more importantly, the Saintess who sustained the nation. Because of her, the people still clung to the kingdom despite the king’s foolish policies.

For Bailey, a kingdom newly independent from the Empire, the Saintess was its sole legitimacy. The kingdom declared itself a holy land blessed by the Saintess, which deterred other nations, including the Empire, from attacking. In a continent united under the faith of Prenia, any action against the Saintess would be seen as sacrilege, a political move no country could afford.

Thus, it was no exaggeration to say that the Saintess held this kingdom together. Royalty should naturally feel profound gratitude for her presence, as their power and prestige were upheld thanks to her. Yet Helia disregarded such matters and treated Lette with disdain. Anyone witnessing this scene would have clicked their tongue in disapproval, calling Helia oblivious to her place.

“I merely wished to enjoy some tea with Your Highness.”

Lette responded to Helia’s scorn with a gentle smile devoid of malice. Helia’s expression immediately twisted into a scowl at the sight of it.

“Nonsense.”

“It’s the truth.”

“I can’t believe a word you say.”

Helia dismissed her flatly, her words laden with deeper meaning. Yet, Lette’s smile remained unshaken.

“As you say.”

A knowing smile spread across Lette’s face, one that Helia didn’t miss.

“So, you do understand.”

“How could I not?”

“Then you must know why I behave this way.”