While Malyn was lost in thought, Alexis quickly gathered herself and, surprised, demanded to know her identity. She didn’t seem to recognise Malyn, which made sense – the two had rarely seen each other face to face, and Alexis was generally ranked lower than Malyn. In terms of status, Alexis couldn’t possibly measure up to her, or rather the Princess. Malyn felt a strange sense of amusement.

If she had been a street maid, she would have had to bow and press her forehead to the ground before this woman.

“I am Layla.”

“Who is…”

Alexis started to ask, then hesitated as she realised who Layla was. She quickly wiped her face with her hands and tried to drop to her knees. But Malyn placed her foot lightly on Alexis’ forehead, stopping her from dropping to the floor – a gesture Layla herself had once used on her.

“Why are you crying?”

“…It’s… Forgive me, my lady. It’s not something a noble like you should be concerned with.”

‘At least she’s not saying she’s committed a grave sin.’

Malyn thought with interest. Maids and attendants usually said that when addressing a noble, but it seemed a woman like Alexis didn’t feel the need to go that far. Of course, Malyn herself had never truly believed she’d committed any grave sin when she said such things; it was simply something that helped earn forgiveness faster if she bowed deeply enough.

“I was careless and disturbed your path, my lady. I’ll take my leave.”

“I didn’t tell you to leave. I asked why you were crying.”

Malyn spoke in a dignified tone, enjoying how much she sounded like a princess. But then, her mood quickly soured. She realized that she wasn’t just speaking like a princess—she was speaking like Princess Layla.

‘Of course.’ she thought, attempting to justify it.

‘Layla is the only princess I’ve ever known in my twenty-some years, so it’s only natural she became my example of what a princess should be.’

She lifted her chin, hoping to appear even more like royalty to Alexis, who was kneeling before her.

But when Alexis replied, Malyn’s sense of satisfaction shattered completely.

“…His Majesty summoned me at dawn…”

“…”

“…and I attended him. But then…”

Alexis swallowed, obviously holding back tears.

“I believe that someone as lowly as I offended His Majesty’s feelings, and so he punished me…”

Malyn wanted to kick herself for asking why Alexis was crying. Alexis must have been called in after she had been dismissed the night before.

Unfortunately, Malyn had no idea how to handle such a situation. She thought of Layla – the expressionless princess. How would she act in such a moment? But nothing came to mind. Malyn stood there, staring blankly at Alexis, who bent lower in obvious embarrassment.

“I will take my leave. Please, allow me to go.”

“…Leave.”

Alexis pressed her hands to the ground and stood up, her delicate palms now covered in dirt. They were soft and smooth, clearly untouched by any real labour. Slowly she adjusted her flimsy clothing, which was more of an illusion than real clothing.

Malyn almost laughed. Alexis’s full, soft form was alluring, but the vulgarity of her clothing detracted from her beauty. Her pale skin was marked with bruises and welts, probably from something other than a human hand, and her thin robe shimmered like a fairy’s wing in the morning sunlight. The clear yellow light only heightened the contrast, sending a wave of indescribable horror through Malyn.

When Alexis took a step back, Malyn bent down impulsively. Her hand reached for the fur coat Alexis had tossed aside. The theatre singer seemed startled and shrank back, but Malyn moved quickly. She wrapped the fur coat around Alexis, tying each fastener carefully. The soft curve of her collarbone from her slender neck to her chest and her skin, goosebumps from the cold, showed how fragile she was.

Alexis was much softer and more delicate than Malyn herself. Anger rose in Malyn, and without realising it, she tugged at the ties around Alexis’ waist so hard that the knot almost broke. Alexis jumped at the sudden tightness.

“I apologize, but I…”

Only then did Malyn realise that she was taking out her anger on the fine cloak. With nothing more to say, she let go and Alexis slowly finished tying the cloak herself. Her hands were different from Malyn’s or Layla’s – her neatly manicured, pale fingers were soft and rounded, with a slight pinkish tint, like those of a newborn. Malyn found herself staring at them.

After securing the knot, Alexis bowed her head deeply. Malyn turned and started back the way she had come, but Alexis’s words stopped her.

“Thank you.”

“…I’ve done nothing worth thanking me for.”

“…You might even slap me for saying this.”

Malyn turned to face her. The morning sunlight cast the same glow on both of their faces, the bruises on Alexis’ face stinging in the warm light. With a steady gaze, Alexis looked into Malyn’s eyes and spoke.

“I truly hope you will become the queen of Veldam.”

Something rose in Malyn’s throat—a feeling that wasn’t anger, bewilderment, or even tears. It was laughter. She almost burst out laughing, a loud, mocking laugh. Just as she had considered the hardship in Alexis’s nights, Alexis too had guessed at Malyn’s struggles.

And yet, here she was, asking Malyn to take on her burdens as well. Wasn’t it amusing? What others saw as the coveted place beside the king was, to them, simply a hostile, harsh place. So why were they enduring it?

Malyn felt completely lost.

The story of the princess of thorns no longer mattered. With determined strides, she made her way back, through the corridors and hallways, to her own room.

Inside, Anessa was tending to the fire. Malyn immediately told her to stay out of her room for the rest of the day and ushered her out. She also ordered Ann and Nadia to stay away. Seeing Malyn’s bruised, flushed face and the fire in her eyes, Anessa tried to say a few words of concern, but Malyn firmly dismissed her.

The moment Anessa left, Malyn locked the door and turned around. Her gaze fell on the bed, and she tore off the bedspread, tossing it onto the floor. The fabric billowed before landing with a heavy thud. Grabbing a pillow, she slammed it down, causing feathers to explode from it with a soft *whump*, scattering in all directions.

Still unsatisfied, Malyn’s eyes fell on the exposed space under the bed where a wooden box lay. Crawling underneath, she pulled the box out and ripped it open, tearing at the familiar hinges. She began to remove the contents, tossing them aside without a second thought: a few jars of ointment, a wooden cup and bowl, and a faded apron.

‘My blood will protect you…’

In a wave of frustration, Malyn threw everything in the box across the room. The wooden cup hit the table with a thud, while the bowl clattered against the metal grate of the fireplace, shattering and rolling across the floor.

“Worthless things!”

Malyn picked up the apron and threw it aside, but simply tossing the flimsy cloth wasn’t enough to vent her anger. She got up and began stomping on it, grinding it beneath her feet, kicking and rolling it across the floor. Ironically, the fabric didn’t tear as easily as she’d hoped. Frustrated, she dropped to her knees and pounded her fists onto it.

“Worthless thing! Worthless!”

How was it supposed to protect her? What could a few drops of blood on an old apron possibly guard her from?

“Aaargh!”

Malyn couldn’t hold it in any longer and let out a scream. The wound on her lip reopened, filling her mouth with a metallic taste and stinging painfully. The apron, which she had shoved under her bed as if it could somehow protect her, now lay crumpled and trampled beneath her feet. What had ever truly shielded her were her forced smiles and flattering glances—never that apron.