Chapter 20
----------------------------------------------------------------- Translator: Diva Chapter: 20 Chapter Title: The Royal Procession -----------------------------------------------------------------
Talia couldn't hold back her surging rage and raised her hand once more. Soon, a sharp slap echoed, followed by a stinging pain spreading across her palm.
Assuming she'd be stopped again as before, Talia flinched preemptively, shrinking her shoulders. But the one who'd actually been slapped wore a perfectly composed expression.
"Consider this payment for laying hands on Your Highness without permission."
He tapped his smooth cheek—without even a mark from the blow—with the fingertips of his gauntleted hand.
"But I have no intention of indulging your whims any further. Remember that I'm no longer your guard knight."
With that, he pulled himself out of the carriage and shut the door behind him.
Talia stayed glued to the back of her seat, motionless for a while, before peering out the window.
Barkas was already gone from sight. Instead, all she saw were servants unloading chests from the baggage wagons and the dim-witted guard knights urging them on.
She wanted to storm out and make an example of these people ignoring her orders, but Barkas wouldn't stand for it. He never tolerated cruelty toward those beneath him.
The memory of his icy glare that day—when she'd hacked off a maid's hair after burying her face in his discarded coat—made her fingers curl involuntarily.
Talia irritably drew the curtain. Then, clutching her burning palm, she curled up tightly on the seat.
How long had she stayed like that? With the blare of trumpets signaling the start of the journey, the carriage began to move slowly. It seemed this trip, destined to become a lifelong nightmare, was just beginning.
Talia stared for a moment at the single ray of light slipping through the window crack, then pulled the curtain even tighter. Huddled in the dim darkness, she lost herself in the thought of how wonderful it would be if this procession led straight to hell.
If they all just tumbled into the grave like this, if everything could end right here... nothing could be more joyful than that...
* * *
The imperial family's pilgrimage procession was set to trace the footsteps of Darian Roem Guirta, the founding emperor of the Roem Empire—from north to west, then west back to north, winding along the Silvisca River.
In an era when this continent was divided into ten kingdoms—Wedon, Dristan, Balto, Guin, Oshiria, Ribadon, Alex, Vallis, Doomnos, Sheerkhan...—Darian, a royal of Guin, had fled Balto's invasion and migrated to the central region, becoming the adopted son of Duke Valender, chief of the Oshirian tribes and his maternal uncle.
After unifying Oshiria's scattered tribes, Darian gathered powerful supporters from various nations and launched a movement to unite the ten kingdoms. Over twenty years, through dozens of wars, he achieved the monumental feat of forging them into a vast empire.
The grand procession, starting from the imperial palace, was a sacred ritual retracing his path—a vital event to display the great emperor's descendants to the people and proclaim the imperial family's majesty. Its scale was thus unbelievably lavish and magnificent.
Led by the crown prince astride a massive golden horse, over a hundred imperial guards marched vigorously through the city streets, bearing flags emblazoned with the empire's crest. Behind them came the carriage carrying First Princess Aila Roem Guirta and her guard knights.
The crowds gathered to see Darian's descendants erupted in ecstatic cheers.
The Roem Knights, bearers of centuries of history and tradition, marched solemnly in pristine white combat uniforms over orihalcon armor—known as the metal of the gods—adorned with the imperial crest. To their right advanced the infantry, silver shields engraved with the guard's emblem strapped to their backs, stepping in perfect rhythm.
The soldiers' disciplined march only heightened the citizens' fervor. Women along the roadsides showered the knights with colorful flower petals, while bards sang blessings for Darian's descendants.
As if repaying the crowd's cheers, the First Princess opened her window and showed herself. The people gasped in unison.
Could anyone in the world suit the title of princess as perfectly as Aila Roem Guirta?
Her elegant, lily-like posture; her clear skin with a rosy glow; her lustrous deep chestnut hair and large emerald eyes...
The people craned their necks like giraffes for a better look at her lovely form. Some even chased after the carriage in a trance. Had the guard knights not surrounded it, the First Princess's carriage would have been completely mobbed by the frenzied crowd.
Caught in the heat of excitement, they showered the beloved princess with endless blessings.
But when an extravagantly ornate carriage appeared next, the festive atmosphere turned deathly still, as if doused with cold water. The knights scanned their surroundings with tense eyes.
Those who had been shouting themselves hoarse moments ago now held their breath, whispering to one another. It seemed they'd realized the infamous Second Princess was inside.
The people crowding the main avenue edged back warily, their gazes a mix of curiosity and hostility. Some made the sign of the cross or spat on the ground. The knights sighed bitterly. Such reactions were hardly surprising. No citizen of the capital hadn't heard tales of Talia Roem Guirta's cruelty.
The emperor's illegitimate daughter, who had scandalized the empire since birth, continued stirring up gruesome incidents even after becoming an official princess, keeping the capital in constant uproar.
Servants crippled and chased from her detached palace weren't few, and some had even died screaming. Naturally, the empire's people viewed the Second Princess with cold disdain.
"How about drawing back the curtain and greeting the people, Your Highness?"
Unable to bear it any longer, guard knight Edric Ruben approached the carriage and suggested cautiously. But there was no response from within.
He eyed the thickly curtained window with displeasure.
Since the procession began, the Second Princess had holed up inside without so much as showing her face. She seemed thoroughly sulking over her spat with Sir Sheerkhan.
He swallowed a sigh rising in his throat.
'Her face is pretty enough that a quick glimpse might change their reactions...'
In some ways, she was an utterly tactless woman.
A little sweetness, and men would hand over their hearts and livers gladly—yet Talia Roem Guirta acted like she'd sworn to be hated. Her sharp demeanor so tormented those around her that even her striking beauty, so like her mother's, lost its shine.
How many guard knights had collapsed under that vicious temper? Sir Sheerkhan, who'd endured at her side for seven years, seemed a saint by comparison.
'Though he doesn't seem to have taken it lying down...'
Recalling his superior tossing the Second Princess into the carriage like luggage, Edric turned his gaze forward. Amid the orderly marching knights, he vaguely spotted Barkas, his black hood pulled low.
That man seemed utterly fed up with Talia Roem Guirta too.
In some ways, it was astonishing. How much mischief had she caused to provoke such drastic action from this rigid man, bound so tightly to imperial loyalty?
Edric wouldn't have believed it if he hadn't seen it himself. Perhaps the Second Princess had a heaven-sent talent for inciting enmity.