The meals were not lavish. However, they were enough to fill her stomach, and since the maid’s skills were quite good, they suited her palate well. After finishing a meal, the maid would always serve warm tea. The type of tea leaves changed every month because the supplies used here came in once a month.
If she was lucky, she could receive proper goods, but occasionally, when a malicious broker took charge, items were intercepted midway. Fortunately, since she had received the requested goods properly this month, she could afford the time to drink tea.
In the mornings, she would take the tea the maid gave her and head to the study. The study was the largest room in the tower, made by knocking through three upper floors of the spire. Except for the windows, the walls rising three stories high were entirely bookshelves.
Fortunately, because there was a movable ladder, she could easily take out books placed at the very top. She placed her teacup on a small desk prepared on one side of the study and took out paper and a quill from the drawer. The quill, its feathers sparse and patchy, had a completely worn-out nib.
She opened the nearly empty ink bottle and moistened the nib. The paper was of such poor quality that if she was not careful, the letters would all blur. She dipped in ink, not too excessively. Then, with the blunt nib, she skillfully wrote down characters.
Having filled half the page in one breath, she set down the quill to catch her breath for a moment. As it happened, the tea had cooled to just the right temperature for drinking.
In truth, the tea leaves were the cheapest sort, the easiest to obtain. However, she paid no heed and slowly savored it. This was because she was fully aware that even this was something she had to receive gratefully given her situation.
Thus, she was in such straits that she felt immensely grateful even for teatime with such cheap tea. So much so that she sometimes could not understand the maid who had chosen to remain by her side.
She set down the cup. Even if she suddenly became conscious of her situation, nothing would change. She picked up the quill again and continued writing. Having densely filled one sheet of paper, she put a period. At the bottom, she finished by leaving today’s date and her signature in abbreviated form.
While the ink dried, she opened the bottommost drawer. She picked up the topmost envelope among the densely packed, neatly stacked letters.
Only a rustling sound echoed in the study. Unfolding the stiff paper, a uniquely slanted handwriting was revealed. Unlike her own neat penmanship, which looked as if it had jumped out of a textbook, it was full of personality.
On the paper, as densely filled as what she had just written, were mainly contents about daily life. Phrases that could reveal external situations caught her eye occasionally, but if pressed, this was closer to a private letter. Once a month. It was delivered together with daily necessities.
She examined the end of the letter. Written there were words saying that he might not be able to keep the consistent cycle of replies. The letters, which had flowed smoothly with even thickness throughout, were uneven in this part. It seemed emotions had welled up.
Thinking how she hoped that emotion was regret, she folded the letter. In fact, since they had exchanged letters for over ten years, it was natural to feel regret. Because this letter was the foremost among the joys she could count on one hand in this tower.
While she was briefly immersed in sentiment reading the letter, the ink on her own letter dried neatly. As she was skillfully folding it, she suddenly started and withdrew her hand.
A red streak was drawn across her white finger, and bright red blood welled up. Because her skin was so pale, even a hint of blood stood out starkly. She clicked her tongue softly and looked down at her finger.
It was something she had been doing for years; truly, it was strange to be so startled. She roughly wiped the blood with her handkerchief and carefully folded the letter so no bloodstain would get on it.
As if on cue, the maid knocked and entered. The maid, who had been tidying the teacup out of habit, suddenly stopped. The maid’s gaze fixed on one spot.
“…Did you hurt your finger?”
She waved her hand as if to say she was fine, but the maid was resolute. Thanks to the maid quickly preparing treatment supplies, a bandage was swiftly wrapped around her cut finger. It was an excessively elaborate treatment compared to the wound. She looked at the maid as if protesting but soon gave up.
Even though she was already past twenty, in the maid’s eyes, she would look like merely a child to be cherished and protected. Because the maid had been by her side since she was very young.
Now, with the bandage wrapped so tightly, she wondered if she could play an instrument. She looked at the bandage with troubled eyes and then got up. Handing the sealed letter to the maid, she went down the stairs with quick steps.
There was not much she could do in the tower.
She had read all the books in the study—made by knocking through three floors—long ago. After rereading them about three times, she had completely lost interest in reading, and the hobby she found after that was handling musical instruments. Fortunately, there were a few old instruments in this tower. Though it was difficult to tune them properly, she could be satisfied just by having instruments.
The place with the organ was where one floor had been made like a hall. Even so, since it was somewhere in the middle of the tower, it was closer to a large room than a hall, but when she played, the sound resonated throughout the room. The maid greatly liked her playing and always expressed admiration, so it had become a place she frequented recently.
She lightly moved her fingers over the keys. The bandage was wrapped thicker than she had expected, so two keys pressed down at once. After pressing the keys a few more times, she frowned and looked down at her hand. Behind her, the maid approached.
“Today, I shall braid your hair. How about reading? Or embroidery would be good as well.”
Both were things she had grown tired of, but she nodded readily. The maid smiled and handed her a book. It was the one she had taken out in advance and placed on the desk. She, who had been pondering whether to go back up to the study, turned her steps and went down.
Going down several floors at once, she arrived at what served as a living room. It was a room with unusually large windows where sunlight came in well. She sat on a chair with no backrest. Then she gathered all her hair and let it fall behind her.
Deep aquamarine hair tumbled down in waves. The maid took hold of her hair and began carefully combing it down.
She straightened her back and sat properly, opening the book. Since it was already her fifth reading, turning the pages was effortless. Her pupils scanning the letters were the same deep aquamarine as her hair. While only the occasional sound of turning pages echoed, the maid carefully braided the aquamarine hair into one.
Even without applying fine fragrant oil, her hair was soft and smooth. Though the maid occasionally trimmed the ends, the hair was originally like silk. And it was not just her hair. Her soft skin, her slender figure—the mistress had been a noble person from birth.
“There, it is finished.”
She, who had been looking down at her book the whole time, turned her head halfway. Meeting eyes with the maid, she smiled faintly. The maid said she now had to prepare lunch and left the living room with quick steps.
She moved to the sofa and immersed herself fully in reading. She deliberately read, pressing each letter with her eyes, but as expected, since she had read it about five times, there was nothing to hold her attention for long. Eventually, she closed the last page before the maid even called for her.
She looked around the living room with bored eyes. The reason she had come here instead of going to the study was not merely because it was filled with sunlight.
On one side, an embroidery frame was placed. It was a spot with good light, so the maid had deliberately moved it here. Though there were not many types of colored thread, they were sufficient for embroidery.
She rubbed her chin with her index finger and pondered. She had probably made almost everything she could make. Since she had to continue the embroidery she had been doing anyway, she sat in front of the frame.
Only after taking the needle did she see the bandage wrapped around her finger. Now that she thought about it, she had cut her hand today.
In truth, with a wound of this degree, there was no problem holding an embroidery needle. However, it was simply strange to have bled even slightly in this peaceful place. It had been a very long time since she had seen bright red blood.
Today might be cursed.
She fell into idle thoughts. What if she pricked herself with the needle while embroidering? Today was a day where something felt off. Somehow different from usual, it felt like whatever she did would not go as it normally did. She quietly narrowed her eyes.
That she could make such endless speculations from just cutting her finger a little was, after all, because she had spent too long in this spire.
Anyway, today was different from other days. Since she had cut her hand in the midst of tedious daily life, she should spend it differently from usual. She put down the embroidery needle and got up. Then she moved with quick steps.
The maid would be downstairs.
She stepped down the cold stone stairs, but what greeted her was an empty kitchen. The vegetables, wet with moisture, seemed to have just been trimmed. If the maid had left while cooking, would she be at the food storage?
The first floor of the spire was a warehouse storing food and various goods. The maid did not like her coming down to the first floor, dragging her dress hem. From the very beginning, she had even dissuaded her from coming down to the kitchen. Because to the maid, she was consistently a noble mistress.
She stepped down the stairs leading to the lower floor without hesitation. Unlike the upper floors, which were bright enough if you merely opened the windows, it grew darker the lower she went.
The bolts of the tightly locked windows were conspicuously rusted. Even though it was daytime, it was dark, so she paid even more attention to her steps. If she were to miss a step and sprain her ankle, both she and the maid would suffer.
Having carefully descended the slightly steep stairs and reached the first floor, she looked around. Unlike the upper floors she could draw with her eyes closed, the scenery of the first floor was quite unfamiliar. The feeling of unfamiliarity was itself strange. She shuffled her feet.
Just then, the maid was in the process of setting down a basket full of vegetables outside the storeroom. The maid, who was closing the storeroom door, discovered her and made a surprised expression.
“This place is dusty and not good for your throat. Please go back up.”
She shook her head. Because today was a special day. And even if she inhaled plenty of dust for a day, her throat would not be damaged immediately. The maid overprotected her too much.
At the sight of her lifting the vegetable basket instead of going up, the maid panicked. The maid desperately took the basket back.
“Then please stay by my side. I need to take out a few more things from the storage.”
The maid opened another storeroom door located beside the food storage. Screech. With a dull metallic sound, the stiff storeroom door opened.
She stood blankly in front of the basket and looked around the first floor. Into her casually turning field of vision came one massive door. That was the sole entrance and exit connecting this spire to the outside.
She withdrew her gaze indifferently. Instead, she turned to look at the maid rummaging through the storeroom. The storeroom the maid had opened was filled with all sorts of odds and ends.
Something caught the maid’s foot and made a loud noise. Her gaze naturally followed the sound. It was a rusted sword. Beside it, a crushed basket and several broken dishes were rolling around.
The maid came out carrying a small chair. In that short time, dust had settled here and there on the maid’s clothes. She folded her arms and watched the sight quietly. A small chair and a basket. It did not look easy to carry both upstairs at once.
At the sight of her mistress looking at her with narrowed eyes, the maid finally let out a sigh.
“Truthfully, I was short of hands.”
She had been planning to make two trips, but today, for some reason, the mistress seemed to want to move her body. There was not much to do in this spire. At the maid’s reluctant request for help, she put on a triumphant expression. She reached out to take the vegetable basket.
“This one is lighter—”
Bang!
The two turned to look at one spot simultaneously. With their gazes fixed on the iron door, they fell silent. The thought, *Did I hear wrong?* flashed through her mind, but soon, at the ensuing noise, she came to her senses. Several voices were heard from outside the iron door.
Today was not a day to receive necessities. Nor did anyone live outside the spire. At most, there would be one more soldier guarding this tower; there was no way he could make such a noise. The maid dropped the small chair she was holding with a thud.
Bang!
Something struck the iron door violently once more. Her judgment was quick. She picked up the rusted sword rolling on the floor and, with her other hand, grabbed the maid’s arm and pulled her back sharply. At the same time, with another loud noise, the iron door was forcibly opened with a clank.
The maid gasped. Even in that moment, the maid tried to stand in front of her mistress, but because she was firmly holding her arm and pushing her back, she could not step forward.
The iron door swung wide open, and bright light poured in. Blocking that light, several people stood before the open door. Because they were backlit, their faces were hard to see. She gripped the sword hilt tightly and aimed at the dark silhouettes.
She slid one foot back and stared straight at them. Narrowing her eyes, the shadowed faces of her opponents gradually became distinguishable. Just those she could make out numbered at least three or four. Having confirmed a greater number than expected, her complexion turned deathly pale. Her closed lips trembled slightly.
To overcome it, she raised her sword. The moment she took a breath and gritted her teeth so the tip would not tremble, the opponent opened his mouth.
“Your Highness Princess Amaryllis.”
The opponent took one step into the tower. His face, now closer, was revealed. Deep navy blue eyes, nearly black, stared intently at her. He looked quietly at her, who was pointing a sword at him, and took one step closer.
“I am Larksper of House Bin.”
House Bin. It was a name that felt distant, but it was familiar to her ears. She bit the soft flesh inside her mouth and strove not to lose her reason. Fortunately, perhaps that effort bore fruit, for there was not the slightest change visible on her exterior expression.
She rolled her eyes. Behind him, she saw someone fallen. It was a Hysbian soldier who had been guarding this tower. Her aquamarine pupils shook lightly. Her mouth went dry. To her, the man’s cold voice reached.
“I have come to escort Your Highness.”
The tip of the sword aimed straight at the man trembled as if scorched by fire. She, Amaryllis, slowly lowered the sword. The maid looked at the sudden visitors with uneasy eyes and soon examined her mistress’s deathly pale complexion.
Amaryllis raised her head, trying her best to appear calm, but she could not deceive the sharp eyes of her experienced maid. The emotion filling her aquamarine pupils was unmistakably fear. Amaryllis lowered her free hand and quietly clutched her skirt hem. Her fingertips, turning white from the force, were buried in the fabric and hidden from sight.
The man yielded the entrance as if telling her to come out immediately. Amaryllis stared at the wide-open iron door.
It was the year when ten years had passed since the princess, the sole survivor of the defeated Impel royal family, had been imprisoned in the tall spire.
⚔
Chapter 1
She Cannot Speak,
Not That She Cannot Think
* * *
Impel was truly a peaceful nation.
Looking back, it was so. Perhaps thanks to a history of stubbornly enduring despite being sandwiched between great powers, it had acquired its own way of living in tranquility.
Having the sea to the west, Impel’s borders touched two great nations. Charlman to the northeast and Valtcan to the southeast—those were they. Compared to these two countries, Impel was an overwhelmingly small and narrow place in both territory and national power.
The reason such Impel survived was, again, because Valtcan and Charlman checked each other. Having maintained its existence opportunistically, Impel saw one dynasty established after several civil wars.
Impel was quite peaceful.
Located downstream, Impel’s land was fertile, diverse cultures coexisted, and through diverse trade, it maintained a relatively prosperous life. Especially, the Impel royal family had such ample funds that they hired foreign mercenaries as soldiers, rather than their own citizens, to protect the small country. That peace bestowed arrogance upon the King of Impel.
Of course, peace was by no means the whole of Impel’s history. However, because the reality given to the King of Impel ultimately turned out that way, as a result, all comfort became attributed to his virtue.
Toppling Impel, steeped in comfort, would not have been difficult.
The invasion of the island nation Hysbia was astonishingly rapid and swift. The mercenaries hired by the king were brutally defeated, and the soldiers who had lived carefreely were massacred without resistance. The king urgently sent envoys to Charlman and Valtcan, but they could not provide reinforcements due to their own circumstances.
In the meantime, the Hysbian army, which had turned the coast into a wasteland, pushed into the heart of Impel. The nobles either fled into exile or surrendered to Hysbia early on. Impel’s royal palace was seized, and the king and princes lost their lives. The queen could not endure the deaths of her husband and sons and hanged herself.
The only one remaining of Impel’s royal family was the young princess, who had watched all this spectacle trembling in fear. The princess, who had nearly lost her mind from shock, was not even worth killing. Lobelia of House Loremand, dispatched from Hysbia to govern Impel, decided to imprison the princess.
She imprisoned the princess on the Forgotten Isle, where nothing but a giant spire stood amidst dense undergrowth.
At the time, the princess was only eleven years old. It was a choice that had not considered at all how long a young girl locked in a tall spire, looking out at the endless sea, could endure.
The princess lived in the spire for ten years. She had endured that life doggedly. And finally, people had come like this to rescue her. It was time to end the sickening imprisonment. She ought to have kicked open the open door with a joyful heart.
Therefore, Larksper could not understand this current situation.
Clang!
Amaryllis’s hands trembled, and finally she dropped the sword she was holding. It was just when Larksper had urged her to “hurry and come.” Her expression, which had maintained composure, crumbled rapidly as she dropped the sword. Even so, because the princess immediately turned her body, the only one who saw her face in that brief moment was Larksper.
Amaryllis turned her body and immediately went up to the upper floors of the spire. Her neatly braided aquamarine hair left an afterimage in the air and vanished in an instant.
“Your Highness!”
The woman presumed to be the maid called out to Amaryllis and quickly chased after her. And together with the roughly left-behind rugged men, Larksper furrowed his brow. Indeed, he could not understand this situation at all. The soldiers he had led were the same.
The soldiers, who had been distracted by the princess’s beauty, stealthily watched Larksper’s mood. Larksper looked at where the two women had disappeared with annoyed eyes.
Only after climbing heedlessly to the middle of the tower did Amaryllis stop. The sight of the room into which dazzling sunlight poured came into her eyes. Amaryllis, who had been staring into the unusually bright room, slowly took a step.
Beyond the large window, the sea was visible. The surging seawater felt as if it were spread out before her eyes.
Amaryllis placed her hand on the window frame. She gripped the frame until her fingertips turned white, but the trembling did not easily subside. Amaryllis caught her breath and looked down at the back of her hand.
She had spent half her life in this tower. Thanks to that, her hands were so pale they looked transparent. At least the bandage wrapped around it made it feel somewhat human. The white, fine skin was visible proof that she had been isolated from everything outside the tower. Amaryllis squeezed her eyes shut.
A foolish sight.
Along with the thought that flashed through her mind, the cold man’s face came to mind. He had said he was a man of House Bin. Amaryllis bit her lip. Should she consider herself fortunate for the lessons of her youth that even ten years could not take away? The hazy memories gradually became clearer.
In her youth, when as royalty she had to memorize the faces and names of countless nobles, House Bin was unarguably among the foremost. House Bin was very powerful. Also, they were people of great pride. When Hysbia’s invasion came, they were the only house among those with autonomous territories that had defended their direct domain. If a man of House Bin had come to fetch her, from the outside’s perspective, it meant they were treating the princess with the utmost courtesy.
“Your Highness, it is Maranta.”
The hand gripping the window frame like a lifeline flinched. Amaryllis slowly turned her head to look back. She saw her maid standing at the door with worried eyes.
“You should not be here; go up to the bedroom on the upper floor and rest. I will brew tea to calm your mind and body.”
Amaryllis shook her head. The worry on Maranta’s face deepened a little more.
“They are rude visitors. You need not concern yourself with waiting for them to—”
“I do not know how one could be more courteous than this.”
Maranta looked back with surprised eyes. Larksper, who had been observing Maranta with cold eyes, tried to pass her and enter the room. However, he had to stop immediately because of Maranta’s action of standing in his way with blazing eyes.
Larksper’s cold face was threatening enough to make even ordinary soldiers flinch. However, Maranta spoke in a blunt voice without batting an eye.
“Are you saying that bringing armed soldiers and breaking down the door is courteous behavior?”
Her spirit, unshaken even when facing him, was admirable, but he had never permitted her to block his path like this. Larksper narrowed his eyes.
“How dare you block whose path?”
“I am Maranta, maid to Her Highness Princess Amaryllis. As a maid attending to Her Highness, I have a duty to guard against the approach of dangerous figures.”
He had heard there was one maid who alone followed her side when she was imprisoned. He had once given a slight scoff upon hearing that only one remained by the princess’s side, who had been attended by dozens of maids. And then he had forgotten entirely.
She had protectively stayed by the princess’s side for ten years. Larksper looked at the maid before him with renewed eyes. And he decided to forgive, at least slightly, the crime of blocking his path. If she possessed such loyalty as to be imprisoned in the spire together for ten years, she could have acted without regard for what was before her eyes.
“Surely you do not see me as a Hysbian barbarian.”
Though he had revealed himself as Larksper of House Bin, perhaps they had mistaken him for a Hysbian. What would they know after being trapped on an empty island for ten years? They would be ignorant of which houses had turned traitor and which houses held their ground. There would be no way to know Impel’s situation from here. So they were treating him, who had come personally to the island, in this manner.
At Larksper’s words, Maranta raised her eyebrows.
“Does the young lord of House Bin not know who resides within? How dare you attempt to invade a private space so savagely?”
Maranta’s voice as she said “Bin” was very clear and exact. His heart, which had somewhat softened, froze coldly. So in the end, what this maid was pointing out was the rudeness of arbitrarily invading a royal’s dwelling. Larksper replied in a mutter laden with faint scorn.
“You speak as if this spire were Her Highness’s own home. I see you have lived quite comfortably?”
A princess imprisoned on such a remote island because she had no particular power. In a situation where she had no way to save herself by her own strength, she would not have been treated especially well. Though this spire was different from a prison housing vicious criminals, it ultimately served the same role. Was she saying he should have sent a letter in advance to announce his visit before rescuing a princess imprisoned in a dungeon? A ridiculous quibble.
At Larksper’s mocking demeanor, the maid shrieked.
“How can you say such—”
“So she was not imprisoned? That’s new information. The old men who fret to see even a single strand of Her Highness’s hair would be appalled to hear it. Yes, shall I go back and knock on the broken door at least?”
The maid’s face turned pale. Larksper cut off his interest in her as if he had lost interest entirely. He was not someone who couldn’t enter just because one frail woman blocked his way. Maranta, sensing Larksper’s intention to force his way in, put on an even more resolute expression. Behind her, a tapping sound was heard.
Maranta, who had just been bracing herself to body-slam Larksper if necessary, quickly turned around. Amaryllis, who had been lightly tapping the desk with a curled finger, was gazing at the two of them.
Amaryllis, meeting eyes with Maranta, gave a slight nod. At her command, Maranta immediately stepped back, as if wondering when she had ever stood in the way, and drew near to Amaryllis’s side. Larkspur, who had been watching Maranta with a look of disbelief, strode into the room.
He stopped at a suitable distance and stared fixedly at Amaryllis. Her white skin and vivid blue eyes were so ethereal they seemed barely real. Larkspur marveled anew. Her beauty had been noticeable even on the dark first floor, but standing here in the light, her looks were only enhanced. She truly looked the part of a princess who had been famed for her beauty since childhood.
But if she was only a shiny shell, what good was she?
“Larkspur D. Bin, successor of House Bin, greets Her Highness the First Princess of Impel. I beg your generous forgiveness for failing to observe all proprieties in my haste.”
Larkspur knelt on one knee and bowed his head. It was a greeting from a distant past. By all rights, she should have received his greeting by extending one hand to allow him to kiss it, but Amaryllis did not move her clasped hands in the slightest. She did not even acknowledge the greeting with a small nod.
Larkspur did not seem to have expected her to accept it, either. He continued flatly.
“If you wish to verify my identity, I shall show you my house’s token. I have taken the vanguard to escort Your Highness back, representing the nobles of Impel. The people of Impel await Your Highness.”
Amaryllis slowly chewed over his words, which were already far too late at best.
The people of Impel are waiting.
They were words that did not easily take hold. She picked up the paper and pen lying on the desk. At the scratching sound, Larkspur raised his head. He rolled his eyes to find the source of the noise. The princess, having written a few words on the paper, was holding it out to her maid.
“She asks if Impel has been liberated.”
Larkspur furrowed his brows. He answered without bothering to hide his expression.
“It has not been liberated. However, House Lormand has returned to their homeland. As the new noble to be sent from Hisvia has not yet been determined, our opinion is that we must not miss this opportunity and reclaim the country.”
Scratch, scratch. The pen moved again. Larkspur’s face hardened slightly. Unbothered, the princess quickly wrote a sentence and held the paper out to her maid. Maranta, having glanced at the contents, relayed the words in a flat voice.
“She asks who is meant by ‘our.’”
“All those who long for Impel’s independence.”
The moment the words ended, the princess’s pen moved quickly.
“She asks if the capital has been retaken.”
“The expression ‘retaken’ is currently inappropriate. The treacherous nobles remain entrenched.”
“Then…….”
“Your Highness. Please do not trouble yourself by going through your maid; show the paper directly to me.”
Larkspur rose. And took one step, approaching Amaryllis.
At that action, Maranta’s eyes flew wide as she tried to step forward. However, because Amaryllis stopped her with a hand, she had to step back obediently. Maranta, with her hands neatly clasped, watched Larkspur with her eyes. Amaryllis’s expression remained calm and composed throughout.
But Maranta had seen Amaryllis’s pupils tremble ever so slightly when Larkspur rose. Maranta resolved that if that wild bear of a man behaved even slightly rudely to the princess, she would throw him out this time for sure.
At his request to show him the paper directly, Amaryllis bit down hard on the soft flesh inside her mouth. She had already bitten it so many times that the inside of her mouth was in shreds. It felt as though it might be bleeding. After a moment’s hesitation, she moved the pen again.
[Why do you seek me only now?]
Larkspur gazed at the princess’s tightly closed lips, but what he received in return was a sentence written in elegant calligraphy. Throughout the writing, the princess’s lips had not stirred in the slightest. As if she had forgotten how to move.
Larkspur’s deep navy-blue eyes chilled. It was his first time facing a princess who could not speak. And the sight of the mute princess he met directly was far more disappointing than what he had heard in rumors.
“Those who found Your Highness were…….”
He furrowed his brows slightly.
“Not I, but stuffy old men or young ones steeped in fantasy. If it is an answer to your question, ask it of them.”
The moment he spoke true to his nature, Larkspur regretted it. If the princess were to burst into tears and refuse to follow, it would become quite troublesome for him. He could drag her out by force, but if he did so, things would truly become irreversible. But for Larkspur, he had already exercised the utmost patience.
From the start, he was a man whose temperament was utterly incompatible with weak and delicate women. He had not lived his life accommodating women, nor had there ever been a need to. The fact that she was a princess made no difference. Moreover, she was of the Impel royal house that had failed to protect its country, and a mute at that.
Larkspur had held no expectations for the princess from the beginning, nor had he ever agreed with the opinion to rescue her. The fact that he had coaxed and placated her to this extent was already shocking enough to those who knew him.
Fortunately, the princess did not cry. Instead, she merely stared fixedly at Larkspur.
[You have taken an unwelcome step.]
“It is because no house as suitable as House Bin could be found.”
They could not have placed just anyone in the vanguard for the task of retrieving the princess. The conclusion was reached that House Bin, both in terms of symbolic standing and actual military power, was capable of receiving the princess and ensuring her safe return. Had it been a few years ago, he would have refused, but Count Bin, sensing a recent change of heart, readily offered up his son. It was a decision in which Larkspur’s opinion was not reflected in the slightest.
Now that they had decided to retrieve the princess, Larkspur had wondered if she had finally come to her senses. However, the princess he met in person looked so frail she might shatter from a small shock. Moreover, she was a mute who could not even utter a single word properly.
He had heard that the eleven-year-old princess who had lost her entire family had closed her mouth, but he had not imagined she had lived as a mute all this time.
Larkspur was greatly disappointed. He felt skeptical about what use there could be in taking the woman before him. However, since he had to see his assigned duty through, he spoke in a voice utterly devoid of sincerity.
“Many await Your Highness’s return.”
[It is a belated request.]
“Your Highness is no longer a child. You must now avenge the humiliation of having Impel stolen and fulfill your duty.”
As royals ruling a nation, they had failed to protect their people and had their country stolen. Trapped powerlessly in a tower, she had wasted ten years. Larkspur did not think the princess could accomplish anything now. The princess, too, knowing this about herself, must be refusing to leave out of fear.
Some seemed to think that it must be the royal family who retrieved Impel, but if the only one left was such a mute princess, was there any need to force responsibility upon her?
Larkspur, holding an opinion exactly opposite to the words he had spoken to the princess, said in an indifferent voice.
“You are the last of Impel’s royal family, are you not?”
Amaryllis could not easily move her pen. She was a royal who had had her country stolen and been driven out powerlessly. What could she do even if she glimpsed contempt in Larkspur’s gaze? Since they had to reclaim what was stolen, being pushed to take responsibility was hardly a situation from which she could flee. Strength entered the fingers holding the pen.
Once a month, various necessities were delivered to the island. Hisvian soldiers rotated once a month via the boat that came then, monitoring the tower. Though it was an island, it was a tower barely guarded by a single soldier.
Nevertheless, in ten years, no one had come to rescue the princess. Many nobles had fled into exile, and the remaining nobles were either crushed by Hisvia’s tyranny or had submitted to them. Above all, in Impel, which had been trampled while unprepared, even if they rescued the princess, there would have been nothing they could do immediately.
Moreover, the princess had been too young. It was difficult for a young princess who had survived because she was not worth killing to inspire any hope. The fact that she was the sole surviving direct bloodline of the royal family was the reason some nobles remembered her. That alone—that bloodline—was the princess’s value.
And yet, despite holding that sole value, they had not easily sought her out in ten years. Everyone had frequently inquired whether the princess was alive and what state she was in, but none had actually come to extract her. To raise a trampled nation, a sovereign capable of inspiring strength and transcendent faith was needed. Anyone could see that sovereign was not the princess. If she was a mute who could not issue a single command with her own voice, all the more so.
Amaryllis looked down at her own feet. Eleven years old. At that age, she had witnessed the deaths of her father, her brothers, and her mother. And yet she alone had stubbornly survived. It was a tenacious vitality she herself could not understand. Only her mind could not remain intact.
Facing that man, Amaryllis realized that the brokenness from ten years ago had not improved in the slightest. That held her back. Even if she left this tower, what could she possibly do? She was terribly afraid of facing strangers. She found herself pathetic for being unable to face them.
“……But if you wish, simply remain here.”
Her water-blue eyes widened in surprise. Larkspur, who had been speaking indifferently all along, continued in a rather serious tone.
“If Your Highness wishes to remain here, I cannot force you.”
It was likely an option the stuffy old men of Impel had never even considered from the start.
Larkspur spoke as if pretending to consider her. But Amaryllis could tell that this was precisely the option he desired. That man was utterly dismissing her. Her water-blue eyes chilled.
She knew that when the Impel royal palace was trampled by invaders, all royal dignity had been thrown into the mud, but facing it directly like this, she could not help but feel a bitter pang. Of course, as a man of House Bin who had managed to preserve his territory, he must have found the Impel royal family pitiful, but seeing how much his attitude grated on her, she supposed she was a royal through and through to her very bones.
Even in this situation, Amaryllis sneered at herself for holding onto her pride. She was a powerless princess who had been imprisoned for ten years in a tower little different from a prison. It was a royal house that, princess in name only, would be no exaggeration to say had already vanished. It would be strange to receive special treatment now. Yet even as she thought so, she still felt uncomfortable inside. The words of that fellow telling her openly to just keep living in this tower were exceedingly grating.
[It is where I have lived for ten years.]
“Of course, having spent considerable time here, it is only natural you would feel attached…….”
[I must pack my things; wait outside.]
Larkspur, who had been nodding along absently, froze. He stared at the paper as if doubting his own eyes. Doing so would not change the words. Amaryllis, having set down the paper and pen on the desk, gave Larkspur a nod. At the obvious order to leave, Larkspur’s expression crumpled. He looked at the princess discontentedly, but reluctantly bowed his head in farewell.
Maranta, standing beside her, looked at Amaryllis with worry. Only after Larkspur left the room did the princess reveal even a fraction of how pale her expression had become.
The maid steeled herself. As the only maid, she had to come to her senses and attend to her mistress.