No Longer Your Knight
Talia, unable to contain the fury surging within her, raised her hand once more. A sharp slap rang out, followed by a stinging pain that spread across her palm.
Expecting to be restrained as always, she flinched and shrank back in surprise. Yet the man who had received the blow wore an utterly impassive expression.
“The sin of laying hands upon Your Highness’s body without permission shall be considered paid with this.”
He tapped his smooth cheek—unmarked by any trace of the blow—with the tip of a gauntleted finger.
“But I have no intention of indulging your tantrums any further. Remember this: I am no longer your personal guard knight.”
With that, he stepped out of the carriage and pulled the door shut behind him.
Talia remained pressed against the seat back, motionless for a long while, before finally peering out the window. Barcas was nowhere to be seen; he had already departed. In his place, only the servants unloading crates from the supply wagons and the dazed guard knights urging them on came into view.
She longed to burst out at once and teach those who had defied her orders a lesson, yet she knew Barcas would never allow it. He never tolerated cruelty toward those beneath him.
The memory surfaced of the day she had hacked at the maid’s hair—the girl who had buried her face in the coat Barcas had left behind—and of the icy gaze he had turned upon her then. Her fingers curled involuntarily.
Talia yanked the curtains shut with a sharp, irritable motion. Clutching her burning palm, she curled tightly into herself upon the seat.
How long had she remained that way? The sound of trumpets announcing the journey’s beginning echoed, and the carriage began to roll forward at last. It seemed the procession that would surely become a lifelong nightmare was only now commencing.
Talia stared for a moment at the single shaft of light slipping through the gap in the curtains, then drew them even more tightly closed. Burying herself in the dim darkness, she let her thoughts drift to how wonderful it would be if this procession led straight to hell.
If only they could all descend into the grave together like this, and everything could simply end—there would be no greater joy than that…
The imperial family’s pilgrimage procession was to follow the footsteps of the founding Emperor Darian, tracing the winding course of the Silvisca River from north to west, then north again.
In the era when this continent had been divided into ten kingdoms—Weden, Drisstan, Balto, Guin, Osiria, Ribadon, Arex, Valis, Doomnos, and Sheercan—Darian Roem Guerta, a prince of Guin, had fled the invasion of the Balto Kingdom and sought refuge in the central regions. There he became the adopted son of Duke Valender, chieftain of the Osirian people and his maternal uncle.
After unifying the various Osirian tribes, Darian gathered powerful supporters from across the kingdoms and launched a movement for unification. Through decades of war—more than twenty years and dozens of campaigns—he succeeded in forging the ten kingdoms into a single, vast empire.
The grand procession departing from the imperial palace was both a sacred ritual retracing the founder’s path and a vital ceremony to display the majesty of the imperial house by presenting its illustrious descendants to the people. Consequently, the scale of the march was nothing short of magnificent and awe-inspiring.
At the head rode the Crown Prince upon a colossal golden steed, followed by over a hundred members of the imperial guard bearing banners embroidered with the empire’s crest as they crossed the city with powerful strides. Behind them came the carriage of the First Imperial Princess, Ayla Roem Guerta, and her own escort.
Citizens who had gathered along the streets to catch a glimpse of Darian’s descendants erupted in enthusiastic cheers.
The Roem Knights, inheritors of centuries of history and tradition, marched at the forefront in stern formation. Clad in white surcoats bearing the imperial crest over armor forged of the divine metal Orichalcum, they led the way with solemn faces. To their right advanced the infantry, silver shields marked with the guard’s insignia strapped to their backs, moving in perfect cadence.
The disciplined march of the soldiers only heightened the crowd’s excitement. Women lining the streets showered the knights with petals of every hue, while minstrels sang blessings upon Darian’s descendants.
As if in response to the people’s fervor, the First Princess opened her carriage window and showed herself. The crowd gasped in unison.
Was there anyone else in the world so perfectly suited to the title of princess as Ayla Roem Guerta?
Her posture was as elegant and upright as a lily, her skin fair and tinged with a delicate pink, her lustrous dark-brown hair gleaming, and her large eyes the color of emeralds…
People craned their necks like turtles, desperate for even a clearer view of her lovely figure. Some, entranced, even began to follow the carriage on foot. Had the guard knights not surrounded it, the First Princess’s carriage would surely have been completely engulfed by the adoring throng.
Overcome with excitement, the citizens showered the beloved princess with endless blessings.
Yet when the next carriage appeared—lavish to the point of ostentation—the festive atmosphere froze as though doused with cold water. The knights glanced about with tense eyes.
Those who moments earlier had been shouting themselves hoarse now fell into hushed whispers, murmuring to one another. They had evidently realized that the infamous Second Princess occupied the carriage.
The crowds lining the avenue edged backward, casting glances that mingled curiosity with open hostility. A few even crossed themselves or spat upon the ground. The knights exhaled weary sighs. Such reactions were hardly surprising. Among the capital’s residents, there was scarcely anyone who had not heard of Talia Roem Guerta’s cruel disposition.
The emperor’s illegitimate daughter, who had stirred the entire empire from the moment of her birth, had continued to provoke one dreadful incident after another even after being recognized as a princess, keeping the capital in constant uproar.
Countless servants had been driven from her palace battered and broken; some had even met untimely deaths. It was only natural that the people’s gaze upon the Second Princess remained cold and distant.
“Would it not be wise to draw the curtains and at least offer the people a greeting?”
Unable to bear it any longer, the guard knight Edric Lubon approached the carriage and offered the suggestion with careful deference. Yet no reply came from within.
He regarded the thick curtains veiling the window with a disapproving look.
Ever since the procession had begun, the Second Princess had remained shut inside her carriage, refusing to show so much as the tip of her nose. She was clearly still deeply sulking over her quarrel with Sir Sheercan.
Edric swallowed the sigh that rose to his throat.
With a face as lovely as hers, a single glimpse would surely change the people’s reaction…
In some ways, she was a woman utterly lacking in tact. If only she could manage even a hint of warmth, there would be no shortage of men willing to offer her their very hearts. Instead, Talia Roem Guerta behaved as though she had resolved to be hated. Her sharp tongue lashed at everyone around her until even her mother’s striking beauty seemed to lose its luster.
How many guard knights had already fallen away, unable to endure that vicious temper? After seven years at her side, Sir Sheercan seemed almost saintly by comparison.
Though it hardly looks as though he endured it meekly…
Recalling the image of his superior tossing the Second Princess into the carriage like so much baggage, Edric turned his gaze forward. Amid the orderly ranks of marching knights, he caught a glimpse of Barcas, his black hood pulled low.
That man, too, appeared to have grown thoroughly weary of Talia Roem Guerta.
In a way, it was astonishing. Just how much havoc must she have wrought to drive even that rigid, loyalty-bound man to such drastic action?
Had he not witnessed it with his own eyes, he would never have believed it. Perhaps the Second Princess possessed a natural gift for provoking hostility in others.