Rise of the Unfavored Princess

Chapter 111: Ch. 111: One House for Sale

[PLS READ AUTHOR’S NOTE FOR CLARIFICATION ON HOW NAMES WILL WORK FROM NOW ON]

Lady Arabella Westmont Berrick arrives at the imperial palace at half past noon. She is dressed smart, but subdued. A muted gray skirt with a starched white blouse, and only a yellow brooch at her neck. It reminds me of Ms. Laroche, which feels wrong for a young woman in the zenith of her youth.

It feels weird to observe Lady Westmont. Physically, she is far older than me at her 21 years compared to my 8. But on the inside, I’m only a year away from a very jaded 30 years of age. She brings one assistant who carries a briefcase, her eyes shining as she takes in the finery of the central palace. But even the light in her eyes cannot wipe away the sadness that hides deep within them. The poor girl’s marriage must be taking its toll on her.

For first-time onlookers, the central palace truly is splendid. It is very easy to forget. But when I look at the world through Lady Westmont’s eyes before her assistant nudges her to curtsey, everything truly is fit for a princess.

“Y-Your Highness,” she squeaks out, before looking up and gasping. “It really is you!”

I give Emma a look and she shoos out everyone else in the sitting room except for Arabella and I.

I crack a weak smile and say, “Pandora, at your service.”

.....

Lady Arabella connects the dots very quickly. “It was you who invested in me back then so I could open my shop. I- thank you!” she says in a flustered manner. “We’ve already received over 100 orders just this morning alone. The amount sheer amount of fabric we shall order will keep the workers at the mill well-fed through the winter.”

“Your welcome. But I’d halve the orders if I were you, Lady Westmont. Maybe even just do a quarter of them,” I tell Arabella, remembering to address her by her maiden name rather than her hated married last name.

“Pardon, your highness?” Lady Westmont blinks rapidly, her hands rubbing together as she must fear she has done something.

“You just designed the dress of the empress. If you were to now make the dress of every woman in this town with a bit of coin and fashion sense wouldn’t that cheapen your brand in the long run?”

My point has merit and Lady Arabella nods slowly.

“Oh! I never thought of it that way. As always, your business insight has been most helpful. If I could repay you by crafting some dresses for you to wear, it would be my greatest honor, your highness,” Lady Arabella says with a shy smile.

I wave her gratitude away. “Don’t thank me just yet. Perhaps I should apologize to you instead.”

Arabella looks shocked, shaking her head so quickly her chocolate updo threatens to come undone. “Never! Without your valuable aid these past years, I may have lost my family home or be trapped at my... husband’s residence.” Her cheeks turn splotchy and her voice carries heavy emotions as she presumably recalls how I witnessed her breakdown in the shop. “You are the only soul who has shown me any care since I was orphaned. If- If there is anything you require of me, I would be happy to fulfill it. I have even brought a gift, which my assistant currently carries, to show you my sincerity.”

Lady Arabella’s words are valiant, I can see a hint of her father’s famed loyalty shining within her. We are not so different, Arabella and I. We both have impressive fathers, hers going from commoner to one of the most famous knights to exist while mine went from bastard son to the ruler of the empire. But while in other’s eyes we are living blessed lives, only we truly know how much we struggle to stay afloat.

“By inviting you here, I’ve brought the empress’ scrutiny upon you. It may invite more... trouble... to your marriage,” I explain further, waiting to see how she will process the information.

Perhaps the only progressive thing about this era is how free women are allowed to work alongside men, although as a status symbol wealthier women and noblewomen do not. A husband could be taken to court for preventing his wife from earning her own keep outside, provided it was a lawful occupation, so Sir Jasper Berrick technically can’t stop Lady Westmont from conducting her now successful business.

But like all rules and laws, there are loopholes if you look hard enough, not to mention Arabella currently lives at the Berrick estate within the capital now that she has wed him. He doesn’t need to stop her from going to work if he can impregnate her. The law has a stipulation that if a husband didn’t want his wife to work because she was pregnant with his child, he could keep her at home. Or on a more sinister note, if Sir Jasper poisoned Lady Westmont so she was too weak to leave his family residence, he could prevent her from working in this way.

Ever since I acquired my abilities and have risen in importance, I have understood that any who interact with me would be under scrutiny. This scrutiny wouldn’t be daunting for the noble daughters whose powerful families were never in line with the Empress or the Duvernay family, but for an orphaned newlywed, such scrutiny could take off a layer of skin.

I knew this perfectly well when I wrote a letter to Lady Westmont, but I sent it to her anyway, knowing that the name Pandora would draw her here like a fish to bait. Was it selfish? Yes. So now, I give her the choice to see what she will do with such information.

“Her Majesty was very kind to me when I designed and fitted her dress for the ball,” Arabella begins to say slowly. I feel my heart sink as I suspect her choice, but try not to let it show on my face. “Kind enough to bestow me such a wonderful marriage. I am eternally grateful to her for the blessing.”

A half-chuckle bursts out of me before my small hand moves to cover my mouth. I’m pleased and displeased. Pleased that Arabella did not fall for the Empress’ impeccable charm. But displeased when I see the glint of something sinister in her eye. It feels unfair of me to take advantage of her sharp dislike for the mother of the empire to corral her to my side, especially after revealing my secret identity to her as her benefactor.

But that doesn’t stop me. I extend a hand out to Lady Westmont, her mouth in an adorable O before she realizes she must reciprocate.

“I won’t ask for a lot, just that you have faith in me no matter what I may ask you to do. If you aid me well, I’ll see to getting your marriage dissolved without any consequence falling upon you,” I tell Arabella, her palm warm in my own. Unlike most noble ladies and higher-ranking maids, there are cocoons in her palms since she actually works in her couture shop.

“Like what... your highness?” Lady Westmont squeaks nervously. Why do I suddenly feel like the big bad wolf?

I give her the most friendly smile I can muster. “How would you like to become a free, divorced woman without the empress or the Berrick family being able to do anything about it?”

Divorced women often receive a lot of flack on Erudian society. It always reflects poorly on the former wife: Why didn’t she please her husband? Why couldn’t she fulfill her wifely duties? Nonsense like that makes me want to puke.

But Lady Westmont may be one of the few women who would burst into joyous laughter at the idea.

I’ve been making a lot of promises. Maybe too many. But when I allow everyone outside to filter back in and Lady Westmont presents me with her gift, I smile because one of them has been fulfilled.

Stacked up neatly, the shiny paper as crisp as a dollar bill, are stacks of golden tickets. 50 gold tickets. 5,000 gold coins. More than double my initial investment. I can only imagine how much she earned from designed my nominal mother’s dress alone.

“This is too much, Lady Westmont!” It’s an unexpected gift. But very welcome. I’ve just got enough tact to do the typical song and dance of rejecting a gift before accepting it.

“Please, I insist,” Lady Westmont says as she measures me out for a few complimentary dresses. She murmurs some numbers to her assistant, who writes them down in her notebook.

Arabella looks far more steady now than she did when she walked in. Is this what having an end goal does? Ever since I’ve made taking the empress down my ultimate goal since she made me whip her maid, I’ve been sleeping better than before. I’m not running away anymore. In fact, I can’t run away anymore, my father has made sure of that. So I have no choice but to keep moving forward and pursue the best option for myself.

Not as Maria.

Not as Winter from the slums.

But as Her Highness, Princess Winter Royberg de la Erudian.

After painfully parting with a little over half of my newfound wealth to secretly buy a house in a quiet neighborhood on the outer edge of the impoverished West Bend, I let out a loud breath as I fulfill the promise that has been eating away at me ever since I’ve returned from the war.

It’s two stories but incredibly wide, a former factory transformed into housing units according to the deed I still have in hand.

“Was he mad?” I ask Emma playfully as she returns from outside. Unlike me, Emma doesn’t need Julian’s charity or a doghole under a gate in order to leave, she can go whenever she likes as long as her mistress grants her permission to leave or it’s her rest day. And I’ve known Emma long enough to know that she takes the right precautions to ensure that she won’t get caught... unless she wants to be.

“He was upset I allowed for us to be seen by the queen’s men like you instructed. And he was angry that you kept the deed to the house, your highness. He said he doesn’t care for whatever games you have to play,” Emma informs me.

I burst out in loud laughter at the ambitious kid’s complaints. “When he asked for a house, he never explicitly asked to own it. If Jack is so clever, he should have thought of that loophole. Besides, it’s for his own good. Tell him I’m going to make that property into an orphanage. It would be too odd for a gang of children to live on their own in a house. He can carry out his business in secrecy with a proper front.”

Emma flashes a rare, wry grin. I blink at her like a deer in headlights, wondering what I could have said that was so amusing.

“What?” I whine petulantly. I grab her hand and tug her onto the bed.

“It’s just... Clever Jack said the same thing as you,” Emma explains.

“He did?”

“He said that since it was officially his, you would have no problem with him turning it into an orphanage to use as a cover. He just expects monthly expenses to be paid off if you have any expectations of using his services.”

“Presumptuous,” I mutter under my breath.

“Also since he’s now been involved in the plan you have regarding the empress, Clever Jack said he expects this month’s expenses to be covered to start with,” Emma finishes.

A wave of familiar anger rises in my belly. I’m already having flashbacks to Clever Jack’s annoying smirk and smart aleck comments from the worst road trip I’ve ever been on.

“Ugh! That little brat! He’s going to bleed me dry!” I wail. My feeling of getting one up on that kid goes down the drain as he’s already giving me tit for tat. He’s good. To the point that I’m a little embarrassed with my several more years of experience, he was able to carve out benefits for himself. But I’d seen it on my perilous flee to the west, how much greed and ambition brimmed below the surface of Clever Jack.

I flop back onto my pillows, my ears hearing the ka-ching of more money leaving my wallet. I’ve scarcely been able to enjoy what little wealth I’ve earned before someone has come to bleed me dry. And with the hungry gaze in Emma’s eyes, I know that I will be short a few more shares before the night is over.

“Oh. He said that if you complain, you’ll never find someone else in the city who does what he does. He said... that he looks forward to the partnership.” Emma sets the final nail in the coffin, which hurts the most because Jack isn’t wrong.

It’s been an open secret that the source who connects Emma to our “network” on the streets is Jack. I don’t ask, she doesn’t tell me. But both of us know it nonetheless.

“Emma, whose side are you on?” I accuse her bitterly. I fling a pillow at her but she ducks with ease.

“Yours, of course, your highness,” Emma replies, batting her innocent eyes at me.

I think Emma is starting to pick up some of my bad habits.