Rise of the Unfavored Princess

Chapter 115: Ch. 115: My Middle Finger

You know that moment that hits you as a young adult, when you suddenly realize you’re dealing with grown-up responsibilities and the sweet days of your childhood are long behind you?

I just had it. Not when I was being hunted down by assassins or tortured by my ever-smiling stepmother, but now when Jack handed me a slip of paper with secret information. When did I go from being depressed and moping around to being embroiled in any business where I’m being slipped pieces of paper like a government operative in a James Bond movie?

The whiplash of reality hits me hard as I tuck the paper up into my sleeve and extend my hands out to the next person in line. The feeling must be akin to a fly realizing that somehow it got itself stuck in the complex matrix of a spider’s web and can longer escape. No matter what, I cannot react now. Not when I’m surrounded by people who are most certainly not my friends.

Time runs slower than molasses when one’s anticipation builds. I keep wondering what information awaits on Jack’s paper. Aside from looking quite disheveled, Jack’s grip on my hand had been strong and divulged his good health. In addition, his clever smirk let me know he’s perfectly fine in joining my little game against the empress. Perhaps the note has his terms of agreement or just a simple greeting. Or maybe, it’s a secret that could scare ten years off my life. All of them would be in the realm of Jack’s rather precocious and unpredictable nature. It’s unbelievable he’s just the same age as Emma and probably hasn’t spent a single day in school.

“And now the promised child must retreat to pray for our wellbeing,” Bishop Duvernay eventually says as fatigue begins to hang from my bones and drag down heavy eyelids.

I almost pass him a grateful look before I remember that it’s his fault I am here to begin with. But looking at the sea of people who look devastated at the news, I remember that this is bigger than me. With a gift like this, the least I can do is try to help some people and offset my present and future karma. The smile from a wheelchair-bound factory worker who’d lost his job to a bad leg break as he walked, no skipped away from me, plays through my mind in between the bishop’s empty promises of salvation.

I smile faintly where I sit, a pretty puppet dressed in white for the bishop to toy with at will. The remainder of the feast day doesn’t require my presence so after bowing to the altar and the high priestess, I retreat to the back and slump against the first wall that is out of sight.

.....

I am exhausted. I feel like I’ve just run a mile and got run over by a truck. Every step feels as slow and clunky as walking through water. But I don’t succumb to my weariness, taking advantage of the thin light still streaming in to read the contents of the note.

Old Continent, it first reads. Marriage contract. By Emperor in exchange for something.

The handwriting is worse than chicken scratch and the cheap ink has already begun to bleed everywhere. It takes me a full minute to decipher the contents but I think I understand it well enough. There is a marriage contract between the Erudian Empire and the Old Continent, and it was granted in exchange for an unknown boon the Old Continent extended to my father.

I let my hand slowly fall to my side, the paper crinkling in my grasp. This is something I most certainly have failed to consider in my many years in this new world despite being aware of this from my years of studying history in school. That the greatest duty of any princess was usually to be married off as an agreement between nations.

They, despite all their finery and wealth, were little more than living and breathing treaties sacrificed to maintain peace and prevent war. And if or when a disagreement did break out despite efforts, they were the first casualty of many.

I chuckle wryly to myself. In all my insistence that I am treated like a real princess, this is one critical piece I forgot to factor in. Never mind that I have the ability to heal almost any wound, knowing Empress Katya, there is no way Princess Julia is going to be married in my stead. Perhaps this was one of the underlying reasons she was so furious I turned out to be the real promised child. But still, that wouldn’t explain why she tried to have me killed as Princess Julia would still turn out to be the only marriageable princess of Erudian blood.

Unless... Julia and I aren’t the only possible princesses to marry off, which is why she can sacrifice me without any worry.

The almost sacrilegious thought goes thundering through my mind right as I hear footsteps in the corridor I’m still lingering in. It takes half a thought for the piece of paper to end up in my mouth and my gorge rises as flakes of dirt and the iron tang of blood make me want to puke. My mouth bugs out like a chipmunk and I’m certain I look ridiculous, but the calm and cool bishop before me does not react in the slightest. I’m sure I could be on fire right now and he would still look at me the same. Something is dead in his eyes. My previous assessment of him being a skeleton was no mistake.

“Your Excellency,” I somehow muffle out around the paper. I tuck it into my cheek, the sharp edges piercing my soft flesh.

“Your highness,” he replies politely. Bishop Duvernay can never be called impolite, every word and every movement is calculated to perfection. “Are you unwell?”

I make a bit of a show of grabbing my stomach. “Yes, I fear I am a bit ill.”

He nods understandingly. Servants seem to appear out of the shadows at his summon, one on each side to help me walk further into the corridor and to one of the empty rooms where the newer, holy priests usually stay.

They guide me to a bed, the firm yet soft offering solace to my feet. But I cannot relax, not when this man is here before me.

“Thank you,” I tell him.

“It is my duty,” Bishop Duvernay says modestly. “You did well today. The people were gratified to feel Helio’s presence.”

I want to roll my eyes, but I stop myself. I’m not even certain if my ability is truly from Helio, or if it is some fluke of luck that happened to fall into my lap after all my misfortunes.

“When will I be summoned again?” I ask, recalling how annoying the short notice of my summon was.

“When it is seen as a fitting occasion.” He tucks his hands into his almost white robes.

“And what would qualify as a fitting occasion?” I feel like I’m pulling teeth trying to get answers.

The bishop does not allow me to even get a morsel of information. “You shall know when you see a messenger sent from the Holy Church,” he says.

If I wasn’t so tired, I suppose I might have tried to hit Bishop Duvernay for that deliberately vague answer. I scratch my forehead with my middle finger, happy to spite him in a small way he’ll never understand.

“Who do you want me to heal first, of your three people?” I ask instead, emboldened by his nonanswers. I expect another tongue twister without any information, but surprisingly he gives me this.

“My mother,” the bishop says. He looks over his shoulder as if hearing something. “I am needed out there. An acolyte shall come to guide you out of the Grand Temple. Thank you for your service.”

I did not know demons in human flesh could care about their mothers. But it is interesting, I do not see a flash of warmth or sorrow in his gaze when he reveals this information. I know nothing about Chancellor Duvernay’s wife, she rarely attends social outings and the only sign she is alive is the annual donations she makes.

I change alone, the silence and my ineptitude drawing out the time. My nursemaid, Marie, is not here so I have no one to aid me in dressing. If it were the simpler clothes I wore when I was on the run this would not be an issue, but the nicer pieces I adorn within the palace tend to require the assistance of another party.

I smooth down my skirt, a little embarrassed at how rumpled it appears with my clumsy attempt to put it on. Right on time, a knock sounds on the door, the young priest the bishop sent to escort me has arrived.

There is a secret entrance from the Grand Temple of the Holy Church. We walk through the same halls I was escorted through a few hours ago, the shadows growing longer with the day. Whoever’s pockets were used to fund the Holy Church are quite deep. Even in areas that are only frequented by the priests who serve here, there is gold plating on the walls and holy imagery. All it does is remind me how deep the rot has sown into this supposedly sacred place.

It also reminds me of power and the way it has affected the relationships around me. To Emma, we may be sisters but I’m also an employer of sorts who can decide her life and death at the drop of a hat. To Elias, we are still friends but I haven’t yet forgotten the great devastation he felt when he learned that I was a princess. And for Sir Finn, he seemed like an older cousin I could rely on but turned out to be one of the many players in this endless bid for power. And the worst part? I cannot fault any of them for this.

Bright light forces me to squint as we emerge from the catacomb-like inner workings of the Grand Temple. I discreetly spit out the mess of paper and spit in my mouth, now completely ineligible although the disgusting flavor still lingers in my mouth. The sound startles the priest beside me and I smile disarmingly at him.

Marie waits beside the same carriage that brought me here, her eyes lighting up when I come out of the discreet exit.

“Your highness!” she says excitedly as the cold outdoor winds buffet me mercilessly. The heavy cloak she throws around my shoulders keeps out most of the wind as Marie tsks and talks about how the snow will start coming down any day now.

I do something I haven’t done in a while and stretch out my arms for Marie to pick me up, which she does. The air feels fresher up high and I wrap my arms around Marie’s neck. Or perhaps, it feels fresher because it’s not from within the palace I’ve been stuck in for months on end. I can smell grass and horse poop, the hallmarks of the old-fashioned world I live in. And it smells nice too, far nicer than it ever did when I was still living with my aunt in a shack. It’s amazing the appreciation you can develop with a few years and a little perspective.

Marie picks me up just as easily, but I’m not the same emaciated, five-year-old girl who was subject to the whims of whoever wished to toy with me. Even if I barely weigh more than I did back then. My nails are clean, my hands are soft and smooth. I don’t look like I’ve undergone a life of hardship. I suppose to the common people who I was able to heal today, I must have been a very rare sight indeed, even though I used to be just like them not so long ago.

It doesn’t make for a very good feeling. It’s like standing on a cliff all alone with the winds buffeting you mercilessly.

“Please, spare some change,” a voice croaks a few feet away. An empty can clinks with whatever spare change must have been accrued.

One of the guards by the carriage is already moving to shoo the woman away, but that silvery gray hair only a few shades lighter than my own has long been imprinted in my memory. Only, instead of the sheer shock I experienced when I saw Jack almost an hour ago, I’m just annoyed.

Good ol’ Aunt Bianca clearly didn’t even bother to put any effort in her beggar costume, an old dress of hers I had buried myself under eons ago is covered in some halfhearted soot stains from the fireplace. Her hair is in a messy bun that looks more artful than haggard, and the matching soot stains on her face compliment it instead, enhancing her sharp cheekbones and adding a smokey eye effect to her already piercing gaze.

“Don’t bother, let me speak with her and see if she is well,” I say as magnanimously as possible, not sparing the chance to brush up my image with the guards.

They nod appreciatively, eyes shining with undisguised admiration as Marie lets me down and I instantly take off the earrings I wore today to donate. The jewelry clinks into the empty can of beans as I hiss under my breath to the undedicated “beggar”.

“You’d better have a very good reason to be seeking me out, Bianca.”