Rise of the Unfavored Princess

Chapter 121: Ch. 120: 3 Years Later

3 YEARS IN THE FUTURE

“You’ve grown.” The tape measure slips across my shoulders down to my wrist. Lady Arabella scribbles down notes in her booklet, a levity in her eyes that I’d once feared would be snuffed out forever.

“Marie feeds me too much cake,” I quip back, making eye contact with her in the mirror. That’s kind of a lie, though. I am baking and eating way more sweets than any other 11-year-old kid would be allowed to eat. I suppose that’s one of the benefits of not having parents who pay attention to you.

But in recent years, it seems that I’ve exchanged a lack of parents for a helicopter of an older brother.

“Doesn’t seem like it to me, you’re still skin and bones.” Arabella extends the tape measure down my back. I can feel her fingers through the thin material of my shift. They’re cold, but I don’t mind so much. In a few short years, I won’t be able to feel them at all as I start wearing corsets like other young noble ladies.

“Ugh, don’t remind me. Augustus keeps getting the chefs to make me meat dishes with every meal to fatten me up,” I groan.

As I tell her, I discreetly wipe my mouth to make sure I don’t have any remainders of this lunch’s steak and kidney pie sticking to my face. Arabella looks at me and smiles in a motherly way and I just scrunch my nose back. It’s funny how on the inside I’ve got a few years on her and yet she feels like an older sister to me.

.....

“I mean it. You’re more mature. More grounded. Happier.” Her eyes disappear as she begins to measure my legs.

“Me?” I chuckle out.

“Yes. It’s lovely to see,” Arabella says. I scratch my head in embarrassment, but I feel pleased inside. In a way, she is right. I’ve still been drowning in a mountain of stress, but having people I can trust has made the process far easier.

I’ve been able to look over my shoulder less as I’ve successfully weeded a majority of the empress’ people save for a choice few so she doesn’t get too suspicious and flood my surroundings with more spies. The orphanage is up and running smoothly, which means my network of young eyes on the streets has grown exponentially. Arabella’s is flourishing with orders, so now I can finance whatever costs Jack claims he needs for the orphanage without shedding as many tears as I used to. And most importantly, my stalemate with House Duvernay carries on strong as I continue playing being their promised child puppet within the Holy Church.

I can’t lie and say the last bit doesn’t rankle me. But after the slip-up incident where I had to beat Linette, the powerful House has been true to their word and gotten the empress to mostly leave me alone. And I have been very, very productive in my free time since.

“Which color is more fashionable for hunting? Dark green or brown?” I ask Arabella. Dark somber colors are not one I typically gravitate to, but they’re the norm for hunting competitions.

“Both would look lovely on you, your highness. But perhaps a forest green would make for a sharp look amongst the trees.”

I simply nod, trusting her fashion expertise. “Have you... heard anything from anyone about the competition?” I ask, subtly probing whether any of her other upper-class clientele may have mentioned anything worth noting.

Arabella ponders for a moment, her hand stilling on my leg. “Guests,” she states, her eyes lighting up as something comes to her. “Guests from afar.”

I tap my chin, the brief happiness I’d felt taking a seat as her words give credence to the unconfirmed reports I’d received last week. It is hard to hear about official news without any government officials or lords in my pocket save for Baron Laroche of the treasury. Hence why I have to check with a second source regarding any official imperial business.

“How far?” I ask, my mind instantly going across the Moor to the Old Continent.

“Very,” Arabella simply answered. It’s vague, but it fulfills my suspicions nonetheless. We are always careful about how we speak, even when we are alone like now, after the body of a dead maid was discovered in one of the air vents last spring following a bout of terrible odor around my apartments.

Arabella shows me her sketches, a fitted hunting jacket and a full skirt that cuts off a little bit above the ankle so I can move around more freely. A matching hat accompanies it, along with leather gloves to keep out the chill that inevitably comes with being in the woods. Even though it already is spring and my birthday has passed, one can never be too careful.

Aidel. Kocia. Sarsaval. The names of the three kingdoms tug my frown even tighter, primarily because of the first one.

The Kingdom of Aidel is the powerhouse kingdom that happens to be the sole reason why House Wolfe, one of the powerful, founding Houses of the Erudian Empire, swore to guard the north from potential invaders across the Moor. Quiet and unknown are the words that best describe the centerpiece of the Old Kingdom. But just because there is so little information in the Imperial Library about them doesn’t mean they aren’t a threat. Just like the important figures and powerful people from my old world, sometimes a lack of available public information is an indicator of power in and of itself.

Not to mention, the Kingdom of Aidel is currently ruled by the powerful Kumaira dynasty that has subjugated its smaller neighboring territories and happens to have the marriage contract with our empire.

Yup. The kingdom that I could possibly be shipped off to someday, no big deal or anything.

Even with a leash on her, Empress Katya will still gnaw off the rope around her neck to make sure Julia isn’t the princess chosen to fulfill the contract. And in the past three years, no new bastard princesses have popped out of the woodwork to share the weight of my burden.

I don’t necessarily want to condemn a newcomer who would be an actual child to the trial by fire of the imperial family and Empress Katya. But I also don’t want to thousands of miles away to a kingdom I haven’t even read about in books and try to survive their own royal family shenanigans. There are whispers of the strange abilities they wield across the sea and the way magic runs rampant through the lands. It’s in the water, in the soil. It’s supposedly the reason why the blood of the Old Kingdom yields such unique hair colors according to the storyteller Augustus once brought into the palace when I was bored.

I loop a strand of my strangely colored hair around my fingers, the styling of it casual as I won’t be going out anywhere. Arabella packs up her supplies with her final goodbyes. Thus imagine my surprise when she opens the door of my dressing room to reveal a familiar boy seated in a wheelchair behind it.

“Elias!” I yell, not necessarily out of joy.

Courtesy of this era I’ve unwillingly traveled to, I’ve become a bit of a prude compared to my past self that proudly donned short shorts and crop tops. I’ve only got on a shift that falls to midcalf without even covering my arms, and my hair falls untouched down my back. This is the equivalent of being seen in the nude for these times as Ms. Laroche has drilled into me and I dive behind the nearby divan with a squeal.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, my knees pressing into the hardwood floor uncomfortably.

My oldest noble friend’s voice comes floating over the divan into my ears.

“My apologies, your highness,” Elias calls out, his voice as soft and calming as ever. “I shall retreat to the sitting room.”

I jump up in a burst of anger. “Do you want me to come over there and hit you? How many times have I told you not to call me that?” I scold Elias.

I latently realize that all the care I took not to be seen was for naught as I stand before him in a shift and nothing else. But I can’t retreat now so I crouch behind the divan so only my face can be seen and send Elias the fiercest glare I can muster.

However, the sole heir to House Wolfe is a respectful gentleman, having covered his eyes long ago even as he laughs.

“Then I shall leave, Winnie,” he says. Even with his eyes closed, it’s a breeze for him to reverse his wheelchair and exit, all the while chuckling softly.

“I told you I hate that name too! I’m not Winnie the Pooh!” The last sentence I grumble to myself under my breath, ringing a bell for Marie and a maid to enter so I can get dressed as fast as humanly possible.

Perhaps it was meant to be a flex, having elaborate clothing that required the help of another individual in order to put it on. But the minutes feel like hours as I torturously wait for the maid to lace up the back of my silk dress and for Marie to braid my hair into a childish updo.

“We don’t need ribbons today,” I urge, waving away the matching sky blue ones that Marie wants to put in.

“But you love ribbons, your highness,” Marie insists sweetly, a glint of playfulness in her eyes as she can tell I’m trying to leave as soon as possible to spend time with Elias.

I shake my head. “No, I don’t! Ribbons are for children.” I kick off from the vanity. “Thanks for helping me get ready!”

“They grow up so fast. It feels like yesterday when I used to carry her everywhere,” I hear Marie murmur happily to the maid who helped me dress as I run out in fashionable slippers with absolutely no traction.

I slip and slide through the generous halls, practically ice skating as I barrel into the room without any brakes or walls to grab.

It’s just my luck too, there are no carpets to stop my precarious slide into the sitting room. To my dismay, Elias has parked himself only a few feet directly in front of the entrance. It feels like slow motion, both of our eyes widening at the inevitable. My mind mocks me by replaying all the times Marie has told me not to go running inside without any shoes on.

Elias holds his arms out, but I’ve become a force of nature at this point. I fall into Elias’ lap with a thump before I carry the two of us over the armrest and onto the floor in a heap.