Rise of the Unfavored Princess

Chapter 165: Ch. 164: The Price of Happiness

“I...” My mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water.

His words shock me, stunning me like a blindsiding punch. I’m not sure.

“My sister is fond of croquet. She plays it often with her peers. She also plays with dolls, although I suspect you may find those a touch childish for yourself,” he chuckles to himself.

There’s a pause for me to respond, but I can’t find any words. I’ve been rendered speechless, prompting Finn to keep going.

“You ought to find something to content yourself with. Otherwise, you’ll wind up like the deceased Lord Bromely. Forever chasing after an elusive goal you will never reach. Dying prematurely with unfounded dreams upon your lips. I don’t know how you came to be in this world, but it is rare that happy people die young. I wouldn’t hope to see your fate repeated a second time.” Like his ominous words, our conversation similarly draws to a close.

To some, it may sound like he’s cursing death upon me. But as someone who has felt the ice-cold touch of death’s sickle many a time, I can see beyond the harsh words.

“...You’re right,” I agree, conceding for the first time in the conversation. However, there is a distance the size of the Moor between me knowing the young duke is right and me rectifying the empty hole inside me. I rub my chest mindlessly as Sir Finn bows and walks away.

.....

Playing croquet. Dressing up dolls. Idle activities for young girls who don’t have to worry much beyond what dress they’ll wear to their friend’s birthday parties and what dessert to eat after dinner. I think back to the tea party of Elsbeth Laroche, which I couldn’t even enjoy without the taint of court-fuelled drama.

“I’m too old for that nonsense,” I mutter under my breath, finally walking away from where we had our conversation.

But lying to yourself is pointless when you yourself know what you say isn’t true. It rankles at me, even as Emma approaches from where she had hidden out of earshot to accompany me back to my quarters.

“What makes you happy, Emma?” My voice is quieter than usual, but with nothing but the sound of leaves rustling in the wind and our own footsteps, the words are clear as day.

She doesn’t verbally answer but I see her pat the hidden pocket of her apron where she always carries around some of her bountiful gold.

“Why did I even bother asking.” I roll my eyes, but the amusement does lift my spirits a bit.

We round a corner where some young maids-in-training, too low-level to even have duties within the main palace, toss a ball to one another giggling. But their revelry draws to a stop as a keen-eyed one with a good throw catches sight of Emma and I approaching. All signs of fun dissipate like morning fog. All of them rush to line up and curtsey, eyes obediently trained to the ground. They all look too young to be away from their parents, too young to be a part of this treacherously beautiful palace.

“Sweet treats. Anything yummy my mom makes really,” I mumble to myself, beginning to list off to myself things that have sparked joy in my heart during my past life. “I like... I also like... hmmm.”

“I feel happy watching teleas with my mom, even the cheesy ones with poor cinematography. I feel happy trying out new coffee shops. I feel happy when I play with the animals at the animal shelter. I...” My lips press into a firm line. “I have to go back. I will go back.”

“Go back where?”

I burst into a smile that isn’t reflected in my heart. “To my chambers of course! There are many gifts to unwrap!”

“You know what would make me happy?”

Emma shrugs.

“Ruining a certain man’s life and social standing. And getting a dragon.”

A devious smile spreads across my face as I lean over and whisper something in Emma’s ear. First, her eyebrows nearly reach her hairline, but by the end, if I’m not mistaken, there is a faint grin hanging on her lips.

“You are a good princess, your highness. You are.” Her eyes shimmer and shine in a way that causes me to break eye contact first for once. There is a strange swirl of guilt and elation in her chest.

“I hope you can still say that in a few years. I truly do,” I can only respond as we return.

There are dozens of gifts for me to work my way through as the sun rises to its zenith in the sky and slowly begins to crawl down in the late afternoon. Julian gifts me a pair of white horses whose coats glimmer in the sun. I distinctly know that I told that lad that I am not the biggest fan of horses, so I roll my eyes at his cheeky gift. The servant from his courtyard lets out a sigh of relief as I nod my approval, allowing for the horses to be taken care of somewhere out of my sight.

I smile and clap at the jewelry I’m gifted, many of which I may never wear. Augustus’ generous endowment of an ornate pearl set of jewelry does suit my fancy and I am vaguely delighted that he knows my tastes well enough to give me such a thoughtful gift. If only he could understand my struggles just as easily and why I do the things I do.

The only gifts that truly touch me after those are the gifts from the common people, thoroughly checked and picked over by guards to prevent any bodily or magical threats from infiltrating the palace walls. Most are simple things, crudely constructed dolls, heartfelt letters, charms for good luck. I rub my thumb on a carved pendant meant to ward away evil, wishing it were so easy to rid my life with a handmade talisman.

“Pretty,” Emma says unexpectedly, her eyes drawn to the turquoise blue stone the pendant was made from.

“Very. And quite thoughtful of them. Help me tie it around my neck, will you?” I turn around to face the door, just as they are opened without warning and a young servant with a booming voice announces a surprising guest.

“His Majesty has arrived!”

This is new.

The emperor walks in, hands clasped behind his back, silent as ever. He was a watcher, much like myself, who became a player. The vigilance never decreases, his eyes sharp as they survey the room in seconds without breaking his stride.

“Your Majesty,” Emma and Marie curtsey before backing away to give us some privacy.

“Happy birthday, Winter,” my father intones to my somewhat surprised face.

“Um... thank you,” I smile hard to hide my gawkiness.

I press my lips together, feeling more awkward than an audience member dragged up on stage to participate in the act. Do I smile? Do I act grateful to see him? I still remember the effort I put in a few years ago when I tried and failed to win my father over with my cuteness. So now, except for the rare occasion (like requesting a dragon for my birthday), I hardly feel like cracking a smile around the man.

Nonetheless, politeness wins out and I allow a thin smile to cross my face. Piles of wrapping paper are being ferried out of the room with great haste by maids, precious trinkets and toys to be carted off to no man’s land as I have little use for them at my true age.

I awkwardly clear my throat. “Please take a seat... Father.”

And he does. Right next to me. I can feel the sofa cushion depress under his weight. My hands bunch up the skirt of my dress before I can help myself, wrinkling the shimmery taffeta material. But I can hardly pay it any mind as two strong men wobble into the room with a chest that must weigh a lot.

It thuds onto the finely woven carpet before my bed and both men bow before leaving.

“Open it, Winter,” my father suddenly says.

“What is it?” I ask, eyeing the ornate chest but not making a move towards it. I cannot imagine how it could ever pertain to what I had asked of the emperor the other day.

“Your gift.”

My lips press into a fine line, but I approach anyways as I find myself stuck between a rock and a hard place. The few maids who are still in the room, are huddled near the walls of course so that they aren’t affected by my father’s aura, are silent as death. My fingers scramble at the smooth surface of the latch holding the golden chest shut before I finally flip it up and am blessed with a sight I did not expect in the slightest.

It both is and isn’t a dragon. A shell, smooth and shiny, iridescent in a way that no man-made craft can replicate. It is an egg, a few sizes larger than my head and nestled in a red pillow like a treasure. I lose my breath.

“Woah,” I gasp despite trying my best to stay calm and collected. It’s not everyday one runs into a literal dragon egg, after all.

I reach out to touch it, the shiny spines as firm as steel under my touch. It is neither warm nor cold, instead a lukewarm temperature that feels alive under my touch.

“There is a chance it may never hatch. But if raised carefully under the right conditions, it may bear fruit,” my father says, suddenly standing over my shoulder.

“Right, right,” I respond, barely registering his words as I touch the egg again. Eventually, my sanity returns and I can all but hear my mother, Dolores, yelling in my ear to thank my father properly.

“Oh! Thank you, father! Thank you very much! I love it!” I stretch my arms out wide to display how much I like it, gagging internally as I add, “I love it this much!”

The moment the words come out, I want to throw myself off a cliff out of embarrassment. But thankfully, I have been temporarily spared the repercussions of my actions as another guest is promptly announced – Elias, the little two-faced lord-to-be, whom I am far too kind to on account of that night long ago when he’d stopped me from committing a fatal mistake.

Today, he is wheeled in, not by his loyal butler Chester, but by a face I’ve never before seen. Elias looks utterly unphased by the change of the servant who has been by his side longer than anyone else, smiling as he is rolled in.

“Your Majesty. Your highness,” he greets, switching back to the proper vernacular before my father. I grin, pleased by his visit.

“I wish you the happiest of birthdays, your highness. May fate always be kind to you.” I snort inwardly. Fate, or I suppose I should say, Peppermint, hasn’t been kind to me, but now that I’m a part of the story there is no way for her to manipulate me ever again.

“Thank you, Elias,” I respond respectfully. If nothing else, with the emperor still in the room, it wouldn’t do for me to go put the son of one of his most loyal retainers in a headlock. As tempting as it seems at the moment.

Elias nods his head, accepting my gratitude and simultaneously prompting the new face pushing his chair to bring forth a large box lined with holes.

“Your gift. Hopefully, it suits your interests,” Elias said, placing a special emphasis on interests. I’m half distracted already, having seen something scurry within the confines of the aerated box. The butler places the box on a table Marie hastily clears of any items, lifting the heavy lid carefully to reveal two snow-white bunnies chasing each other around.

“Oh my word!” I squeal, letting out that girlish scream that rises from the depths of a female soul when presented with a cute animal. It scares the bunnies, who suddenly stop their prancing around and sit straight up, like soldiers greeting their commanding officer. They are cuter than words, cuter than anything I’ve ever seen before, even my reflection when I was 5.

“This is perfect!” Instant forgiveness is invisibly bestowed upon Elias and he smiles knowingly. Rubbing my fingers through fur softer than my own bedsheets, I’m met with a sensation of animal-fuelled euphoria I felt with my family pet dog in my previous life.

“Names! They need names!” I exclaim to myself, trying and failing to hold both of my precious new babies in my arms. They scurry back to the safety of their open cage and Elias laughs at me without a care.

Belatedly, I see my father’s face has slipped back into the emotionless mask he performs with such ease. He couldn’t be annoyed that I’m fawning over Elias’ gift more than his right? Then I shake my head at such a silly thought. An emperor such as my father would not be so easily incensed by the emotions of his partially estranged daughter. Not after all these years of me pleading and searching for an emotional response from him.

What about the hunting competition? The angel on my right shoulder asks. Her voice is weak as I’ve been smothering her words out in favor of her darker companion. And what about when he cleared you of the murder charges without any doubt or hesitation? Maybe your father’s love language is-

Love language? The devil scoffs. Don’t listen to that bullshit, Winter. The man barely cares. Maybe a little, but not nearly as much as she’s trying to give him credit for. He would never have been here if you weren’t useful. So just enjoy the good things you can get out of him while you can and be happy.

To no one’s surprise, I’m more inclined to listen to the devil and my heart feels temporarily at ease once more.

Is this happiness, Finn? It’s hard to say. But I’ll make do with whatever this is for now. Particularly when I find later that evening, tucked under the hand-sewn cushions for the bunnies, a book about forbidden magic.