Rise of the Unfavored Princess

Ch. 59: 2 Years Later

(2 YEARS LATER)

As it turns out, a great many people live in the imperial palace, an even greater number than I knew to begin with. After the madness surrounding my high profile imprisonment and accusations died down from a roaring fire to smoldering embers that spark every now and then, I enjoyed a new status within the palace. Invisibility. Kind of.

Everyone still very well knew who I was. The stares have never stopped and the bright shock of white hair serves as a constant calling card of my identity. It practically screams, “Here I am! That illegitimate bastard who nearly killed one of the commanders of the royal guard! That’s right! It’s me!”

It doesn’t help that Empress Katya, intent on fulfilling her role of a doting, kind mother, calls me often to the Sunrise Palace, the long walk kindling intense stares and murmured gossip through the halls for the next few days. It is on these long walks that I witness the large number of nobles who hide themselves within the scaffolding of the palace, so determined to attain even a small piece of imperial favor.

A few of these noblewomen, newly debuted a residing in a distant palace at the empress’ permission, had decided to make things difficult for me for the mysterious poisoning case that was swept under the rug although I’m still largely believed to be the culprit. The empress graciously stepped in and stopped them from bullying me, successfully drawing much praise for being a wonderful stepmother to the child my father had with a mystery mistress.

A fierce knocking sound draws me out of my reflective thoughts and back to the present- inside the trunk of my brother Julian’s carriage. Normally, I would’ve noticed the successive small bumps that occur when the carriage rolls over the small metal ridge of the outdoor gate to the palace.

“Your highness, Prince Julian is signaling for us to exit,” Emma said faithfully, not looking uncomfortable despite her feet curled around her head from the tight squeeze we both have made into the trunk. Ordinarily, the fit isn’t so tight, but now Emma is 9 years old and much taller than she was in the past. Surprisingly, my runt size has persisted, and I am only incrementally larger than I was when I first arrived at the imperial palace.

I push open the secret inner door of the trunk, one that leads to the interior of the cushioned royal carriage as opposed to its outer lid. The trunk carries a slight stink of manure, as it isn’t cleaned as well as the rest of the carriage before it is left in the stables. My head is covered in a straw bonnet, all my hair twined underneath so not a single lock of white is visible. Belladona was carefully dripped into my eyes, the stinging pain having woken me up fully earlier this morning. They are now a boring, nondescript brown, matching the plain brown dress both Emma and I are wearing.

.....

“Every time I see your disguises, I can scarcely believe it is you,” Julian says in slight disbelief, watching with arms crossed as I crawl from the inner door onto the cushioned seat opposite of him.

“That is kind of the purpose of a disguise,” I mutter dryly to my half-brother, knowing we look completely unalike at the moment. My unusual features make for a distinct calling card, helping me stand out without trying. When they are hidden I look like an ordinary, albeit incredibly cute little flower seller.

“Emma, have you got the flowers?” I ask while extending a helping hand to Emma. She refuses it, somehow managing to lug in two heavy wood woven baskets full of flowers we’ve ‘borrowed’ from an untraveled corner of the palace. Just like me, they won’t be missed in the slightest.

“Where are you off to today?” Julian inquires after Emma and I have settled ourselves into the seats that feel like clouds, a far cry from the chilly metal container we had been forced to sneak out of the palace in. His eyes are wide open and seem to have a trustworthy appearance, the golden tan he is reacquiring as it grows warmer making him appear like a young Adonis.

“Nowhere in particular,” I reply I say in a sing-song manner, losing eye contact from his golden gaze and opting to look out the window. I don’t need to look to see the guilt that will inevitably well up in his eyes.

He shoulders some of the blame for the incident from two years ago and the subsequent ostracization I’ve faced from high society even as a young child. As for how I feel about him... it’s complicated. As an old soul in a young body, I know he can clearly see what kind of person Empress Katya, his mother, is like. I want to give him the benefit of the doubt as it is a difficult decision to oppose your mother who has always been good to you. But the backs of my calves still sting from my last visit to my dearest mother.

An awkward silence hangs in the air, at odds with the merriment ensuing outside the carriage. Radovalsk is beautiful as usual, the warm sun bathing the streets and citizens in dappled gold. The high steeples of the distant Holy Temple stand out among the fine buildings of East Bend, their sun crest waving on a small flag. All because the empress bribed them to come up with a bogus promised child prophecy for her daughter, I am forced to face Katya’s wrath for unluckily being born just a few months after Julia and casting doubt on Julia’s position.

In the web, Julia had acquired the title with ease when she was still in her youth, as the fabricated prophecy had stated that the royal child that was to be born that year Katya was pregnant would bring great fortune to the Erudian Empire. It had created a much-needed bond between the imperial family and the Holy Church and increased Julian’s claim to the throne as his biological little sister whose name was quite similar to him was a holy maiden the masses worshipped. In actuality, the promised child prophecy served as a shield for Julia, whose horrible antics and cruelty were kept under wraps by the Church until Clara, the main character, brought them into the light.

“You know, I’m so-” Julian lets out abruptly as if something is sitting on his chest.

“I know,” I sigh.

“No, really I-”

“I know, Julian,” I say with finality. I’m well aware that he means to apologize for his mother, but what good will empty words do without any action? I’d rather he wallow in guilt than give him false comfort that I’ve ‘forgiven’ him for his inaction. The entire situation makes me think of the quote I learned in my philosophy class what feels like eons ago.

‘The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.’

I’ve witnessed this firsthand as I’ve grown familiar with the capital over these many months of moving around incognito.

The dreaded silence comes to an end as the carriage pulls up to the constable office Julian has an official meeting at. The horses loudly whiny and the carriage trembles, although the shaking is minimal as the make of the carriage is impeccable.

Julian lets out a long breath, but not one of relief. I can see the disappointment in his eyes from my lack of forgiveness, but I don’t feel bad in the slightest. As long as he feels bad for his actions, he will continue to help Emma and I sneak out of the imperial palace in his carriage every month.

I scoot out of Julian’s personal transportation, embarrassingly having to crawl out from my stomach so my toes can touch the step that appears to be miles away from the carriage’s body. A mock salute serves as my farewell before Emma and I round the corner and disappear before the escorts from within the constable office come out to fawn over Julian.

“Your highness! Our sincere apologies for being late, we did not know you would be arriving so... early?” a short pudgy man wails as he drops into a bow before Julian who smoothly exits the carriage. All traces of his past mood are gone as he dons the familiar royal mask of imperial prestige.

Emma is still looking back as we assimilate into the crowd, my flower basket clutched in my good hand. As fate would have it, the hand that the empress turned into a pincushion looks quite normal, the frightening pitch-black color long gone. However, it is rather useless, and can’t carry anything heavier than a pen.

“He’s good isn’t he?” I exclaim nonchalantly, scanning the throngs for a good spot to sit and sell our wares.

“He reminds me of his mother,” Emma just says, her bonnet adorably askew as she accompanies me to a bustling corner that surprisingly hasn’t been taken yet. It sits right beside a popular little bakery, one that lures numerous well-dressed children to drool over the confections displayed behind a shiny glass window. They tug at their mother’s fluffy outer skirts, startling a shocked laugh out of their parents. It’s a heartwarming scene to behold, one I am envious of. Oh, to be loved by your parents. The warmth of Maria’s hugs pales in comparison to that of my real mother.

“Flowers! Come buy flowers for your wife, sister, niece, or if you’re especially naughty, for your mistress! Fine tulips from the north, lilies from the south. Put a smile on a pretty girl’s face and buy some flowers!” I cleverly shout in my childish voice, sending a hum of laughter through those who hear. It’s my best impression of the peddlers on the streets of New York attempting to sell their baseball caps, popcorn, and such. Who would’ve thought my marketing minor would come to aid me at such a time?

The ensuing clang of coins shows that my efforts today were worth it. As I get older, I can understand Emma’s love for money. Her face looks especially ruddy as she swirls around the jangling silver and gold coins from today’s efforts. We buy a small pastry from the nearby bakery, as their flourishing business was partly responsible for our success.

Wiping crumbs from my mouth, I turn to Emma expectantly.

“Now then, shall we carry on with the real business?” I ask cheerfully, straightening out my appearance, and ruffling the wrinkles out of my simple apron.

For you see, these past two years, I have been rather busy myself.