RISE OF THE UNFAVORED PRINCESS - Chapter 143

Chapter 143: Ch. 142: Blade of Glass

Sage is quiet by my side as I and a procession of attendants walk towards the venue Augustus’ coming of age ceremony will be held.

“Still mad?” I ask, my hands clasped behind my back as I march ahead.

“Sage is very mad!” she whined, dipping into the third person like the lovable idiot she tries to be.

“You ought to know better than to come in without knocking, Sage,” I say, not giving in as quickly as I usually do.

“I’m very sorry, your highness! I will never do it again,”

“I know you won’t.” “What do you think of my dress?”

“It’s very pretty, your highness! You look like a fairy!

…..

“Oh?” This simple word works like a magic charm. Every time I utter it, people tend to chatter even more.

“That fabric is very fashionable these days. I heard that only the well-connected madams at the Ladies’ Court wear it,” Sage gushes with a not-so-innocent name drop.

I smile wryly to myself at the mention of the place I first, for lack of a better word, got hazed by Empress Katya. Sage isn’t stupid enough to casually mention that exclusive sorority-like club, no matter how dumb she acts. So why does Empress Katya want her to mention it in front of me?

There isn’t much time to ponder why as we arrive at the amphitheater that has been converted into a setting fit for a coming-of-age ceremony. Empresses and princesses of old used to entertain themselves by inviting dancers and acting troupes to perform. It seems this practice of isolating the women at home while the guys get to go be cool and conquer places is a tale as old as time.

“What were you speaking of, with Young Lord Wolfe?” It’s an innocent question perhaps, but Sage accidentally steps in a landmine.

My glare is sharp enough to cut flesh to the bone. “Is it your place to question the conversations I have?”

“I-I’m sorry.” Sage quivers where she stands then falls to her knees. The entire procession grinds to a halt.

If anyone were to witness this moment, there would be rumors of me bullying my servants courtesy of Empress Katya. The frustration of having to deal with Sage ebs as I remember once again why I keep this spy close to my side.

“There is no need to be sorry, Sage. Now quickly stand up, it makes my heart hurt to see you fall to your knees,” I assure her, taking her hand as she rises.

They are callused, but not in the way a maid’s should be, with four tough mounds where the finger meets the joint. Hers are callused in the same way Emma’s are, with one at the base of the thumb and rough fingertips. Ironically, it was because of those killing hands that we caught her in the first place. I pat them lovingly while I vomit internally.

“Your highness.” Tears of affection and gratitude hang in the corner of Sage’s eyes.

I’ve heard what they say about me recently around the palace. The pauper princess. The princess who prefers the company of lowly maids rather than her fellow nobility. They must be why Sage has been even more clingy than usual, to help cement these new rumors that Empress Katya has spread. I’d much rather it was Marie by my side, but I’m too old to bring a nursemaid around.

“Her Imperial Highness, Princess Winter Royberg de la Erudian, has arrived!”

When my presence is announced, the contempt hangs faintly in the air, nearly imperceptible. But I can feel it, and I smile when I do. Not the sweet, naive grin I gave at my first Spring Ball, but a smaller, neater one.

I’m a little taller too now, but still have yet to hit a proper growth spurt. My former height was a blessing I never fully appreciated until I woke up in that uncomfortable cot as a baby.

“Winnie!” Julian yells cheerfully as I’m escorted to the section where the imperial family sits. “You excited?”

I give the annoying blond a side glance and ignore him as I’m forced to take the only seat that is open without Augustus’ presence, the seat beside my father. I feel dumb standing on the tips of my toes to get on my seat, until two warm hands swoop under my arms and tug me into the seat.

“Huh?” I squeak in alarm, looking over my shoulder to see the emperor’s face all too close to mine, to the point that our matching gold eyes are inches away from each other.

“Oh… thanks… Father!” I manage to eke out of my throat. Julian chuckles obnoxiously from the opposite side of our father, although he seems far more enraptured by the empty stage than what just happened. Empress Katya’s brows furrow, then release. She sits on the far side of Julian, always apart from the emperor, never together. I’m grateful I don’t have to make asinine small talk with her this time.

I rub at my arms absentmindedly while hush falls over the crowd. It’s as if that small motion would be enough to wipe away the sensation of my father’s hands pulling me onto my seat. But more than anything, it helps me ground my mind for the upcoming ritual.

Coming-of-age ceremonies are exclusive to the official heirs of the imperial family, a moment when the Holy Church and the imperial family quit budding heads and come together. My father never had one, but his brother Wilhelm did. Gold is the color of the evening. It’s the color of the imperial sash I had to wear over my dress tonight, the same one my entire family wears. It drips from the stage in golden streamers and the single spotlight flickering over the stage is gold as well.

Turns out that spotlights are kind of tough to create in a world still lit up by candles and torches. God, I miss electricity.

It is not Bishop Duvernay’s ghastly white figure that steps out on stage, but a far more welcome one, High Priestess Aria. She’s bloomed in her teenage years, adopting a faint aura that forces one to sit up and take notice. Blind, sky blue eyes are offset by her deep brown skin, eyes that look my way and playfully wink. Our friendship is perhaps the sole benefit of working for the Holy Church as the promised child.

She stands in the center of the amphitheater on top of a sun that has been painted on the stage. “Praise Helio,” she begins, saying the first of many prayers intermingled with pompous ceremony.

Augustus takes it all like a champ. The way that the amphitheater is structured, the stage is below all the seats, which stack up on each other like stairs extending into the night sky. Anyone who is a somebody in the empire sits and watches my oldest brother get officially ordained as the crown prince of the Erudian Empire.

Augustus kneels and Aria presses her thumb onto the center of his forehead, imparting a blessing. I can actually see it and watch as a faint, gold shimmer envelops both of them before it disappears altogether.

“Beautiful,” I murmur under my breath, spellbound by the sight. When I’d first seen magic, it had been a frightening sight of colors and music only I could see and hear. And when it came near me, we were like two instruments slightly off-key with the other. The ability that runs through me is not magic, not in the same sense that the high priestess or imperial doctors can use magic. But as for what it is, I’m not certain yet.

Augustus rises, unable to hide the happy smile on his face as he faces his future subjects. He has the bearing I’ve coached into him, humility with a rigid spine of righteous honor. I can see people in the dark crowd nodding to themselves as Augustus presents himself, not as a boy, but as a fully-fledged man. Who knows how many women will be swooning over him now?

Julian snorts where he sits. I turn to look at him, surprised to see that both he and my father wear identical masks of faint displeasure. As the spare prince, it makes sense for him to not be impressed by what he’s seeing. He and Augustus, despite being quite close in age, have never seen eye to eye with each other.

But our father? I couldn’t have predicted that.

I don’t have much time to linger in my thoughts as a shout rises in the crowd, followed by a shrill scream. This time it’s my turn to snort.

“Right on cue. You win, Emma,” I mutter as a black figure becomes apparent in the crowd. There are two, working in tandem through the screaming nobles towards the center stage where Augustus stands seemingly alone. In actuality, there are several guards hidden close to the stage as we had long predicted this kind of outcome.

I roll my eyes, annoyed because I’d bet with Emma that the interruption would come at the beginning of the ceremony while she’d bet towards the end. Now, all that awaits is to find out whether Elias was right about today’s interruption not being the empress’ retaliation, but the actions of a third party I’ve yet to uncover. I’d much prefer for it to be Empress Katya.

Better the devil you know, than the one you don’t.

But every extra day I spend in this new world as Emma has shown me that there is much I do not know and much I do not want to know.

“Your Majesty,” a royal guard I’ve never seen bows deeply near where we sit, overlooking the mayhem below. Today, intriguingly, the Mad Dog is not present. “Allow me to escort you to safety!”

But my father just frowns and remains seated as if an active assassination attempt is not occurring as we speak.

“I’ve never seen your face. From which family do you hail?” Emperor Helio asks coldly. He does not check on Augustus or show any panic, a ruler through and through. My father may be a piece of shit, but he’s a good emperor.

The fake guard frowns as the other guards in the room tense up and glare at him menacingly. But it’s only for a second. He sheds his humble knight demeanor in seconds, pulling out a blade that looks like it is carved out of glass. It is see-through and has the wicked curve of a scimitar. I’ve never seen such a thing before, but my bones tell me that it is something terrible.

“To hell with you! Die, demon emperor! You do not deserve your throne! You do not deserve to bear the name of our lord, Helio, as your own!” He yells like a fanatic, going in for a suicide charge through the narrow walkway of the amphitheater’s seating.

The few guards try to stop him, but it is now that the peculiarity of the blade reveals itself. It cuts through the first sword in its path like a knife through hot butter, before it cuts through the guard the same way.

It’s a shocking sight, not the most shocking thing I’ve ever seen, but quite high on the list. It knocks me out of my body, leaving me a spectator of the way the entire situation unravels. After all, I was expecting these people to come after Augustus, but not my father as well.

Empress Katya stands up quickly, grabbing Linette’s hand and going pale. Julian lets out a couple swear words I know all too well as he reaches for his waist and remembers that he doesn’t have his sword on.

And my father. He just sits and watches.

Now is a good time to reiterate that the seating in the amphitheater, like the Roman amphitheaters of old, are glorified single-file benches. And lucky for me, I’m the closest person to the incoming onslaught.

Panic flits through my chest like a caged butterfly, before I suddenly remember something that causes my racing heart to slow. My father has his killing aura. And I’m immune.

He can’t extend it to its full potential right now because the empress sits close by, but so long as the assassin guard gets within range, he will be toast.

But then why hasn’t this assassin armed with a blade of glass slowed down yet?