Between Destruction and Pleasure - Chapter 3

Amy applied a damp cloth to Catherine’s swollen cheek, her expression filled with worry.

“It hurts, doesn’t it?” Amy asked sympathetically.

Catherine winced. “It’s fine. It’ll bruise tomorrow, though. Maybe I should splash some cold water on it.”

Amy clenched her fists in frustration. “That Second Prince is horrible! How can he keep doing this to you? Every time he visits, it’s nothing but chaos!”

Catherine sighed, her voice resigned. “He’s always been like that.” She glanced at the mirror, her swollen face reflecting her own frustration. “Tomorrow’s Friday… This won’t do. I can’t afford to look like this tomorrow.”

Amy pressed the damp cloth against her cheek again. “You’re not planning to go out tomorrow, are you, Your Highness?”

“I am,” Catherine replied, determination in her voice. “It’s an opportunity I can’t miss, especially since I’m supposed to be under house arrest. Amy, you should leave now. You might get caught if you stay too long.”

“But, Your Highness, I’m worried! If you get caught…”

Catherine cut her off with a casual shrug. “Don’t worry. If I do, the worst that’ll happen is another line added to my ‘scandalous princess’ reputation.”

Amy looked exasperated, but she couldn’t argue. Catherine’s reckless attitude often left her speechless, yet there was a truth to her words that couldn’t be denied. Shaking her head, Amy quietly left the room.

The next day, Ivy Palace remained eerily quiet until noon.

Whenever Catherine was placed under house arrest, the palace became a desolate place. Aside from a maid delivering her meals and a single, aged guard, no one else came near.

In the past, this isolation had felt bitter and lonely. Now, however, Catherine saw it as a blessing.

Clack.

The maid set the tray of food down with a loud, irritable thud. Catherine’s brows furrowed at the sound.

“Is this what I’m supposed to eat?”

The tray bore two bruised apples, a bowl of stale corn porridge, rock-hard bread, and a cup of bitter, over-brewed tea. Even by Ivy Palace’s meager standards, the quality of the food had reached a new low during her house arrest.

The maid’s expression was indifferent as she replied, “I just brought what I was told to bring, Your Highness.”

It was unthinkable that food of this quality would normally be served to a princess, even one under house arrest. Someone from “above” had undoubtedly interfered.

“If you don’t want to eat, you’ll just have to go hungry all day,” the maid added, her tone laced with thinly veiled contempt.

Catherine eyed the maid sharply. The way the girl looked at her and spoke to her reeked of insolence.

“I don’t believe we’ve met before,” Catherine said coolly.

“I was recently assigned here.”

“I see. Then it seems I need to teach you something.”

Catherine reached for the bowl of porridge. Without warning, she upended it over the maid’s head.

“Here. You can have it instead.”

“Ahhh!”

Ignoring the maid’s cry of shock, Catherine stepped back, watching as the porridge dripped onto the floor.

“Oh dear, it looks like I’ve made a mess. Make sure you clean this up before you leave. And if you bring me food like this again tomorrow, I’ll feed it to you personally. Understood?”

The maid, trembling and on the verge of tears, collapsed to the floor. Catherine turned on her heel and left the dining room, her steps brisk and confident.

Her stomach growled loudly as she walked away, a reminder that she had just forfeited her meal. Unbothered, she made her way to her second-floor bedroom.

Catherine sat on her bed, pulling out a stash of dried jerky she had hidden in her drawer. Chewing on it slowly, she sighed. Years of experience had taught her to keep emergency supplies ready at all times.

A princess of the empire, reduced to sneaking bites of dried meat to stave off hunger. What a joke.

Yet it no longer surprised her. There had been times, especially during her younger years, when she had eaten spoiled food and suffered for days afterward.

And… how often I was beaten, she thought bitterly, memories of her childhood surfacing unbidden.

At five years old, Catherine sat in a grassy field, carefully weaving flower crowns with her tiny, delicate hands. Though clumsy and uneven, her creations were earnest attempts at crafting something beautiful. She had finished three crowns, made of white and yellow flowers, and excitedly carried them to her siblings.

“Neron! Maron!” she called shyly, stepping into the room where her brothers were stacking wooden blocks. She offered the crowns, hoping they would appreciate her effort and maybe, just maybe, include her in their games.

“What’s this?” Maron asked, grabbing one of the crowns and shaking it as if to inspect it. Neron, on the other hand, merely glanced at it without bothering to take it.

“Get that out of here,” he said curtly.

Before Catherine could retreat with her rejected gift, their youngest sibling, Olivia, toddled over and snatched one of the crowns from her hand.

“Ah! Olivia, wait!”

In her eagerness, Olivia yanked at the crown too hard, her finger catching on a sharp stem.

“Waaaah!” Olivia immediately burst into tears, clutching her hand as she cried.

Startled, Neron and Maron dropped the crowns and rushed to their sister’s side.

“Let me see, Olivia,” Neron said, inspecting her hand.

“This is your fault! You hurt Olivia!” Maron snapped at Catherine.

It was only a minor scratch, barely enough to leave a mark, but Maron angrily stomped on one of the crowns as though it were something filthy.

Neron turned to Catherine, his expression cold and menacing. At ten years old, he towered over her, an imposing figure to her five-year-old self.

“How dare you hurt my sister? Did you think bringing us something like this would make us like you?”

“N-no, I just…” Catherine stammered, trembling.

“Hold out your hands,” Neron ordered, picking up a wooden toy sword. “If you’ve done something wrong, you need to be punished.”

“Please, Brother, I’m sorry!”

“Quiet! Unless you want to make this worse.”

Tears streaming down her face, Catherine hesitated before timidly extending her small hands. Her palms were already scratched and reddened from Olivia’s tugging, but Neron paid no mind. He struck them harshly with the wooden sword, ignoring the thin line of blood that appeared.

The maids standing nearby saw everything yet did nothing to intervene.

After that day, Neron would punish Catherine for any small mistake she made, striking her hands and feet while she sobbed silently, too scared to resist.

As Catherine grew older, Neron’s physical punishments stopped, but then Maron became the problem.

“Catch the ball, Catherine!”

Maron often showed up with other noble children, inviting Catherine to play. At first, she had been thrilled to be included and eagerly agreed.

Thud!

It wasn’t long before the game revealed its true nature. The children took turns throwing and kicking the ball at Catherine while she stood still, unable to dodge.

Despite the pain, she didn’t dare refuse. The other children laughed, entertained by her inability to stand up for herself.

One day, Maron kicked the ball hard, and it hit Catherine square in the face. Blood dripped from her nose.

“Huh…?”

“Ha! Look at her! She’s got a nosebleed!” Maron jeered, laughing as he circled her.

“Your Highness!”

Just then, Catherine’s nursemaid arrived, horrified by what she saw. She rushed to Catherine’s side, but Maron stood by, indifferent, as if nothing had happened.

“What is the meaning of this, Your Highness? How could you do this to the princess’s face?”

The nursemaid’s indignant cry directed at Maron was met with a scornful glare.

“What? Are you, just a nursemaid, lecturing me right now?”

That evening, the nursemaid was dragged away and subjected to brutal punishment for daring to insult the prince.

“It’s because I’m weak, because I’m useless, that the nursemaid is suffering,” thought Catherine, tears streaming down her face as she watched the woman groaning in pain. It felt as though everything was her fault.

Seeing Catherine’s sorrow, the nursemaid pulled her into a comforting embrace. Catherine cried even harder, clinging to the only adult who had ever truly cared for her.

The nursemaid was the only one who ever held her when she cried.

Maron grew up without shedding the cruelty of his childhood. Olivia, however, was more cunning and calculating than the others, her mischief often masked by a veneer of innocence.

She would break items treasured by the emperor or empress or throw rocks at maids and servants, then frame Catherine for her misdeeds.

One day was no different.

“Sister, come look at this. Isn’t it pretty?”

Catherine hesitated, approaching cautiously with a sense of unease. Something felt off, but she couldn’t pinpoint what.

Olivia flashed her a mischievous grin before quickly glancing around to make sure no one was watching.

Crash!

Without warning, Olivia deliberately knocked over a vase, shattering it into pieces.

“Olivia! Why did you—?” Catherine gasped, her eyes wide with panic.

Fearful of being blamed again, she instinctively turned to flee, her face pale with dread.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Olivia grabbed her by the clothes, pulling her back. Both girls tumbled to the ground, with Olivia scraping her knee and Catherine cutting her hand on the broken shards. Blood began to drip from Catherine’s wound, staining the floor beneath her.

It was eerily reminiscent of the day Catherine had tried to gift her siblings flower crowns.

“Princess Olivia!”

A swarm of maids and servants rushed in, but their attention was solely on Olivia. They hurried to lift her up and inspect her minor scrape, ignoring Catherine entirely, even as blood continued to flow from her hand.

“I’m hurt too,” Catherine whispered weakly. Her words went unheard—or ignored.

At that moment, something inside young Catherine snapped.

“I said, I’m hurt too!” she shouted, her voice trembling with a mix of anger and despair.

Grabbing a shard of the broken vase, she hurled it to the ground, the sharp fragments shattering even further with a piercing sound.

“I’m bleeding! Look! I’m hurt too!” she screamed, tears streaming down her face as she sobbed uncontrollably.

Her outburst left the maids stunned. Finally, one of them hesitantly approached her, looking uncomfortable as she inspected Catherine’s injured hand.