The Abandoned Princess’ Secret Bedroom - Chapter 11: A Delicious Body

“Did you have someone following me?” Llewellyn’s amber eyes burned with fury, trembling in anger.

“Did you think I wouldn’t have spies in the palace?” Almandite retorted.

Llewellyn’s expression twisted in disbelief. This was the same man who had abandoned everything and retreated from the central political stage. Even in a palace as sprawling and crowded as this, planting spies was no simple feat—it required meticulous planning and years of preparation.

“You’ve been scheming for years, haven’t you? I thought you had no interest in the capital anymore.”

“Perhaps.”

“Why are you doing this? What does it have to do with me?” Llewellyn demanded, her voice trembling with barely suppressed rage.

“Llewellyn.”

“Don’t say my name.”

“Listen to me.”

Almandite stepped closer, the distance between them closing in a heartbeat. Llewellyn, once able to look him in the eye, now had to crane her neck to meet his gaze. He had grown into a man, his fiery red hair glowing like embers, his presence overwhelming. For a brief moment, the weight of those years washed over her.

“Llewellyn,” he said, his voice quieter but no less intense, “I’ve come to fulfill the promise I made to you.”

“…What?”

“A promise I made to you a long time ago.”

Llewellyn’s expression shifted from confusion to shock as realization dawned. Her eyes widened as she pieced it together.

“You… You insane bastard.”

*

The vast green fields stretched out before her as Llewellyn adjusted the brim of her hat. The sunlight was bright, but the wide brim shaded her face, making it easier to conceal her expression. Her fingers fidgeted nervously, clenching and unclenching as she tried to steady herself.

“Is something the matter, Princess?”

The maids, who were unusually attentive, asked with apparent concern. It was a rare sight—they were clearly trying to appear diligent because both Pamela and Bastian were present.

“Are you unwell again?” Bastian turned his head to glance at her, his tone laced with worry.

Before Llewellyn could reply, Pamela spoke up, her words sharp and accusing.

“Is the Princess dissatisfied with royal events lately? She hasn’t looked particularly pleased during them, even today.”

“No,” Llewellyn replied flatly. “I simply have much to think about.”

“It doesn’t seem to be a physical ailment, then,” Bastian noted with a frown. “Mother, don’t press her too much.”

Llewellyn nodded, her amber eyes meeting his. Bastian, her half-brother, always seemed strangely kind to her, though she couldn’t understand why. He had never truly done anything for her, and she had always treated him with cold indifference. Why does he keep acting like he cares, knowing how distant I am toward him?

“Llewellyn, why are you looking at me like that?” Bastian asked with wide eyes before chuckling awkwardly. For a brief moment, a kind gaze passed between them.

Pamela’s expression darkened at the sight, her eyes flickering with something akin to anger.

“Princess!” Pamela’s voice suddenly rose, uncharacteristically harsh for someone who usually maintained a façade of gentleness.

Both Llewellyn and Bastian flinched at her outburst. Pamela bit her lip and trembled slightly, her fury barely restrained. Llewellyn, puzzled, couldn’t fathom the cause of her extreme reaction.

“Since you’re here, Princess, why not participate in the event?” Pamela said, her voice now overly loud, clearly intending to draw attention.

“Mother, Llewellyn isn’t feeling well,” Bastian said gently, trying to diffuse the situation.

But Pamela’s anger had already flared, and she wasn’t about to back down.

“It’s delightful to see the Princess attending an event for once! I’m positively thrilled. Why not fully participate?”

Her voice carried across the field, drawing the attention of the young ladies nearby. Pamela was obviously upset about Llewellyn’s attendance at the riding event and was now making her displeasure known. As if on cue, Pamela’s maid, the Countess of Roche, gestured subtly to a group of young ladies. They quickly approached Llewellyn with smiles plastered on their faces.

“It’s such a pleasure to see you here, Princess,” said one of the young ladies sweetly.

Though her tone was kind, Llewellyn knew the Countess of Roche well enough to understand the cunning behind her smile. This wasn’t mere teasing; this was calculated humiliation. Pamela’s intentions were clear, and these young women were more than willing to play along.

That a mere count’s daughter dared to address her so casually was galling. To make matters worse, they began pressuring her to ride without waiting for any sign of her consent. Their sparkling eyes betrayed their eagerness to see her embarrassed.

“Why don’t we all go for a ride?” one suggested, feigning enthusiasm.

Pamela added with a saccharine tone, “The Princess rarely joins us for events like this. It would be such a delight for everyone to see her participate!”

Llewellyn remained calm, smiling faintly as she replied, “Of course. Shall we rise, then?”

Pamela’s attempt at forcing her hand had clearly backfired, though Llewellyn’s true reason for attending wasn’t because she wanted to play along. She had joined the riding event not out of obligation but for safety. Unlike hunting competitions, where participants scattered, this event kept everyone in one place. Moreover, Llewellyn enjoyed riding.

But above all else, there was one specific reason she had come.

“Come to the riding event,” Almandite had said.

“Why?”

“I’ll be bringing Circle.”

“What?”

“And her foal.”

Almandite’s claim that he would bring Circle, the mare Llewellyn adored, had been the deciding factor. The two of them had spent countless hours riding together during their childhood, and Circle had been a gift from the Hvitserk family. Llewellyn had watched the horse grow from a beautiful foal into a proud mare. Almandite had promised to give her the horse once it matured, but that promise had gone unfulfilled.

Though she hated being manipulated, she couldn’t help but fall for this particular ploy. Almandite knew her too well—annoyingly so.

As she moved to join the women, the young ladies began their whispered jabs.

“Princess, you’re wearing the same outfit as before, aren’t you?” one commented sweetly.

“Yes, though it seems a bit short on the arms and skirt for riding, doesn’t it?” added another, her tone dripping with faux concern.

Llewellyn smiled calmly as she responded, “Ah, yes. It’s because my maids are still untrained.”

“Oh dear, you mean your maids are tending to your attire?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

They exchanged looks of exaggerated pity, their gazes far from genuine.

“Why not hire better ladies-in-waiting?” one of them suggested.

Llewellyn’s smile didn’t waver. “No one seems willing to serve as my lady-in-waiting.”

The women gasped theatrically.

“How dreadful! A princess without proper attendants? Truly unfortunate!”

“Yes,” Llewellyn replied, her tone sharp with subtle sarcasm, “it truly is.”

Llewellyn’s smile grew sharper as she responded, “Is the Countess’ daughter volunteering to be my lady-in-waiting?”

The Roche heiress flinched, though she quickly plastered on a strained smile.

“Oh, what a thing to say! I’m far too unworthy for such a position,” she stammered.

“But how could that be? Your mother is the Countess of Roche, a lady-in-waiting to the Dowager Queen herself. Surely, such prestige runs in the family,” Llewellyn replied with a serene smile.

Her words, though soft and polite, carried an edge. The Roche family, enriched by their monopoly on textiles after Thessalia severed diplomatic ties with the kingdom, was far too wealthy and influential to tie itself to a princess with no future. It was no wonder the heiress quickly sought an exit.

“Well then, Princess, I’ll leave you to enjoy your time here. I should go ride now,” the Roche heiress said hastily, retreating before Llewellyn could press further.

As if her departure were a cue, the other young ladies also excused themselves, scattering like leaves in the wind. Once the group of mocking nobles had disappeared, Llewellyn let out a quiet chuckle and scanned the area for Almandite. However, he was nowhere to be seen.

Sighing, Llewellyn turned her attention toward the groups of women gathered nearby. She decided it would be better to sit among them rather than stand alone, drawing attention. Yet, as she moved closer, she noticed no one offered her a chair.

“Princess.”

Llewellyn turned toward the voice, her amber eyes meeting the figure who had approached her.

“Sir Jayard?”

She blinked in surprise. Tristan Jayard, the stoic knight, was dressed in riding attire rather than his usual armor. The fitted outfit, so different from his bulky armor, emphasized his physique.

His broad shoulders were perfectly framed by his dark green jacket, the fabric hugging his muscular arms so snugly that every contour was visible. The buttons of his jacket strained slightly over his well-developed chest, as if they might pop at any moment. His riding pants, similarly tight, accentuated the powerful muscles of his thighs. One thigh even seemed slightly larger than the other, drawing Llewellyn’s gaze for a fleeting moment before she quickly redirected her attention to his face.

Though he was fully clothed, the ensemble seemed almost indecently provocative.

“You look good in that,” Llewellyn blurted out, the words escaping her lips before she could stop them.

The moment she realized what she had said, her eyes widened in shock. What am I saying? she thought. She had treated Tristan so coldly in their previous encounters, and now she was complimenting his appearance?

Tristan, too, seemed taken aback by the unexpected praise. He raised his arm slightly, as if inspecting his outfit for the first time. His awkward reaction made him look oddly endearing.

“Do I?” he asked hesitantly.

“Yes… well,” Llewellyn stammered, trying to compose herself. “Are you participating in the riding event today, Sir Jayard?”

“I am. I came at the suggestion of Sir Daryl, the captain of the Order of the White Knights,” Tristan replied, his tone formal.

“I see.”

As Llewellyn glanced around, she noticed the stunned expressions of those nearby. It was no surprise. Tristan was radiating an almost overwhelming masculine charm, though he seemed completely unaware of the effect he was having.

“Oh my, Sir Jayard! What brings you here today?”

The Roche heiress, unable to resist, approached with a smile as sweet as honey. Tristan’s expression immediately returned to its usual stern neutrality.

“I’ve come to pay my respects to the Princess,” he replied curtly.

“What a model knight you are, Sir Jayard,” the heiress said, her voice lilting with artificial cheer. Her comment earned nods and smiles from those around her, who were clearly enjoying the show. Llewellyn’s past refusal of Tristan as a personal guard was well-known gossip in court, and the Roche heiress seemed eager to stir the pot.

“Well, Sir Jayard, your gesture is appreciated,” Llewellyn said, her voice calm but firm. “As you can see, everyone here is focused on enjoying the riding event. It’s a day meant for pleasure, not formality.”

“It is only proper to pay one’s respects to royalty,” Tristan replied stiffly, his tone unyielding.

The Roche heiress’ smile didn’t falter, but her words dripped with subtle venom. “Of course, but isn’t there a time and place for such things? A joyous event like this hardly calls for rigid ceremony, don’t you think?”

Tristan’s expression remained stoic, but his response was blunt. “Respecting royalty is never out of place.”

His words silenced the Roche heiress momentarily, but Llewellyn knew all too well that any fallout from this exchange would ultimately land on her. Regardless of Tristan’s intentions, the court would twist this scene to further isolate her.

Does he not realize the position he’s putting me in? Llewellyn wondered, studying Tristan’s unreadable expression as he continued speaking with his typical straightforwardness.

“Few things are as foolish as forgetting one’s duty in pursuit of personal enjoyment,” Tristan said, his calm voice slicing through the murmurs. “Especially for those who claim to value propriety above all else.”

The words, though polite, were a direct criticism of the nobles who had been mocking Llewellyn. Suddenly, the focus shifted to Tristan rather than Llewellyn.

Even Llewellyn widened her eyes in surprise. What is he doing? she thought. Around them, whispers grew louder, and some nobles began shooting disapproving glances at Tristan.

“Indeed, propriety is very important,” said the Roche heiress, clearly trying to regain control of the situation.

Llewellyn suppressed the urge to roll her eyes at the young woman’s obvious attempt to appear superior. She would have loved to silence the heiress, but the woman didn’t seem inclined to stop talking.

“Sir Jayard, as a knight, you must know much about horses,” the Roche heiress continued sweetly. “Perhaps you could share some of your knowledge with those who are less familiar?”

Several young women nodded in agreement, some out of genuine interest, others simply to align themselves with the heiress. However, Tristan didn’t even spare the Roche heiress a glance.

“Others are already eager to assist the ladies, so I don’t think my help is necessary,” he replied firmly. Then, without looking at the Roche heiress, he turned his attention back to Llewellyn. “Princess, do you have a horse you’d like to ride today?”

Llewellyn was caught off guard by his direct question. What’s with him? she thought, confused by his uncharacteristic behavior. Tristan was known for respecting ladies and upholding chivalry, which had earned him widespread admiration. Yet now he was ignoring societal norms and drawing unnecessary attention. This was anything but wise.

“Ah, no… not really,” Llewellyn stammered, trying to think quickly. “I just wanted to look at the horses.”

She chose not to reveal her true purpose—avoiding any mention of Almandite or the mare, Circle—for fear of sparking rumors about her ties to the Hvitserk Duke.

“Then I’ll escort you,” Tristan offered, his gaze unwavering.

Llewellyn hesitated. If she accepted his hand now, it would only deepen the criticisms aimed at him. He had already drawn ire from the nobles for his earlier remarks, and she knew they would gossip endlessly about this interaction. She had never treated Tristan particularly well; in fact, she had warned him against overstepping boundaries before. And yet, here he was, standing by her without hesitation.

Do I really have to hurt him again? Llewellyn thought bitterly. Her amber eyes darted to the surrounding nobles. She hated the idea of them sneering at him, calling him a fool for associating with her.

She opened her mouth to speak. “Sir Jayard, I…”

Before she could finish, another voice cut through the air.

“Ah, so this is Sir Jayard.”

The familiar tone made Llewellyn stiffen. Almandite. Why now, of all times?

Almandite approached with his signature charming smile, bowing slightly as he greeted her. “Princess, it’s a pleasure to see you.”

As he strode closer, the crowd’s attention shifted to him. Dressed in his riding attire, Almandite looked effortlessly captivating. His navy-blue outfit, in sharp contrast to his fiery red hair, only enhanced his striking appearance. Where Tristan radiated raw masculinity, Almandite exuded refined elegance. His perfectly tailored clothes emphasized his polished demeanor and the combination of his crimson hair and deep blue fabric was almost unnervingly complementary.

“Your Grace,” Tristan greeted Almandite tersely.

“Sir Jayard—no, forgive me, Count Jayard,” Almandite replied, his tone light but unmistakably condescending.

Llewellyn frowned. Tristan, while technically landless, had been granted the title of Count. Though his status was lower than Almandite’s as a Duke, the dismissal in Almandite’s tone was unnecessary and disrespectful.

“What brings you here?” Tristan asked, unfazed.

“I had an appointment with the Princess,” Almandite replied casually. Then, as if to assert his claim, he placed a hand on Llewellyn’s shoulder, the gesture unmistakably possessive.

Llewellyn’s expression darkened as she glanced up at him.

“Your Grace,” she said coldly, shrugging off his hand, “I appreciate your kindness in showing me the horses. I’ll gladly take you up on that offer.”

Despite her rejection of his gesture, Almandite’s smile didn’t falter.

“And I’ll also accept Sir Tristan’s kind offer,” she added firmly.

For the first time, Almandite’s expression stiffened, his confident demeanor cracking ever so slightly.