The Abandoned Princess’ Secret Bedroom - Chapter 3: Misstep

“Are you still feeling unwell?”

Bastian whispered as he looked at Llewellyn. She had a vacant expression on her face.

“Llewellyn?”

His concerned voice brought her back to her senses.

“My apologies, Your Majesty. What were you saying?”

“…….”

Bastian stared at Llewellyn, his eyes wide with surprise.

“It seems you’ve lost even the last shred of dignity expected of a royal. What disgrace is this, in front of a guest?”

Pamela finally broke the silence, her disapproval evident as she glared at Llewellyn.

“I’m… sorry.”

Llewellyn apologized meekly, her face still distant. Pamela’s expression turned perplexed, and so did Bastian’s.

It was unlike Llewellyn. Normally, whenever Pamela attacked her, Llewellyn would respond curtly, her words as sharp as her glare, turning the atmosphere tense. It was always Bastian who had to step in to mediate between the two. But today, Llewellyn’s subdued reaction left Pamela at a loss for words.

“I’m fine,” a male voice broke the awkward silence.

Llewellyn lifted her head. Sitting across the table, the man’s face came into view—Almandite. He was staring at her with an unreadable expression.

“I was aware the princess hasn’t been feeling well,” he said.

His turquoise eyes fixated on her intently, unrelentingly. It was the kind of gaze that might usually provoke anger, but Llewellyn had no strength to muster such a response. The utensils she should have been using lay untouched on the table, unmoving for some time now.

“Llewellyn, if you’re unwell—”

Bastian’s attempt at kindness was promptly interrupted by Pamela.

“Didn’t you also show discourtesy to Duke Hvitserk just yesterday?”

Pamela’s words were sharp and calculated, aimed to cut off any attempt at sympathy. She had deliberately seated Almandite and Llewellyn across from one another after yesterday’s incident, where Llewellyn had fled from the duke. Despite Llewellyn’s expressed desire to leave for the monastery, Pamela had insisted otherwise, as though trying to uncover some hidden truth.

Perhaps it was because she didn’t trust Llewellyn.

“Shall I summon the royal physician?”

“No, it’s fine,” Llewellyn answered weakly.

Llewellyn gave a faint smile, but her mind was caught in deep turmoil. Who on earth had she slept with? And how was she supposed to handle this situation going forward? She had completely misjudged her partner.

Tristan.

She remembered the look of shock on Tristan’s face when she asked him if they had slept together. It was one of the few truly foolish things she had done in her life. It had only happened yesterday, but the memory remained fresh, no matter how much she wanted to forget.

“Let’s pretend I didn’t hear that.”

If Tristan hadn’t said that after regaining his composure, she might have stayed silent forever.

Even now, the memory made her head throb. She had revealed her vulnerability to someone who had known nothing about it. Thankfully, Tristan seemed to have kept quiet—otherwise, Pamela, who thrived on rumors, would never have let it rest. For now, Pamela merely wore her usual disapproving expression.

Llewellyn listened in on the conversation between Bastian and Pamela.

“The Holy Kingdom plans to dispatch a Patron,” Bastian said.

“A Patron?”

“Yes, Mother. The black magicians have caused so much trouble that the Holy Kingdom has taken an unusual interest in Duke Hvitserk’s efforts this time.”

“Really? That’s not bad news.”

“It seems His Holiness the Pope may bestow a ‘blessing’ on the Duke.”

A blessing? Llewellyn’s eyes widened.

A blessing was one of the greatest honors the Pope, ruler of the Holy Kingdom, could bestow, second only to canonization. It could only be granted by a Patron, a trusted aide of the Pope chosen from among the archbishops.

Those who received a blessing gained the divine protection of God, which manifested as immunity to illnesses and the rapid healing of injuries.

But the blessing wasn’t just a simple boon. It also granted the recipient recognition as a citizen of the Holy Kingdom, allowing free passage across its borders. Even if they were deemed a criminal, stepping within the Holy Kingdom’s territory meant the Pope himself would guarantee their protection. While not revered as saints, they would be honored as protected children of God.

Could the eradication of black magicians have been so significant? Llewellyn frowned, pondering deeply, until she recalled the Duke had obtained a sacred sword during the mission. That made sense.

“The previous Duke also received a blessing, and now the current Duke will as well. His father in heaven must be proud,” Pamela said, her eyes flashing briefly. Her radiant smile made Llewellyn’s brow furrow slightly. Why was Pamela so delighted about Duke Hvitserk receiving a blessing?

“He merely did what was necessary,” the Duke replied curtly. His tone was modest, yet he didn’t come across as obsequious. While most would have been starstruck at the thought of receiving a blessing, his attitude suggested he found it unnecessary. Llewellyn, however, had no interest in his graceful humility.

“It is only natural for a nobleman, a pillar of the kingdom, to rid the land of those who defy God and worship demons, throwing the nation into chaos.”

Meanwhile, Llewellyn was lost in her own thoughts, her expression growing more serious.

Of course, the Pope despised those who served demons. But she herself had once been branded—however briefly—with the mark of Asmodeus.

What if the Patron, a High Priest, noticed something about her? What if she were accused of consorting with demons? She wouldn’t just be a spectator at the guillotine—she’d be the main attraction.

Unaware of the teal-green eyes fixed on her, Llewellyn spiraled deeper into her anxiety. Since being cursed by Asmodeus, nothing in her life had gone right. It was all an utter mess.

At that moment, Pamela turned to her.

“What do you think, Princess?”

“Pardon?” Llewellyn blinked, startled.

“Surely the Princess also agrees that Duke Hvitserk deserves the blessing, don’t you?”

“…”

“Of course, I think he’s most deserving. After all, wasn’t he the one who, alongside the late Duke, arrested that vile woman who hired black magicians to curse others? And now this, too. The Duke seems to have a knack for eradicating black magicians.”

Llewellyn’s heart pounded. It was painfully obvious who Pamela was referring to. She looked at Pamela’s mocking expression, her words deliberately calculated to provoke.

“Princess, you’re not about to leave because you’re unwell again, are you?”

Pamela was mocking her, asking if she planned to run away again. After all, Llewellyn was already a defeated dog from the start. But wasn’t this too much? To trample and ridicule her in front of Almandite like this? Once, she had been a proud and noble princess. To be humiliated on the floor in front of her childhood friend was a far cry from the accustomed shame she’d learned to endure.

Llewellyn clenched her fists tightly. Bastian watched Pamela cautiously, while Pamela smiled triumphantly. The attendants, maids, and servants nearby, unable to contain their curiosity, openly observed the princess being demeaned.

For a moment, Llewellyn felt as though she couldn’t breathe.

“I think I’ll excuse myself now,” she said abruptly.

The sound of a chair scraping against the floor broke through the tense air. Llewellyn instinctively looked across the table. It wasn’t she who had stood up—it was Almandite.

This was a banquet hosted by the king. To rise first was a breach of etiquette, an act that could even be considered disrespectful.

“Duke Hvitserk?” Pamela asked, her expression puzzled.

The Duke of Hvitserk responded with a graceful smile.

“I am not feeling well,” he said smoothly.

“What in the world…”

“Her Majesty the Queen Dowager would understand the reason better than anyone,” he added, his tone pointed.

“Duke Hvitserk!” Pamela’s voice sharpened.

The Duke’s calm smile didn’t waver as he continued, “Even if Hvitserk swore loyalty, I never pledged to become a mere tool.”

“A tool?!”

“A tool for bullying, Your Majesty,” he replied, still smiling.

Turning to the Queen Dowager, the Duke offered a polished grin. His elegant expression was utterly unassailable.

“I must apologize for the great discourtesy I’ve shown His Majesty the King,” he said, even placing a hand over his chest and bowing deeply to Bastian.

To bow at an unofficial time was considered humiliating, yet he did so willingly. Though he showed disdain toward Pamela, his deference to Bastian was impeccable.

“Your Majesty!” Pamela began, attempting to protest, but Bastian silenced her with a slight shake of his head.

Bastian, his expression resolute, spoke calmly.

“No. It seems the one who has been rude is not the Duke. In fact, I appreciate his honesty in expressing his discomfort. This will not damage our trust.”

A faint smile tugged at Bastian’s lips. Even Bastian, who usually couldn’t stand up to his mother, was clearly uncomfortable with the atmosphere in the room.

As Bastian sided with Almandite, Pamela’s face turned pale.

“…Your Majesty,” the Duke said smoothly, “since we are addressing discomforts, may I make one more request?”

“What is it?” Bastian asked.

“May I escort the princess to her chambers?”

Llewellyn’s eyes widened in shock as she suddenly became the center of attention. For a brief moment, an expression of disdain flickered across her face.

Bastian turned his warm, blue eyes toward Llewellyn. With a calm yet unreadable expression, he said, “I leave my sister in your care.”

*

As Llewellyn stepped into the hallway, holding Almandite’s hand, the remaining nobles in the palace stared in shock. Almost immediately, Llewellyn withdrew her hand from his palm. When their touch broke, her hand felt strangely cool—she realized his hand had been warm.

“That’s enough,” she said curtly.

“Princess,” Almandite called softly.

“You don’t need to concern yourself with me,” Llewellyn replied.

“…Do I say… thank you?” she added, a cold sneer tugging at her lips as she turned her back to him. Llewellyn had plenty of other things to worry about without Almandite’s involvement. Fortunately, he didn’t try to stop her, either.

For once, she felt like she could breathe. Without glancing back, Llewellyn hurried away, her footsteps quick and purposeful.

“Maybe I should visit the greenhouse again,” she muttered to herself, frowning.

Yesterday, in her flustered state, she hadn’t thought about it, but perhaps revisiting the greenhouse would help jog her memory. Why hadn’t she thought of this sooner? Pacing her room and sighing had gotten her nowhere. Taking action would be better.

She still vividly remembered the brilliant roses blooming even in winter. Their beauty had been breathtaking, a memory she hadn’t forgotten. Though the gardeners had neglected their work, and weeds had crept in, the greenhouse remained a cherished place.

She had never imagined, though, that such a sacred spot would become the setting for something so shameful—sharing her body with a man whose face she couldn’t even remember.

Her mother had built the greenhouse near the secluded annex precisely because Llewellyn wanted a private retreat. Perhaps her mother had foreseen something like this happening when she designed it there.

“Princess.”

The voice startled Llewellyn, and she turned quickly, her eyes widening. A large man was approaching. Despite the dim lighting, his imposing frame made him stand out.

When he stopped in front of her, Llewellyn had to crane her neck to look up at him. A strong jawline and firmly set mouth came into view. His crimson eyes locked onto hers. It was Tristan.

“What brings you here?” Llewellyn asked, her expression puzzled.

Did Tristan have any business with her? They weren’t close, not even acquaintances who would greet each other casually. There were no work-related ties between them either. So why?

“…”

“…”

An awkward silence stretched between them. Llewellyn sensed that Tristan seemed oddly hesitant, as though he wasn’t sure why he had approached her. Surely he hadn’t come to acknowledge her out of mere whimsy. Pushing the thought aside, she broke the silence.

“If this is about my careless words yesterday, didn’t you agree to forget them?”

“…”

“Do you have anything more to say?”

Llewellyn immediately regretted her words. Her tone had come out cold and cutting, the result of constantly being on edge.

“You were unaccompanied, Princess. I couldn’t ignore that,” Tristan finally said.

“Unaccompanied?”

“Yes,” he affirmed.

“Now you’re concerned about that…?” Llewellyn scoffed bitterly.

If even one guard had done their job properly, she wouldn’t have been kidnapped that day. She wouldn’t have trembled in terror, wouldn’t have been branded, wouldn’t have returned to her tent, swallowing tears for hours afterward.

“If you wish, I can escort you myself,” Tristan offered, his tone laden with responsibility. He looked as if he might kneel at any moment.

Llewellyn sighed deeply before responding.

“Didn’t I tell you before? Having a knight of no proper rank escort me is an insult to me. That’s why I’m insulting you now.”

As she spoke, Llewellyn clenched her fists tightly, her hands trembling faintly. She did her best to hide her agitation, but Tristan’s sharp crimson eyes caught the flicker of emotion in her amber gaze.

“There was a time I thought you were insulting me, Princess,” Tristan said quietly.

“…”

“But—”

“Princess!”

Before Tristan could finish, a voice interrupted. It was Almandite.

Why had he followed her? As Llewellyn frowned at the sight of the man chasing after her, her annoyance deepened.

“Are you meeting with the Duke again today?” Tristan asked, his voice lowered. The weight in his tone carried a faint chill, almost unsettling.

“Again today?” Llewellyn asked, confused.

It had only been two days since she met Almandite. Wasn’t the word “again” a bit misplaced? While she was puzzled by Tristan’s phrasing, he pressed on.

“You met with him that day as well, didn’t you?”

“What are you talking about…”

Llewellyn trailed off as her gaze shifted to Almandite, who was steadily approaching. His expression was grim, his face clearly twisted in displeasure. The teal-green of his eyes shimmered with something unmistakably resentful.

In that moment, a memory flashed vividly through Llewellyn’s mind like lightning.

The hair she had gripped during the pain of her first union—it had been red. The eyes that had gazed at her, licking away the tears that streamed down her cheeks—they had been teal-green. He had smiled at her with adoration in his gaze.

When she had softly kissed his lips, enchanted by the loveliness of his face, he had smiled as though he was the happiest man alive, his expression radiant, as if lost in a blissful dream.

Just like in those bittersweet, long-lost days…

Amidst the heady scent of flowers and the crisp fragrance of leaves, the man who had shared that intimate moment with her was undoubtedly…

It was undoubtedly Almandite.