The Abandoned Princess’ Secret Bedroom - Chapter 4: "You Said I Was Your First Woman?"

“Do you want me to say with my own mouth that I slept with you?”

“Is sleeping together some kind of favor?”

“Let’s just agree we both enjoyed it. You seemed to like it quite a lot. And I’m truly glad you’ve decided to keep it a secret.”

Tristan couldn’t understand the princess. Out of nowhere, she was claiming that the two of them had slept together. What kind of outrageous statement was this? At first, he thought it was a low-level joke. But the princess wasn’t the type to jest like that, and her expression at the time had been utterly serious.

Then, her face had gone pale.

As a knight, Tristan had interrogated many criminals, and he knew that expression well. It was the look someone had when they realized they’d said something they shouldn’t have. Precisely the moment they understood they’d made a mistake.

The air between them grew oppressively silent.

But Tristan knew what he had to say.

“Let’s pretend I didn’t hear that,” he said calmly.

He wasn’t the type to repeat or spread someone else’s words, and the idea of doing so had never crossed his mind. This was especially true now, as the words had come from a noble princess. He would never disclose them. Still, he instinctively knew that directly assuring her was the best approach.

As he exited the princess’s tearoom, Tristan was overwhelmed by a strange feeling.

It felt like something inside him was boiling over, breaking apart, and reconnecting. There was a dull ache in his chest, a bitterness that he couldn’t shake. He realized, with some surprise, that he felt a peculiar pang of emotion at the idea of the princess having slept with someone. His heart burned, as though wounded.

Why? Why was this bothering him?

Even knights, bound by vows of chastity, often spent a night with a woman they fancied. Tristan had no interest in physical relationships and had never pursued one.

In any case, Princess Llewellyn was twenty years old—at the peak of her youth.

It wasn’t unusual for someone her age to have such an experience. He understood that. Yet, despite his rational understanding, he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Who? Who had it been? Who had dared to sleep with the noble princess? She didn’t even have a fiancé, so who would have been so bold? Who would dare?!

Tristan found himself boiling with anger before he even realized it. And then, a face flitted through his mind.

That night, the man who had been holding the unconscious princess—Duke Almandite Hvitserk.

“Princess!”

He remembered the Duke’s wary gaze as he cradled the princess in his arms. At the time, Tristan hadn’t recognized him.

“Who are you to be carrying the princess?”

“I am Almandite Hvitserk. And you are?”

The Duke’s arrogant tone had irritated him. The welcome banquet for Duke Hvitserk had been taking place in the palace at the time, so what was the Duke doing there?

“Tristan Jayard, Commander of the Royal Knights,” he’d replied.

“Ah, the renowned Sir Jayard.”

“You’ll need to explain why you’re carrying the princess.”

“I found her in the garden, looking unwell and losing consciousness. She fainted shortly after, so I was taking her to her quarters.”

“The princess…!”

“It seems better for you to take her from here.”

The Duke had handed over Llewellyn without resistance, which made Tristan less suspicious. At the time, Tristan had been so focused on carefully carrying the unconscious princess, ensuring he didn’t drop her, that he hadn’t paid attention to the Duke’s expression.

“Before she fainted, the princess asked me to keep this matter private,” the Duke had added.

“…Understood.”

Tristan had assumed Llewellyn wanted to hide her condition because of her pride. He knew how fiercely protective she was of her dignity. It made sense that she wouldn’t want her weakness exposed.

That had seemed reasonable to Tristan at the time. But now, as he thought back to that moment, certain details struck him as odd.

For one, the princess’s face had looked… peculiar. Her cheeks had been flushed red, and her lips were slightly swollen. A sweet, alluring fragrance had clung to her, one that he couldn’t ignore.

And she had been undeniably beautiful.

Holding her small, delicate frame in his arms, Tristan had felt an inexplicable impulse.

It wasn’t anything improper. It was just… the desire to slow his steps and savor the moment a little longer. He’d always known he was peculiar. For instance, he often went out of his way to pass by the annex where the princess resided, even though there were shorter routes he could take.

At the time, his focus on Llewellyn had been so absolute that he’d quickly forgotten about Duke Hvitserk.

Even when the princess had briefly regained consciousness and smiled at him, his thoughts had lingered only on her, pushing any suspicions about the Duke to the back of his mind.

“Please, keep this a secret,” she had said softly.

“…”

“Promise me, will you?”

“If that is what you wish, Princess, I will honor it,” he had replied.

The Duke had been truthful—the princess had indeed asked for secrecy before losing consciousness again.

Tristan knew Llewellyn’s precarious position within the royal court. He understood why she would try to conceal her condition, not wanting her vulnerability to be exploited. And that only made her situation seem more pitiable to him.

Despite everything, Tristan couldn’t forget the moment he had carried the princess in his arms. He found himself recalling it from time to time, as if the faint scent of that moment still lingered at the tip of his nose. But why had he failed to think of Duke Hvitserk sooner?

Looking back, it was odd. The royal palace was hosting a celebratory banquet—so why had the Duke been at the annex, in that garden? And why had he been carrying an unconscious princess? Tristan should have questioned it then.

Observing the princess’s peculiar behavior now, Tristan reached a conclusion. The princess wasn’t in her right mind that night, and she had somehow come to believe that she had “slept with” him, someone she hadn’t even had a proper conversation with.

What did that imply?

It hadn’t been a consensual encounter.

More specifically, it hadn’t been a relationship formed while the princess was in full possession of her senses.

The princess had unknowingly had a physical relationship—with Duke Hvitserk. That must have been why she had smiled at Tristan when she was in his arms. Normally, she barely acknowledged him.

Reaching this single conclusion, Tristan suppressed his anger. He understood that he had to keep this a secret. No matter the circumstances, the fact that the princess had slept with someone before marriage would be disastrous for her already precarious position.

That’s why Tristan, deliberately speaking as though to warn her, said:
The man she had slept with—was that one.

“Stand behind me.”

“…Sir,” Llewellyn said, puzzled.

“If you desire protection, I will provide it,” he said firmly.

Tristan stepped in front of Llewellyn, shielding her from the man approaching them. She felt a strange sense of reassurance at his solid stance in front of her, though the situation confused her.

“Princess,” Almandite called, drawing closer. His teal-green eyes gleamed coldly as he alternated his gaze between Tristan and Llewellyn, who stood behind him.

When Almandite stepped forward, Tristan moved as if to block his path.

“What is the meaning of this?” Almandite asked, narrowing his eyes.

“The princess has not granted you permission to approach,” Tristan replied flatly.

“…”

Llewellyn’s eyes widened. It had been a long time since anyone had stepped forward to shield her like this. As she stared at Tristan’s broad back, an odd sense of stability washed over her.

“So, the princess does have allies in the royal court after all,” Almandite sneered, his lips curling in derision. “The commander of the Royal Knights, no less.”

His icy mockery stung, but Llewellyn ignored it, turning to Tristan instead.

“Would you escort me to my chambers?” she asked softly.

“It would be my honor,” Tristan replied.

She felt no need to continue conversing with Almandite, especially after enduring his cold jeers. The only reason she would have spoken with the man she had slept with was to beg him to keep it a secret.

Her relationship with a man could jeopardize the future she was trying to build. But if that man was hostile toward her, it wasn’t worth the effort of convincing him. It would be more efficient to prepare for the worst-case scenario and plan her response if rumors were to spread.

Regardless, Llewellyn was beginning to find her memories of that night increasingly unpleasant.

She had thought it wouldn’t matter who it was if she had to sleep with someone.

But she hadn’t imagined that the mere fact of having been with someone could be so repulsive.

She didn’t blame the man for being seduced—it had been her who had made the move. How could she have known whether he was under the influence of the brand or naturally a womanizer?

But this man—Almandite Hvitserk—was different. She and he should never have been involved. Never.

Llewellyn cast a look of utter contempt at Almandite. His face contorted into an expression of confusion, unable to comprehend her gaze.

She turned to leave, accepting Tristan’s escort, but then—

“Llewellyn,” Almandite called, parting his lips to say her name.

“…”

“Talk to me.”

“…”

“Talk to me, Llewellyn.”

Almandite seemed as poised as ever, just as he had appeared at the royal banquet. But now, there was an unmistakable earnestness in his voice. Looking at him, Llewellyn couldn’t help but recall the past.

“Llewellyn!”

The boy with red hair had once smiled so brightly. Back then, when her mother was alive and the House of Hvitserk was her mother’s ally, Almandite had been Llewellyn’s childhood friend.

“Alman!”

Almandite had called her simply “Llewellyn,” never “Princess,” and she had affectionately shortened his name to “Alman.” They had been close—inseparable, even. Almandite, four years older than her, had always looked out for her.

Llewellyn might not have received her father’s love, but that had been fine. She hadn’t been free from disappointment in her father, but it hadn’t mattered because there had been warmer people by her side. She had thought she and Alman would remain friends forever—until her mother’s execution.

“What is it you wish to discuss, Duke Hvitserk?” Llewellyn asked softly, her tone polite yet distant.

Almandite, unable to contain himself at her detached words, spoke urgently.

“You know exactly what I want to discuss.”

“…”

“Let’s talk about the day before yesterday.”

“…”

“Princess. If you keep avoiding this, I’ll speak here and now.”

When Llewellyn turned away again, Almandite’s voice rang out:

“Do you intend to move forward with an engagement to me?”

“What?” Llewellyn snapped, turning sharply toward him. She glanced at Tristan, realizing this was not something he should hear.

“Sir Jayard, I think it would be best if you excused yourself,” she said.

“Princess,” Tristan protested.

“The Duke and I need to have the conversation he so desperately wants,” Llewellyn replied with a frown.

“It’s dangerous,” Tristan said firmly.

“You’re quite bold, Commander of the Royal Knights, to speak so openly about danger,” Almandite said, his own face darkening.

Tristan returned the Duke’s scowl with a look of sheer contempt.

“Thank you, Sir Jayard,” Llewellyn said, extending a hand to touch Tristan’s arm.

Tristan’s eyes widened in surprise, his gaze shifting to where her small hand rested on his arm. For a man as massive and imposing as a mountain, he flinched visibly at the light touch.

“Princess.”

“There’s no need to worry,” she said with a faint smile.

Tristan stared at her for a long moment, his expression rigid. Then he shot Almandite a searing glare.

“I won’t stray far,” he said, his tone edged with warning, before departing.

Llewellyn watched his retreating figure, a pang of guilt rising in her chest. He was such a loyal knight, and yet there was so little she, a princess in name only, could do for him.

“Let’s go to the greenhouse,” she said coldly, striding ahead without waiting for Almandite.

 

*

 

As Llewellyn looked around the greenhouse, the memories of that night came back to her with vivid clarity. She had seduced Almandite and slept with him. The recollection of those shamefully intimate moments made her feel deeply embarrassed.

The greenhouse she had cherished since childhood—he must have remembered it too. How could she have forgotten? Llewellyn bit her lip.

“No matter how much you want to keep it a secret, don’t you think you’re being excessively cold?” Almandite said.

Llewellyn turned to face him. The greenhouse, once neatly trimmed and vibrant with greenery, was now overrun with weeds and shrouded in an eerie atmosphere. In this faded, dilapidated space, the two of them, now grown, met again.

Almandite’s face softened, his expression gentle.

“Are you all right? I wanted to take care of you, but you asked me to keep it a secret, so I had no choice.”

“…”

“But what’s with Sir Jayard? Does he know anything about us?”

“…”

“Llewellyn,” Almandite said, as though unable to hold back anymore.

Llewellyn responded with a cold, mocking smile, bringing up his earlier words.

“An engagement?”

Almandite nodded, unflinching.

“Yes, an engagement. About our relationship—”

“How utterly ridiculous, Almandite. You want to get engaged just because we slept together?” Llewellyn snapped, her tone biting.

Almandite’s face stiffened, the brief warmth in his expression replaced by a cold rigidity.

“Thinking of engagement because we slept together? You’re still the naïve young nobleman, aren’t you?”

“…What exactly are you—”

“In the greenhouse, you told me I was your first woman, didn’t you? I had no idea you were such a romantic as to want to get engaged to your first woman, Alman.”

Llewellyn didn’t miss the opportunity to mock him.

The man standing before her had done something unforgivable—without explanation, he had abandoned her after committing a terrible act, leaving for his estate. Llewellyn had never forgiven him, not for a single moment. If he was going to leave again, perhaps she could gift him one last dirty memory to carry with him.

“Then was the seduction a lie?” Almandite asked quietly.

“Did you think it was real?” Llewellyn replied with a cruel smile. “I just wanted to see how you’d react.”

Standing in the moonlight, Llewellyn’s face took on an alluring elegance as she laughed softly. Almandite let out a dry chuckle, his expression one of resignation, as if he’d come to his own conclusion.

Llewellyn played with him.

“If you want to reveal that we slept together, go ahead. I’m curious to see how people will react when they hear that the esteemed Duke fell for a pathetic princess’s seduction.”

At her words, Almandite’s expression changed. His teal-green eyes glinted like a blade poised to strike. For a moment, he looked at her as though she were his mortal enemy. Then, as if switching masks, he resumed the composed, aristocratic expression he always wore.

“You’ve changed a lot, Princess.”

“Time changes people,” Llewellyn replied evenly.

“Yes, it does,” Almandite said, stepping closer to her. His hand reached out and grabbed a fistful of her hair, tightly.

His eyes were icy, his expression darker than she had ever seen as a child. It was the look he wore when he was genuinely angry. Seeing it on his adult face sent a chill through Llewellyn, and for a moment, she felt a pang of fear.

His grip on her hair loosened slightly, though his gaze didn’t soften.

“But some things don’t change, Princess,” he said, his voice low and sharp.

“…”

“Sometimes, you drive me absolutely mad.”

“…”

“I’ll be revising my plans.”

“What plans?” Llewellyn demanded.

Almandite didn’t answer. Instead, he gave a faint laugh, then bent down and kissed her hair. The gesture was as aristocratic and elegant as it was unnerving.

With that, Almandite turned and left the greenhouse.

Llewellyn stared at the lock of hair where his lips had touched. Clutching it tightly, she opened her mouth as if to speak, but no words came out.

“That expression means he’s truly angry…”

Despite her hatred for Almandite, her childhood friend, Llewellyn couldn’t help but know him all too well. Usually, when he got that angry… he would come up with some outlandish way to retaliate.

Feeling an inexplicable sense of unease, Llewellyn returned to her chambers.

Surely, he wouldn’t spread rumors that they had slept together… would he? Though she had prepared herself for the possibility, her heart still raced at the thought. But the news she heard the next day was a little different from what she’d expected.

“Princess!”

The maids rarely approached Llewellyn to speak with her directly. But for one to rush toward her just as she finished coughing and getting ready meant there was serious news.

“What is it?” Llewellyn asked.

“Well…”

“Speak.”

“The Duke of Hvitserk has decided to settle in the capital.”

“…I see.”

Annoying, but not surprising. Was that really something to make such a fuss over?

“But…”

“I don’t like long-winded explanations. Out with it.”

The maid swallowed nervously and said, “He announced that he has feelings for you, Princess.”

“Feelings for me?” Llewellyn asked, her tone sharp.

“He says he wishes to support you.”

In Brizant, publicly declaring romantic feelings and offering to “support” someone carried a particular meaning. It wasn’t quite the same as sponsorship—it implied a willingness to be a benefactor or even a devoted follower. In essence, it meant becoming the other person’s supporter or protector.

But for a princess with a claim to the throne, such an offer could be interpreted in various troubling ways.

That bastard. Llewellyn clenched her teeth. People said a woman’s grudge was terrifying, but she thought a man’s petty, simmering anger was far worse.