The Abandoned Princess’ Secret Bedroom - Chapter 5: "Paltry Sympathy"

“Have a seat,” Bastian said.

As expected, Llewellyn was summoned the moment she rose from bed. What surprised her was that Pamela wasn’t present, as she was usually lurking behind Bastian, manipulating him. Llewellyn’s gaze fell on the tea set placed on the table. A white teacup adorned with three red rose patterns—the design she had loved as a child. It stirred a strange ache in her chest.

“Greetings, Your Majesty.”

“You know you don’t need to address me that way here. If I wanted formalities, I would have summoned you to the audience hall,” Bastian replied with a faint smile.

Llewellyn took the seat offered to her. As Bastian gave a slight nod, the attendants quietly left the room. She was struck by how naturally he now gave commands.

She remembered how uncertain and uneasy he had been after ascending the throne, hesitant to issue orders.

“So, why does Duke Hvitserk want to support you?”

“…”

“Don’t tell me you and the Duke have been secretly engaged since childhood?”

Bastian’s hardened expression was surprisingly intimidating. Perhaps power truly shaped people. The once frail boy now commanded others with his mere gaze. Llewellyn found herself observing him anew.

The scrawny, unremarkable bastard child had blossomed rapidly after becoming the legitimate heir. His once dull, stringy golden hair now gleamed, his pale face was flushed with vitality, and his lean body had grown strong and well-formed. Many noblewomen admired the unmarried king, and his deep blue eyes, heavy with melancholy, completed the picture of an ideal ruler.

Without Pamela at his side, Bastian looked less like a puppet and more like a man capable of sound judgment.

“No, absolutely not,” Llewellyn replied firmly.

“Well, that’s a relief,” Bastian said, his expression softening slightly.

A relief? Llewellyn didn’t understand what he meant. She watched as Bastian elegantly sipped his tea, the movement refined and graceful.

“Brother, I have no ulterior motives,” she said cautiously.

“…”

“As I told you before, I want to join a convent. I desire nothing, covet nothing. My heart hasn’t changed.”

“…”

“I have no intention of living extravagantly, as I once did. I only want to leave this place.”

At her words, Bastian looked at her with a faintly wounded expression.

“I… I wasn’t trying to accuse you. Please don’t misunderstand,” he said gently.

“…”

“I was just… a little upset. Thinking that you, who said you wished to join a convent, might have secretly promised a future with the Duke… it felt like betrayal.”

“…”

“I’m sorry. Are you angry with me?”

Bastian’s tone grew timid as he studied Llewellyn’s face. She realized she needed to revise her earlier assessment—power hadn’t entirely transformed him. Despite the clarity of their roles now, with him as king and her as a powerless princess, Bastian still sought her approval, just as he had in the past.

“I don’t think you’re after my throne,” he added quickly. “Truly, I don’t.”

“Thank you for believing me, Brother,” Llewellyn replied softly.

At Llewellyn’s words, Bastian gave a faint smile.

“So, the Duke’s feelings are one-sided, you’re saying?”

“Pardon? Yes… that’s right,” she replied hesitantly.

“Shall I stop him for you?”

Llewellyn tilted her head in confusion. What was this about? Was Bastian testing her?

Bastian’s blue eyes gleamed, waiting for her answer. All she had to do was nod. But for some reason, her heart pounded at the sight of his gaze. Why was she feeling like this? Was it the sharp tingle at the back of her neck? She couldn’t say for sure. All she knew was that this wasn’t right.

“I’ll handle it myself,” she said finally.

“Hmm?”

“There’s no need for you to step in. If Your Majesty were to intervene, it might look like you’re meddling in your sister’s personal affairs, which could tarnish appearances. Besides, rumors are already spreading about you being wary of me—it’ll only become more troublesome for you. You have enough responsibilities to deal with as it is.”

“…”

“I’ll make it clear to him myself.”

Llewellyn smiled, and Bastian nodded, though he looked unconvinced.

“You’re certain you have no feelings for Duke Hvitserk?”

“Absolutely,” Llewellyn replied firmly, nodding decisively.

It would be strange if she did. Bastian knew about the tangled history between her and the Duke, so why was he pressing this matter so much?

“Then that’s settled,” he said at last.

Bastian changed the subject.

“The Patron from the Holy Kingdom is expected to arrive in a week.”

“That’s sooner than I thought.”

“Isn’t it?”

The two engaged in a rare moment of small talk. It had been a long time since Llewellyn had held such a casual conversation with her half-brother.

The tea time didn’t last long, but it wasn’t exhausting. Bastian lacked Pamela’s sharp, cutting nature, which made the interaction less draining. That said, the conversation wasn’t particularly enjoyable either—Llewellyn hadn’t opened her heart to him.

As they talked, Pamela appeared at the end of the corridor. Llewellyn sighed inwardly. Of course, things wouldn’t go smoothly.

Pamela was dressed in a splendid red gown, which complemented her striking appearance perfectly. Even after having children and aging, she remained as dazzling as ever, like a vibrant red rose glowing under the summer sun.

Pamela still dictated the trends of high society. Llewellyn remembered vividly how stunning Pamela had looked a year ago in a purple dress during a gathering of rising nobles. She had displayed her status in the most opulent way possible. Even Llewellyn had to admit it was unforgettable.

“Good day, Mother,” Llewellyn greeted.

Pamela didn’t acknowledge her. Llewellyn wasn’t surprised—this was normal. What surprised her, however, was Pamela’s expression when she finally raised her head.

Pamela’s face was pale.

Llewellyn frowned, puzzled. Pamela, the woman who seemed to live for tormenting her, was staring at her with an unreadable expression.

“Mother?”

“…”

Pamela’s lips were chapped, as if she had been biting them nervously.

“Why don’t you marry Duke Hvitserk instead?”

“What?”

Llewellyn had expected some sharp remark, but Pamela’s trembling tone caught her off guard.

“Marry him. I won’t stop you,” Pamela said again, her voice wavering.

Wasn’t she supposed to despise the idea of Llewellyn and the Duke being connected? Llewellyn found Pamela’s sudden shift strange. Was she unwell? Pamela’s face betrayed a mix of hatred and fear, emotions that didn’t seem to align.

“Mother, why are you suddenly talking about marriage? There’s nothing between us,” Llewellyn said firmly.

“Then marry someone—anyone! It’s better than going to a convent!” Pamela screamed, her voice cracking with desperation.

Llewellyn stared at her curiously. Could it be? Was Pamela the one who had marked her with the brand to keep her from entering the convent?

Llewellyn had been too preoccupied with dealing with the mark of Asmodeus to think deeply about who had branded her or why.

“Mother, what are you saying? Do you not want me to go to the convent?”

At Llewellyn’s question, Pamela’s expression faltered, as though she had made a mistake. She bit her lip hard, then suddenly flashed a wide smile, placing her hands on Llewellyn’s shoulders.

“With Duke Hvitserk offering to support you, this mother of yours feels so reassured…”

“Yes,” Llewellyn replied curtly.

“But please, don’t do anything that would grieve this poor mother. You understand what I mean, don’t you?”

Ah, there it is. That was the reaction Llewellyn had expected. Pamela telling her to “marry Almandite” earlier had been bizarre. Had she been unwell?

“Don’t worry,” Llewellyn answered obediently, though Pamela’s reaction was suspicious.

Pamela’s warning, oddly enough, reassured Llewellyn. After all, this was the response she had anticipated. For Pamela to suddenly urge her to marry into such a powerful ducal family, effectively giving Llewellyn more influence, was absurd. Naturally, Pamela should have been wary.

Pamela smiled, though her trembling lips betrayed the effort it took.

“Llewellyn.”

“Yes?”

“You should just get married quickly,” Pamela said.

To whom? Llewellyn had no idea what Pamela meant.

Pamela turned her back on Llewellyn and walked past her, heading toward Bastian’s tea room.

Llewellyn couldn’t fathom why Pamela was suddenly so erratic. A chill ran down her spine as an inexplicable sense of unease crept over her.

*

Llewellyn let out a sigh as she returned to her quarters. Her maids were lined up, waiting.

“What’s this? Why are you suddenly doing things you’ve never done before? Trying to get me to raise your wages?”

True to her reputation as an ill-tempered princess, Llewellyn snarked at her maids openly. The maids frowned slightly at her remark.

“Duke Hvitserk has sent you a gift,” one of them said.

“What?”

How far was that man planning to escalate things? Judging by how agitated her maids were, it was obvious the delivery had been deliberately flashy.

The cheeky young maid, Rosalie, chirped, “Come on, take a look!”

Llewellyn smirked. The maids—not the trained ladies-in-waiting, but the common ones—were overly audacious and untrained, but also naive. Sometimes their innocence made annoying situations like this feel slightly less oppressive.

When Llewellyn nodded, the maids followed her excitedly. Upon reaching the room where the gift had been delivered, Llewellyn cursed silently.

“Jessie, open the box,” Llewellyn ordered.

The maid approached and opened the ornate box. Inside was a bracelet adorned with a ruby the size of Llewellyn’s eye. Surrounding the ruby were pristine white gems—surely diamonds.

“Of course. Nothing says ‘gift for a woman you love’ like extravagant jewelry,” Llewellyn said through gritted teeth.

It was clear this ostentatious display was meant to attract attention, ensuring that rumors would spread. A deliberate move on the Duke’s part.

“Duke Hvitserk must really like you, Princess,” one of the maids commented.

Llewellyn let out a bitter laugh. The effort he’d put into this petty stunt confirmed it—he was furious. Furious over losing a scrap of his pride, and now he was retaliating with meticulous, spiteful theatrics.

What are you even thinking?

The more expensive the gift, the louder and farther the rumors would spread. Wasn’t their relationship utterly severed? No matter how angry Almandite was, he’d always stayed within certain boundaries. But this elaborate behavior made her suspicious. Did he have some kind of plan?

Llewellyn fiddled with the bracelet.

“I should return this—”

She stopped mid-sentence, frowning deeply.

She wanted to send the damned bracelet back immediately, loudly rejecting the Duke’s courtship. Even if people criticized her for rejecting such an extravagant gesture, she didn’t care. She was used to being the subject of gossip.

But this was Almandite’s game. He had likely anticipated her every move. Moreover, Almandite had nothing to lose. The idea of playing into his expectations irked her.

Still, she couldn’t wear it—it would be too transparent. So how could she turn this against him?

As she mulled it over, a sly smile spread across her lips.

“This bracelet…”