The Abandoned Princess’ Secret Bedroom - Chapter 6: Pride and Prejudice

The maids whispered among themselves, their eyes wide with disbelief. Llewellyn was equally shocked.

Before her stood a man clad in a dark wine-colored uniform, with a crimson cape draped over his shoulders. Like a towering mountain, he loomed large, his expression as stoic as ever. His dark red eyes were fixed on Llewellyn.

“Why is Sir Jayard here?” Llewellyn asked.

“By order of His Majesty,” Tristan replied flatly.

Ah. So this was the escort Bastian had promised her. Llewellyn stared at Tristan with a stiff expression. Behind him stood several knights, all wearing similar stoic faces. Llewellyn remembered her history with Tristan—how she had insulted him back when he was just a young knight.

“…I see,” she replied reluctantly.

Now that the time had come to leave the palace, anxiety gripped her. She had decided to step outside, but the thought of actually doing it terrified her.

Her mind flashed back to the hunting tournament when she had been abducted. The memory of being dragged to an altar, helpless and screaming like a cornered animal, still haunted her.

Without protest, Llewellyn placed her hand in Tristan’s outstretched one. She didn’t want to risk being abducted a second time due to neglecting her security. She was scared—terrified, even—but she trusted Tristan to honor his oath and protect her.

The knights behind Tristan exchanged puzzled looks at Llewellyn’s unusually compliant behavior. A few, who harbored resentment toward her, smirked coldly and exchanged knowing glances.

“So now she’s suddenly all polite to him because he’s a Commander?”

But Tristan remained polite, and Llewellyn said nothing in response to the knights’ silent mockery. She simply glanced at Tristan, her expression tinged with guilt.

“I hurt him, yet I only care about my own comfort,” she thought bitterly.

Tristan helped her into the carriage with practiced courtesy. His large, warm hand completely enveloped hers.

“Thank you, Tristan,” Llewellyn said softly.

Tristan did not reply.

Perhaps he was remembering her past actions, or perhaps he was silently mocking her sudden willingness to accept his escort now that he had risen in rank. Llewellyn studied his darkened expression and felt certain she was right.

*

The carriage came to a halt, and Llewellyn stepped out into the slums.

The smell here was starkly different. Under the guise of “cleansing,” Pamela and Bastian had driven the impoverished even further to the outskirts. Llewellyn didn’t know the full extent of that “cleansing,” but as she traveled through the unnaturally pristine streets of the capital, she could only imagine the horror of what had taken place. For them to carve out the slums, which had been part of Bridgent’s history for so long, countless lives must have been lost.

Those forced to the farthest outskirts of the capital now lived in even more dire conditions. Their homes had been uprooted, and they were left with barely any semblance of shelter—just makeshift tents at best. A putrid stench lingered over them, a smell that made the maids accompanying Llewellyn wrinkle their noses in visible disgust. But Llewellyn’s expression remained unchanged.

As figures in fine clothes and knights disembarked from the carriage, the residents of the slums flinched in fear. They were terrified that another “cleansing” might be upon them.

Llewellyn glanced at her maids and gestured, but they seemed unsure of what to do. Ignoring their confusion, she sighed softly.

“Bring out the bread and blankets,” she ordered.

Reluctantly, the maids fetched the supplies from the wagon, their faces betraying their displeasure. Under her direction, people began moving busily. Standing tall, Llewellyn raised her voice to address the gathered crowd.

“I am Llewellyn Raven Bridgent, Princess of this kingdom!”

“…”

“By the grace of His Majesty and Duke Hvitserk, I will bestow mercy upon you!”

Her clear, commanding voice stood in stark contrast to the murmurs of the gathered crowd, cutting sharply through the noise. With a graceful nod, Llewellyn signaled the knights.

“Prepare tables to distribute the supplies,” she commanded.

The knights hesitated, but Tristan’s sharp glare spurred them into action. Begrudgingly, with obvious distaste on their faces, they began to move.

“Is this why you came here?” Tristan asked in a low voice, standing beside her.

Llewellyn nodded. “If I’m going to be criticized anyway, I might as well do something worthwhile.”

“You’re referring to the Duke’s gift, aren’t you?”

“That you’re aware of it means the Duke really did make a spectacle of himself,” Llewellyn replied with a bitter smile.

“…”

“Returning it wouldn’t harm him in the slightest. But hearing that I gave it away? That might bother him a little,” she added lightly.

Tristan regarded her thoughtfully. “It was a rare and valuable gift. Did it displease you that much?”

“Immensely,” she replied curtly.

How could it not? But Llewellyn made a conscious effort to conceal her true feelings. Tristan, meanwhile, glanced at the impoverished crowd and commented, “So, this isn’t an act of compassion for them, is it?”

“Are you disappointed?” Llewellyn asked, turning her gaze toward him.

Tristan looked back at her, his expression calm. “How could I dare to be disappointed?”

“You’re free to feel however you like. It wouldn’t bother me if you were,” Llewellyn replied nonchalantly.

At that moment, the supplies were fully set up. As Llewellyn moved to approach the tables, Tristan spoke again.

“I’m not disappointed.”

“Pardon?”
“Why are you…”
“…Never mind.”

Tristan walked beside Llewellyn, matching her stride. From his profile, he looked somewhat angry. Llewellyn found it odd but chose to focus on her purpose instead.

This wasn’t pure charity—it was a calculated move.

First of all, Bastian and Pamela wouldn’t interfere. Pamela would likely recognize that Llewellyn’s true intention was to humiliate Duke Hvitserk by rejecting his gift.

As expected, Pamela was pleased with Llewellyn’s charitable act. After all, it helped calm public unrest. For the first time in her life, Llewellyn even received a rare “well done” from Pamela.

At the same time, Llewellyn managed to humiliate Almandite perfectly. Giving away a gift meant as a gesture of affection to impoverished commoners? Among the nobility, who looked down on the poor, that would make him a laughingstock.

Lastly, if her good deeds were publicized, even if rumors spread that she had lost her virtue, it might still work in her favor when applying to enter the convent. The convent valued public displays of piety, after all.

If she was going to do this, she wasn’t going to half-heartedly commit. Wasting effort on something ineffective was not her style.

Llewellyn approached the sick among the gathered people. She soaked clean cloths in water to wipe their dirtied, malodorous bodies, and distributed shoes she had prepared. She even fed milk to an infant herself, giving the baby’s mother a chance to eat.

“This milk is safe to drink and won’t upset their stomach. I hope they can eat their fill today, at least,” she said.

“Thank you so much,” the mother replied gratefully.

Llewellyn was thorough. No matter how unpleasant the hygienic conditions were, her expression didn’t waver. Instead of a superficial smile, she wore a stoic face as she attended to each person with care.

The knights watching began to whisper among themselves.

“She’s working harder than I thought. I figured she’d leave everything to us.”
“She probably still thinks it’s disgusting. That haughty princess wouldn’t feel any differently.”

At that moment, a boot slammed into one knight’s knee, making him topple over with a groan.

When the knights turned around in shock, they found Tristan standing there. In his hands was a bundle of dirty rags.

“C-Captain!”

His crimson eyes burned with intensity, glaring at the knights who had just been caught badmouthing the royal they were supposed to protect—one to whom they had sworn loyalty.

“Use your eyes,” Tristan snapped. “Do you think she’s doing this because she finds it disgusting?”

“…”

“All of these supplies were prepared by the princess herself.”

“What do you mean by that…?”

“Nobles who volunteer in the slums typically only bring bread and milk. That’s the best they can think of—just enough to stop people from starving. But humans need more than just food to survive.”

“…”

“You’ve grown up around the finest nobility in the capital, but your perception is laughably shallow.”

He shot them a disdainful look before turning on his heel and walking back to Llewellyn. The knights were left dumbfounded. Tristan Jayard, of all people, had defended the princess? Was her effort really that impressive?

They glanced at the supplies she’d brought. Now that they thought about it, the variety was remarkable. Bread and milk were only the beginning—there was clean water, cloths, protective shoes, and warm blankets. At first, they had grumbled about the hassle of handling such an assortment of items. But now, they could see the thoughtfulness behind them, showing genuine concern for the needs of the impoverished.

Feeling a little ashamed, the knights exchanged glances and began to assist.

Deep down, they knew. For all their snide remarks about the princess’s so-called cunning, it was they who had acted with true pettiness.

*

Llewellyn carefully counted the loaves of bread she had prepared. She never did anything halfway, and it had taken her three full days to organize the supplies. As she bent over her task, a hesitant voice interrupted her thoughts.

“Could I perhaps have just one more loaf?”

The voice was feather-soft, timid, like a boy whose voice had only recently settled after adolescence.

“Sorry,” Llewellyn replied without looking up. “If there are extras left, I’ll give you another one. If there isn’t enough, I’ll bring more next time.”

As she finished speaking and raised her head, her breath caught.

“Oh?”

She had expected a scruffy boy, but instead, standing before her was someone taller than her. Her surprise wasn’t because he was a man, nor because of his height—it was because of his appearance.

The man’s white garments were starkly out of place in the grimy, worn-down surroundings. His physical appearance was just as striking.

Llewellyn was accustomed to seeing exceptional beauty. Almandite, Bastian, Pamela, even Tristan—they were all blessed with breathtaking looks. But this man was on another level.

His hair shimmered like sunlight woven into strands of platinum, and his pale skin was even whiter than hers. Amethyst-colored eyes gleamed like jewels beneath shadows that accentuated his finely sculpted features. His full, rosy lips added warmth to his otherwise ethereal visage. Despite his delicate features, there was nothing androgynous about him. Perhaps it was the defined curves of his cheekbones, or the sharp jut of his Adam’s apple, that made his masculinity undeniable.

For a moment, Llewellyn was captivated, unable to speak. The man’s radiant smile broke the silence.

“Imagine my surprise to find myself cutting in line,” he said smoothly, his soft, timid voice replaced by a rich, seductive tone. It was no longer the voice of a boy, but unmistakably that of a man.

“Uh…” Llewellyn stammered, caught off guard.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Princess Llewellyn,” he said, bowing slightly with impeccable grace. “I am Ernell, the Fourth Patron, a servant of the Holy One.”