The Abandoned Princess’ Secret Bedroom - Chapter 7: The Revival of the Brand

Almandite lounged in his chair, resting his chin on one hand as his fingers rhythmically drummed the armrest. His usually immaculate hair had fallen loose, a few strands spilling over his forehead.

“Sold everything?” he asked, his tone casual but probing.

“Yes,” his aide confirmed.

“So, she took everything I sent her and used the proceeds for charity?”

“That is correct.”

“All of it? Not a single thing left?”

“Not a single piece, my lord.”

The aide braced himself, expecting Almandite to erupt in anger. After all, anyone would feel insulted if a gift, especially one meant as a romantic overture, was entirely sold off and used for charity. But instead of rage, the duke merely chuckled, a mysterious smile curling his lips.

It was as if he had anticipated this outcome all along.

“What’s the royal court’s response to all this?” he asked.

“The Queen Dowager remains silent. As for the king, he seems to have no objections.”

“With public backlash over the ‘cleanup’ of the slums, they’d be fools to oppose her actions. Llewellyn’s stepping in to mend relations, so they wouldn’t dare complain.”

A satisfied smile spread across Almandite’s face.

“So, Llewellyn is visiting the slums regularly now?”

“It appears so, Your Grace.”

“Who’s assigned to guard her? Some incompetent fool?”

“No, my lord. There’s no need to worry. Sir Tristan Jayard is accompanying her.”

Almandite’s smile faltered instantly, his expression twisting in displeasure.

His aide, who had remained calm even when Almandite heard of his gift being sold off, was surprised by this sudden reaction. He hesitated for a moment before elaborating.

“Sir Tristan Jayard is the captain of the Crimson Knights and the Empire’s foremost swordsman. There’s no one in Brisent who can rival his skill. He even won decisively in a friendly match against the knights of the Peta Kingdom.”

“…”

“Your Grace?”

Almandite didn’t respond immediately, his sharp green eyes narrowing as he processed this information.

Almandite said nothing. Instead, his dark brows furrowed deeply.

“Leave me,” he ordered.

With a graceful gesture, his aide bowed and exited the room. Almandite gripped the arms of his chair tightly, his knuckles whitening with tension.

“The man who openly insulted her… now she keeps him close just because I’ve arrived?”

Almandite knew Llewellyn well. She was not the type to revisit something she had once rejected. If she had shut someone out, she never gave them another chance. Through his investigation of Tristan Jayard, Almandite had naturally learned of his history with Llewellyn.

So now, Llewellyn had taken in someone she had once scorned? The same princess who had been prouder and more unyielding than anyone he had ever known?

He recalled the imposing figure of Tristan Jayard standing in his way. A tall, broad man with crimson eyes that burned with a disconcerting intensity. His hostile demeanor had been unmistakable—it was the territorial posturing of a male.

“Llewellyn, you’re becoming more and more intriguing,” Almandite murmured.

Though his words expressed amusement, his lips remained in a firm, unyielding line.

He thought back to Llewellyn as she had once been—soft and yielding in his arms, a vision of vulnerability and allure.

Back then, she had utterly captivated him. Her allure had ensnared him, and he had willingly succumbed to the temptation. For that brief moment, he had been euphoric. Overwhelmed. Fulfilled.

That night had felt like a mirage, a fleeting dream of reconciliation.

He had believed, foolishly, that all the misunderstandings between them had been resolved. That she, too, had returned to who she once was. He had allowed himself to bask in the warmth of that fantasy.

But then…

“You think sleeping together means I’d consider an engagement? You really are a naïve little nobleman.”

Her words had been a dagger to his chest, cold and merciless.

The past between them had not vanished, and it was clear she had no intention of letting it go.

Llewellyn had seduced him, feigning affection and willingly sharing intimacy, only to mock him afterward. And now, she had accepted the same Tristan she had once publicly scorned and rejected.

“Have you changed, or has your heart changed, my princess?”

The question lingered, unanswered, in his mind.

Had Llewellyn truly seduced him purely to humiliate him?

The thought filled Almandite with fury, but it also unsettled him.

Because in the greenhouse, when he had last seen her, Llewellyn had smiled at him—a smile so radiant it was almost unnatural.

*

“Kind and gentle.”

That was Llewellyn’s impression of Ernell. His warm and radiant appearance perfectly matched the polite and affable way he spoke to her.

It wasn’t just because he held a high position at the monastery, the place she was now considering as her refuge. Llewellyn was genuinely glad.

It’s been so long…

It had been years since someone had approached her with such warmth and goodwill. The realization hit her with startling clarity—she had spent the past five years locked in the cold winter of isolation.

And there was another reason for her relief. Judging by Ernell’s demeanor, it seemed he had no inkling of Asmodeus’s lingering shadow over her.

“It’s a blessing to the less fortunate that someone like you, Princess, exists,” Ernell said with a bright smile.

“That’s not true,” she replied softly.

“With royalty like you, I’m sure the people of this nation will find happiness.”

“That’s not true either.”

Seated together in the carriage, Ernell’s radiant smile didn’t waver.

“Princess, what do you see for your future?” he asked suddenly.

The question caught Llewellyn off guard, her eyes widening in surprise. After a moment’s hesitation, she decided to respond with honesty, since the topic had already taken a serious turn.

“I want to entrust myself to God,” she said plainly.

“Pardon? You mean you want to join our monastery?”

“Yes,” Llewellyn said.

Ernell’s expression shifted into one of genuine astonishment. His lips parted slightly, and he stared at her, as though he hadn’t expected such an answer. Even in his surprise, he was breathtakingly beautiful.

How can someone look like a masterpiece in every single movement? Even the stunning Pamela wasn’t like this.

Llewellyn shook herself from her thoughts, embarrassed. She realized she had spoken too hastily, swept up in the kindness Ernell had shown her.

Still, the situation wasn’t without its complications. Her mother had been executed for using dark magic to curse Bastian, and even the archbishop in the capital had shunned her. Could Ernell, a close confidant of the Pope, possibly harbor similar reservations?

An awkward silence hung in the air.

Llewellyn had grown used to this subtle rejection, this delicate way of pushing her away.

“If you’re thinking that I hold reservations because of your mother, let me assure you, Princess—that’s not the case at all,” Ernell said gently, breaking the silence.

“Pardon?” Llewellyn blinked, startled.

“If someone like you were to reside in the monastery, you would be most welcome. His Holiness himself would surely greet you with open arms. After all, a daughter atoning for her mother’s sins? What a beautiful image. And as a princess, there’s no reason you wouldn’t be welcomed. His Holiness would likely invite you to live in the Holy Capital itself.”

Despite his kind words, Llewellyn couldn’t shake the sense of bitterness beneath his tone. There was something unnervingly cold about the way he spoke, as if his words carried an unspoken edge.

She blinked again, unsettled by the contrast.

Of course, she had anticipated this kind of reaction to some extent, but this feeling—born from a place of faith rather than reason—left her feeling smaller, diminished.

“But truthfully,” Ernell continued with a gentle tone, “I always thought you might choose to live differently.”

“Differently?” Llewellyn echoed.

“Yes. I thought you might live more freely.”

Ernell’s voice softened further, as if sharing a secret.

“It may sound strange for someone like me, a servant of God, to say this… but the monastery is a place of strict rules and restrictions.”

“I understand.”

“I’m being sincere, Your Highness. It’s a shame for someone like you to be confined to such a place. And this is my personal opinion, not that of the Holy Kingdom or His Holiness.”
He glanced at her purple eyes, worried he might have offended her.

Llewellyn smiled faintly. She genuinely liked this man. She had expected a stiff, elderly priest, but he was young, beautiful, and had a decent personality. Even if his friendliness was feigned, it didn’t bother her much. It meant he was willing to treat her with enough respect to put on such an act. As Llewellyn smiled faintly, the carriage arrived at the palace.

Her expression darkened as they drew closer. Ernell’s violet eyes looked at her in curiosity as he observed her demeanor.

The carriage came to a stop, and the door opened.

“Please step out.”

Tristan extended his hand. Llewellyn wiped away the smile she’d worn just moments before and took his hand. For some reason, his grip felt firm, almost forceful. She glanced up at him.

His face remained impassive, inscrutable as he bowed slightly.

“You’ve worked hard today, Sir Jayard.”

“I was merely fulfilling my duty.”

“…”

“I will escort you to your chambers.”

Llewellyn hesitated, wondering if she should thank him and the knights, but she shook her head and smiled softly instead. She preferred things as they were. Llewellyn didn’t notice the dark, deep crimson eyes fixed on the back of her head.

It wasn’t until she stood before her chamber door that he spoke.

“Shouldn’t you instill better discipline in your knights?”

At Tristan’s words, Llewellyn turned to face him. She stared at him with a hardened expression before letting out a sigh.

He, too, was a kind person. Despite the insults he endured, he diligently carried out his duties and even seemed concerned for her in his own way. Llewellyn’s lips trembled slightly as she spoke.

“Sir Jayard, this matter falls under my authority. You are overstepping.”

“…”

“Do you think that just because we’ve had a few personal conversations, you can speak to me this way?”

Her tone was cold. It was a sharp warning that their relationship had boundaries. The maids who had accompanied her whispered among themselves.

“My apologies, Your Highness.”

“…”

“I overstepped without realizing.”

Without another word, Llewellyn turned away and entered her chambers. She closed the door behind her and leaned against it. Tristan will truly despise me now, she thought.

Through the door, she could hear faint voices.

“Seriously, as if we didn’t already know, the princess is just… strange.”

“Ugh, what’s with her attitude?”

The maids’ voices were soft, but clear enough for her to make out.

“Sir Jayard was only trying to show kindness.”

“She acts the same way with us.”

“That’s why everyone dislikes the princess. Even if you want to sympathize with her, who could like someone like that?”

Everyone hates me.

Llewellyn stepped away from the door. It was just idle chatter from a few lowly maids, yet their words pierced her heart like arrows.

“I never asked anyone to like me,” she muttered.

“I’d be grateful if you hated me,” Llewellyn muttered under her breath, her lips trembling slightly. That’s exactly what I want, she thought.

Still, the words left a bitter taste in her mouth. Despite her intention to push others away, it felt like she had wounded someone who had only shown her kindness.

It didn’t sit well with her.

This was how Llewellyn had lived for the past five years—building walls, turning people away, and shielding herself behind cold words.

And yet, no matter how much she tried to protect herself, it was always her who ended up hurt the most.

*

Llewellyn stood with her hands clasped together, watching. Nobles dressed in white garments had gathered in the audience chamber. They looked on at this sacred moment with expressions full of reverence and awe. Witnessing the Patron’s blessing firsthand was one of the greatest honors a noble could receive.

Almandite knelt with his hands folded before him, while Ernell stood in front, wearing a crown of leaves and a flowing white robe. Though his outfit was the same pure white as the others, his presence radiated a brightness that made it seem as if he were glowing. His beauty stood out even more than usual.

Ernell turned his head slightly, glancing at Llewellyn with a soft smile. She tilted her head, puzzled by his expression.

“From this moment forth, every breath you take shall be blessed by us, the servants of God. You shall be under the protection of the First Servant of the Divine, and all the people of God shall revere you,” Ernell intoned solemnly.

His reverent voice continued, “Our God, our Lord, shall imbue your body and blood with His grace so that you may endure long in this world He has created. In honoring you, who have driven out all things profane, I, Ernell, servant of God, bestow this blessing upon you, Almandite Hvitserk.”

Llewellyn’s eyes widened. A radiant white light formed in Ernell’s hands, dazzling and immaculate, so pure and beautiful that no impurity dared approach it. Could such a noble light even exist in this world?

Ernell, bathed in the divine glow encircling his hands, appeared as if he were the incarnation of God himself.

At that moment, Llewellyn’s heart began to race. What is this? She tried to dismiss the ominous sensation, but her heart continued to pound relentlessly.

Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump!

“Ugh…!”

Llewellyn gasped, startled by the sound that escaped her lips. It was a sweet, damp moan. Embarrassed, she covered her mouth with her hand and looked around. Pamela was seated nearby, and the person closest to her was Bastion. She noticed Bastion gazing at her with a puzzled expression.

‘Are you unwell?’

Even as the others were mesmerized by the divine light, Bastion’s worried eyes were focused solely on her. Llewellyn shook her head, her cheeks flushed a deep red. A familiar sensation coursed through her, starting between her neck and shoulders.

It was the same feeling she’d experienced when she had been bound by the Brand.

The Brand was flaring to life again. Heat spread between her thighs. Llewellyn bit her lip, suppressing the curse that threatened to slip out.

The Brand of Asmodeus, which she thought had disappeared, had reawakened.