The One Who Won't Be Abandoned - Chapter 58

“Uuuugh!”

I stretched long and hard as I stepped down from the wagon I’d been practically trapped in for two full weeks. My lower back ached. A groan slipped from my lips without thinking. Except for a few short stops each day—for meals or to relieve ourselves—we’d been confined to the wagon the entire time. My butt felt like it had fused with the wooden bench and flattened beyond recognition.

“Ugh. This is hell.”

“No kidding. On the way back, I’m paying extra for a better wagon, I swear.”

The other passengers, who had grown close during the ride, all chimed in with their own complaints. Now, we each had to go our separate ways. After warm goodbyes were exchanged, I was the only one left standing in place.

I looked around at the unfamiliar buildings lining the street. Returning to the capital felt surreal. This part of the city was nowhere near where the old Kaiman estate had been, so I’d never been here before. Everything felt strange and foreign.

I started walking in the direction of the grand royal palace, visible in the distance. My heart raced at the thought of seeing Andrei again—so soon.

“I can’t wait to see him.”

Caught up in the excitement, I walked with a spring in my step—until suddenly, my scalp started itching like crazy. I dug my fingers into my hair to scratch it furiously.

“Gasp!”

I glanced at the hand I’d just used to scratch and stopped dead in my tracks. My fingers were shiny with grease, and my nails were packed with white flakes.

I tried to remember the last time I’d washed my hair. Ah—yes. It was during that night we’d stopped in the mountains. I’d bathed with the other women by the stream near our camp… five days ago?

“Aaaagh! I’m insane. I was really going to meet him looking like this?!”

I hadn’t washed. I hadn’t changed clothes. I must’ve looked like a complete mess—the kind of beggar who gives beggars a bad name. And here I was, strutting toward the palace like some proud lady. I couldn’t believe my own misplaced confidence.

“Ugh, I need to stop and rest first.”

And take a bath.

Staying true to my humble nature, I picked what looked like the cheapest inn around. But the capital’s prices were twice what I was used to in D’Hel. The innkeeper practically robbed me with a smile as he took my money and handed me a key.

“I’ll have some hot water sent up. Just wait a bit.”

“O-Okay…”

My voice trailed off weakly as I dragged my tired legs down the hall, feeling like a mugging victim.

Fortunately, the room was spacious and had a private bath. The place was nicer than I expected. I decided to forget how much it had cost me. As I sat at the edge of the soft, springy bed, my behind let out a silent cheer of joy.

“Wow. This mattress is incredible.”

I bounced on the bed a few more times, testing its cushion. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt something this soft… It was so moving, I nearly cried.

“…But will I even be able to get into the palace?”

The thought suddenly hit me—there was no way the guards would just let me stroll into the royal palace. Somehow, I had to contact Andrei. If that didn’t work, then maybe I could find one of the Kaiman knights who had come to the capital to guard Andrei and the princess. If it were them, they would let me inside without hesitation.

The real problem was: how would I let them know I was here?

Still in my dusty clothes, I flopped backward onto the bed and stretched my arms wide, soaking in the softness as I blankly stared at the inn room ceiling.

“…First, I’ll wash up. Then get a proper meal…”

For days on the road, I’d been surviving on thin broth that tasted like it had only brushed past meat, rock-hard bread, and, if I was lucky, a piece of fresh fruit. Every day was exhausting. There were moments when I felt like tossing the whole capital idea and running straight back to D’Hel.

But I made it through because of one goal: to see Andrei and confirm he was safe. At night, I would lie under the stars, connecting each one in the sky to draw his face. I missed him desperately. A yearning I hadn’t even felt during those six years apart gripped my heart.

“…Andrei.”

Once I was clean and full, I would find a way to reach Andrei or one of the Kaiman knights. It felt daunting, but maybe if I lingered near the palace gates, someone who could pass along a message would eventually show up.

Drowsiness began to wash over me. Exhaustion hit like a crashing wave. The plush bed wrapped around me like a swamp, pulling me in.

My eyes were just beginning to close, my mind slipping into darkness, when a loud knock startled me awake.

“Young lady! The water’s here! You in there or not?”

I must’ve missed the gentler knock earlier—now the innkeeper sounded annoyed as he shouted through the door.

“Yes! I’m coming!”

Startled, I shot up from the bed.

***

The same night Jeanne arrived in the capital, sleepless with worry for Andrei, the Emperor—as always—was devoting his body and soul to the task of producing an heir.

“Ugh… Enough! Get off me, now!”

Frustrated by his inability to get erect, the Emperor shoved the woman on his lap roughly. She let out a small scream as she tumbled onto the carpet, but the Emperor didn’t spare her a glance. Instead, he turned toward the door and shouted:

“Take this one away! She bores me! Bring me another!”

The call bell sat beside him, ready to summon his attendants, but the furious Emperor chose to scream rather than use it. Servants rushed in at the sound of his voice and hauled the collapsed woman out.

Even if another woman came in, it was unlikely he’d get it up. After several climaxes earlier in the day, his body had nothing left to give. But the Emperor ignored that reality and demanded another. She was already the fourth woman he’d rejected that day.

Panting, the Emperor barely had enough strength to lift himself for a drink of water. The strain on his body was becoming impossible to ignore, but he clenched his jaw and steadied his breath.

Once it calmed, he reached for the pills the doctor had left on the table earlier and swallowed them with water.

The aphrodisiac provided by the palace physician could revive his manhood for two, maybe three hours. Its effects were potent—so potent that it could only be taken twice a day. Still, he found it remarkably satisfying.

And yet, not a single one of the many women he’d slept with had conceived. No matter how many times he took the drug, if the soil was barren, there would be no fruit.

Grrrkk. Grinding his teeth, the Emperor came to a conclusion: tomorrow, he would order more women to be brought in. No—he would summon the ones worthy of the “honor” of bearing the next Emperor. If dozens couldn’t conceive, he would bed hundreds. If hundreds weren’t enough, then thousands. Surely, one among thousands would get pregnant…

Clutching his throbbing head, the Emperor collapsed onto the bed.

He acknowledged that he had become too obsessed with producing an heir—but it was far too late to give up now. The Crown Prince was a lost cause, and the son beneath him had died a few years ago in a riding accident. If he were to die without securing a successor, the only remaining heir would be Tim Ferrier, his half-brother.

A mutant—one who bore no resemblance to their father, the late Emperor, nor to himself. A defective, lacking even the royal mark of the bloodline.

If it came down to that, he would rather pass the throne to a bastard’s bastard, born from some girl who clung like a parasite somewhere in the palace. Better to abandon pride in noble blood altogether than to give the throne to Tim. Better to crown that filthy thing instead…

“No. No! What am I thinking?”

The Emperor violently shook his head, trying to snap out of the daze the drug had put him in.

“The son of a bastard? Even if he was born with the royal mark, that foul blood—how could I…”

He was stunned by the absurdity of his own thoughts—fueled by anxiety and mental haze. Even for him, it was unthinkable to disgrace the names of the proud Emperors before him in such a way.

“Is no one outside?! Where is the next girl?! Bring me something to stir my appetite—bring the wine!”

At his outburst, the closed doors opened again.

A young woman entered, clad only in a white slip, long brown hair cascading down her shoulders. Her breasts were full and ripe, yet her face still showed traces of youth—she had likely just reached adulthood. In her arms, she carried a bottle of fine wine, the Emperor’s favorite.

The Emperor barely glanced at her face, focusing only on the bottle as he struggled off the bed and staggered toward the sofa.

She was one of the women he had already bedded a few days ago—but having slept with more than five women just today, the Emperor didn’t recognize her. He hadn’t recognized the last woman either. What did it matter who they were, or how many? To him, women were nothing more than fields to sow his seed.

The girl, carefully watching the Emperor’s mood, took one cautious step after another toward him, as if steeling herself for something terrible.

Her name was Strake Elio, second daughter of a small noble estate in the southernmost reaches of the empire. Around two weeks ago, when the Emperor summoned a large number of noblewomen to the palace, her father, lured by the promised compensation, sent both his daughters without hesitation.

Strake had not been born into a wealthy noble household, but she had always held pride in being a noble daughter. And it was precisely that pride that led to her and her sister being sold to the palace.

Most nobles had hidden their true daughters and instead offered illegitimate girls or hastily adopted foster daughters. But Strake’s father loved only his sons. He had no hesitation in taking the money and handing his daughters over.

It was a miserable situation—but with no alternative, Strake accepted her fate with stoic resignation. Her sister, however, could not. She had a man she was engaged to marry, someone she had left behind in their hometown. Because of him, she could never come to terms with the Emperor’s bed.

On the day her sister died, Strake had not been present. She only heard the story later. Her sister had knelt before the Emperor and begged for release.

“Your Majesty has no shortage of women in the palace. Surely you don’t need me. Please, I beg of you… I’m far too lowly to properly carry Your Majesty’s precious blood… Please… sob…”

Though she hadn’t heard the pleas firsthand, Strake could picture it clearly. Her sister had said those same desperate words over and over again since arriving at the palace.

Looking down at the pleading girl with a kindly smile, the Emperor’s face suddenly twisted into cruelty. He gave a brutal order:

“The wench who dares refuse my bed—take her head. Hang it in front of the women’s quarters as an example.”

Strake had waited all night for her sister to return. It wasn’t until morning, with the sun rising, that she finally “saw” her. Only her sister’s head, mounted boldly atop a long spear, stood outside. The rest of her body—gone, discarded somewhere. It was a moment when the sky collapsed and the earth overturned. The one person she had truly loved in her family had come back as a severed head.

Strake, who had practiced for hours in front of a mirror, now sat seductively close to the Emperor, fluttering her lashes just as rehearsed. She uncorked the fine bottle of wine she had brought and poured generously into a cup, smiling with fabricated ease as she expressed concern for the Emperor’s health.

“Your Majesty… You don’t look well. The air in here seems so stuffy. Doesn’t it feel a bit suffocating? Perhaps we should open a window and let the room breathe.”

“Do so.”

The Emperor, accepting the glass she offered, grimaced as a sharp pain pierced his skull again. Hoping the alcohol would dull the ache, he downed the entire glass in one go.

As Strake watched his throat bob with each swallow, only then did she slowly rise from the sofa to open a window. Her eyes scanned the wall, then she moved with precision toward the third window from the left.

Standing before it, she extended a trembling hand toward the right panel. Just as her quivering palm reached out to push it open, the Emperor’s impatient voice barked behind her.

“You’re slow. Must I wait all day for you to open a window?”

“M-My apologies, Your Majesty. Just a moment… Just one moment.”

Her shaking eyes, which had mirrored her trembling hands, suddenly hardened with resolve. She pushed the window wide open—the right pane of the third window from the left—just as intended. For the first time, Strake thought she might truly smile from the heart.

***