A Princess’s Conflict, A Queen’s Killer, and an Empress’s Proposition

Hizeta observed silently from a distance.

She had been surreptitiously employing surveillance magic, her intent to capture irrefutable evidence of the Queen’s illicit affair with the knight. With this proof in hand, she would then employ Mr. Clown’s strategy to publicly impeach them.

Yet, as matters stood, a flicker of hesitation now stirred within her.

The Queen, she mused, was truly breathtakingly beautiful — whether she was running barefoot across the verdant grass, sending a kite soaring into the sky, or even when she embraced that grubby child.

‘Could I have been mistaken?’

Never before had she depended so heavily on another; she had always navigated life’s silent currents alone. Now, at last, she found herself leaning on someone. Unacquainted with the intricacies of love or hate, she only knew this was the most profound emotional tremor of her existence.

Even if we were both women, even if she was the Queen and I merely a princess.

When she gently drew me into an embrace, the subtle fragrance of her hair reached me, sending my heart fluttering like a trapped bird. Her eyes, when they met mine, sparkled with a brilliance as captivating as the sun itself.

I adored watching her suppress a laugh, her hand covering her mouth at my words. The subtle melancholy lurking in the depths of her eyes, however, would pierce my heart with a pang of sorrow. On occasion, my fingers would inadvertently brush against her soft, delicate hands, and that fleeting contact would send a jolt through me, leaving me yearning to linger yet terrified to touch.

‘They say this is what it means to like someone.’

‘I believe, then, that I like her.’

‘But what exactly constitutes this feeling of “liking”?’ she pondered. ‘I see her radiate happiness in her freedom, yet if I were to employ Mr. Clown’s method, obtaining her would invariably strip her of that very freedom.’

‘Is it her happiness I should pursue, or my own?’

As Hizeta wrestled with these thoughts, she was abruptly jolted by a sight in the distance: a nobleman, his face still contorted in a lewd and wicked expression, was suddenly and brutally beheaded.

‘Good heavens, wasn’t that the son of a duke?’

Suddenly, a palpable aura of killing intent permeated the air. Though the day had begun under a warm sun, the chill of that murderous intent now brushed against her neck like a September frost. Vina stood, the Sword of Kings clutched in her hand, her face a mask of chilling indifference.

The surrounding nobles shivered uncontrollably, their eyes wide and brimming with abject terror.

Yet, as Vina advanced, her murderous aura inexplicably receded. She then skipped lightheartedly towards Ophelia, her demeanor utterly transformed.

Ophelia remained somewhat dumbfounded.

She recalled that in the novel, Vina had almost never taken a life. The singular instance of her committing murder occurred only after Eli, having been driven to madness by the loss of his throne, resorted to extreme measures to coerce Vina, leaving her with no choice but to kill him.

And even then, after the deed was done, Vina had collapsed into the male lead’s embrace, weeping uncontrollably.

‘How could she now be killing without even a blink of an eye!?’

What was most astonishing was that Vina, with the nobleman’s blood still splattered across her face, was now smiling, her eyes crinkled in a pure, radiant expression, much like a child eagerly anticipating a word of praise.

“Queen! I finished my lessons! I’ve come to find you!”

For a moment, Ophelia was utterly at a loss for how to respond.

Though an air of palpable fear still clung to the scene, and the heavy killing intent still seemed to linger on the nobles, Vina, completely oblivious, extended her hand and, with an utterly endearing expression, asked, “Queen, may I have a hug?”

She appeared utterly innocent, pure, and charming.

It was as if the one who had just wielded the sword with such lethal precision was not her at all.

Ophelia pondered the situation. It was inconceivable that Vina could derive joy from taking a life; she must have her own intricate reasons. To rashly intervene might, in fact, jeopardize whatever plan she had set in motion.

Thus, after a brief moment of hesitation, she finally enveloped Vina in a hug, gently stroking her head and carefully wiping the traces of blood from her face.

Vina nuzzled Ophelia’s hand, much like an affectionate kitten.

All the nobles stared, utterly bewildered, at the scene unfolding before them. Vina, who moments ago had executed a man without a flicker of emotion, now turned and melted into Ophelia’s embrace. She clung to the Queen like a small cat seeking comfort from its master, her obedient demeanor so striking that it made one doubt if she were indeed the same individual.

“What was the Queen doing just now? You weren’t discussing topics I don’t know about with Emily and Marta, were you?” she asked, tilting her head, looking innocent and cute.

Ophelia’s recent gloomy mood was instantly dispelled.

‘What good would it do to dwell on those thoughts now?’ she mused. ‘I’ll put them aside for later. I can always discuss them with Emily and Vina. After all, I possess no talent for governing, so it’s only right to consult with the appropriate individuals on important matters.’

“No, not at all. We just flew a kite and ran around on the grass,” Ophelia replied.

Vina nodded.

She then turned her gaze towards Marta and Emily, offering Marta a sweet smile. Both Marta and Emily wore expressions that clearly conveyed, ‘What charade are you putting on now?’ Vina, however, maintained an utterly innocent demeanor as she spoke.

“Marta, thank you for protecting the Queen just now!”

“In the future, may I entrust the Sword of Kings to you?”

‘What in the world does that signify?’

Ophelia was utterly bewildered by the statement. Yet, upon turning her head, she noticed Emily’s gaze subtly darken, while Marta appeared as if she had been suddenly choked.

“Of course,” Marta finally responded.

The surrounding nobles, however, could no longer remain composed.

With expressions etched with worry, they swiftly departed, leaving Ophelia standing alone, utterly bewildered by the wind. She glanced at Vina, who simply offered a charming, innocent smile.

‘What exactly did all that imply?’

Hizeta, who had been surreptitiously listening from the side, found her mouth falling open.

‘There’s no more time for hesitation; something vital is about to be stolen away.’

The implications of that statement were alarmingly clear to Hizeta.

To offer the Sword of Kings to another signified Vina’s intent to contend for the throne, with Marta as her most trusted confidante.

And thanking Marta for protecting the Queen? That was a clear declaration of her desire to marry the Queen.

Hizeta’s grip tightened around the medium of her surveillance magic.

‘Marta must be eliminated first, and then I shall contend with Vina! A forced melon may not be sweet, but it certainly quenches thirst!’

‘At the next Starry Tea Party, I’ll inquire with the others if there are any further steps to be taken…’

Suddenly, a vision flickered before her eyes: an indistinct deity, gazing down from the starry expanse, spoke to her with a serene tone. [The potion from your fervent devotee has arrived. Remember to perform a ritual to receive it shortly.]

‘Everyone is truly dependable! I’ll discuss everything with them at the next tea party!’

****

“Hmph, you brat, do you even deserve to kill me?” Edward said disdainfully.

Luca drew his sword. Edward let out a single, piercing cry before he was run through and fell, lifeless.

The surrounding pirates collectively gasped, the sharp intakes of breath echoing one after another through the air.

“What!? Edward is dead!? This is unbelievable! Who is this person!”

Luca paid them no mind, his attention fixed solely on his awaited prey.

As the heavy snow fell like sharpened knives, a tall woman approached from the distance. She was clad in black stockings and a white dress, adorned with white high heels, her long hair a striking white, and her grey eyes held an unnerving, icy gaze.

‘She has arrived! The Empress of the Empire!’

The Empress strolled over with an air of casual indifference. Her gaze swept over the pirate corpses littering the ground and the few remaining pirates who were now coughing, having choked on their sudden gasps. Finally, her cold eyes settled upon Luca.

A subtle ripple, barely perceptible, disturbed the icy calm of her gaze.

“Interesting, who are you?”

Luca knelt on one knee: “Respected Empress, I am a fugitive from the Kingdom. I happened to see these pirates pillaging and burning, so I intervened to help the local people.”

A flicker of amusement danced in the Empress’s eyes.

“So, a man from the Kingdom,” she mused. “Hah, I’ve heard the Kingdom’s Queen is a beauty capable of bringing nations to their knees.”

“As a man of the Kingdom, offer me counsel on how to invade it. I intend to claim this beauty for myself. Provide me with sound advice, and I shall bestow upon you power and riches. Fail to do so, and you will share the fate of these pirates.”

Luca’s heart instantly chilled.