“So what will you do, Your Highness? These are the only clothes we have for you to change into.”
Rosalyn twisted her red lips as she spoke to Aristine. Her tone feigned regret, but her eyes gleamed with undisguised delight.
Beside her, the other ladies-in-waiting tittered and flaunted the garments for all to see.
They were rags rather than clothes.
Seeing Aristine’s silence only excited them more, and they chattered among themselves.
“How can you wear something so filthy?”
“We lowly maids cannot possibly offer anything fit for Your Highness.”
“Oh, but perhaps the princess has always enjoyed such attire.”
“Maybe so. Look at what you’re wearing now—surely you don’t notice the stench.”
“Besides, these belonged to Your Highness once; this must feel most familiar.”
With that, Rosalyn swatted the garments from another maid’s hands, sending them crashing to the floor.
Boots trampled the soiled fabric, but no stain showed—it was already caked in grime and dust.
Aristine regarded the scene impassively.
‘This is all they had prepared.’
A soft laugh escaped her.
‘They still hold back.’
Casually, Aristine snatched the garments from the maid and turned on her heel.
The ladies-in-waiting watched her go, mouths agape.
“Hey…”
“Well, I’ll be.”
Their pride wounded, they felt foolish—Aristine would indeed don the filthy rags, but they had made themselves look the greater fools.
Inside the carriage, Aristine drew the curtain and discarded the oppressive gown.
This single dress had been her only change for the entire journey—a fortnight’s wear had reduced it to unrecognizable tatters.
The delicate fabric had long since torn; it would never be worn again.
Aristine donned the maid’s trampled garments. Dirt or no, they were far more comfortable than the stiff gown.
The ladies-in-waiting had mocked that comfort, but they were not wrong.
‘At best, they could hand me rags by trampling them underfoot.’
They clearly feared her. They might deny it, but they trembled.
‘I handled that well.’
She had intended to remain quiet until arriving in Irugo. But when they attempted to scald her, she had changed her mind.
She needed to put a stop to their cruelty.
Had she only dodged the boiling water, they would have persisted all the way to Irugo.
‘Since I can’t control the Emperor’s Eye at will, eventually I would have been burned for real.’
So she let the maid scald herself—and it rattled them deeply.
The princess had not struck back; the maid’s own clumsiness had done the damage.
They still believed they could ignore her—yet they hesitated ever after.
‘Because they’re afraid.’
The maid who tried to pour the boiling water now bore second-degree burns across half her face.
Minor burns, healable once they reached Irugo—but for now, swollen blisters ballooned crimson across her cheek.
Every day they would meet that face and shrink from her in guilt.
They had never considered that tormenting another might harm themselves—until now.
And naturally, they now held back.
‘So all they can manage is this petty spite.’
Trampling her clothes or pouring hot water—one was mild, the other severe. Yet Aristine felt little wound.
Years of confinement had made her immune to caring for every garment.
‘I didn’t expect they’d only bring the clothes I once wore.’
In solitude for over a decade, Aristine owned nothing but ragged old garments.
Even if the maids had spared them, a bride’s traveling dress was unfit for a state marriage.
This was no common betrothal, but a political marriage between nations.
Her father, the Emperor, had clearly intended this spectacle.
‘So that I arrive in a disgraceful state.’
The lavish carriage, the glittering gifts, the shining armor of the guards and the beautiful maids—
Amid such splendor, a rat-like princess would appear fittingly wretched.
While Irugo truly sought peace, the Emperor merely sought time to regroup and strike again—thus this insult.
He did not care how Irugo treated her; any humiliation served his ends.
‘I wondered why they prepared such grand gifts…’
I assumed Irugo had demanded them. But no—they were my father’s doing.
‘How naive he must be.’
That everything would proceed according to his plan.
His “foolish” daughter, locked away since childhood, ignorant of the world—he thought he could use me and discard me at will.
‘Well, I could find better clothes and wash up—if I cared.’
Aristine flopped back against the cushions.
‘Until arrival, I’ll play the jester.’
Counterattacks must come unpredictably to be fun.
A month after her departure, at Irugo’s Royal Capital West Gate—
“What sort of person will she be?”
Though unspoken, all knew who they meant.
Among the Irugo warriors, only one figure piqued curiosity at this moment—
The Silvanus princess, Aristine, betrothed to their lord.
“They say Silvanus folk are sly and deceitful.”
“And cowardly, too.”
“I hope the princess doesn’t faint at the sight of us.”
Ha ha ha.
All who greeted the princess were warriors—Irugo custom for honored guests.
Yet malice lurked beneath the courtesy.
Better that the fearful Silvanus should soil themselves at the sight of real soldiers.
“Silence.”
A short-haired man with a scar whispered low.
Clattering hooves announced the Silvanus contingent.
“Why come by carriage instead of portal?”
A complaining warrior fell silent under the scarred man’s gaze.
At last the extravagant procession halted before them.
“They focus on decoration—how can they truly fight?”
“They’ve probably never held a sword in battle.”
“Just ornaments, really.”
Glittering armor drew chuckles from the Irugo warriors.
The maids were flawless and lavish—yet they did not glance toward the Irugo side.
Their faces blended contempt with arrogance.
By now, the warriors had formed an impression of the princess.
‘If those are merely knights and maids, then it’s obvious…’
The door of the most ornate carriage—adorned with gold, ivory, and topaz—swung open.
Revealing—
‘Huh?’
‘What the—?’
A small woman in threadbare rags emerged, and the Irugo warriors gaped.
“That is the princess…?”
Compared to her maids, she looked a pauper.
Her rags filthy, her face caked in dust and sweat, her hair matted with oil.
“This is… quite unexpected.”
“Hah! How dare they look down on us so?”
A bride arriving in tatters among such finery—
Its meaning couldn’t be clearer.
“Typical of conniving Silvanus.”
“Even for them, this is extreme.”
“Is it to insult our lord?!”
“No—it’s odd how the attendants act toward her…”
“Stay alert. I don’t know her intentions, but one thing is sure: she’s Silvanus. She could be here to kill our lord.”
At the scarred man’s warning, the warriors’ gazes sharpened like drawn blades.
‘Hm, as expected.’
Aristine surveyed the scene.
The Irugo guards had been thoroughly shocked to see a dust-cloaked wretch descend from the gilded carriage.
Silvanus nobles, watching from afar, had chortled with delight.
At their laughter, the Irugo warriors stiffened.
They had expected a diplomatic scandal, but none came.
‘Their fuss over my appearance is fine.’
It was within her expectations.
The real matter was how they treated her henceforth.
The warriors quickly masked their shock and fixed her with measured stares.
‘They’re wary of me.’
Aristine stepped forward calmly.
‘I came here to marry, after all.’
Yet no one welcomed the bride warmly.
They stared as though she were an enemy assassin.
‘Well, I could be their enemy’s killer.’
She recalled her father’s private order:
〈Kill Tarkan.〉
The hiss in her ear felt like a serpent slithering.
〈Drive a poisoned blade into that wretch’s heart, or lace his wine.〉
To the Emperor, Tarkan was the cause of Silvanus’s failures.
Not without reason—wherever Tarkan led, Silvanus forces retreated.
Thus the Emperor seethed at him.
He had lifted her chin and appraised her face as though critiquing livestock.
〈You are utterly useless, but your appearance is tolerable—you can serve in this.〉
A vile, lecherous grin spread across his lips.
〈Good. You bear no noble blood, so you’ll suit the savage’s taste in bed.〉
In truth, the vile thoughts and actions were the Emperor’s.
〈If you succeed, I’ll acknowledge your merit as my daughter.〉
He spoke of reward.
‘I don’t much care to be his proud daughter.’
She jerked her chin free, and the Emperor pressed a glass vial into her hand.
Cold and hard as death itself.
That glass vial now sat in her carriage.
He had told her to kill Tarkan, yet he never truly expected her success.
‘He probably thought failure would not matter.’
Either way, he’d have cause to break the peace and spark a new war.
‘He’s a fool, to hand me poison and think I’d obey.’
And potent poison at that.
Standing at the front of the Irugo contingent, Aristine consciously widened her smile.
She knew from her visions how powerful a confident smile could be.
‘Though it may look ragged.’
Still, better to appear bold than timid.
A man stepped forward—short hair, a scar across his cheek.
‘That must be Tarkan.’
Her future husband.
He was not unpleasant to look at, and his bearing seemed solid.
His character she would test in time, but few things could offend her now.
“Welcome, Your Highness.”
His voice was steady.
Most of all, he greeted her with courtesy despite her ragged appearance—refreshing indeed.
‘Though perhaps too formal—like speaking to an inferior.’
“I am Sir Durante, assigned to guide you.”
At that, the scarred man introduced himself.
“Pleased to meet you, Sir Durante.”
Aristine bowed and swept her gaze over the assembled Irugo warriors.
But she saw no sign of their prince.
Durante appeared the highest-ranking among them.
‘I heard Tarkan would greet me at the gate.’
“Where is my husband?”
“He is out hunting.”
Ah.
Her husband-to-be was away hunting?
A poor omen for marriage.
I understand his intent: to break Silvanus’s spirit with cold neglect.
‘And perhaps break mine, too.’
Yet after all she had endured, Aristine would not be cowed.
Her lips curved slowly.
“It seems my betrothed is rather shy.”
My husband is done, I'm going to make money.