Chapter 102

I suck in a deep breath. “Ahhhh. Do you smell that? No manure.”

Only the delicate perfume of the exotic flowers stains the air. Walking through the palace feels weird today, the way it feels odd when you start your second year of university in another dorm building. The pathways feel somewhat unfamiliar, although I march across them with a confidence that I don’t feel inside.

“There was no need to ruin your boots. We could have brainstormed another way to bait the empress,” I say to Emma when the silence becomes too much.

“Brainstorm?” Emma asks.

“Erm, we could have thought of another way,” I quickly correct.

Emma shakes her head. “Not on such short notice, your highness.”n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om

She’s right, but I don’t want to admit it. We continue to walk in silence, the matching footsteps of the six attendants who follow me everywhere echoing in tandem.

.....

Attendants are nothing new for me, but it is quite laughable to see them take their job seriously for the first time. This morning I was treated like, I hate to say it, a princess. Shortly after Emma and I’s initial conversation, they had ushered in a grand breakfast that I’d enjoyed only a few times in the early days before Empress Katya and Duchess Taylor cut down my budget and number of servants.

A boiled egg had sat in one of those fancy egg holders I’ve only seen wealthy people use and the porridge was made with high-quality grains and drizzled in golden honey. Fresh fruits, a luxury I didn’t appreciate when I was Maria, were stacked tall on a china dish.

The hospitality hadn’t stopped there either.

Fine silk that ran across my skin like water has replaced the comfortable cotton undergarments I’ve become accustomed to. Today’s sky blue dress features loads of embroideries and frills that tickled my nose as it was put on. After the matching ribbons that Marie ties into my hair every day were attached, I was offered small pearl jewelry that accompanies my icy white locks beautifully.

So I’m now eating like a princess and dressing like a princess. Now all that’s left is to spend like one.

The cost of this elevated treatment has not been forgotten by me. In my wandering thoughts and dreams, I can still see the faces of those suffering unimaginable agony from their wounds and hear their wails. To live in such finery, I must never forget the price it has cost not only myself, but those around me as well.

The familiar gardens before Sunrise Palace appear and my stomach slowly flops within my belly. I take a deep breath, but my nerves refuse to settle. I walk past it, as I am headed to where my brother lives, yet another area of the palace I have never visited. One could live in the imperial palace their entire life and still never see every corner of the place they call home. If the palace is even worthy of being a home.

The apartments where Julian resides are composed of several, lowrise buildings in the style of the entire palace, opening like a luxurious greek pavilion to a set of courtyards connected by covered walkways. A maid waits in fronts, dallying away her time until we come into sight. It might have been amusing under other circumstances the way she jumped into alertness and ran inside without even greeting me.

Clearly, even with my elevated status, the empress’ servants still don’t see the need to show me courtesy or respect.

The maid returns soon enough to myself and the waiting entourage, as she curtseys.

“Greetings, your highness. Her Majesty, the Empress and the Second Prince await you inside,” she says in an even, speaking manner that the higher-ranked maids are trained to do so they sound pleasing to the ear.

She turns without waiting for my okay and begins to navigate the halls, a peaceful rush of water in the background revealing itself to be a small fountain before what must be the main apartment where Julian rests. Maids who scurry about have more tact than the empress’ maid, pausing and curtseying to me before carrying on their way. Julian has clearly been living the high life, if I were him I wouldn’t bother fighting for a throne too if it meant I could live comfortably until I die.

With a simple hand gesture, I leave Emma and my attendants at the door and step inside. I’m greeted immediately with cool air, giving me a slight reprieve from the heat which while uncomfortable, is nowhere near as bad as the western weather in Belhelm. The style of Julian’s apartments can only be described as quiet luxury with a masculine edge.

The light blue wallpaper is a perfect touch for the summer weather and there are miniature, detailed renderings of ships and telescopes in the sitting room we quickly pass by. But the entire place is swamped in a melancholy mood, the maids inside jumpier than any I’ve met before. I later learned it was because the empress had secretly flogged a maid to death the other day for gazing at Julian’s sleeping form a few seconds too long.

“Her Majesty is inside,” the maid says with a curtsey.

I nod my thanks and wipe off two sweaty palms onto the fabric of my skirt before gathering my courage and taking the first steps inside. My body perks up instantly, remembering even better than I do the courtesy I must conduct myself with. My back straightens and my steps soften and shorten in stride. I have a gentle, practiced smile on my face as I clasp both hands to my front. The last time I forgot to clasp my hands, I’d been beaten with a reed. But today, the empress does not look like she is in the mood to beat me.

“Good morning, Royal Mother,” I greet softly. Repeating the tenets of womanhood Katya quite literally beat into me, I drop into a curtsey that would have brought tears to Ms. Laroche’s eyes.

The empress is alone in the room as she strokes Prince Julian’s hair from the chair that has been pulled to his bedside without saying anything. She appears a tad weary, but I know better than most how appearances can be an illusion and don’t drop my guard. I’ve ‘overstepped’ my place as a bastard and taken the role she had designated for her daughter. She had even wanted to do away with me before Emma and I cut a hasty escape. In my eyes, Empress Katya’s lack of anger is far more frightening than the mild irritation and annoyance she is known to show from time to time.

“Winter.” She does not look up at me as I hear the voice that has occasionally appeared in my nightmares.

The long silences disarm me far more than her yelling or beating me could have, alerting me to the fact that this is yet another tactic of hers to unsettle me. First, she leads me into a setting that only she’s familiar with, next she ensures I feel uncomfortable and insignificant within the setting. Such power plays come naturally to the woman who clawed her way into the imperial family.

“I came to visit my brother,” I say cheerfully with the childish charm I can now draw upon naturally. Without waiting for her say so, I walk around the other side of the huge bed to Julian’s side. It is when I set a hand on his arm that I see a crack in the facade. A flinch. Perhaps the only sign of her deep, underlying hatred for me.

“It is a pity I am unable to heal my brother,” I continue chattering to fill the silence. “Have the imperial physicians any notion of what ails him?”

“I am sure you tried your best, Winter. Your aptitude and talent are nothing less than immeasurable,” she reassures me while reminding me at the same time of how much of myself I hid from her.

I smile towards the weary mother. “As long as it serves the greater good of the empire, I will not be shy with my talent.”

A subtle reminder that with the benefits of my abilities to my father, I will no longer be a wallflower to the rest of the imperial family.

Julian, the unwilling prop in our verbal tug of war, lies unconscious in white pajamas. His face looks innocent and free of the deviousness that has annoyed me to no end. But I realize that perhaps I am a little, only a tad, worried for my mouthy transmigrator buddy. He may have been a two-faced liar, but he’s also the only person who knows where I come from.

“Some tea?” Empress Katya asks. But the question is redundant as scarcely before I’m able to agree or decline she has already rung a delicate bell on the nightstand and sent a maid hurtling into the room.

She orders tea for two and smiles gracefully at me afterward, stifling any chance of turning the opportunity down. I smile back the best that I can as one fact becomes absolutely clear to me: The city walls of Radovalsk may not have enough room for the two of us.

The question now is whether or not I am capable enough to oust her from her well-cemented position. But it’s been done once, when my father handed over the responsibilities of the palace to the duchess. So if I want to do it myself, I may need the help of the sperm donor who doesn’t give a crap about me.

Wonderful.

Service is speedy when you’re the empress, making me wonder if perhaps a boiling pot is waiting at all hours in case Empress Katya calls for tea. Scarcely five minutes later, a silver cart is pushed in, followed by a maid carrying a tea table. The assemble the food and drinks in record time, every action practiced and pleasing to the eye. When they bow at the end and leave, I feel as if I’ve just witnessed a stage performance.

“How was your time at the western border?” Empress Katya asks with fake concern, she begins spreading jam on a scone in practiced motions.

I look down at the tea cup and spoon before me, which bear great resemblance to the utensils that had been used when the empress tried to poison me.

“It was eventful,” I respond vaguely. Running away from assassins and sneaking into a warcamp somehow ended up being the least shocking things that happened to me this summer.

“I would imagine. The warfront is no place for a little girl,” she shakes her head as if she can’t bear the thought. “It must have been difficult to adjust to.”

“No, not at all,” I reassure her. I was already more than accustomed to being overlooked and ignored at the palace, at least at the military camp I didn’t have to worry about being watched like a hawk.

“But you only had one servant did you not?” She looks up from the scone she was slathering generously, piercing green eyes meeting my own.

My guard goes up, although I too begin to nibble at a pastry on my plate. Has she taken the bait Emma and I painstakingly left for her?

“I did, yes. But later, Father assigned a few attendants to me.”

“As a princess, it is crucial that you maintain a contingent of maids around you at all times,” the empress continues, veering into a direction I hadn’t expected. “They reflect your status as an imperial princess from the noblest of bloodlines. But alas, there has been far too much neglect from those placed by your side.”

I barely resist the urge to roll my eyes. Naturally, the neglect Empress Katya complains of was greatly facilitated on her end. It’s the equivalent of oversalting your food and then complaining to the chef that the meal tasted bad.

A bell that I hadn’t even noticed sits at the edge of the table until slender fingers reach out and ring it.

“Bring me Linette,” the empress tells the maid who rushes in. She still hasn’t looked away from me yet, finally biting into her scone with all the poise one would expect from the mother of the empire. I faintly recollect the loud-mouthed personal maid of the empress who was always gleeful in administering punishment.

Short, hurried steps are muffled by carpeting, Linette has arrived. She curtseys and then stands with her head bowed, awaiting instruction.

“Winter, you have not yet learned how to discipline your servants. So today, I must teach you,” Katya instructs softly.

“Pardon?” I scoff, unsure if I heard her right. She speaks casually but her words are unusual.

A reed stick, the same kind that has left bloody kisses along the back of my calves that stung for days, is tossed to the ground beside me.

“Beat her. Beat Linette for me,” Empress Katya tells, no orders me.