Chapter 123

“Do you know what you will say?” My brother’s worried gaze hovers over mine as I push his face away.

“What, do you think I’m stupid enough to go before every noble guest and fumble through my words? It’s just a simple prayer,” I gripe to Augustus.

I suck in a lungful of fresh pine and smile to myself. I have yet to read a webnovel where someone didn’t try to murder the female lead in the middle of a hunting competition. While I don’t have the luxury of being the female lead, as Peppermint enjoyed constantly reminding me, I am lucky enough to have the empire’s most powerful woman out to get me so I’m sure I’ll be able to get a taste of the main character treatment.

“Everything will be fine,” I say to the crown prince, even though it won’t be.

“Why do you try to treat me like your junior sometimes?” Augustus casts me a disgruntled look within his tent, looking dashing in his hunting uniform, simply a darker version of his military uniform.

“Habit,” I mutter, looking away. Speaking of habits, I harden my heart again as I look at the latest sibling I’ve befriended over the years. Who knows, today’s Augustus could be tomorrow’s Julian. I’m just using him to secure a better future for myself, after all, not to make a new friend.

“What’s a habit?” An unwelcome visitor busts into the tent, but he’s far too highly ranked to warrant being tossed out by the seat of his pants.

.....

If Julian and I were still on better terms, I suppose I might’ve answered with a funny quip, but Augustus and I just toss matching dead stares at the sibling we unfortunately still share.

“I don’t recall inviting you,” Augustus says, alienating Julian’s presence from the get-go. The spacious tent suddenly feels crowded as hostility floats into the air. Augustus doesn’t hate Julian per se, but my warnings over the years have not fallen upon deaf ears and there is a newfound wariness that hangs in his gaze.

But Julian strolls in without a care about the irritation he’s causing. “I’m a prince. I don’t require an invitation.”

I roll my eyes and prepare to leave my two brother’s behind. As young men taking their first steps into adulthood, they’re like day and night, with Julian’s sunny hair and smile against Augustus’ darker coloring and faint scowl. My past self would definitely swoon if I saw them in a manhwa instead of a webnovel. Unfortunately for me, I know them both in this life and would gag at the thirsty comments showering them in praise.

“Leaving so soon?” Something flashes through Julian’s eye, but it’s smothered before it can fully come to light.

“I’m done talking to Augustus and there is nothing worth staying for any longer,” I reply, my tone curt as I flit out of the tent into a natural scenery that far surpasses the golden cage of the palace. Sage perks up from where she was waiting, half dancing half running to my side.

“Your highness!” she squeals. Her over-exuberance is reminiscent of my past days of pandering to others with my cuteness so that people could pity me. It had done me very little good in the long run.

“Sage.” I purge the irritation that Julian has brought to my system, venturing into the heart of the matter. “Do you know why Julian is here?”

My brother’s not-so-loyal manservant, Felix, stands outside of the crown prince’s tent and throws a thinly veiled venomous look my way when I utter Julian’s name.

Sage blinks her eyes in a confused manager, her dark lashes fluttering against her face in a way that should appear quite innocent. Behind her soft gaze hides a rolling camera, one that captures everything it lands on. “Not at all!”

“Alright,” I say nonchalantly, turning away as if I don’t care for the matter. In actuality, I am quite curious. Julian is not a typical 17-year-old, but one that houses the soul of an older man who’s already weathered many storms life has thrown his way in his past life. He does everything with a purpose so to assume that Julian is casually greeting Augustus would be foolhardy on my part.

I instead throw a curveball for Sage, whom I specifically kept by my side so that she could not run off and send a warning to the wrong party.

“Guide me to the welcome reception,” I instruct the spy maid.

“Oh? Your highness?” Confusion mars the innocence she constantly tries to emit.

I smile gently. “I said, take me to the welcome reception where my father is going to greet the noble guests we’ve invited to the hunting competition.”

“B-But you are not meant to be there right now, your highness!” Sage nearly shouts, before correcting her tone. “On the schedule Nina gave me, you are to remain in your tent until the brunch the empress is hosting.”

“Do you listen to Nina, or me?” I ask her point-blank. As she gets flustered, I smile warmly as if I don’t care about her rudeness. “Don’t you always like to have fun? It will be much more fun to go to the welcome reception and watch those simpering noble ladies fluff their feathers as they try to catch people’s attention.”

It’s fun watching Sage bite her lips as I walk ahead without any doubt in my step. At best, a maid can suggest a better course of action, but at the end of the day, they have to heed their mistress’ command. Of course, now that my father has visibly laid claim to me, they heed my words far better than before.

“The princess! It’s the princess!” The buzz ripples across the throng gathered on a clearing of well-tended grass.

“What is she doing here?” Their curiosity has been inescapable ever since I was outed as the promised child instead of Princess Julia.

“Hunting for a husband at such a young age? As expected of an illegitimate princess,” someone else spits. I do not even stand near the men, as the men and women stand on separate sides of the clearing before the lofted stage. Not to mention, the guests of honor, princes and dignitaries from the neighboring kingdoms, have yet to even make their appearance. Some people’s tongues can truly tell the tallest of tales and wildest rumors.

The response is varying, but I’ve certainly caught everyone’s attention. I’m indifferent to the positive and negative things that are whispered around me, walking with purpose towards the temporary wooden platform that has been constructed at the front of the clearing. It was built for the sole purpose of my father’s imminent welcome speech that is to be delivered sometime in the next 10 or so minutes, but luckily for me, I only need a few.

Image. In my university classes on PR, that was something that was highlighted rather early on for its great importance in selling anything, whether it be a product, idea, or religion. McDonald’s has their iconic M that almost the entire human population above the age of 4 can recognize in a heartbeat. The cross is synonymous with Christianity, perhaps the only symbol more recognizable than the fast-food chain’s M logo.

Elias was right, I need to make better use of the Holy Church. This means I need to tie my image so intrinsically to them that when people look at me, they don’t just see the Holy Church, they see the Holy Church as an extension of me.

I want to be the face of the Holy Church, the one people turn to. Not Bishop Duvernay whose honeyed words somehow manage to comfort the stormiest of souls.

I can’t talk nearly as well as he can. But I do encounter the nobility more often than he does, the people who hold more sway over the comings and goings of the empire. And I can heal people, just about anyone.

Except for those rare occasions.

Julian’s unconscious face flashes through my mind, along with Elias’ uncomfortable smile when his legs present yet another disadvantage to him.

I take a deep breath and purge them from my mind. No. Today, I’m just here to utter a short Helionic prayer and present my relationship with the Holy Church not as one between debtor and debtee, but two equal partners. No matter how untrue that narrative may be, some will believe it. And I have nothing but time to keep working on those who don’t.

The first obstacle stands in my way, the loyal Mad Dog of the emperor and captain of the royal guard, Lord Wolfgang. He crosses his arm, looking positively wolfish with his shock of red hair and a new scar that bisects over his eye. How he acquired it, no one quite knows. But it’s only added to his fear factor and scared away the few intrepid women who wished to cling to him at least for his powerful house and future dukedom.

He greets me first. With an ever-present grin, it’s easy to mistake my father’s most loyal associate as a fool but his razor-sharp gaze doesn’t miss anything. Even after a night of raucous drinking, one peek through a window was able to detect my potential identity and kickstart my tumultuous life in the palace. I can even feel it picking apart my intentions of being here, considering how even Augustus is not meant to be present right now.

“Your highness,” his deep voice enunciates. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“A prayer,” I say, cutting to the choice. “Just a few words to set people’s hearts at ease before the competition commences. Not everyone is lucky enough to walk away from an encounter with a griffin.”

It’s a day-long affair and famously competitive, the annual hunting competition amongst the nobility. There is great honor in bringing in the most game or hunting a difficult predator like a bear or one of the rarer creatures that lurk in this stretch of innocent woods – a nesting griffin that had recently given birth. A few overly ambitious noble boys occasionally died in their attempts, but once in a while, a talent would manage to come back, bruised and battered, with the unique creature in his grasp.

Supposedly, when Lord Wolfgang was young, he’d been the first to emerge from the woods with a dead griffin in hand and nary a single scratch. His prowess in such bloody matters is beyond a shadow of a doubt. But the reason why he, a favored noble son, had chosen to follow a bastard son instead of the official crown prince remains cloaked in shadows.

A nostalgic gaze fills the captain’s eye. “Ah, yes, griffins. What fun. Oh, to be young again and a slave to whatever follies captured my attention. Be careful, young princess, lest you accidentally step in a bear trap in your pursuit of a griffin.”

He smiles innocently in his imposing navy blue military uniform, but I can feel the warning behind the heir of House Amarelius’ words.

“I am not a hunter, but the hunted,” I tell the Mad Dog in a stiff manner. My nerves have begun to creep up on me and I let out a long breath, before continuing in a calmer manner, “Would it be presumptuous of me to compare myself to the griffin that will inevitably be killed by the end of today?”

The scarred eye stares down at me. “Are you, though?”

“Huh?”

“Are you truly in danger of being hunted? I hope you haven’t forgotten how many lives the elusive griffins claim from this noble pack every year.” We both pause after his words to look over the crowd of overeager teenagers in shiny new hunting gear that probably hasn’t seen a single day of use. A few of those beaming idiots may not return by nightfall.

“Except I am not prone to violence,” I murmur. Now that I look again, the crowd of preening noblewomen, the older ones at least, appear far more fearful than I’d thought. One wrings her handkerchief like a maid wringing her rag as she scrubs the floor. Another has broken decorum and bites at her nails.

“No, you’re not,” Lord Wolfgang agreed. “You women prefer to war with words rather than swords. But any creature backed into a corner will attack when provoked.”

“I- That’s not-” I instantly rebut, ready to defend myself. I have had to loosen a few of my morals over the years, but one line I have yet to cross is to cause bodily harm or death to others. My modern sensibilities and conscience will never allow me to go that far, no matter the circumstances.

A little voice in my head chuckles though that I would be more than happy to toe that line if I had to. I know it. And I suppose, Lord Wolfgang does too.

“There, there. Don’t you have a prayer to say and hearts to assuage?” Lord Wolfgang belly laughs and a few people stare. His energy feels like that of a friendly uncle once more, deception at its finest.

“Time to show the people how much you’ve grown over the years, even if it doesn’t look like much.”

His looming form steps to the side, tacitly allowing me to go up and speak to the gathered nobility. I can all but hear Sage deflate behind me as Lord Wolfgang allows me entry instead of barring my presence like she no doubt had hoped for.

“My growth spurt is just taking its time,” I grumble under my breath as I swoop past him onto the wooden platform.

I’m terribly exposed on top, a gust of wind blowing in agreement as the throngs quiet down. Faces turn to stone and every eye insight is trained onto my diminutive form, just like that heart-pounding day I’d first emerged on the staircase at the Spring Ball years ago. My sweaty hands almost curl into fists before I remember Ms. Laroche’s teachings and clasp them in front in a ladylike manner. I smile, the same PR smile I’ve practiced thousands of times in front of a mirror, even though I feel like grimacing. If Elias was wrong about this, I’m going to kill him.

“Please bring your hands together for Chapter 2, Verse 12 from the New Helionic Bible: I Shall Not Cower Beneath Helio’s Light,” I utter, my palms so slick they nearly slide off one another as I bring them together.

My words flow over the crowd the same way my healing energy flows over the sick. Although most nobility are fake believers, they are adept at going through the motions of the Holy Church and following along with ease. Seeing them close their eyes and slightly bend their heads towards me, I finally feel like I can breathe. With new breath in my lungs, I utter the prayer I’ve practiced for days.

I’m not sure who is more assured as I say the final words, myself or the fearful noblewomen who seem to have calmed some of their nerves. I think I even spy some gratefulness in their eyes. It takes me aback, as I’m no bishop, priest, or anyone officially ordained through the Holy Church. Or perhaps, they’ve simply remembered that if their son should get injured today, I can drag him out of the jaws of death with a single touch.

I am tangible. I am real. I am not just honeyed words, but a promise.

This wasn’t part of the script, but I can’t help but say one last thing as I stand on the stage before everyone.

“May fortune and Helio favor you all as you embark into the woods. So long as I am here, death shall not be favorable in his hunt today.”

The dam breaks and a middle-aged woman dressed somberly in black bursts into tears and crumples to the floor. There is a newfound reassurance in many of the gathered people’s gazes.

Little do they know that my promise is not only for the overly ambitious teenagers hunting for game beyond their capabilities, but also for those who may seek to get rid of me or Augustus today.

After all, what’s a hunting competition without a few assassination attempts on a member of the imperial family?