Rise of the Unfavored Princess

Chapter 98: Ch. 98: Poetic Justice

To be fair, I’ve always known that Sir Finn was wicked smart. As a bright-eyed teenager, he was the one who found me what feels like eons ago in Bianca’s shack. He’s smart enough not to align with the royal guard’s strange bias towards me and empathetic enough to get to know me despite my obvious lack of favor. Despite being the heir to a powerful dukedom and not needing to prove himself, Sir Finn still joined the ranks of the royal guard and gained a name as a handsome knight with words and moves sharper than a dagger.

He’s the whole package, literally. And unfortunately.

Now that he stands before me with such an unfamiliar expression, I know what others feel when they see him. Because the person who stands before me is not Finn, the ally I’ve dreamt of.

But I don’t cower or quake. Because like him, I’ve also been tested in the capital and also come out, mostly, in one piece.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I answer slyly, checking my nails as if this is not as serious of a conversation as it truly is.

“You were off all night. Casting glances towards the sole path to the dungeon. You disappeared, 10 minutes before the alarm was raised of the maimed prisoner. Do you still wish to tell me you weren’t involved?” Finn lists out all the stats in a methodical manner and I realize my sole error from tonight. In my assumption that no one would pay attention to a little, unfavored princess like me, I completely forgot about Sir Finn, whose job has been to look after me ever since I came to the imperial palace.

“And if I was?” I ask slowly.

.....

“I’d be disappointed,” Sir Finn says.

I let out a sigh of relief that he wouldn’t go tell my father, but I can feel the alienation between us. He no longer views me as an innocent child, which I never was. But the illusion is gone and leaves behind only truth and facts, which aren’t as pretty as the lie.

I suck in a breath, wondering how much I can tell Finn. Although he is close to me and I trust him with my life, revealing my identity as a Traveler is another ballgame. He is not just a knight of the royal guard, he’s also a future Duke. Do I want someone with that much power to know my true identity?

It’s a tough question and not one I would’ve been willing to ask for many more years. Sir Finn sees my hesitation and he laughs dryly to himself with no humor.

“So you can’t tell me,” Sir Finn suddenly gets down on one knee so as to look me in the eye. “You won’t tell me.”

“For this, I cannot. I’m sorry,” I admit. No one says anything and for a while, all you can hear is our breaths. I feel as if I’ve let down my older brother or cousin.

“You’ve changed.” The statement cuts deeper than I thought it would, I skip a breath when it hits.

“You should understand better than anyone else why I had to,” I answer, my lip curling downwards with negative emotions. “I tried, Finn. I tried to be a good, obedient child. I really did. And you saw how that turned out for me.”

“Where did the healing affinity come from?”

I shrug. “Your guess is as good as mine. It just came out one day when I was around an injured soldier. And ever since then, I’ve been trying to help others the best I can.”

Finn doesn’t say anything for a while. “A lot has changed in these past few months for you, hasn’t it?”

Thinking of my clandestine escape from the palace, running away from assassins, discovering my abilities, and my hair-raising conversation with Bishop Duvernay, I find myself nodding before I know it. I had lain low for the past two years, being the quiet, wordless puppet for Empress Katya to toy with when she was bored. In contrast to this summer, I feel an entire lifetime has passed since those dark days. Dark days I’m about to return to.

“It’s been scary,” I admit. My eyes start to burn and embarrassingly a tear rolls down my cheek.

“It is,” Finn agrees, sounding a bit more gentle this time. He tilts his head towards the unconscious Julian who is still forgotten in the corner. “Are you sure he is the best person to trust?”

I let out a wet snort, wiping at the itchy tear on my cheek. “No. Heck no. It is a temporary partnership.”

“So you couldn’t heal the prisoner from another world,” Finn says, casting a look of utter disgust at the imperial physicians tying tourniquets around his arm and staunching the blood flow from his horribly empty eyes.

I shake my head, feeling slight discomfort at Sir Finn’s obvious disgust and disdain for the weaponsmith due to his transmigrator status.

“You... think it’s weird that he’s from another world? It’s only his soul, really. It’s almost like he was just born again, basically reincarnation if you think about it,” I find myself mounting a faint defense for the weaponsmith’s status as a Traveler. I don’t know why. Maybe I just want to hear from Finn that not originally being from this world isn’t a bad thing? Or more likely, I just want to find out if I can tell him the one secret I’ve held to my chest since I was literally reborn.

“It’s not just weird. It’s unholy, and I don’t even believe half the drivel the Holy Church says. It’s practically black magic, the sorcery and weapons in his mind. They should all be killed to protect the Empire from internal threats,” Finn replies solemnly.

He thinks like a soldier or a lord. Focused on driving out threats no matter the cost.

“Even if that soul went into a child?” I add, laying the true gambit on the table unbeknownst to the future Duke of Avernall.

Sir Finn scoffs. “Is a child still a child if they have the soul of an adult inside them? Children, if it’s even possible to inhabit their souls, would be even more dangerous than adults. They have time to embed themselves in critical government positions, they can maneuver through politics from an even younger age than the most skilled tactician. This would be a grave threat,” Sir Finn finishes, most taken with what he’s saying.

I swallow hard, fighting with every ounce of my being to keep my face measured and still.

“Imagine if one tried to become friends with you with nefarious intentions. You must be careful of those you keep around you, Princess. Sometimes, it is those who smile the sweetest who have the most dangerous intentions underneath,” Sir Finn warns, shaking his head at the thought.

I smile bitterly to myself, the feeling of being exposed making it hard to find a proper response. Sir Finn has summed up my existence for the past few years, calling it a ‘grave threat’. But only I know that these machinations that he fears are what I must do to keep me alive. It is what every other Traveler without a doubt also thinks of. Except for the doofus bombmaker who ruined it for everyone.

“Right, right,” I mutter listlessly. It’s past 1 am and I’ve tasted nothing but disappointment and surprises this evening. I want nothing more but to leave this stinking dungeon and sleep.

“But His Majesty-” Sir Finn says suddenly, a thought striking him.

I raise my brow, leaving my sleepy pity party for a brief second at the mention of my father.

“What about him?” I ask before he loses his nerve to tell me.

“I could see that he knew something.” Finn rubbed his chin, the lightbulb above his head all but visible.

“Huh?” I understand immediately, but I play dumb in the face of such a revelation.

“When you said there was something stopping you from healing the prisoner, there was a flash of recognition in his eye. So take comfort, your highness. You shan’t be blamed for not fixing the prisoner. He didn’t deserve to be healed by you anyways.”

But funnily enough, I can tell that just like my father, there is something more that Sir Finn knows as well. A wariness that never existed before in his carefree persona shines behind his eyes as he guides me back to my chambers.

With such an eventful evening behind me, I get back on the road to Radovalsk with more questions than answers, the sole path before me paved in uncertainty... and blood. We leave for the capital with two carriages instead of one, the second carrying an unconscious Julian.

“We were played, Emma,” I bemoan softly a few days later. We are the only people within the comfy carriage, allowing me to speak freely. “Played for fools. I just wish I could know how they managed to figure out our plan. When I get my hands on that overgrown brat...”

“Hmmmm.” Emma is feeling talkative today. The road sickness that has plagued me since we took off on the bumpy shortcut to Radovalsk, the same shortcut we coincidentally took to make it to Belhelm, has clearly avoided her.

“And I was talking to Sir Finn. He... he said I changed. Do you think I’ve changed too, Emma?” Changed for the worse, I want to truly ask.

Emma doesn’t even think before she answers. “Survival above all else, your highness. That is the first lesson we learn on the streets,” Emma, whether it was intentional or not, sidesteps the question. Her face is as still as ever, unmoved by the things that have happened around her.

When I think about it, the only times I’ve seen her express extra emotion are around me, making me feel like a special snowflake. To Emma’s surprise, I pull her in, the edge of my bonnet making the hug a little awkward.

“As long as you, me, and Marie come out of all this intact and in good health, I think I can live with whatever I have to do,” I promise her. And I mean it.

Finn’s warm grin and funny quips from my darker days in the palace surface in my mind, as if to sway me from my decisive statement. But as much as they helped in those times, I brush them out of my memory now. Whether he agrees or not, this new me who actually has a few wins under her belt is here to stay. I’ll just have to make sure I grow on him too.

“Hugging your servant isn’t proper, your highness,” Emma mutters. But she blushes and I see a faint smile twitching at the edge of her lip. The stony face has finally cracked.

“It’s proper if I say it’s proper!” I childishly insist.

“But then I can’t give you the letters I received with news from the capital,” Emma tells me.

I lean back, staring at her face to see if she’s joking, but remember that Emma is not really big on kidding around.

“When did you-” I stammer out. Although Emma and I (but mostly Emma) had managed to begin to cultivate a grassroots information system within the palace and capital, I assumed that with our sudden departure from Radovalsk we would be forced to remain out of the loop about capital news and gossip until we came back.

“I had Clever Jack send correspondence to one of the inns we passed on our way here,” Emma explains. “Last night when we passed the inn again, I was able to procure all the correspondence he sent to us.

Right now, we have a few low-ranked informants within Marie’s old laundry department, some gardeners, several hungry street urchins, and our biggest catch, a butler working near Augustus’ courtyards. Through letters that are sent in and out secretly with the manure brought in and weeds tossed outside the palace by the gardeners, I’ve been able to keep to start keeping a weak pulse on the happenings in Radovalsk over the past two years. However, I’d anticipated the poorly constructed network would fall apart without oversight and force me to bribe new informants with my meager funds for any news. A thick stack of papers from several sources is precisely what I didn’t expect!

“Jack? That little upstart?” I snort, looking over the letters in disbelief.

They’ve been sent over a period of time, the dates ranging from a few days after we ran away to two days ago. I read through each carefully, the joy on my face becoming harder and harder to wipe away with each one. When I read a certain one dating back just two weeks ago, I directly laugh out loud. The smile that stretches across my face is so wide it puts the Cheshire Cat’s infamous grin to shame.

“Good. Good! Haha! Take that, bitch!” I pump the air with a fist, a distinctly modern gesture that causes Emma to side eye me a little.

This particular letter is from an embroidery maid, one of the many sewing women who help to decorate the clothes the imperial family wears on special occasions like balls, state dinners, and religious ceremonies such as the Blessing Day. Her handwriting is rough, but the pen is light, having glided across the paper with a delicate touch only an embroiderer would have.

It details the fall from grace of Lady Vernice, now Empress Katya’s former lady-in-waiting. Chosen by the empress on the eve of her wedding to my father, ladies-in-waiting are a reflection of her. As a result, all of them had been well chosen: ladies of high breeding, but not too high. Clever with words and harboring good reputations in society. They had tactical marriages to allies of the Duvernay family and helped Empress Katya communicate with many members of high society as well as maintain her generous image.

Large donations made by the ladies-in-waiting to orphanages or whatever war the Empire was involved in were always revealed to have been ‘secret’ donations from the empress under their names. Patronages to famous and well-loved artists, dancers, and opera singers would accidentally reveal that it was not Lady Bryce or Lady Vernice who set them up on their path to greatness, but the oh so humble Empress who did not wish for the public to know.

With such innovative PR and willing minions spreading her good name, Empress Katya’s image is permanently tied to those of her ladies-in-waiting. And for the first time, this has hurt her. Very badly.

The following letter is a dictation from one of the street kids that was handwritten by Jack, as he kindly informs me in bold letters across the top. He confirms the embroidery maid’s information and adds to it something new: a hole in Empress Katya’s previously unblemished and saintly reputation. And that’s all you need to begin to rip away at a facade. One, itty bitty tear.

Lady Vernice and her family were showily arrested from the Vernice mansion in the affluent suburbs of East Bend and tossed into the dungeons. People cursed and spat at her for trying to harm me, the promised child who had saved their sons and fathers from injuries attained on a ruthless battlefield. And by connection, people cursed the empress for instructing Lady Vernice to harm me simply because she can’t stand the emperor’s bastard. They began to whisper once more of the time I was condemned in the palace for what may have been a false, trumped-up crime.

If that isn’t poetic justice, I don’t know what is!

“Knowledge truly is power,” I murmur. If I were a video game character, I definitely just won a new badge called Level 1 Spymaster.

As soon as I get back to the palace, I think it’s time for me to do a little research. On my abilities. On the god Helio, who may have given them to me. And most importantly about the unsettling magic I encountered in the Belfort Castle dungeon. I have a sinking feeling that I’ll be seeing it again before long.

A quiet change in power is sweeping through the empire, from the unseating of a cornerstone in Empress Katya’s power and reputation to the mysterious player who singlehandedly rendered the weaponsmith a dumb mute. Whether I am on the right side of that change, depends on my crucial next days within the imperial palace. And I’m more than ready to play and level up.

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