Seated on a chair in her room, Cynthia stared blankly at the cup of tea placed before her on the table.
The liquid's color darkened as seconds passed, and a faint chuckle escaped her rosy lips.
This wasn't the first time such attempts were made. Yet, Cynthia was unable to comprehend the persistence behind them.
Were the rumors not enough to scare off those orchestrating her assassination attempts? Did they still think she was an easy target?
Although she admitted she wasn't as strong as her brothers, she could easily fight ten men at a time!
In a sudden burst of frustration, she grabbed the cup and hurled it to the ground. Shards scattered, and tea splattered on the floor as Rin gasped, startled by the princess's abrupt action.
"Outrageous behavior," she thought, mimicking the nobles' scornful tone.
They knew nothing about her life before she entered high society last year when she made her first appearance, nor did they care to know if she was alive during the years her brothers were at war. Yet, they pretended to know her.
Cynthia didn't mind; she understood that their lives were likely dull and that she, a princess, was a great topic of gossip.
To protect herself from those vicious snakes, she had been sharp and cold toward the ladies who mocked her for never attending their tea parties.
Since then, she had been branded as the villainess, a role she had no problem playing.
After all, why should she be kind to people who didn't appreciate her and would devour her at the first opportunity?
The sound of footsteps caught Cynthia's attention. She promptly turned around, her face lighting up at the sight of the blonde-haired man approaching her.
"Brother!" she exclaimed, grinning as she rose from her seat and bowed gracefully to greet him.
Alistair's gaze fell on the broken cup on the ground, and he tilted his head to the side curiously.
"What happened?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
Understanding his question, Cynthia glanced toward her servant, Rin, who stood beside her, lips quivering.
"Oh! It just slipped from my hand. Don't worry about it. Please, take a seat. Rin, bring some tea for His Majesty," Cynthia instructed, glancing at her maid.
Rin nodded and rushed out of the room.
Alistair grinned and took a seat opposite his sister.
"What brings you to my chambers? You could have just sent a servant and I would have gone to visit you," Cynthia asked as she sat down.
"I wanted to let you know... The wedding preparations have started."
The king lowered his gaze, disappointed in himself. He couldn't protect Cynthia from the political marriage he despised and couldn't give her the choice to marry the man she loved.
"What's wrong, brother?"
"I..." Alistair sighed.
"What's troubling you?" Cynthia asked, gently placing her hand on her brother's, which rested on the tea table.
"I couldn't protect you from anything."
Anything? Right...
Despite agreeing, Cynthia shook her head with a smile. She couldn't be harsh towards her brother.
"It's alright. You don't need to blame yourself."
"You can still refuse! I swear I will find another way!" Alistair's voice trembled as he spoke.
A dark and gloomy vision engulfed her mind. Countless lifeless bodies strewn across the ground, with crimson blood flowing like a river of red.
Cynthia pulled her hand away from her brother's grip, her hands shaking as she stared at him in horror.
"It's my duty as a princess. I need to do this!" she exclaimed. "I have matters to attend to, please excuse me," she rose from her seat and rushed out of her room.
Alistair's eyes filled with tears as he watched his sister's figure slowly fade into the hallway.
When did his little sister grow so mature? The years flew by and he hadn't realized it.
"Good morning, Your Highness," a man's voice said, a lingering mocking tone layered in his respectful greeting as he bowed before the young woman.
"Duke Ramsel," Cynthia whispered, frowning at the sight of the middle-aged man.
As if she hadn't seen him, Cynthia walked past him, angering the grey-haired man.
"You don't seem as pleased to see me as I am to see you," the man forced a smile, desperately trying to hide his fury, and followed the princess.
"Why are you following me?" she demanded in a firm tone, which shocked the man.
"It has been eight years since we last saw each other," Duke Ramsel spoke, walking ahead of the princess with quick steps, halting her from going further.
Cynthia clenched her fists, glaring at him.
"I was right... you resemble my sister more as days pass," the grey-haired man smiled, placing his hand on Cynthia's head.
Although her stomach twisted at his touch, she restrained the urge to toss his arm away.
"I'm glad to know, Duke Ramsel," she forced a smile.
"Duke Ramsel?" the man clicked his tongue in disapproval. "I'm your uncle! And you, my niece. We needn't use such formalities between us, Cynthia!"
"Your Highness," Cynthia corrected.
Duke Ramsel furrowed his brows, confused by her words.
Reading his puzzled expression, Cynthia continued.
"You should refer to me as Your Highness, Duke Ramsel. It doesn't matter if you're related to me; you shouldn't drop the formalities in public," she gestured to their surroundings.
They stood in a garden filled with vibrant flowers, an open space where anyone could pass by. Although the greenery of the trees could act as a wall, everything in the palace had ears.
"Your Highness," the man before Cynthia chuckled. "You joke very well."
Princess Cynthia sighed, shaking her head. It was a silly thought to believe this man would ever understand his limits.
"Duke Ramsel, listen to me carefully. We share no relationship. Not after what happened in the past. My brothers made it clear to you," Cynthia stated, locking her violet eyes with the duke's golden ones.
"No relationship?" Duke Ramsel chuckled. "The ones who don't share a relationship with you are the ones you call brothers! They are selling you off to the enemy kingdom! How can you trust them so blindly?! You aren't even—"
Duke Ramsel stopped once he felt a cold blade against his skin.