Marked by the Ruthless Princess

Lina Riley didn't know whether to call it fate or some twisted form of wish fulfillment. All she knew was that she was scared half to death.

How could anyone be as silent as a ghost? Lina, who had died once before, considered herself familiar with mortal dread, yet the Crown Princess's presence radiated an eerie chill surpassing any she had ever known.

As she attempted to scramble off the bed to salute, Lucille Everard's hand pressed down firmly on her shoulder, shoving her back so that the back of her head smacked against the wooden bedframe. Sparks danced before Lina's eyes.

Pain furrowed her brow. She looked up into the smiling face of the culprit. Their proximity was too close. The room was warmed by a brazier, not at all cold, but Lucille had come in from the snowy night, and the chill of her fingertips penetrated Lina's thin nightclothes, seeping into her shoulders.

Lina glanced at the hand on her shoulder, deciding to use it as a conversational pivot. The more perilous the situation, the calmer she forced herself to be. Hiding her earlier fear behind lowered lashes, she spoke meekly, "Your Highness, coming through such wind and snow—would you care for some hot tea?"

Lucille noted Lina's rapid composure with a hint of appreciation in her eyes. She released Lina's shoulder and sat to one side on the bed, her gaze drifting toward the teapot on the table. Sophia Riley had visited earlier, and Daisy Harper had poured tea back then, but it had grown cold since. Lucille eyed the tea with disdain and scanned the room's furnishings.

Everything looked old, with crude repairs and chipped paint. The table and chairs bore signs of patchwork, and even the window frames showed their age. Clearly, Reginald Riley had never cared much for this daughter, misjudging her worth.

Lucille said nothing, which only heightened Lina's anxiety. Lina's mind whirled, recalling fragments of her previous life. Once Victoria Ashwood had begun eyeing the throne, Lina—though initially reluctant—had eventually helped her, believing Victoria stronger and more resolute than the timid Emperor. She had aided Victoria's ambition, carefully planning strategies.

Lucille Everard soon spotted Victoria's aims and promptly sent her poisoned wine. Lina's intuition had screamed danger that night, prompting her to scale the palace walls in a desperate rescue. She had risked death many times, once even fleeing under a hail of arrows, glancing back to see Lucille perched on a wall, bow in hand, frigid moonlight highlighting her icy stare. Each time, Lucille had aimed at her but never quite struck true. Yet the terror remained.

That had been the relationship they'd shared: mortal enemies. Lina's nightmares had always starred Lucille, and she'd never ceased her vigilance. Who could have imagined that, in this new life, after only a few days, she would end up sharing a bed with the very woman she once fled from?

And that woman's archery was terrible too—she'd always missed.

"Such squalor," Lucille remarked contemptuously.

The princess's disgust dragged Lina out of her memories. Keeping her head down, Lina tried to explain, "My father lives frugally, and he demands the same of me."

Her chin suddenly ached as Lucille's grip forced her face upward. The princess's smile did not reach her eyes. "I dislike liars, even more so when they serve under me as officials."

The force of Lucille's grip felt as if it would crush bone. Yet Lina endured, showing docile submission. "Please forgive me, Your Highness."

She dared not meet Lucille's gaze and shifted her eyes aside—only to catch sight of suspicious red marks along Lucille's collarbone. The faint scars of that disgraceful night lingered still. Normally concealed, they were now visible due to their close proximity and Lucille's forceful movements.

Before Lina could stare too long, the hand disappeared, and her head thumped once more against the mattress. At least this time the bedding softened the blow. She still felt half-dizzy as Lucille's fingers trailed down to her throat, sending a shiver through Lina. Life and death, once again balanced on another's whim. Lina's heart flared with both fear and anger.

She cherished this second chance at life, unwilling to lose it so easily. Lina raised her eyes to meet Lucille's. Her voice turned cold, "What do you mean by this, Your Highness?"

Two paths lay before Lina. The first: prove her worth and exploit Lucille's need for talent during turbulent times, thus protecting those she cared about. The second: run away, hide forever, leaving Daisy and Sophia at risk of punishment. Lina wasn't as callous as Victoria. But the first path was fraught with danger—Lucille was unpredictable, a lunatic whose moods could end a life at a whim.

Seeing the spark in Lina's gaze, Lucille seemed amused. Her victim's anger was insignificant. "That look—like you're staring at a madwoman. Are you angry?"

It wasn't truly a question, more a playful observation. Lina suppressed her emotions once more, appearing meek. "No."

Lucille's grip on Lina's throat tightened. Lina swallowed nervously.

"I said I hate lies," Lucille warned.

"…I understand," Lina whispered.

Lucille's lips curved. "Then I'll ask again. Are you angry?"

"Yes," Lina managed.

The hand withdrew. Lina relaxed slightly, her clenched fists beneath the covers unclenching. Conversing with Lucille was like swinging over an abyss, one misstep and she'd plummet.

"After what you did that night, you still dare to be angry?" Lucille's mocking tone stirred Lina's guilty conscience. She truly hadn't meant to offend. Lina's lips quivered. "I'm sorry."

The apology sounded so aggrieved that Lucille found it rather amusing. Neither of them had truly chosen that night's outcome. Still, Lucille had noticed a subtle improvement afterward—a slight easing of her chronic ailment—though too minor to credit Lina openly. Best to wait for that elusive physician's return to confirm.

Lina, for her part, mulled over how to placate Lucille. She searched her previous life's memories for anything that might please the Crown Princess, but Lucille had always been so cold. Nothing came to mind.

She ventured timidly, "Your Highness, what must I do to appease your anger?"

Lucille pretended to consider, watching Lina's increasingly anxious expression out of the corner of her eye. Finally, she teased, "Seven days from now, the knighthood trials begin. Take first place and prove yourself to me."

Lina blanched. To maintain her cover, she hadn't even registered for the trials. Seeing Lucille about to leave, Lina panicked. She leapt forward, barefoot, snagging the princess's garment. "Your Highness! I never signed up!"

Her haste made her tug too hard, pulling open part of Lucille's outer robe. In the moonlight, the marks on Lucille's shoulder appeared scandalously vivid. Lina's face flushed, then turned deathly pale. She let go as if burned, sinking to her knees. "Please forgive me, Your Highness!"

Lucille, displeased, adjusted her clothing. Without another word, she vaulted gracefully into the moonlit night and vanished.

Lina waited a long time, but no answer came. Gathering her courage, she looked up—only to find Sophia Riley standing there, eyes alight with curiosity.

Lina scowled. "Sister, when did you arrive?"

Normally Lina would have noticed, but in her jittery state facing the Crown Princess, she'd been too distracted.

Still kneeling on the snowy threshold, Lina hadn't risen yet. Sophia squatted beside her, eyes gleaming with gossip. "What sort of gift did the Crown Princess bring you?"

Lina stood, brushing snow off her knees, her face drawn. "A grand gift indeed."

Sophia persisted, "What gift?"

Pausing her motions, Lina realized something was off. Sophia's sudden attachment puzzled her. In their previous life, they were distant. Now Sophia stuck to her like glue. Lina decided to give her sister a scare, just a small deception.

Lowering her voice conspiratorially, Lina hesitated before whispering, "While talking, Her Highness hinted that she might depose the Emperor."

"Impossible! Just today she asked me to guide the Emperor," Sophia protested, honestly shocked.

Lina watched closely. Sophia's reaction seemed genuine, not feigned. Under the cold moon, Lina's mood settled. Thinking of the past's bloody strife, Lina sighed, "How can one trust the words of royalty so easily, Sister? You're too naïve."

In truth, Lina was also thinking of Victoria. The treachery of the royal family was a bitter lesson. Sophia, misreading Lina's sigh, stepped closer, concerned.

"Are you upset?"

The night wind blew hard. With Sophia's weak constitution, she shouldn't stand here too long, especially without a maid. Reginald would be furious if Sophia fell ill. Lina, not wanting trouble, dismissed her curtly, "It's late. Sister, you should return to your room."

Sophia seemed hurt but swallowed her objections. Just as she turned to go, Lina called after her. Sophia spun around hopefully, only for Lina to warn gravely, "Be careful what you say about the royal family. Do not speak of tonight's matter."

"…I understand."

Once Sophia left, the turbulent night finally ended. Exhausted, Lina leaned against the doorframe, gazing at the moon. She considered the oddities of Sophia's behavior. If Sophia had been reborn, she wouldn't be so surprised to hear talk of deposing the Emperor. Perhaps Sophia truly knew nothing.

No need to worry about covering her lie; Sophia would keep it secret. Lina yawned, suddenly chilled by her own bare feet. She hopped back inside, climbed into bed, and pulled the blankets up. Again, she dreamt of the old grave and the veiled figure who played a mournful flute. There, freed from earthly burdens, she dozed peacefully.

While Lina slept sweetly, Sophia lay awake till dawn. Facing her own reflections in the bronze mirror at dawn, Sophia smiled wryly. After washing and dressing, she toyed absently with the palace-entry token, recalling Lucille's gentle manner and her sister's contradictory nature. Perhaps even her own sister was not so easily crossed.

Bored at home, Sophia decided to return to the palace. Autumn Clarke led her again, but with Lucille absent, she faced the Emperor alone. Emilia Everard greeted her with evident distaste, barely allowing her inside.

"Leave," came the Emperor's brusque command.

Autumn sighed and ushered Sophia out. Receiving such a cold dismissal, Sophia's fleeting sympathy for the Emperor evaporated. She dared not show her annoyance, merely glanced discreetly at the book the Emperor was reading. The title looked far from respectable.

Following Autumn out, they stopped near the palace gates. Autumn apologized, "I must part ways here. Please forgive me."

Sophia, easygoing as ever, didn't mind. "Go ahead. I'll be fine."

Autumn regarded Sophia with fond regret before leaving. Not long after, Victoria Ashwood appeared before Sophia. At the sight of the Fifth Princess's strange gaze, Sophia felt uneasy. With a curt salute, she said, "Your Highness," and excused herself. She left quickly, as though pursued by monsters.

Victoria raised a hand, then dropped it, frustrated by her inability to speak. Above, Lucille and Autumn watched the scene unfold from a vantage point.

Autumn's heart fluttered nervously. She suspected Lucille might be plotting something—possibly deposing the Emperor—but she favored peace and stability. Summoning her courage, Autumn asked timidly, "Your Highness, what do you think of the Fifth Princess?"

Lucille glanced at Autumn, her tone cold. "You ask too many questions."

Autumn nearly collapsed, but Lucille caught her arm firmly. With a mysterious smile, the Crown Princess said softly, "This is the last time."

Autumn straightened, weak with relief. "I understand."

Lucille released her, returning her focus below. After a moment, she tutted softly, muttering to herself, "I dislike what I see."