Chapter 7
Ejnar stepped into his workspace with a dark cloud hanging over his features. Robert, observing the King’s sour mood, seemed to instantly grasp the source of the irritation.
“Shall I arrange for the princess to be escorted back to Tems Palace immediately?”
Ejnar shot a look at his servant that questioned the man’s sanity.
“Is that the reason for this current display of temper?” Robert asked.
“Temper? I am in no such state.”
One of Ejnar’s brows arched upward. He appeared genuinely oblivious to his own demeanor.
“Ask anyone currently walking the halls of the central residence,” Robert replied, offering a casual shrug. “They would tell you the same. You look miserable. Since you brought her back here, it stands to reason that is the cause.”
“I am not convinced that is the case,” Ejnar muttered.
Robert simply stared back, his face a mask of skepticism.
The silence stretched between them for a moment.
“Robert,” Ejnar said, his voice dropping into a tone of genuine inquiry. “How do I sound to others?”
“Your Majesty’s manner of speaking?”
“Precisely.”
“It is terrible.”
Ejnar’s expression shifted toward a threat. “You…”
“It is blunt,” Robert continued, leaning into the critique with newfound energy. “You are lucky to wear a crown. Had you been born a mere nobleman, your tongue would have likely earned you a trip to the gallows for some high offense.”
As the words left his mouth, Robert watched the King closely. He anticipated a flash of lethal rage, yet Ejnar did not snap. Instead, the monarch looked deeply lost in thought.
This silence was more unsettling than an outburst. Robert began to worry that the King was actually tallying up crimes to justify an execution.
Panic flared, and Robert spoke up quickly. “Your Majesty, I only meant—”
“Am I truly that severe?”
The weight of Ejnar’s question caught Robert off guard. He hadn’t expected the man to take the insult so much to heart. “Who exactly has been criticizing the way you speak?”
It seemed impossible that anyone would have the audacity to say such a thing to his face. Yet, seeing Ejnar so bothered made Robert wonder if someone had actually managed to insult the King directly.
“That isn’t it,” Ejnar dismissed.
If his words weren’t the problem, he couldn’t understand why the woman had collapsed into such a fit of sobbing the moment they parted. He pictured the tear-streaked face of Elfreda from the moment she fainted, and his forehead creased with annoyance.
Regardless of her savage origins, she was a royal who had been shielded from the world like a delicate blossom. He didn’t believe his language had been cruel enough to warrant such a breakdown. Why had she been so inconsolable?
She was an exhausting, irritating creature.
A shiver of distaste ran through him at the memory. The last thing he recalled was her trailing after him like a nuisance. Ejnar shook his head to clear the image, forcing the thought of that troublesome woman out of his mind.
Elfreda’s strength returned with each passing day. Throughout her recovery, she and Ejnar never crossed paths. She remained true to her vow of staying hidden within her quarters to prevent any accidental meetings.
Ejnar, predictably, made no effort to seek her out.
She told herself that her previous collapse was merely a result of physical and mental exhaustion. As health returned to her limbs, she clung to that rationalization.
Guilt was the only sentiment she permitted herself to feel. To harbor any other personal desire was more than just a mistake; it was a shameful act of arrogance. Such feelings would only lead to a lifetime of misery, as he would never offer her a genuine smile. She resolved to crush those flickering hopes by any means necessary.
“Snow is a rare sight in Machi,” Ilene explained softly. “If it falls during the year, we view it as a promise of a bountiful harvest. We throw festivals immediately to celebrate the good fortune, even if there is no time to prepare.”
During the stay, Ilene’s warmth had been constant. She was far more compassionate than Elfreda had anticipated, which made the princess feel a twinge of remorse for monopolizing the servant’s time.
“You don’t need to go to such lengths for me, Ilene,” Elfreda said, her voice tinged with honesty. “It would be enough if you simply left a meal for me once a day.”
Ilene looked horrified at the suggestion. “You would waste away. Two meals are the absolute minimum.”
“I only mean… why are you being so kind to me?” Elfreda pressed. “Why show me such affection?”
Ilene seemed even more confused by the question. “You are to be our Queen. It would be wrong to treat you with coldness.”
“Even so…”
“You strike me as a truly good person.”
Elfreda went still. The description felt like it belonged to someone else entirely. She was a daughter of Makaeri, a fact that made Ilene’s assessment seem almost surreal. She watched the handmaiden with a look of pure bewilderment.
Ilene offered a small, bashful smile that radiated sincerity. “I truly believe that, Your Majesty. Even if it isn’t my place to say.”
The princess felt her mind go blank. Sensing the sudden silence, Ilene grew worried. “Have I overstepped? Does my kindness bother you?”
The question was so foreign to Elfreda that it took her a moment to find her voice. “No,” she managed at last. “That isn’t it at all.”
A bright, relieved grin spread across Ilene’s face. Elfreda felt a strange ache in her chest. This was a problem. The desire to stay away from Tems Palace was growing, yet she knew it would be selfish to try and keep this girl by her side.
She could only offer a sad, quiet smile in response.
The time for her departure arrived.
Ilene’s face was full of sorrow as she said her goodbyes. Elfreda felt the loss even more acutely, though she kept her features composed. Every step back toward Tems Palace felt as though her boots were lined with lead.
There was no welcome waiting for her. Instead, Marchioness Magnum met her with a sharp, icy reprimand.
“In the future, refrain from wandering about at all hours of the night.”
The immediate hostility prompted a dry, sarcastic retort from Elfreda. “Such a warm reception for someone who nearly died, Marchioness.”
“My words are merely a reflection of my concern for the princess’s well-being,” the woman replied stiffly.
Her safety.
Elfreda considered the phrase. There was a grain of truth in it. Had she stayed inside that night, she would have avoided that encounter, and the memory that now haunted her would not exist.
“I appreciate the sentiment, Marchioness,” Elfreda whispered, her smile turning bitter.
