Chapter 8: The Rightful Path
WHEN Amelia opened her eyes, a stone floor filled her vision. At a loss, she tried to sit up, but someone had tied her hands behind her back. They’d even bound her feet to be safe, making it challenging for her to move.
She scanned her surroundings to try to glean her situation—plates and pots were lined up along a shelf. It was an unfamiliar place to her.
“It’s a storage room… Or maybe a kitchen?” she muttered to herself.
Before anything else, she tried to shuffle around and sit up, but a dizzy spell struck her. Simply lifting her head took everything out of her protesting body. Even if she managed to sit up by some miracle, she wouldn’t be able to move.
For now, her only choice was to rest. Though she’d love to run away or hide, neither was possible in her condition.
Remaining on the ground, she stared at the door. Soon, someone opened it—Prisca.
“You are finally awake, I see,” the younger girl said in a disgruntled tone. Shutting the door, she approached Amelia.
Amelia had assumed that the fourth consort, or female attendants, would be accompanying the girl like always, but to her surprise, the younger girl turned out to be on her own. Now that’s rare, Amelia thought. The next thing she knew, Prisca was glowering at her.
At last, Amelia broke the silence. “Where am I? What exactly is going on here?”
“Did you receive those clothes from Lord Luke?”
Amelia frowned. She hadn’t expected a proper answer, but she also hadn’t predicted that Prisca would disregard her to this degree and respond with a different question. It appeared that, just like usual, Prisca’s world revolved around herself.
Well… To be fair, she’s the heroine that this world revolves around, so I guess that’s not exactly wrong.
Shrugging, Amelia said, “Yeah, pretty much.”
“This makes no sense. Lord Luke was supposed to become my fiancé, and you were supposed to be killed. I’m the Saint. I’m supposed to be the centerpiece of this world. How can this even happen?” Prisca muttered resentfully.
This conversation wasn’t getting anywhere. Amelia changed the topic. “Hey, where are we?”
“I didn’t factor in the possibility that you would be recognized as a Saint; that ruined everything…but the fact that you can produce orison stones is a rather convenient discovery.”
Sure enough, Prisca wasn’t paying a lick of attention to Amelia’s words, but she finally met Amelia’s gaze before smiling widely. Frankly, Amelia only had bad premonitions in her gut—this girl was up to no good.
Prisca continued, “The magic in this stone has been fading. I shall accept your offering of a new orison stone.” She reached toward her collar and pulled out the necklace. The stone, which should have been a pale pea green, had faded to a point that even the formerly distinct banded pattern was on the verge of disappearing.
Hot anger blazed in Amelia’s heart. She’d thought that she’d finally reached this girl, but she shouldn’t have had hopes to begin with. Prisca was beyond salvation. “That was originally my mother’s memento. It’s mine, not yours. Plus, if you’re a Saint, then you can just make a new one by yourself.”
“You probably wouldn’t understand, my dear sister, but I am the heroine of this world and a Saint. My status is undeniable—it isn’t even necessary for me to produce a stone to prove it. I shall put your orison stones to good use, so you should feel honored.” She paused. “Oh, right. I wouldn’t mind giving you permission to attend my wedding with Lord Luke at the furthest seat in the venue; how about that?”
Although her smile was as lovely as an angel’s, her words were vile poison. Still lying on the ground, Amelia sighed. “If you can’t produce orison stones, then you aren’t a Saint. And if you aren’t a Saint, you can’t marry Luke.”
She’d merely stated cold, hard facts, but Prisca’s expression grew stormy the moment those words reached her ears. The girl snatched a plate from the shelf and hurled it at Amelia.
Amelia didn’t know whether Prisca hadn’t planned on striking her or whether the younger girl simply couldn’t fully control her aim, but the plate swerved far away from Amelia. It smashed against something behind her back, and the sound echoed within the room.
Prisca demanded in a low hiss, “Don’t make me waste my breath. Manifest an orison stone already. My sister, have you forgotten that you have creepy blood-colored eyes and are the definition of worthless? Well, I have great news. At long last, a role that even the likes of you can fulfill has come around.” She sneered, as if to say, You should be jumping for joy.
Furrowing her brows, Amelia gazed up at her. “Not blood. Strawberries.”
“Pardon?”
“Luke said that my eyes are the color of strawberries.”
From the ground, Amelia stared into Prisca’s eyes without blinking. The other girl’s cute face contorted with contempt before she grabbed another plate and threw it at her older sister.
This time, a fragment grazed Amelia’s cheek. She wouldn’t say it was painful—it was more as if a stroke of heat had flitted across her skin.
“I’d like to see how long you can keep up such ungrounded confidence. If you refuse to produce orison stones, I can’t promise that your retainer will stay alive and healthy as he is.”
Those words struck her like a punch, and blood drained from Amelia’s face. Helt was a guardian knight—he was likely strong in a fight. However, during Amelia’s kidnapping, at least two people had infiltrated the Fifth Palace. Did they come in numbers that Helt couldn’t fully deal with? Or did he lose to one of them?
“What did you do to him?!” she hissed.
Seeing that Amelia couldn’t fully conceal her agitation, Prisca nodded, satisfied, before smirking. “Oh, I haven’t done anything to that man. Not for now, at least. Buuut… You are technically a princess, and if someone found out that you were kidnapped and missing, at least part of the blame would fall on your guardian knight’s shoulders.”
Amelia had to agree that she had a point there. Since Helt’s role was a guard, it was evident that he would have to take responsibility.
Frustrated, Amelia chewed on her bottom lip. “Even if I agree to produce orison stones, each Saint has a specific stone designated to her, don’t they? My orison stone is different from my mother’s. How are you going to even explain that?”
Prisca had claimed that the fifth consort’s malachite was her own orison stone. Therefore, her assigned stone had to be malachite; otherwise, it wouldn’t add up.
Yet, Prisca didn’t seem fazed in the least. In fact, she shrugged, as if to say that it wasn’t worthy of her attention. “That is but a trifling detail. I can just claim that I am a special Saint, and therefore, I have two types of designated stones.”
Amelia had to wonder where her enigmatic, groundless confidence came from. But what was more terrifying than anything else was the fact that since Prisca was the heroine, there was a high chance that things might play out as she said.
Prisca curled her lips with an amused smile when she saw that Amelia had gone quiet. “I suggest you stop wasting time and get started on those stones.” Turning on her heel, she left the room behind her.
As Amelia listened to the girl’s fading footsteps, she analyzed what she could. Prisca had come alone despite usually going around with a procession of female attendants, meaning that this was a place where that was possible. This room was, in all likelihood, within the royal court, and she suspected it was specifically within the Fourth Palace that belonged to the fourth consort. As long as she was able to escape from the bounds of this building, it should be possible to return to the Fifth Palace or even leave the royal court altogether.
“I’ve got to get these ropes off me before anything else,” she muttered.
Managing to sit up, Amelia picked up one of the fragments from the plates. Since her hands were tied behind her back, she couldn’t see what she was reaching for, and she struggled to grasp the shards—stinging pain ran through her fingers several times. But now wasn’t the time to care about such minor wounds.
After cutting into the ropes to a certain extent, she mustered up all her strength and tore her bindings apart with sheer force. She wasn’t sure whether the person responsible had gone easy on her because she was a princess, but for now, she was grateful for that fact.
Her hands freed at last, she stared down at them. Blood oozed out from several long gashes, but these were nothing to sweat about. She could leave them be for now.
Her top priority was getting out of the building. Though she didn’t know the layout of the Fourth Palace, as long as she headed in a straight line, she was bound to bump into an outer wall eventually. She should be able to escape somehow or another by clambering up to the top.