68 — To My Beloved Ana (2)

An invitation from Princess Ana Rosa!

Teresa’s eyes flew wide in surprise. It was an invitation she could not afford to miss.

The princess had been the most talked-about figure in society of late, yet no one had actually met her. The many invitations that had begun arriving for Teresa, now a maid to the dowager, came from people eager to hear what she had seen of the princess.

But to be personally invited by the princess herself?

“I am deeply honored!”

Ana Rosa gave a light smile and walked on with Blanca. Teresa followed behind. Only after they had completely disappeared did Vicente finally manage to rise to his feet.

His whole body was covered in soil, the top of his foot throbbed, and—most of all—

-“Where did we first meet, Vicente?”

From today’s exchange, the princess seemed convinced he was not Vicente. Good God.

Vicente tilted his head back to the sky and clicked his tongue. Things were turning very bad. When had the princess begun to suspect? He quickly replayed the scene in his mind.

-“I like walks. Especially walks with Your Grace.”

At first, the princess had even refused the ceremonial kiss on the hand. Then, suddenly, she had coolly offered her hand. By then, she must already have planned to drop him into the flowerbeds and threaten him with a knife. Why? What provoked her?

He recalled the way she had stared straight at him. What had he said then?

-“Well then, does the half of my blood inside me make Your Highness uncomfortable? I was about to ask for a walk—should I not?”

“Damn it.”

It had been a ploy to create an awkward distance between them. Engagement or not, he had to avoid growing close to her. But that ploy had plainly sparked the princess’s suspicions.

He began walking in the opposite direction from the route she had taken. The situation had blown open. He needed countermeasures—fast.

Riding in her carriage, Ana Rosa’s thoughts matched Vicente’s almost exactly. This must be resolved quickly. Only, her mood was darker than his.

Was her childhood friend “Vicente” even alive? If his identity had been stolen, there was a high chance he had been killed. Strangely, the face that rose in her mind then was not Vicente’s, but her teacher’s.

Had Vicente died like her teacher? Consort Yeon was dead, and perhaps Deokbi too… Everyone who cherished her just kept dying—without her even being able to witness it.

“Gods, gods, gods.”

Ana Rosa covered her face with both hands and murmured.

She had thought that only time had washed their friendship away.

“Your Highness, what is it?”

Blanca wrapped an arm around Ana Rosa’s back and asked. Ana Rosa did not answer. What could it be? Blanca had only seen her this shaken when they were fleeing Mun.

“Are you in pain, Your Highness?”

Not knowing whether the trouble lay only in her heart or in her body as well, Blanca used the gentlest tone she had.

Ana Rosa was finely strung, and her psychological pain quickly turned to physical pain; then the bodily pain would, in turn, sicken her heart. That vicious cycle had gnawed at Ana Rosa’s life more than once.

Blanca stroked her hair. The strands that slipped between her fingers were golden thread. Her body was not so much slender as too thin. If one felt her back carefully, one could count the bones of her spine.

In Aussis, Ana Rosa had been expected to eat extremely small portions. Women—especially those of the upper class—must not grow plump.

And she had spent her formative teens in Mun, where the cuisine used a far greater variety of vegetables. Everyone around her had been elderly. As a result, Ana Rosa came to have an austere palate—small portions and a fondness for greens.

Back in Mun, the Imperial Medical Office had feared for their exalted empress and strictly managed her tonics and diet; reports went to the emperor, so like it or not, she had to eat meat.

But since returning to Aussis, she had lived as she pleased, eating only the vegetables that suited her taste.

She had lost far too much weight.

Mina Yu-jen was trying desperately—ordering every famed dessert and “must-try” dish in Aussis—but it was not enough. Ana Rosa’s palate was that of an old soul, and hard to satisfy.

While Blanca worried over Ana Rosa’s health, the princess slowly calmed the turmoil within.

One thing the palace had taught her was that pain belonged to the sufferer alone, and no pain could be solved by dividing it with others. When pain and joy were kept wholly one’s own, all things went better.

The more one separated work from emotion, the more advantageous it was.

Ana Rosa sat up and looked out the window. The carriage had already entered the Saint Rosano district.

Pass the Saint Rosano Gate, turn left, and one reached Trininad House. As they drove, she watched Valiona House—the Crown Prince’s private residence—slide by, then the Dera Rosa Palace, a guest palace used by married-out royals.

And as the carriage turned toward Trininad House, she shot a brief glare at the Beltrayeva House that flashed into view.

The Marciere family, who held the Beltrayeva dukedom, were among the oldest of the great houses. With a long history came wealth, and they had always sat near the top of the power pyramid.

Several generations ago, the Duke of Beltrayeva had wielded power nearly equal to the king’s. He had wanted to remake his townhouse on a palatial scale. Yet it would have been unseemly to make it larger than the Dera Rosa Palace or Valiona House. Besides, he already had a townhouse beside Saint Rosano.

So, through remodeling, he pushed the central front of the façade outward like a balcony—giving Beltrayeva House an even grander air. Such was the might of that house.

In Ana Rosa’s mind, the list of those who might stand as Vicente La Marciere’s enemies kept updating.

Who harmed Vicente La Marciere and set a puppet in his place?

The previous duke had held a peculiar attitude toward Vicente up to the day Ana Rosa left the country. He had adopted the bastard as a son—but only that. One could not tell whether he meant to give him the succession or not.

After her departure, how had the duke treated Vicente? If the duke’s attitude had remained the same, the succession would have been quite noisy indeed.

‘I know far too little.’

Stepping down from the carriage and turning toward the main house, Ana Rosa glanced back once more at Beltrayeva House. The face of the false Vicente she had seen today rose in her mind. It was remarkably similar. If Vicente had grown up, he might have grown just like that.

‘I will not forgive this. Never.’

The carriage lamps lit Ana Rosa’s face. Her eyes were as cold as a hawk’s hunting from the sky.

Unlike Ana Rosa, Vicente had not yet arrived. He had muttered “Good God” the moment he climbed into his carriage, but quickly collected himself and set the situation in order.

‘What has the princess found out about me?’

Strictly speaking—nothing. He had never admitted he was not Vicente La Marciere.

His expression? The mood of the moment? All of that could be argued away later. The princess knew he wasn’t Vicente La Marciere, but she did not know who he was—nor had the means to find out.

‘What if the dowager learns of it?’

The king would not trust the princess’s word, and the two were hardly close enough for her to bring him a story with no proof.

But the dowager—what of her? These days she was cool with the son she had placed on the throne, and lavished her affection on the daughter who had returned. No one knew just how close they were, but if the princess felt comfortable confiding even a mere suspicion to the dowager?

‘She hasn’t told her yet.’

The princess had deliberately stepped in a puddle to test him. The dress was black, so the wet didn’t show much—but even so, she could not present herself before the dowager with a soaked skirt.

In fact, he had heard the secretary suggest going to the carriage. She would have explained the situation to the dowager and requested leave to depart.

Meaning: the princess and the dowager had not yet had time to speak about him.

What he needed now was not to learn how much the princess knew, or how she and Vicente had known each other. He had to create conditions that prevented the princess from speaking with the dowager at all.

When his carriage stopped before the main house, Vicente started to alight, then turned his head to stare toward Trininad House. Somewhere over there, the princess lived. She must be looking this way as well.