Theophania Albrecht was a weak willed, unreliable fantasy protagonist. Though she was blessed by the Goddess of Truth, she failed to use her abilities to their greatest potential. She died to save a family that hated her, believing until the last se...
Aiyah~, but riding in a carriage was so uncomfortable. Riding at full speed would get us to the Capital in three days, at least. We had two stops planned to change horses and rest, but that was it. We couldn't afford any more than that.
Even if I secretly agreed with my cousin.
When we finally stopped, my legs were so weak I could barely stand. Frederick laughed at me, but let me use his arm to hold myself up. No doubt, this was because his father was watching us with hawklike vigilance. He wanted us to get along, the poor man. He never stepped in to stop his son from tormenting Theophania in the original storyline, so his show of interest was falling a little flat. Whatever. His sincerity didn't matter, as long as I got what I needed from him.
"We will rest for half an hour before setting out again," the Duke said as he dismounted his exhausted mount. A servant came and led the poor animal away, head lowered and back hunched. My gaze lingered on him, my shoulders tensing with sympathy. Only last week, my posture was like that, too. Curled in on myself like a shrimp, I spent my life braced for the next beating. There were a lot of people who hated the Royal Family in Acan and I was the easiest target.
I grit my teeth. Soon. Soon I would have the pleasure of putting faces to the names who tormented me. I will look them in the eye and—!
"Hey, what are you doing? Hurry up."
Frederick tugged me along roughly, not stopping even when I tripped on the edge of my skirt. I scowled up at him and he stuck his tongue out at me with childish glee. I stepped on his foot. He pulled my hair.
"Enough, children."
We froze, the Duke's biting tone cutting through our petty rivalry. We stepped away from each other with blushing faces. Aiyah~, how embarrassing.
My uncle's face lit up with a smile. "I'm glad to see you getting along, though. I was a little worried." Truth.
No! You're wrong! We are enemies, uncle, enemies!
I turned to look at Frederick only to find him looking at me, my own shock and denial reflected back at me. We recoiled from each other and the Duke laughed at our expense.
Alright. So I could be a little childish, too. Sue me. It was hard not responding to the energy he put out, ok? He radiated waves of mischief that were impossible to ignore. It was at odds with his characterization in the novels, too, so I was completely unprepared for how...silly he was.
The original story was rarely from anyone's perspective other than Theophania's. Meeting one of her greatest tormentors in person made me wonder just how reliable her narration really was. Maybe, after a sheltered life where every interaction was harassment of some kind, she simply assumed that was the only way anyone would interact with her. If so, that was very sad. Frederick was a terrible character in the novels, but if he treated Theophania the way he was treating me, then he was probably just teasing her—maliciously, but still. Such things had a tendency to escalate when left unchecked, too. With the original's timid temperament, I could see how much fun someone like Frederick would get out of her reactions.
And how terrifying that would be for her.
I sighed heavily for what felt like the millionth time that week. My cousin looked down at me with confusion and I turned my face away with a huff before rushing to follow his father. He let out a squawk of indignation which I pointedly ignored.
If he liked tormenting timid women, then he was in for a bitter surprise.
"Oh, my! Freddy~!"
What?
I turned to look over my shoulder at the sound of a woman's voice. To my surprise, Frederick was being accosted by a young man of a similar age and height. He wore long flowing robes somewhat similar to a priest's, but with a few major differences.
One, a priest's robes were white, regardless of which God they dedicated themselves to. Even the clothing I wore now was of simple white cotton indicative of a life of service. The man throwing himself at my cousin wore robes of brilliant red which complimented his flaxen hair. From what I remembered of the original novels, this meant he was a mage who had completed his formal training, but had yet to achieve a mastery. The ranking system went like this: blue for students, red for graduates, green for masters.
None of that mattered in this moment, though. My eyes were transfixed on the sword he wore belted to his waist and the unusual shape of the pommel.
A dog baring its fangs. This was a Royal Knight.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
