The Reincarnated Princess Suffers Anguish

The Reincarnated Princess Suffers Anguish

The long, long night finally came to an end.

The palace grounds were still in an uproar. Patrolling knights kept careful watch of their surroundings, and the maids were huddled together in fear.

Chris had stayed by my side until dawn, and then he’d left to attend a meeting.

He’d hardly slept at all. Lutz and Teo still hadn’t returned. There was nothing that I could do.

I knew that I should’ve remained in my room, but I couldn’t bear to stay there. If I holed up in one place, all of my worst fears plagued my mind, gnawing at my sanity. So instead, I took Klaus with me and headed for the greenhouse.

I’d grown accustomed to coming here; it was tranquil, and far away from the tumult of the palace.

I examined the inside of the room, which was still neat and tidy, with no signs that it had been disturbed by the rebels. As I glanced up at the lofty glass ceiling, the bright sunlight shining through the gaps in the clouds forced me to squint. When I took a step forward, even the sound of my small footstep echoed clearly throughout the room, and a tight pain gripped my chest.

I never knew this room could be so spacious, so quiet.

The temperature in the room felt colder from the lack of people, from the absence of friends to welcome me in and say hello. I bit my lips and hung my head.

“Lady Rosemary,” Klaus called out. I could hear the concern in his voice from where he stood behind me.

I came back to my senses and put on a brave face.

I didn’t walk all the way to the greenhouse just so I could act gloomy and depressed in front of Klaus. I’d been selfish and had him escort me out of my room, so I’ve got to at least do what I can while I’m here.

“I’ll water the plants,” I said. “You can wait there.”

“Allow me help you in what little way I can,” Klaus offered.

“I’m fine, Klaus,” I insisted. “I’m only going to water them, and I can do that by myself.” I turned around and gave him a smile, but his expression was dark.

“I won’t get in your way, so please...” he almost pleaded.

“Klaus?”

Shock filled my eyes—he hardly ever sounded so softhearted. His usually dignified eyebrows were drooping, his voice lacked spirit, and his sentence had trailed off. An uncomfortable feeling washed over me, like I’d been bullying this man, who was twice my age and twice as tall.

“Your complexion has looked poor since this morning,” said Klaus. “Please, don’t push yourself.”

Hearing that statement, I finally realized how much I’d made him worry about me. I’d looked so despondent this morning that not even Klaus, as overprotective as he was, could bear to confine me within my room.

I examined my reflection in the mirror behind Klaus. A lack of sleep had drained my face of color, giving me a ghostly appearance. The redness around my eyes caused by crying had faded slightly after I’d washed my face with cold water, but there was still a stinging pain present.

I look horrible. No wonder Klaus is acting so empathetic. But I don’t want to give up on watering the plants, so I’ll endure my feelings of guilt and take him up on his offer.

I made up my mind and was about to call out to him, but at that exact moment, I heard another voice.

“I thought I might find you here.” That relaxed mezzo-soprano tone sounded familiar. “What am I going to do with you?”

The woman furrowed her beautiful eyebrows, and her shiny, red-painted lips formed a wry smile. Beyond the monocle, her obsidian eyes shone with the affectionate light of a mother scolding her child.

“Miss Irene,” I said.

The intellectual beauty, Miss Irene von Altman, had entered the room. She was Lutz and Teo’s sorcery instructor, and also my medicine and astronomy teacher.

“I know that you’re going to be feeling restless, but pushing yourself until you collapse will lose you everything,” Miss Irene stated.

“But, the plants,” I tried to argue. “They still haven’t been watered.” I didn’t want to give up, but Miss Irene set me straight with some sound reasoning.

“I’ve already done the plants that need watering daily,” she explained. “The rest can withstand a few dry days. I want you to spend more time looking after your own body, rather than the medicinal herbs.”

Well, I never assumed that I could out-argue Miss Irene to begin with.

I fell silent and cast my head down, but then I felt like I heard her laugh. Even I could tell that I was acting childishly; the embarrassment made it doubly hard to lift my head back up.

Miss Irene walked towards me, and the sharp clicking of her high heels echoed through the room. The moment that the tips of her shoes entered my downcast field of view, she clasped my hand and raised it up. Her slender, icefish-like fingers enveloped my own.

This unexpected action caused me to glance up suddenly, and I saw that Miss Irene was smiling gently at me.

“Why don’t we go back to my room and have some tea?” she offered. “It’d be nice to have a chat every once in a while, just us girls.”

Without waiting for me to return to my senses and nod, Miss Irene led me by the hand to her quarters.

My first impression of Miss Irene’s space matched my perception of her exactly. Since the room was inside of the palace, the ornamentation on the walls and the ceiling differed little from the other rooms—however, a carpet of dark-blue fabric adorned with silver geometric figures was splayed across the floor, and a walnut bookcase encompassed the entire length of one of the walls. Overall, the decor gave the room a relaxed atmosphere.

She’d neatly tidied the surface of her work desk—only a few objects rested on it, as though the desk had never seen any use. However, a glance at the antique pen and the more-than-half-empty ink pot made it clear that her workspace saw much action. Looking at each bookshelf, I saw that all of the volumes had been systematically organized by field, giving insight into their owner’s meticulous personality.

“Have a seat.” Miss Irene gestured to the sofa, and I sat down. “Here you are.” She placed a simple, white teacup in front of me and poured some light-orange-colored tea, then sat down opposite me.

“Thank you,” I expressed my gratitude, and then picked up the cup. A unique fragrance, slightly sweet, wafted into my nostrils.

Is this chamomile?

I puffed on the tea to cool it down, then took a sip. The smooth fragrance spread across my palate, leaving a clear and pleasant aftertaste. I let out a little breath, and my shoulders eased up slightly.

Now that I think about it, I seem to remember somebody telling me that chamomile has a relaxing effect.

“Yummy...” The words just slipped out. Miss Irene’s smile broadened.

“This tea’s made from a flower, apparently. Why don’t you and my apprentices try growing them in the greenhouse some time?” She suggested it plainly, while tilting her teacup.

My breathing stopped.

With her apprentices. She’d said those words like everything was obvious. Not a wish, but an indisputable fact backed up by evidence.

Rippling waves propagated along the amber-colored surface of my tea as it shook. After a few seconds of delay, I realized that my hands holding the cup were trembling, and they were to blame for the disturbance.

“That...sounds nice.” My voice faltered. Despite my desire to at least reply with a smile, I couldn’t even raise my face. “The tea smells lovely, and I think that if we added some honey, Lutz would like it. I don’t think that Teo’s fond of strong smells, so it might not be to his preference.”

“Princess.”

I continued, words spilling from my mouth: “I have a feeling that Teo would be more interested in the growing stage. He’s good with his hands, and has a keen sense of taste, so maybe the cooking side—”

“Princess.”

My hand had gone stiff. Miss Irene covered it with her own.

She guided my wrist down, so I could place the teacup on the table, then wrapped her hands around both of mine, as she had in the greenhouse. My stiffness melted away slightly, all from the warmth that slowly traveled from her skin to mine.

“You don’t need to force yourself to look happy,” she said. “If things are tough, then it’s all right to say so.” Her voice was kind. Her speech was metered and paced, which was unlike her. Usually, she would always talk in the most efficient way possible.

Her hand, clasping mine from above, tapped a steady rhythm on my palm. The action was very similar to what a mother does when trying to get her child to sleep.

“Cry if you want to,” she told me. “Crying is proof of a healthy soul.”

There was a sharp pain, deep in the back of my nose. I took as big of a breath as I could, and at the last moment staved off the oncoming tears.

I’ve already cried my eyes out. Isn’t it past time for my tear ducts to have dried up? I thought, frustrated at myself.

“I won’t cry,” I declared.

Right now, I don’t want to cry while reminiscing about the two of them. I won’t jinx it. They’re coming home. They are.

“Oh, how lucky those boys are,” Miss Irene muttered, as if to herself.

“Huh?”

“My apprentices are blessed to have you feeling so full of concern over them,” she clarified.

I couldn’t bring myself to agree that they were blessed.

“What’s...” With my face still turned down, I wrung out my voice.

What’s so great about me being concerned for them? Of course I’m gonna be worried. That’s obvious. I’d act worried all day long if that could make them happy. It won’t though. My concern isn’t enough to balance out all of the bad occurrences. Concern doesn’t even begin to tip the scales.

I’d never learned of their upbringing, or how they’d lived before arriving at the palace, but I was sure that they’d experienced more than their fair share of hardship. Reflecting on the standard treatment of sorcerers in Nevel, I couldn’t imagine that their lives thus far had been spent in peace.

I don’t think that I can measure other people’s happiness according to my personal scale, but I can’t see it from any other perspective.

“I’m sure that their innate powers have forced them to suffer more hardship than the average person,” Miss Irene said, as though she’d read my mind. “But nevertheless, they have someone like you who understands them, and that by itself makes them fortunate. Children born with magical powers all grow up missing something, be it connections with others, or relations of trust. Most of them never experience parental love.”

Miss Irene’s story was horribly grave. The two sorcerers’ faces popped into my mind. They’d told me that they were raised in an orphanage.

“Nobody can tell whether a baby has magic. Even so, there might be something which sets them apart from normal babies. Many of the magical children are abandoned before their minds have even begun to develop. The ones raised by their own families face ostracism and fear from their parents, and most always end up closing off their hearts. The price we pay for tremendous power is usually the ability to make real bonds with others. Those two are lucky ones, because they had each other. Still though, they have a habit of avoiding contact with people. I think that should ring a bell, no?”

Miss Irene asked her question, and I gave a small nod.

When we’d first met, Lutz had acted like a wounded cat. He’d bare his claws, as if posturing that he would dig them into me if I were to try and touch him. He’d flee the moment I tried to approach him.

Teo had been more personable, but there had still been an emotional barrier there.

“Lutz and Teo are both diligent in their studies, and have never shied away from putting in the effort to become fully-fledged sorcerers. Yearning for somewhere to belong, they both did their best in their own way, I’m sure. But, even if they master control over their magic and acquire the rank of sorcerer, it still won’t fill the hole in their hearts. Wounds suffered from interactions with people can only be healed by interacting with people.”

Miss Irene paused, and I said nothing, taking in her words before she continued.

“The boys probably understood that concept in their heads, but translating thought to action is exceptionally difficult. Everyone’s afraid of being hurt. After all, it’s far easier to nurse an old wound and keep running away.”

Miss Irene cast her eyes down after she’d finished speaking. There was an ever-so-slight bitterness in her smile, and a realization popped into my head.

She might’ve experienced the same thing.

“But you were there for them,” Miss Irene said, and her expression brightened.

“Me?” I asked.

“That’s right,” she stated. “Though they fled from you and rejected your initial outreach, you nonetheless remained a friend who’d chase after them and take part in their lives. I’d call that a blessing.”

I lost my composure after hearing Miss Irene’s words. I reflexively shook my head and protested, “I’m not worthy enough to have you say that, not at all.”

I mean, there’s nothing I’ve even managed to do for those two boys.

I had kept stirring up conversation, undeterred by their rejection, but that was all. And the whole reason I’d approached them to begin with was rife with calculation; I’d only wanted to preserve the peace around me.

I was no otome game heroine. I wasn’t that pure. In my soul, there was no compassionate desire to heal their wounded hearts.

“I’m a selfish, self-centered person. My purpose for reaching out wasn’t for them. I was only thinking about myself.” I forced out the words and prepared for an inevitable rebuke. But my desperate repentance was dismissed with a laugh.

“But you know,” Miss Irene mused, “humans are all selfish creatures.”

“Huh?”

“Show me one person who makes choices without any thought of profit or risk. We all put ourselves first. Princess, what matters in the end is the result, not the reason.”

This talented woman watched my mouth gape, and then laughed heartily.

“I don’t know what thoughts compelled you to strive so hard to be a friend to them. But thanks to you, my apprentices have begun to smile like other children their age,” she said warmly. “To me, that’s everything.”

“Miss Irene...” I murmured.

She pulled her hands from their embrace around mine, and gazed at me, her expression serious. Then she slowly bowed her head.

“My apprentices are only good for making you worry, but please, believe in them. Wait for their return. No matter what, they’ll come back to you.”

“Y-Yes,” I stammered.

My tear ducts were threatening a second rupture, and I hurriedly shunted my face up.

I won’t cry. Not yet.

Not until I see them safe and sound.

Not until I greet them with a “welcome home.”