The Regressed Princess - Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Fissure

The neighboring country on the edge of Hetuya’s vast territory, and also…

Eleanor ignored the burning gazes of those around her.

She rose slowly, taking the Eldest Princess’s hand as she moved to her seat, offering a friendly smile to Melissa out of the corner of her eye.

The Queen wore a motherly smile, speaking with her usual gentleness: “Come, bring the child to me. Do not walk too fast.”

The wet nurse carried the infant steadily toward the Queen. Guards stood in silent vigil at various points, ready at any moment to draw swords or spears to execute anyone who might offend “Angie” on the spot.

There was no need for such weapons today. The wet nurse’s face was filled with the joy and pride of presenting a treasure. She bent down, like the child’s own mother, to show the infant to her beloved Angie.

As the nurse leaned over, Melissa, who had been staring intently at the Queen, held her breath. It was said the Queen possessed a sharp eye, capable of seeing at a glance whether someone possessed precious potential. Will she bless my child? Will she… choose my child?

Eleanor focused her attention on the infant. A purple phantom condensed above the baby’s head.

This was a gift from her transmigration; by concentrating, she could see a person’s True Name and deduce their “quality” based on the color. Simply put, she could quantify a person’s talents into numerical values, and the color represented the range of the total sum.

Ordinary people were white, those with too many flaws were grey, the slightly talented were green, and those with strong talent in a specific area were blue… This child was purple. In a sense, a genius.

As Eleanor withdrew her gaze, she happened to meet Melissa’s eyes. The young consort’s eyes were as bright as fire, burning with raw ambition.

A pity… The Queen sighed inwardly. Among Andra’s fifty-two daughters, twelve already possessed purple names.

She gave a reserved nod.

As if receiving the best possible answer, the girl knelt fervently and crawled forward until the servants blocked her. She raised her hands and cried out, “I beg you to bestow a lucky name upon her! This child will surely be filial and love you with all her heart!”

Eleanor did not refuse. Before Melissa, many mothers had longed for her to name their children as if it were a supreme honor. Each of them wished for their child to become her true daughter the Royal Daughter who could inherit everything from Andra.

Eleanor lowered her head, her jet-black hair falling in strands over the edge of the bed before being carefully tucked back by a servant. After a moment of thought, she said softly, “Call this child Filia.”

Filia named after the Goddess of Flowers, meaning “Elegant Flower.”

The Queen had given every young princess a name full of blessings, and this time was no exception. Everyone wore an “as expected” expression, but Melissa was particularly ecstatic, as if she had heard a moving promise. She bowed repeatedly, her expression a mix of humility and secret joy.

“Very well, take good care of the child from now on.” Eleanor waved her hand, and the attendants moved silently between them. Melissa hesitated, wanting to say more, but seeing the Queen’s sickly state, she could only bow reluctantly and depart.

As the rose-red headscarf disappeared behind the door, Eleanor reached out and touched Anoya’s bowed head. “What is it?”

“Mother, my—my daughter has grown up too. She can come to the palace to accompany you anytime.” The Eldest Princess smiled and rubbed against Eleanor’s hand, as obedient as she was as a child.

Eleanor looked at her with pity. Due to the existence of the “Noble Bloods,” most countries in this world practiced ultimogeniture (inheritance by the youngest child). As the eldest daughter, Anoya’s position was awkward. To save the life of her birth mother the former First Consort the girl had refused to drink the “Waters of Grace” until she was twelve, thereby voluntarily giving up her status as a “Royal Daughter” to remain a “Princess.”

Eleanor did not dwell on how much of the girl’s sincerity was real. Decades of constant greetings, spoiled behavior, and devoted service were enough for her to settle some of Anoya’s non-moral troubles.

“…” Anoya remained silent for a long time. Finally, she whispered, “You must watch your health. I am looking forward to the birth of my little sister. No matter what happens—I will always be on your side.”

“Hmm?” Eleanor frowned slightly. Anoya’s words were a blunt warning that something unpleasant was about to happen, something inevitably related to Andra. She waited for her daughter to explain, but Anoya only giggled sillily, nestling against her mother like a child, sharing palace gossip.

Undoubtedly, the girl did not dare report her high-and-mighty mother—did not dare offend the supreme ruler of this nation. Eleanor understood.

She listened patiently for a while before patting Anoya’s hand. “Alright, you aren’t young anymore. Go back and rest well; don’t skip your meals.”

“Yes, Mother,” Anoya agreed with a smile. She lifted her skirts and walked out of the hall, like the lead pearl on a string, trailing her attendants behind her.

Eleanor watched the window, only looking away after the Eldest Princess had completely vanished. The attendant closed the gauze window at the right moment, and the Queen’s gaze fell back onto Hudora.

Her confidante approached naturally. Hudora placed her right hand over her heart and spoke in the tone of someone reporting vital affairs. “My noble Master, you need not worry about the issue of an heir.”

Eleanor felt a slight daze. Hudora had not used titles like “Queen” or “Angie”; she called her “Master,” just as she had in the past. Eleanor remembered Hudora saying something similar before: …You need not worry about the heir. The Great Anya will only allow your biological daughter to inherit everything. The Great Anya will surely respect your wishes and won’t allow anyone to cause you displeasure.

What did this mean? Eleanor felt trapped in a muddy swamp. Who is causing me displeasure? The young woman was humble, the baby was cute, the daughter was filial. The only one who could be at fault was… was…

The people around her were quieter than the night. The guards and attendants froze like stains on a painting, their breathing nearly inaudible. But they surely heard Hudora and the Queen. Everyone present was absolutely loyal to Eleanor—and to Andra.

“Master,” Hudora whispered in her ear. “I still believe Anya looks forward to your child most. If… we must choose another Royal Daughter, I will ensure that child belongs entirely to you.”

A dense layer of goosebumps crawled up Eleanor’s arms. She hugged herself tight. So cold. It’s sickeningly cold.

Hudora, do you know what you are saying? Her most trusted confidante, the steward of the merchant guilds who used to find agricultural and hydraulic talents, was now discussing snatching a baby from another mother’s womb like a demon?

Whose fault was this? Eleanor looked up, wanting to glare at Hudora, but a malicious voice echoed in her heart: It’s all your fault, Eleanor. If it weren’t for you, things wouldn’t have reached this point. You made all the decisions; you gave everyone attitude and accused them for no reason did you think you were a saint?

“Enough, say no more!” Eleanor raised her hand and firmly pressed it down.

“Yes,” Hudora silenced herself instantly. She bowed respectfully and stepped back to wait.

Whew… Eleanor took a deep breath, swallowing the urge to cough. A hundred insects seemed to be buzzing in her ears. The intense headache only eased after a few minutes.

She rubbed her forehead and said softly, “Bring me the important affairs from inside and outside the palace. Take my notes tomorrow to discuss with everyone at court.”

“By your command, Angie,” Hudora agreed without hesitation, quietly leaving as the scroll-laden tables were moved in. The indoor servants shifted shifts simultaneously; every movement was agile and practiced, perfectly matching the Queen’s unchanging routine.

Eleanor sat at the desk, supported by Coral. Some scrolls were for her and Andra only, so the servants retreated behind the curtains, leaving the Queen to laboriously untie the seals and read alone.

The harvest was good this year; the main grain areas had no disasters. No major cases had reached the throne… Grain reserves were insufficient, though, as Andra was always off at war… Eleanor’s pen paused. Should I discuss it with her next year? Declare a period of recovery, allocate funds for military discharge, and let more young people return home or start families on the border?

The conquered territory was growing larger, approaching the limits of what the royal family could manage. Governing and stabilizing new lands was crucial. Years of administration had given Eleanor a hand in every affair. Everything was interconnected; almost every measure relied on resource allocation and grassroots officials… Livelihood. We must ensure the people’s lives.

She knew that Hetuya, the “Golden Kingdom,” had plundered a vast amount of gold from surrounding nations. The gold was expensive and useful, but it couldn’t instantly fill the stomachs of the people. But in Hetuya, Andra’s will was absolute. This monarch was the incarnation of victory, accumulating immense power through constant triumph. Moreover, compared to neighboring countries, life in Hetuya was far from destitute. Thanks to the monarch’s victories and the Queen’s wisdom, the commoners lived in relative abundance.

So the thought of “persuading Andra” only lingered for a moment before being swept away by a wave and buried in the abyss, just like countless times before.

Eleanor annotated each scroll. Naturally, the most critical matters were sent to Andra via urgent mail. And the monarch would maintain absolute trust in the Queen, rewarding her selfless devotion with loving kisses and infinite respect upon her return.

Years ago, Eleanor used to smile from her heart when handling these affairs. She would imagine Andra’s face and the lover’s surprised and relaxed expression upon returning. But now, she simply wrote the last character mechanically, set down her pen, and handed the scrolls to Coral.

“Cough… take these to the scribes.”

By the time she was finished, the sun had set. Eleanor’s bedroom was dim. She let the servants help her change and wash. This body had been deteriorating for twenty years; she had to go to sleep early every night or suffer heart pains. No physician could find a cause, even though Andra had offered rewards for legendary medicine, resulting only in a few more decapitated fraudster heads in the mass graves.

The lamp by the bed was gently blown out. Eleanor didn’t care which “sister” had come to tend to her. She lay on the bed, her mind in chaos.

It would be nice if there were electric lights and cell phones… she thought. If I had a cell phone, I could communicate with Andra—

“Then I wouldn’t have to think about Andra every single second.”

The malicious voice rang out again.

Whew. Eleanor sighed softly. I’ve been sick for too long. I’ve become so paranoid, always thinking of bitter things.

Rustle.

The bed curtains vibrated slightly, and a dark shadow descended from above. Another hallucination? Eleanor didn’t move. She blinked in the darkness, faintly recognizing a familiar silhouette.

“Manju.”

The Queen didn’t speak, only moved her lips. Her most loyal Captain of the Guard slowly knelt by the bed… causing Eleanor’s heart to sink. The last time Manju had done this was when she learned of her sister Thorn’s death. To them, what bad news could compare to that?

Eleanor thought blankly: In all these years, her followers had only died during those years of displacement. After Andra took the throne, everyone was settled… What happened?

“Princess Eleanor.”

Manju no longer called her Angie. She knelt and said word by word, “Nolanna has fallen.”

Nolanna? Oh, Nolanna. The neighboring country on the edge of Hetuya’s vast territory, and also my former motherland.

She felt herself let go of the quilt, floating to the ceiling and looking down. She saw the woman on the bed lift her cold face and ask the person kneeling beside her: “So—it was Andra.”

“Yes.” Manju’s face was buried deep in the carpet, lost in the gloom.

“Yes, who else could it be?” the malicious voice laughed loudly. “Andra—your dear Andra!”

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