The Regressed Princess - Chapter 3

Chapter 3: When the Beloved Burns Brightly

The Priestess of the Goddess of Love raised her head, her eyes…

Darkness shrouded the wilderness. There was no palace here, only a roaring bonfire and two girls sitting opposite each other.

A girl with golden-red hair sat cross-legged before the fire. She leaned her back against a tree trunk, lowering her body as she reached out to tenderly brush a leaf from the dark-haired girl’s hair. “Don’t worry, Eleanor. I will lead you out of here.”

“…” The dark-haired girl lifted her face, gazing deeply, ever so deeply, at the blurred figure by the bonfire.

The flames coated her honey-colored skin in a layer of thin gold, tinting her bright eyes and long hair with the hue of fire, burning alongside her golden eyes.

How beautiful—Andra.

“Hmm?” Andra squinted and smiled, her fingers trailing down from the black strands. She caught her lover’s wrist, whispering in her ear: “What’s with that face? Give me a smile. Trust me, we will soon—”

“I believe you. You will lead me out very soon.” Eleanor shook off the restraint and gripped Andra’s palm in return. Her fingers dug in so hard they could leave marks on anyone’s hand.

But Andra showed no sign of pain or displeasure. She easily pulled Eleanor up again, running toward the dark forest.

Rustle, rustle.

Eleanor’s skirt brushed against the bushes; the dense branches parted instinctively as Andra approached.

I remember now.

That day, Andra led me out of the forest. We were safe, perfectly safe. As long as I was with Andra… I would be safe.

Fragments of memory stirred in her brain; these were things that had certainly happened. Yet, another blurred layer of thought repeatedly denied it: No, no, we didn’t get out. We never did.

“I really do remember now.”

The voice in her head was less malicious than it had been during the day, sounding almost exactly like the real Eleanor. She said.

“I would rather have stayed trapped in those woods with Andra forever. I would rather—I would rather have died that day!”

Yes. Eleanor agreed wholeheartedly.

In the beginning, it was a nightmare. She was terrified of the dark, of loneliness, and even more of being caught and killed in the forest, eventually turning into a pile of dry bones. Even with Andra gripping her wrist tightly back then, her body had never stopped trembling.

But the nightmare ended, terminated by Andra’s sword.

Eleanor still clearly remembered Andra’s confident smile. Her golden-red hair rose with the morning sun; the passionate girl had never shown a hint of fear.

They stepped over the corpses of their pursuers to leave the forest. Survivors of a catastrophe, the delicate little princess tripped over a stone, and Andra washed her feet by a clear stream.

“Later, this became my beautiful dream.”

The girl running after her lover in the dream slowed her pace. Her lover’s strength was great, the contact of their skin warm, but a deeper, dull pain like an iron chain dragged her to a halt.

What a beautiful lover. What a wonderful dream.

Eleanor looked up. Her Andra had stopped as well. Even though they were far, far from the bonfire, every strand of her flying hair shimmered with soul-stirring golden-red.

“Eleanor?” A smile was frozen on Andra’s face.

Because back then, she wore that exact expression, using a brave, confident smile to soothe her frightened lover, giving her infinite courage.

So later, this dream became a recurring sanctuary for Eleanor. No matter what she faced during the day, as long as she dreamed of that bonfire and the girl of that day at night, her heart would find peace.

She never had to leave the forest. She didn’t have to dodge pursuers. Staying by the bonfire was happiness enough, because being by Andra’s side was the safest place in the world.

That belief had lasted for over ten years, for decades, until today.

Rustle, rustle. Snap!

The wind blew the leaves in the darkness. Thickets of thorns surged forward the moment she shook off Andra, sinking their spikes deep into her legs and feet. Her curly black hair drifted in the wind like seaweed. Eleanor took a deep breath, and a massive wail erupted from her chest.

“No, you never—you never wanted me to get out! And you—you never…” Tears slid down the corners of her eyes.

“You never wanted to protect me. You only ever loved yourself!”

“—” Andra moved her lips, but no sound came out.

Everything in the dream shattered piece by piece. Her handsome face instantly turned to dust, leaving behind a single sigh in the sky full of light and mist.

“Eleanor…”

“Princess Eleanor.”

“An—” Eleanor opened her eyes. Before her was Manju’s grey-white hair. She was lying in Manju’s arms, her body swaying slightly with the movement of the carriage.

“We are almost there.” Manju embraced her as tenderly as she had when Eleanor was a child, her sturdy shoulders supporting Eleanor’s frail body.

After escaping the palace, Manju had reverted to her old form of address. It felt as if time were rewinding.

However, time does not flow backward.

With Manju’s support, Eleanor slowly propped herself up, rubbing her forehead in pain. They had escaped for now. Having been a Queen with real power for decades, finding an opportunity to leave the palace under the guise of “recuperation” was not difficult.

The difficulty lay in judging how soon Andra’s people would catch up.

Eleanor pressed her brow with great force. The news could probably be suppressed for three days, maybe four? They had been on the run for two weeks, which meant Andra must already know.

However, Andra was still on the battlefield in Nolanna; she couldn’t return quickly with an entire army. Andra would likely return to the Royal City first after finishing her conquest before sending specialists to track her down.

This gave her and her followers enough time to flee, though it would be hard on those who stayed behind at court to help cover her tracks. Fortunately, she had intentionally chosen people who were obedient, useful, and high-status in Andra’s eyes to stay behind first. With Andra’s personality, she would surely show magnanimity and wouldn’t truly make things difficult for them.

The next step was.

Manju lifted the carriage curtain for her, revealing the rolling mountain range outside the window.

The heat of midsummer was intense, and the sunlight tinted the fragrant grass with a fiery red glow. Birds darted through the leaves, and predators crouched within the shrubs.

The mountains were quiet today, especially the Peak of the Goddess of Love, which stood among the “Gaia String of Pearls.” The peak connected to the lush green earth like the unfolding skirt of a goddess. Its upper half, however, towered into the clouds, topped with a thin layer of snow even in the hottest summer, resembling an exquisite dessert overturned on a plate.

Creation myths vary, but the beginning is always the same. The Creator Goddess, Gaia, gave birth to twelve infants in the void. These twelve infants grew instantly within their mother’s river of blood, upheld by the cycles of wind and water, transforming into girls of varying appearances, personalities, and talents between the sunlight and moonlight.

They received various authorities from their Mother Goddess—wisdom, power, prosperity—and lifted new creations from the river of blood. Among the many authorities of the Goddess of Love, Lilia, were [Marriage] and Vows.

Through long interaction with mortals, She understood: not every burning love reaches the end. When love in a marriage no longer exists, the strong can easily abandon the weak or crush them into the mire, never to rise again.

Thus, the Goddess of Love or the priestesses who invented the legends—gave a lifeline to all those in the weaker position of a marriage: Climbing the Peak of the Goddess of Love.

Anyone who scales the peak under the witness of the Divine Servants and cuts a lock of their hair before the statue can unilaterally declare the marriage terminated at that moment. Regardless of her identity or the reasons she carries, even if there are past karmic debts to settle, from that day forward, her marriage to her “lover” will cease to exist forever.

Legends are always romantic, but specific details often change during execution. Even setting other factors aside, those Divine Servants who live far from the secular world aren’t necessarily free every day to witness a mortal’s climb.

Today, however, was clearly different.

From the moment the sun leaped over the horizon, before the dew had even evaporated, two rows of figures dressed in red and green appeared on the carpet-like grass. A High Priestess in a snow-white robe personally descended the holy mountain, standing before the crowd and gazing into the distance.

The sunlight danced on the grass for a long time until, finally, small black dots appeared on the horizon. These dots moved steadily under the gaze of the onlookers, gradually trailing into an entire motorcade.

The white-robed priestess swept her sleeves and walked forward to meet them. Behind her, the servants of the Goddess of Love, wearing floral wreaths, couldn’t wait to raise their hands and scatter petals soaked in fragrant dew from their sleeves.

The motorcade slowed to a halt in the rain of flowers. An ivory carriage drove out from the center and stopped before the priestess. The door opened, and a tall warrior stepped out first. She looked around before reaching out both hands to help a haggard-looking woman down from the carriage.

Every greeter wore more or less of a smile. These smiles were somewhat exaggerated at first, but deep memories caused them to relax upon seeing the Queen’s face, revealing genuine respect and worry.

Eleanor gently pushed against Manju’s chest and stood steady before the priestess. She pressed her hands together in front of her chest and bowed deeply. “Please grant my request—”

The priestess quickly supported the Queen’s arms, soothing her warmly: “Angie, no one would refuse your request.”

She moved to the Queen’s side, taking her arm like a close friend and leading her toward the holy mountain. “But it is late today. Climbing the mountain now would be too dangerous.”

Eleanor was stunned for a moment, then nodded in understanding. If she started climbing in the afternoon, the sun would be down by the time she reached the top. They couldn’t very well arrange for her to stay in the temple at the summit, could they? That place was reserved specifically for the statues and the goddesses.

As she walked, she suddenly felt like laughing. Because “Angie”—the Queen of a nation—could declare her intent to stay overnight on the holy mountain. But by the time she reached the summit, she would no longer be the Queen.

“Heh.” Eleanor’s light chuckle drew the priestess’s gaze. She quickly closed her lips and shook her head at the priestess.

They bypassed the foot of the mountain, ascending step by step along the snow-white stone slabs. Before long, they arrived at the Temple of the Goddess of Love halfway up the mountain. Everyone wore a smile; no one mentioned that she had skipped the first part of the path. Regardless, this place was called the “Holy Mountain Entrance.” As long as the temple allowed it, one could certainly begin the climb from here.

The temple gates swung open for the Queen, and servants wearing flower crowns hurried through the courtyard. The people from the motorcade were settled outside the gates, while only Eleanor was led by the priestess, who held her hand warmly as they walked deep into the corridor.

The laughter and chatter of the servants faded away, and Eleanor’s nerves gradually tightened. She looked at the high palace halls, terrified that she might see a certain monarch’s furrowed brow behind a wall. Then, surrounded by wisteria, she hallucinated a girl’s smile, as if she could hear that passionate call.

“Eleanor.”

“Angie.”

The priestess’s sudden call made Eleanor jolt. She awkwardly shook her shoulders and nodded slightly. “Yes?”

The priestess stopped beneath a trellis of wisteria. Her face was bright and young, but her eyes held kindness and gentleness.

“Actually, the year you and Anya were married, I was just a young servant in the temple.” The priestess smiled as if she were simply chatting with an old friend. She naturally pressed the back of Eleanor’s hand, speaking in a nostalgic tone: “The Priestess at the time took me to the Royal City to attend your wedding. My sisters and I were driven nearly mad with jealousy before we even saw you!”

The emotion in her voice was so real, full of a magnetic charm that almost dragged a person back into that wedding scene filled with blooming flowers. The bustling streets, the petals greeting the supreme ones, the nobles pouring baskets of coins into the crowd it was a bright morning, the beginning of a year of perfect weather.

Countless strong, handsome girls rode horses to clear the way, and famous poets sang verses of blessing loudly. They praised the King’s wedding while extolling the peace that had finally arrived! Commoners, nobles, and even many slaves who had quietly come to join the fun surged onto the streets in a mob, squeezed together like a tide, before being dispersed by the peace officers Angie had arranged.

The servants of the Goddess of Love didn’t have to huddle below; they took carriages to specialized pavilions, looking down from the high towers. Oh, what a—what a handsome King, our Great Anya.

Her long golden-red hair sparkled in the sunlight. The heavy crown and accessories seemed light on her, like gold leaf adorning a statue of a deity. The King drove a golden chariot filled with auspicious marigolds. Every white horse pulling the chariot was taller than any steed before it, and the King’s stature was grander than any warrior’s. Today was her wedding; her crimson cape fluttered in the wind, almost transforming into the shape of wings.

The dazzling sea of flowers became the background. The servants who served the Goddess of Love for life were, after all, the most pure-hearted young girls. Wearing her flower crown, she and her sisters reached out toward the King, screaming and opening their arms like the most fanatical of suitors.

Longing, admiration, love at first sight—and it was only human to feel jealousy toward that legendary, incredibly wise “Angie.”

However, when the King turned the chariot to the other side, those slightly sorrowful, passionate calls transformed into an even more astonishing torrent.

“You have always been beautiful, Angie.” The priestess cradled Eleanor’s hand, bowing her head to kiss her ring like a common woman would. “Your wisdom added brilliance to your crown, but back then, what truly adorned you…”

The Priestess of the Goddess of Love raised her head, her eyes reflecting the Eleanor of the past.

“Was happiness.”

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