The Regressed Princess - Chapter 36

Chapter 36: The Third Bloodstain; Your Answers Are All Wrong.

The afternoon was perfect for sleeping.

A misty aura spread alongside incense, enveloping the luxurious bedchamber in a dreamlike atmosphere.

White and gold curtains hung in layer upon layer, isolating the King’s life from the sight of the attendants.

A beauty leaned over, gazing with deep affection at the handsome youth lying sideways in her arms.

So beautiful… my King.

Wenzhu looked admiringly at Eva, who was napping in her lap. She had heard of the King’s stunning beauty before entering the palace, but she never expected it to be this mesmerizing.

The concubine beautiful, yet not more so than the King traced the King’s thick eyelashes with her gaze and hovering fingers across the air, her heart filled with tenderness.

Last night was so happy… if only I could be with her forever.

A sliver of anxiety flickered deep within Wenzhu’s smiling eyes: A King this handsome naturally never lacked for love; with so many beauties willing to land beside her like butterflies, what did she amount to?

Wenzhu’s mother was merely the lord of a small city-state; the support her family could provide was far inferior to the honor the King could bring them.

All she could rely on was her status as a High-Blood, and her own appearance which, compared to the King, was utterly ordinary.

“Sigh…” Wenzhu couldn’t help but sigh as she looked at the refined contours of the King’s face and bridge of her nose. Even though the King was weighing down her knees and long hair, she was loath to move even an inch.

“Ugh,” Eva frowned in her sleep, her expression appearing somewhat pained.

But Wenzhu didn’t notice Eva’s distress. She only thought the King looked incredibly dashing even when frowning; she loved this serious look that was almost a bit scary.

As expected of the King, even in her dreams she is properly governing the country… No, she is likely hunting? Reliving past wars?

Wenzhu was just about to project the image of a diligent and wise monarch onto the youth on her lap when she remembered that this youth slept for twelve hours a day, and even when she woke, it was only for drinking and revelry.

For a moment, she felt an impulse to urge the King toward self-improvement.

If she could persuade the King to change back into that diligent and warlike Sage-King, history would surely leave a record of “Concubine Wenzhu” or “A certain Wise Consort,” wouldn’t it?

Perhaps, perhaps I could even become the King’s next Queen? The King is still young and can have several more children with me.

Wenzhu’s heart pounded. The future in her fantasy was so beautiful that she couldn’t help but want to reach out and shake the sleeping King awake—fortunately, reason stopped her.

No, she couldn’t; she absolutely must not do that.

She remembered that she wasn’t the only one who had tried this. Many beautiful girls had attempted to persuade the King, yet they had all failed.

The King wouldn’t argue with them; she would only wave her hand with that bored expression, and then those beauties could only wither away in silence, never to appear before the King again.

“Mm…” Eva slowly opened her eyes. She rolled over to lie on her back—yet she didn’t spare a single glance at the person she was pillowed on, gazing only at the crystal decorations on the domed ceiling.

Wenzhu bit her lip and whispered softly, “My King.”

“Mm…” Eva’s eyes finally turned over, seemingly glancing at her.

With just that one icy glance, Wenzhu was jolted completely awake.

She trembled guiltily, her fingernail accidentally catching Eva’s hair and pulling out a few ebony strands.

“Hiss…” Eva narrowed her eyes and let out a confused hiss, though she didn’t seem angry.

However, Wenzhu was terrified, her body shaking. She was still immersed in her recent fantasy: Will the King… will the King have me dragged out? Then, then I’ll never see the King again!

She hurriedly grabbed the silver wine flagon by the couch and filled a cup. Trembling, she mimicked her behavior from last night, smiling as she brought the cup to her lips. “My King, I… I shall penalize myself with a drink.”

Eva looked at her with an inscrutable expression.

Wenzhu couldn’t read the look and didn’t bother to look again, tilting her head back and draining the cup in one gulp.

A few droplets of wine slid down the corner of her mouth and her fair skin, followed by a… strange, floating sensation.

Eh, why is this wine so…

Strong? Intoxicating? Tingling.

With just one cup, Wenzhu immediately realized this wine was very different from what she drank last night.

It wasn’t a delicious fruit wine or a stimulating grain liquor, but a kind of… medicinal wine that made her tongue numb and her mind trance-like.

I… I think I’ve had something similar before?

Wenzhu’s eyes and shoulders swayed left and right uncontrollably, and she stumbled, falling onto the floor.

Eva stood up from the long couch, casting a dense shadow that blocked out all the light.

Enveloped in this gloom, Wenzhu finally remembered when she had tasted a similar liquid. It was when she was a child; she had fallen seriously ill after playing in the river and was bedridden.

Her mother had brought a supposedly precious pain-relieving decoction that felt exactly like this, only without the taste of alcohol.

Why is the King drinking medicinal wine? Is it because she likes… it…

She could no longer think further and fell into a deep sleep, closing her eyes.

Eva looked gloomily at the beauty on the floor, shifting her gaze a few seconds later.

“Drag her away.” She brushed back her hair and stepped onto the carpet with bare feet, not a trace of emotion in her eyes.

Attendants stepped out silently from behind the curtains. One took her arms and another her legs, carrying the deathly still Wenzhu out.

Eva picked up the silver flagon, took a sip, and reclined back onto the couch with a neutral expression.

“Come here.”

She didn’t say a name, but the corresponding person had already approached from another direction behind the curtains.

The person did not kneel or bow; she silently placed a hand over her chest and whispered in Eva’s ear in a flat, gentle tone, recounting everything that had happened in the marketplace today.

“I see.”

Eva rubbed her temples, once again showing an ambiguous expression.

It was by no means kind; it wasn’t the pride or joy of a mother for her daughter. It couldn’t be called melancholy either; it was more like a certain… helplessness.

“Heh.” She smiled, closed her eyes, and made a gesture of raising her finger.

Thus, the person who had been whispering gently withdrew, leaving the King alone in the empty bedchamber.

“Who exactly does this child take after?”

Eva murmured to herself with her eyes closed: “Certainly not you.”

Today, the King received no ministers; she sat in the darkness for a long time.

Until a personal attendant wearing a white and gold belt crawled gently before her and whispered, “Her Highness Eleanor and Her Highness Miscella seek an audience.”

“Let them in, ha.”

The idle King reacted immediately, her answer so fast she even laughed at herself.

The attendant withdrew wordlessly, and then—the lights came on.

Since someone was being received, the lamps were lit one by one.

The heavy curtains blocked out the daylight, making the glow of the flames even more dazzling.

A girl with hair like a black waterfall walked forward through the gloom.

When those amber eyes shone brightly toward her, for a fleeting moment, Eva thought it was her younger self looking up, silently questioning something.

Fortunately, the child spoke quickly.

Eleanor no longer threw herself into her mother’s arms; she stayed a few steps away and bowed respectfully.

“Mother, I hope you are well. Please allow me to report an interesting matter.”

Good, very good.

Eva relaxed, almost wanting to clap. This child was indeed very clever, just not sophisticated enough yet.

Well, although I do hate sophisticated people more.

The King chuckled and waved her hand, signaling her to speak.

It was only then that she noticed the other daughter behind Eleanor Miscella.

That child looked puffed up with anger. She forced her way out from behind her younger sister and found a corner seat for herself.

Eva’s gaze returned to Eleanor, listening to her weave the fabricated story.

“That is how it happened. The great merchant Doni is willing to offer you a thousand well-trained slaves, along with many exquisite tapestries and jewels.”

Eleanor said with a smile, “Your daughter wishes to ask a favor of you: to grant those slaves.”

Eva looked into her daughter’s eyes, likely understanding what she was about to say.

As expected: “to my elder sister, Miscella.”

Before the King could speak, Miscella had already jumped up from her seat and shouted in protest: “I don’t want them! What kind of trash is a slave legion? Mother, why don’t you just grant me some elite troops!”

“Sister, what are you saying!” Eleanor rushed over in anger to stop her, but her strength was far less than her sister’s. She was easily brushed aside by Miscella, who gripped her wrist and pinned her to one side.

Hmph~ my “Crown Princess” is throwing a temper.

Eva wasn’t surprised. After all, this child had grown so old without her own legion; she must be full of pent-up frustration, right?

She wasn’t wrong. In the next second, Miscella shouted angrily, “I’m almost thirteen! All I do all day is train, train, train! You won’t even let me be a general!”

According to the tradition of Nolanna and most countries, all Royal Daughters can receive extremely professional training starting at age seven or eight and interface with a general chosen by the King, gradually integrating into the military system.

Especially the Crown Princess; she should receive a real legion on her twelfth birthday and gradually conduct touring operations in the following years.

Such as supervising tax collection, hunting giant beasts, or wiping out mountain bandits and highwaymen.

However, Miscella, just like her eldest and second sisters, stayed in the capital’s academy all day to study, study, study. She rarely even had the chance to go out hunting. How could she not be miserable and anxious?

Eleanor was nearly moved to laughter by her sister’s “brilliant” performance.

She had given countless instructions and warnings outside, telling Miscella to behave well in front of Eva and at least take the thousand soldiers under her command first and this was how she behaved?!

Her blood pressure rose rapidly: In her past life, no matter how arrogant Andra was, she never put on airs in front of soldiers, and she certainly wouldn’t speak so recklessly in front of outsiders!

And was this really reckless talk, or her true feelings?

Trash slaves…

Eleanor suddenly felt that this sister was a stranger.

In her past life, she had spent decades day and night with Andra before barely seeing through to her essence. What about Miscella?

Was Miscella truly that “somewhat naughty, but loyal and willing to protect the country” good sister?

Perhaps she would be in the future, but right now, this child—who had clearly promised not to lose her temper yet couldn’t help but scream and shout in front of her mother—obviously only showed naughtiness.

Eleanor took a light breath. Fortunately, she had the pendant as a safety net, otherwise all would be lost.

She turned back to look tentatively at Eva. Perhaps Mother liked children who spoke their minds like Miscella?

“Heh.” Eva smiled ambiguously.

She sat regally with her legs crossed, her fingers tapping rhythmically on the armrest.

The mother’s attitude caused Miscella to lose her steam, looking like a small animal that had retracted its claws but still wanted to test the waters.

Eva did not answer her daughters’ questions. She suddenly took a golden wine flagon from behind her perhaps from a hidden compartment by the edge of the couch—and refilled the empty cup from before.

Clink.

A cup of turbid liquid was pushed before the two children.

“Drink.” Eva finally stood up from the long couch.

She looked without hesitation at the child who resembled her more, calling her name with a smile: “Eleanor.”

Sensing something, Eleanor raised her head and slowly gripped the cup.

“Eh? Why are you making Eleanor drink? she doesn’t like it!” Miscella remembered that her younger sister had disliked alcohol since childhood and wouldn’t let her or the younger children drink, scaring them by saying it would make them stupid.

Eva didn’t answer. She only gazed into Eleanor’s eyes, just as her daughter gazed into hers.

Eleanor slowly pressed the cup to her lips and took a sip.

“Cough, cough, cough!” The taste was sharp and choking, not good at all, and.

It certainly wasn’t wine. It wasn’t simple wine.

Colorless, tasteless, lethal poison it was indeed hard to have all three options at once.

She looked up at Eva again. Her mother was still expressionless.

“Why?” Eleanor knew it was absolutely not just because of one hunt, one act of defiance, or one independent decision.

Because her mother had doted on her so much in her previous life so much that she even warned her in advance at the very end of her life.

“I won’t live for many more days. Go quickly, Lily. Go far away with that boy. She… can continue to protect you.”

Her mother wasn’t a good person; she was very cruel to many people. But in the last life, at least she “loved” me.

What exactly went wrong?

Did she… think I was a monster occupying her daughter’s body?

Eleanor stared persistently into Eva’s eyes. If she didn’t get a truly heartfelt answer, this regression would be a failure no matter what.

She had to break the future of [relying on Andra and always choosing the same path as Andra]!

“Drink it first. Drink it quickly.” A hint of sorrow finally emerged deep within Eva’s eyes. She half-knelt to stroke Eleanor’s shoulder, looking like a mother comforting her daughter to take her medicine.

“Fine. You must tell me then.” Eleanor nodded solemnly and brought the cup to her lips.

Miscella, who had been throwing a tantrum just a moment ago, finally realized something was wrong.

Her hair stood on end like a startled animal. She struggled anxiously to jump up and grab the cup.

“Eh, wait a moment, don’t—what are you two doing?!”

Unfortunately, she was a step too slow. Her younger sister’s actions were utterly resolute.

Eleanor tilted her head back and drained the liquid in the cup.

Clang. The golden cup rolled across the floor.

She squeezed her pendant hard, then looked up and questioned the King loudly: “Mother—what exactly must I do for you to be willing to let me go… to let Miscella go?”

She had finally realized: the one truly facing a certain mortal crisis was likely Miscella.

After her first regression, she had never said anything like “I want to be King” or “I want to be the Royal Daughter” in front of her mother.

The Eleanor of the past life was safe, but the Miscella of the past life had died on the path to becoming King.

[Mother never had the intention of passing the throne to Miscella.]

That was why Eva had delayed giving Miscella command of an army and allowed her to be indulged in this manner.

But why? Why!

If Eva’s intended successor was someone else, why raise her sister to have such grand ambitions! What kind of struggle and reason did she have!?

She clutched her chest in sorrow, strangely finding that the pain of this poisoning was entirely different from before.

Even though both were poisoned wine, this time the liquid did not stir up great agony after passing her throat; there was only a choking bitterness.

After drinking it, her limbs felt stiff and cold, but her throat was dry, and a large amount of blood did not spill out.

“Because… I don’t have time anymore, Eleanor.”

The King lowered her head, pressing it against her forehead and whispering softly: “Rest assured, I also.”

Also what? Eva had no intention of explaining.

She simply hugged her daughter for a moment, then withdrew her hand and looked at Miscella, who was wailing and howling beside them.

The gaze Eva directed at her other daughter was filled with nothing but emptiness.

“Didn’t you want an army? I will give it to you tomorrow.”

“I don’t want it anymore, I don’t want it! I beg you, I beg you, Mother—save Lily! Aaaaaah—”

Don’t say that… and don’t cry like that.

Eleanor fell weakly to the ground. She could feel Miscella hugging her tightly and wailing, tears falling drop by drop onto her face.

It’s no use, Miscella.

Your answers were all wrong.

And my answer… is likely the same.

Eleanor squeezed the pendant tightly, letting the petals pierce her palm, taking away her last traces of warmth.

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