The Regressed Princess - Chapter 49

Chapter 49: The Withered Petal; Thus the Touch Stops Outside the Heart…

“Andra!”

A piercing scream caused everyone on the drill grounds to look up simultaneously.

It was the Queen!

Upon seeing that moon-white figure, many instinctively moved out of the way. The Queen’s hairpins clattered to the ground as she ran, and her magnificent shawl had flown off to who-knows-where. Eleanor’s pitch-black hair fluttered in the wind. Her frame was so petite that even her tearful, angry eyes seemed pitiably fragile.

She was holding a sword.

It wasn’t until she nearly reached Andra that everyone realized: Oh, the Queen is wielding a sword.

Even at this point, they remained huddled on the sidelines, motionless. It wasn’t out of fear of the blade in the Queen’s hand, but rather a sense of absurd amusement: Does someone an ordinary person actually want to harm King Andra? This must be a game, a bit of romantic play between the Emperor and Empress.

Andra’s cleverest adjutant stood by with arms crossed, watching the scene with a teasing smirk. Only the loyal Iron Guard spread their arms to step between the two, but they were pushed aside by a pat on the shoulder from the King. The King said nothing, but her slightly helpless, smiling eyes conveyed everything, and the crowd dispersed.

She reached for her waist, unbuckled her own sword, and tossed it aside so that it wouldn’t bruise the person in her arms when they embraced. Andra opened her arms wide to welcome her wife, who was charging at her with a sword. Anyone with eyes could see the Queen had never studied swordsmanship; her footwork and posture were entirely wrong.

Yet, the moment she swung the sword down, everyone’s eyes widened slightly: that strike was utterly resolute.

Whiz! The sword, infused with all her strength, let out a whistle as it cut through the air.

Andra did not dodge. She merely raised her hand slightly and caught Eleanor’s wrist in one smooth motion.

Snap.

With a deft twist of her right hand, the sword ended up in Andra’s grasp.

“What is it, Eleanor?” she said tenderly, in the tone one uses to coax a child. “Don’t let anger ruin your health.”

The moment she saw the sword clearly, Andra knew exactly what had gone wrong. She switched the sword to her left hand, smiling as she reached out to embrace her wife’s waist, gesturing for those nearby to leave.

Hahaha.

The officials and attendants left with suppressed giggles, leaving only a few Iron Guards who never left their posts standing not far away.

“Let me go…!” Eleanor struggled with all her might, but her strength was too meager; she remained pinned in Andra’s embrace.

“Eleanor,” the King called her name again, this time with a slightly cold voice. “If something is wrong, say it directly. Do not throw a tantrum.”

Cough, cough, cough!

Eleanor coughed violently, a thick scent of blood choking up from the depths of her throat. She reached out to grab the sword in Andra’s hand, screaming while trembling all over: “You lied to me!! Miscella died a long time ago didn’t she?!”

Crack.

This sentence shattered the lie Andra had intended to maintain. The King pursed her lips and stopped her futile concealment. She nodded helplessly. “Rest assured, she died on the battlefield as a warrior.”

Andra let go, allowing Eleanor to strike her sturdy body with punch after punch, while explaining softly: “When two armies clash, too many people want to claim the glory of capturing the King.”

She told a well-intentioned lie. After all, the truth was hard to speak: What Miscella? The King of Nolanna had indeed charged at her, but they hadn’t even crossed blades once. Andra had been in the heat of the slaughter, and before she could even shout “Leave the King of Nolanna to me,” Miscella’s figure was gone. By the time they met again, the other had become a mangled, incomplete corpse on the battlefield. Perhaps she fell while charging too fast, or perhaps she was cut down by some warrior that Royal Daughter was always reckless; who knows?

Had Miscella not been Eleanor’s sister, these trivialities would have been beneath notice; she wouldn’t have remembered them for a second. Even now, Andra felt there was no problem. She cherished the Princess before her, personally crowning her as the Queen the future Angie. They lingered in each other’s arms every comfortable night, and she promised to let her bear the first and future last child.

…Eleanor’s anger was merely for the death of her blood sister; she would eventually move past it and become her best wife.

His wife looked up at her from her embrace, blood trickling from the corner of her mouth. “Heh… you lied to me for so long. You’ve wanted a child all along just to control me, right?”

Andra was silent for a moment. She gently wiped away the unstoppable tears from the corner of Eleanor’s eyes with her right hand and said warmly, “Don’t think that way. I truly, truly love you.”

Love… your love? What is it worth?

Eleanor squeezed out a twisted smile. Heh, heh, hahahaha.

You really are consistent; you haven’t changed at all, Andra.

The me of the past life I truly owe you an apology.

She staggered back two steps, looking up carefully at the handsome, flawless King. In Andra’s face, there was affection, helplessness, and a feigned tenderness… but not a single trace of guilt could be found. She did not regret it.

Yes, what was there to regret? She had killed the King of an enemy nation and married a “virtuous” new Queen. She wanted the other to bear a child and then work for her quietly with all her might. What was she doing wrong? She was perfectly right!

The faces of Eva, Ophelia, and Miscella flashed through Eleanor’s mind simultaneously. It was as if she could see the corpses of her mother and sisters standing behind her with gloomy faces.

“It’s all your fault, Eleanor.” The pale-faced mother spat out black water.

“It’s all your fault, Eleanor!” The limb-severed Ophelia stared with hollow eyes.

“It’s all your fault, Lily…” The blood-soaked Miscella wailed in pain.

Eleanor felt her soul trembling, weeping and shattering alongside their corpses.

“I am not wrong…” the fragile girl covered her face and wept feebly.

“It is your fault, Eleanor.” A woman born from the Blood River, whose face was identical to her own, reached out and pressed a finger to the girl’s forehead. The Andra of the past life walked toward her across the Blood River.

Splash. Her former lover staggered to her knees, shedding tears of blood. “This is the happiness you traded my abandonment for?! What have you done, Eleanor!!!”

Splash. Eleanor struggled and retreated, but these shadows loomed over her in layers, making it impossible to breathe.

A person only has one lifetime, Lily. In her memory, Miscella spread her hands. Why do you have two and still do such a lousy job?

Yes, why? The shadows of everyone echoed together, questioning her with sighs, emptiness, anger, and resentment.

I was too indolent.

“I was too indolent…” The girl stood on the empty earth, bathed in the center of the Blood River.

I was too indolent—I was indolent to a revolting degree!

It was me, it was me who handed everything over to others… Andra in the past life, Miscella in this life. I didn’t dare attempt those difficult things; I only changed the simplest appearances. And more importantly—

From beginning to end, I never dared to personally face Andra.

“I wanted to let us go…”

Are you letting her go? You wanted to let yourself go.

You knew full well the key to the problem wasn’t ‘whether I let go of Andra,’ but ‘whether Andra will let go of me.’

She won’t. She won’t, my poor, foolish, indolent Eleanor.

As the girl’s voice fell, a soft petal swayed in her heart. Eleanor knew this was the Great Mother Goddess reminding her: Enough. Since you are in such pain, come back quickly.

She could easily return to the warm Blood River, go back to before she was hurt, back to the point in time where everything could be changed, and obtain a new round of rebirth. The Goddess loved her; the Mother Goddess was willing to watch her correct the mistakes of the past. Her mother promised to give her happiness.

This tender love allowed Eleanor to regain some consciousness. The phantoms accusing her dissipated, and she saw the real Andra. The Andra of this life stood before her, somewhat at a loss. She seemed to want to open her arms to continue embracing her wife, but her hands were locked by some pride or a faint anger.

Andra certainly knew what deception was, but the King must have believed it was a well-intentioned lie. Her wife was an orphaned little princess; the nation of Nolanna would belong to her resentful, half-blooded sister. And she, Andra, was the one who saved her. For a princess, what ending could surpass marrying a powerful King?

Andra’s lips moved constantly; given her calm expression, she must be speaking heartfelt words.

“That wasn’t lying; I was afraid you wouldn’t be able to accept it all at once.” “We will have a child. When she grows a bit, I will help you take back the throne, alright?” “You hate Ophelia too, don’t you? I will help you vent your anger then…”

Click, click, click.

Eleanor heard dense sounds. It was the sound of her running footsteps; it was her heartbeat ticking like gears. She charged toward Andra; she charged toward the sword in Andra’s hand.

I hate you, Eva. You occupied the position of Mother but never exerted an ounce of strength for your daughters, dying like a joke.

I hate you, Miscella. You didn’t have enough wisdom or determination yet you had the nerve to want to be King. How many people who trusted you did you get killed?

I hate you, Ophelia. Your ability couldn’t match your ambition. You plotted against my sister, yet you couldn’t handle Andra either… your mediocrity makes me pity you.

I hate you, Andra. I hate you, Andra. I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!

Andra’s name surfaced repeatedly in her heart, blood-red and viscous. Eleanor heard the Blood River roaring. Oh, that wasn’t the tide of the Blood River; it was her own blood vessels and heart.

Eleanor’s gaze was too resolute.

Andra held her breath. In this instant, she forgot she was still holding the sword. She instinctively raised her arm, wanting to embrace this mass of burning fire her rational, lovely wife was completely ignited by anger, even her soul was shrieking.

Why? She even felt a bit wronged.

“Andra…!”

Eleanor called her name and then slammed herself onto the sword, letting the blade pierce deep into her own chest!

I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, I love you… I hate you!!

Eleanor did not tear off that soft petal; she allowed her body to plummet into deeper agony.

Remember this pain, Eleanor.

Do not love. Do not love. Hate, hate, hate deeply! Remember this feeling. Do not forgive Andra. You are not allowed to forgive Andra… No, I absolutely will not allow you to be indolent again.

Massive amounts of blood gushed from her mouth and chest, spraying across the boundless earth. She hadn’t stabbed accurately enough; she wouldn’t die immediately.

Eleanor’s body gradually grew cold. She looked coldly into Andra’s panicked eyes. Andra, her face pale, shouted to those around her—she was likely calling for someone to save her.

But how could Eleanor be saved? She knew it. A person injured like this could not be saved. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts! It hurts too much! The bleeding wound, the bleeding heart, and that guilt that tightened around her neck and severed her marrow.

Andra.

Eleanor moved her lips silently: Next life, I will absolutely never forgive you.

Eva, Ophelia, Miscella… just you wait.

I won’t let you carry responsibilities you can’t handle anymore.

Let me be the one to change everything… everything!

Blood flowed into the Blood River, and her soul began to float upward. Eleanor, amidst countless noises and pain, kept her eyes wide open the whole time. She sank into the Blood River while standing, clutching the long sword in her chest.

Hmm?

The endless stars in the sky let out a vibration of confusion. The Great Mother Goddess cast her gaze down, discovering that the originally clear soul was shattering repeatedly in the cycle of deep-black self-blame.

Through countless times and spaces, She conveyed a confused greeting.

Why are you so sad?

There was no judgment in the Goddess’s emotion, only curiosity.

Why be so sad? Wasn’t it your own choice? Why be so sad? Can’t you start over from the beginning? Why be sad? My lovely child, I don’t see that you did anything wrong.

Did I not do anything wrong?

Eleanor paused, her soul letting out a slight tremor. She realized that for a Mother, it is very, very difficult to believe her child has done something wrong. Perhaps the perspective of a deity is entirely different from that of a human.

She viewed many human mistakes as part of the development of things, normal and reasonable. Since it happened, it’s reasonable… is that so?

Her heart lightened instantly, but she did not let her guilt vanish just because of the Mother Goddess’s approval. Eleanor’s soul became clear again, answering the starlit sky calmly: “Mother, I was wrong, because I was very indolent.”

Indolent?

The Goddess repeated the answer she gave, neither approving nor disapproving.

Yes, I was too indolent. Actually, I am very much like Miscella as expected of sisters… we both took it for granted that we were omnipotent. I seemed to be constantly busy, yet I set down the most important things.

Oh, your sadness is because you did not complete the most important thing.

Yes.

You are going to complete the most important thing now.

Yes, Mother.

Then go, and be a little happier.

The vibrating stars stirred the Blood River. Overwhelming blood enveloped Eleanor, sending her to the other side of time. The nurturing and protection from the maternal body tried to touch her broken soul, repairing those sorrowful cracks.

But when the blood surged to the position of the heart, the stubborn daughter refused her mother’s most crucial caress.

Let me remember her. Let me remember this pain, this towering rage!

I cannot forget the pain before my death. If I forget, I will surely fall in love with Andra again, letting myself sink into the trap of indolence!

Thus, the touch stopped outside the heart. The Mother granted her daughter’s willful request.

Then hate. Then hurt. Then remember.

May this bring you happiness.

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