“Rhia…!”
Helena’s sorrowful cries echoed in Rihannan’s ears. She halted for a moment, biting her lip, and pressed on. To turn back now would shatter the composure she had painstakingly mustered.
When she first became Helena’s companion, pitying glances and warnings about the troubles of befriending the princess had surrounded her. Yet, she saw things differently. Upon arriving in Chrichton, illness and affliction had plagued her, plunging her into mild depression—a burden she bore in secret, hidden from her uncle and Dimitri’s knowledge. She had mastered the art of concealing her sorrow. They believed she had seamlessly adapted to life in Chrichton.
But when the night grew deep and solitude enveloped her, Rihannan often wrestled with suicidal impulses, tormented by thoughts that threatened her sanity. The unseen, unheard, silent killer of despair haunted her relentlessly, pushing her to the brink. No matter how hard she struggled, escape eluded her grasp. It clung to her like an ominous shadow, slowly devouring her from within, leaving her yearning for the release of death.
There was nothing that could assuage the loss and betrayal she felt from her family—a family afflicted with a twisted malady she had spent her entire life trying to appease. She had strived to become the person they desired, sacrificing her very identity in her desperate quest for acceptance. But it had all been in vain. In the end, her efforts were insufficient.
While Rihannan bathed in the radiance of Chrichton, her own soul burned. And perhaps her condition would have worsened had Helena not entered her life. The princess’s arrival marked a turning point for Rihannan.
“What about you? You’re Rihannan, hmm? That’s a lovely name. Why do you wear such a sorrowful expression?”
The haughty and headstrong little princess had effortlessly seen through Rihannan’s facade but never probed further. Gradually, the lonely emptiness within Rihannan’s heart began to fill with the warmth of newfound friendship.
Helena, I do not resent you. In fact, I hold you dear.
However, circumstances bound her, shackled to Igor, and she feared the repercussions any alteration to his future would bring…
“Farewell, Helena…”
With Rihannan’s departure aboard the ships that had once threatened Chrichton, their sole purpose now transformed into a promise to ensure the state’s national marriage, tranquility descended upon the natives as they watched the vessels glide silently across the azure sea.
***
“You may make use of this room.”
Guiding Rihannan to her cabin within the ship, Basil gestured toward the surroundings. Rihannan surveyed the space, her eyes catching the clear signs of attentive care and meticulous adornment. Within a day, the room had blossomed into a feminine sanctuary. Even the window boasted a lace curtain that reached for the heavens. Rihannan questioned her own eyes for a moment—an intricately laced curtain on a warship. Even the vessel she had boarded to reach Chrichton, the Ataraxia, had lacked such whimsical charm.
“…You have put considerable thought into this room.”
Basil’s face beamed with mischief at her words. “Indeed? You find it pleasing, don’t you? If it meets your approval, please inform the king. I implore you.”
Desperation laced his plea, compelling Rihannan to nod in response. Satisfied, Basil straightened his posture, his triumphant smile unfurling. Then, his gaze wandered.
“But where are your attendants? I have yet to see them.”
Rihannan’s reply was firm. “There are none.”
“Pardon?” Basil’s mouth fell open in astonishment.
“I have not brought a personal attendant,” Rihannan reiterated.
“But this is a warship… There are no women to serve you… Ahhh…!” Basil tugged at his hair, his frustration ablaze.
Should we turn the ship around? Oh my God… Oh my God… He will surely kill me!
Rihannan observed Basil’s frenzied tirade, realizing her lack of a servant posed a significant inconvenience to him.
“Fear not. I am capable of tending to my own needs. I can manage without assistance. Please, do not concern yourself,” Rihannan reassured him.
“But…”
“I shall summon you should the need arise. Thank you.”
“Very well,” Basil sighed. “If there is anything else you require, please do not hesitate to call upon me. Simply pull this string, and I shall come to your aid promptly. Then… Miss Rihannan, may you find solace in rest.”
With a respectful bow, Basil closed the door behind him, leaving Rihannan alone. He turned, his face etched with worry. He had neglected to secure a maid, assuming the Countess would arrive with one. Little did he know… he would scour every corner of Chrichton to employ a maid, convinced that the raven-haired vixen would soon make her presence known.
“Why did I not think to hire a servant?”
Unbeknownst to him, a deep voice sliced through the air, sending chills down Basil’s spine.
The man in question, Igor, scowled at him. “What progress have you made with the information I tasked you to gather?” he demanded.
Basil wiped beads of cold sweat from his brow and eagerly produced the letter, extending it to Igor.
“Here it is, Your Majesty. I was actually on my way to deliver it to you,” Basil chuckled wholeheartedly.
Igor began perusing the contents of the letter. His face darkened, and he crumpled the paper into a tight ball.
“What does it say?” Basil inquired.
Igor discarded the letter, but Basil swiftly retrieved it and perused its contents. A moment later, a somber sigh escaped his lips.
“The Crichtons have imprisoned the Countess’s cousin and issued threats. With the king’s approval, they plan to execute him should she refuse the princess’s position. Is that why she sought a private audience with you, to request that she choose you instead of the princess?” Basil spoke, his expression unyielding, as Igor’s gaze drifted toward the port. “The Countess has undoubtedly endured much hardship. She has made great sacrifices.”
“And where is she now?” Igor’s voice softened.
“I escorted her to the cabin, the one you insisted be transformed into a princess’s quarters overnight.”
Recalling the events of the previous day, Basil gnashed his teeth in frustration. After Rihannan had returned to Chrichton, Igor had commanded Basil to clean and decorate her cabin with utmost haste. Basil had endured a night of great tribulation, leveraging every connection, including those of kinship, to procure the required items and provisions in a kingdom that held Arundell in contempt.
“Her countenance appeared troubled. I believe she shed tears after encountering the princess at the port. I worry about her being alone in that room without a maid. From this point on, I shall endeavor to check on her every hour, every second, until we return home. I beseech you, release your anger and grant me your favor,” Basil pleaded.
“And you say she has no maid?” Igor scooped up the food he had accidentally spilled.
“Well… The Countess did not bring one with her… I had assumed you would have arranged for it…” Basil responded cautiously.
“Basil!” Igor’s voice thundered, causing Basil to flinch.
He hurriedly worked to pacify the king’s wrath. “Ah, I implore you, Your Majesty… But what can we do now that the ship has already set sail? Until we reach our destination, I shall do my utmost to monitor her every hour, every second! Please, relinquish your anger.”
“Fine,” Igor relented.
Thankfully, the king accepted his words. Basil exhaled a sigh of relief, while Igor cast a nervous glance at the cabin where Rihannan resided.
The situation was far more dire than he had anticipated. If only he had known, he would have checked on her before leaving the port.
Igor bit his lip.
However, if she were to discover his true identity, everything would crumble. No one would ever forgive the person responsible for their demise. He understood all too well that Rihannan had accepted him not as the Igor she once knew, but as the Igor of the present.
Igor’s gaze flickered nervously toward Rihannan’s cabin once more. He had arranged everything to bring her back into his life, to have her by his side. But there was one obstacle… he had no idea how to win her heart, to unlock the fortress of her closed and caged heart.
Then, the curtains of Rihannan’s window parted, revealing her silhouette. She cast her gaze skyward, her pale blue eyes shimmering like ice. After a moment of tranquil contemplation, she retrieved something—a small glass bottle containing a liquid.
In that instant, memories from the past flooded Igor’s mind.
“She is already dead,” the woman with fiery red hair had cackled with mad laughter. “She willingly consumed the poison I provided. Until her last breath, she resented you, believing you would have her throat slit and her head severed tomorrow. She died, her heart filled with hatred. How does it feel?”
Driven by desperation, Igor had sprinted toward the prison, his companions attempting to dissuade him. But he disregarded them, pushing forward like a man possessed, racing toward Rihannan. He had not witnessed her drink the poisoned elixir, holding onto a glimmer of hope… hope that she was still alive. Although fragile and naturally vulnerable, Igor believed she would never succumb.
Yet, upon reaching her cell, he discovered that she, who had always been plagued by indecision, did not hesitate in her final moments…
“Your Majesty?”
Igor dashed toward something in a sudden frenzy.
Basil sensed an unexpected disturbance and hurriedly followed suit.
The object of Igor’s manic pursuit was Rihannan’s cabin. A piercing scream rent the air as he burst inside.
Basil drew his sword without delay.
“Your Majesty!”
“Rhia…!”
Helena’s sorrowful cries echoed in Rihannan’s ears. She halted for a moment, biting her lip, and pressed on. To turn back now would shatter the composure she had painstakingly mustered.
When she first became Helena’s companion, pitying glances and warnings about the troubles of befriending the princess had surrounded her. Yet, she saw things differently. Upon arriving in Chrichton, illness and affliction had plagued her, plunging her into mild depression—a burden she bore in secret, hidden from her uncle and Dimitri’s knowledge. She had mastered the art of concealing her sorrow. They believed she had seamlessly adapted to life in Chrichton.
But when the night grew deep and solitude enveloped her, Rihannan often wrestled with suicidal impulses, tormented by thoughts that threatened her sanity. The unseen, unheard, silent killer of despair haunted her relentlessly, pushing her to the brink. No matter how hard she struggled, escape eluded her grasp. It clung to her like an ominous shadow, slowly devouring her from within, leaving her yearning for the release of death.
There was nothing that could assuage the loss and betrayal she felt from her family—a family afflicted with a twisted malady she had spent her entire life trying to appease. She had strived to become the person they desired, sacrificing her very identity in her desperate quest for acceptance. But it had all been in vain. In the end, her efforts were insufficient.
While Rihannan bathed in the radiance of Chrichton, her own soul burned. And perhaps her condition would have worsened had Helena not entered her life. The princess’s arrival marked a turning point for Rihannan.
“What about you? You’re Rihannan, hmm? That’s a lovely name. Why do you wear such a sorrowful expression?”
The haughty and headstrong little princess had effortlessly seen through Rihannan’s facade but never probed further. Gradually, the lonely emptiness within Rihannan’s heart began to fill with the warmth of newfound friendship.
Helena, I do not resent you. In fact, I hold you dear.
However, circumstances bound her, shackled to Igor, and she feared the repercussions any alteration to his future would bring…
“Farewell, Helena…”
With Rihannan’s departure aboard the ships that had once threatened Chrichton, their sole purpose now transformed into a promise to ensure the state’s national marriage, tranquility descended upon the natives as they watched the vessels glide silently across the azure sea.
***
“You may make use of this room.”
Guiding Rihannan to her cabin within the ship, Basil gestured toward the surroundings. Rihannan surveyed the space, her eyes catching the clear signs of attentive care and meticulous adornment. Within a day, the room had blossomed into a feminine sanctuary. Even the window boasted a lace curtain that reached for the heavens. Rihannan questioned her own eyes for a moment—an intricately laced curtain on a warship. Even the vessel she had boarded to reach Chrichton, the Ataraxia, had lacked such whimsical charm.
“…You have put considerable thought into this room.”
Basil’s face beamed with mischief at her words. “Indeed? You find it pleasing, don’t you? If it meets your approval, please inform the king. I implore you.”
Desperation laced his plea, compelling Rihannan to nod in response. Satisfied, Basil straightened his posture, his triumphant smile unfurling. Then, his gaze wandered.
“But where are your attendants? I have yet to see them.”
Rihannan’s reply was firm. “There are none.”
“Pardon?” Basil’s mouth fell open in astonishment.
“I have not brought a personal attendant,” Rihannan reiterated.
“But this is a warship… There are no women to serve you… Ahhh…!” Basil tugged at his hair, his frustration ablaze.
Should we turn the ship around? Oh my God… Oh my God… He will surely kill me!
Rihannan observed Basil’s frenzied tirade, realizing her lack of a servant posed a significant inconvenience to him.
“Fear not. I am capable of tending to my own needs. I can manage without assistance. Please, do not concern yourself,” Rihannan reassured him.
“But…”
“I shall summon you should the need arise. Thank you.”
“Very well,” Basil sighed. “If there is anything else you require, please do not hesitate to call upon me. Simply pull this string, and I shall come to your aid promptly. Then… Miss Rihannan, may you find solace in rest.”
With a respectful bow, Basil closed the door behind him, leaving Rihannan alone. He turned, his face etched with worry. He had neglected to secure a maid, assuming the Countess would arrive with one. Little did he know… he would scour every corner of Chrichton to employ a maid, convinced that the raven-haired vixen would soon make her presence known.
“Why did I not think to hire a servant?”
Unbeknownst to him, a deep voice sliced through the air, sending chills down Basil’s spine.
The man in question, Igor, scowled at him. “What progress have you made with the information I tasked you to gather?” he demanded.
Basil wiped beads of cold sweat from his brow and eagerly produced the letter, extending it to Igor.
“Here it is, Your Majesty. I was actually on my way to deliver it to you,” Basil chuckled wholeheartedly.
Igor began perusing the contents of the letter. His face darkened, and he crumpled the paper into a tight ball.
“What does it say?” Basil inquired.
Igor discarded the letter, but Basil swiftly retrieved it and perused its contents. A moment later, a somber sigh escaped his lips.
“The Crichtons have imprisoned the Countess’s cousin and issued threats. With the king’s approval, they plan to execute him should she refuse the princess’s position. Is that why she sought a private audience with you, to request that she choose you instead of the princess?” Basil spoke, his expression unyielding, as Igor’s gaze drifted toward the port. “The Countess has undoubtedly endured much hardship. She has made great sacrifices.”
“And where is she now?” Igor’s voice softened.
“I escorted her to the cabin, the one you insisted be transformed into a princess’s quarters overnight.”
Recalling the events of the previous day, Basil gnashed his teeth in frustration. After Rihannan had returned to Chrichton, Igor had commanded Basil to clean and decorate her cabin with utmost haste. Basil had endured a night of great tribulation, leveraging every connection, including those of kinship, to procure the required items and provisions in a kingdom that held Arundell in contempt.
“Her countenance appeared troubled. I believe she shed tears after encountering the princess at the port. I worry about her being alone in that room without a maid. From this point on, I shall endeavor to check on her every hour, every second, until we return home. I beseech you, release your anger and grant me your favor,” Basil pleaded.
“And you say she has no maid?” Igor scooped up the food he had accidentally spilled.
“Well… The Countess did not bring one with her… I had assumed you would have arranged for it…” Basil responded cautiously.
“Basil!” Igor’s voice thundered, causing Basil to flinch.
He hurriedly worked to pacify the king’s wrath. “Ah, I implore you, Your Majesty… But what can we do now that the ship has already set sail? Until we reach our destination, I shall do my utmost to monitor her every hour, every second! Please, relinquish your anger.”
“Fine,” Igor relented.
Thankfully, the king accepted his words. Basil exhaled a sigh of relief, while Igor cast a nervous glance at the cabin where Rihannan resided.
The situation was far more dire than he had anticipated. If only he had known, he would have checked on her before leaving the port.
Igor bit his lip.
However, if she were to discover his true identity, everything would crumble. No one would ever forgive the person responsible for their demise. He understood all too well that Rihannan had accepted him not as the Igor she once knew, but as the Igor of the present.
Igor’s gaze flickered nervously toward Rihannan’s cabin once more. He had arranged everything to bring her back into his life, to have her by his side. But there was one obstacle… he had no idea how to win her heart, to unlock the fortress of her closed and caged heart.
Then, the curtains of Rihannan’s window parted, revealing her silhouette. She cast her gaze skyward, her pale blue eyes shimmering like ice. After a moment of tranquil contemplation, she retrieved something—a small glass bottle containing a liquid.
In that instant, memories from the past flooded Igor’s mind.
“She is already dead,” the woman with fiery red hair had cackled with mad laughter. “She willingly consumed the poison I provided. Until her last breath, she resented you, believing you would have her throat slit and her head severed tomorrow. She died, her heart filled with hatred. How does it feel?”
Driven by desperation, Igor had sprinted toward the prison, his companions attempting to dissuade him. But he disregarded them, pushing forward like a man possessed, racing toward Rihannan. He had not witnessed her drink the poisoned elixir, holding onto a glimmer of hope… hope that she was still alive. Although fragile and naturally vulnerable, Igor believed she would never succumb.
Yet, upon reaching her cell, he discovered that she, who had always been plagued by indecision, did not hesitate in her final moments…
“Your Majesty?”
Igor dashed toward something in a sudden frenzy.
Basil sensed an unexpected disturbance and hurriedly followed suit.
The object of Igor’s manic pursuit was Rihannan’s cabin. A piercing scream rent the air as he burst inside.
Basil drew his sword without delay.
“Your Majesty!”
