Chapter 102
The corridor remained silent.
No one spoke.
No one dared.
The cabin door slowly opened.
Click.
Princess Flora stepped outside.
Her posture was as graceful as ever.
Her shoulders remained straight.
Her chin was held high.
Only the faint redness around her emerald eyes betrayed what had happened inside.
Everyone immediately stood.
Esabell instinctively stepped forward.
"...Princess..."
Flora gently raised one hand.
Esabell stopped.
Princess Flora slowly looked across everyone gathered before her.
Captain Bochy.
Vendetta.
Chris.
Esabell.
Each of them wore the same expression.
Concern.
A quiet smile appeared on Flora's lips.
Small.
Gentle.
Royal.
"I appreciate everyone's concern."
A brief silence followed.
"But... I require some time alone."
No one interrupted.
She continued with the same composed dignity.
"For tonight..."
"I ask that none of you worry about me."
Her eyes softened.
"And please..."
"...do not disturb me."
Captain Bochy lowered his head.
"As you wish, Princess."
Vendetta did the same.
"So be it."
Chris forced a smile.
"...Rest well."
Flora inclined her head.
"Thank you."
Without another word—
she walked away.
Her footsteps echoed quietly through the corridor.
Step.
Step.
Step.
Until...
they disappeared.
---
Silence remained.
No one truly believed she was all right.
Yet everyone respected the dignity of her decision.
---
Outside—
the wind had grown stronger.
The waves struck against the ship with steady rhythm.
Moonlight painted silver across the sea.
---
Guinevere stood alone near the railing.
One hand rested upon the polished wood.
The other loosely held a half-filled glass.
She hadn't taken a sip for several minutes.
Her dark-blue hair danced wildly beneath the cold night wind.
Her crimson eyes remained fixed upon the endless sea.
"...Couldn't sleep?"
A familiar voice.
Chris.
He approached slowly.
Never invading her space.
Never standing too far away.
Guinevere didn't answer.
Chris leaned beside the railing.
"I figured I'd find you here."
Silence.
"You always disappear whenever something's bothering you."
She finally lifted the glass.
A small sip.
"...Go away."
Chris smiled.
"No."
"I'd rather be alone."
"I know."
"Then leave."
Chris looked toward the horizon.
"...Okay."
A pause.
"...I'll leave."
Another pause.
"...In a minute."
For the first time—
Guinevere glanced sideways.
"...You're irritating."
"So I've been told."
The wind howled between them.
Neither spoke for several moments.
Chris quietly watched the waves.
"...She'll forgive you someday."
Guinevere's eyes never left the sea.
"...I didn't do it to be forgiven."
"I know."
"I accepted that years ago."
"I know."
Her fingers tightened around the glass.
Chris sighed softly.
"You know..."
"...since the day I met you..."
"I've always thought the same thing."
Guinevere stayed silent.
"You were fearless."
"Confident."
"Cold."
"You never let your emotions control you."
A faint smile crossed his lips.
"But today..."
He looked at her.
"I've never seen you like this."
Still—
she said nothing.
Chris continued.
"You sound different."
Slowly—
she turned toward him.
"...Different how?"
Chris scratched the back of his head.
"...Human."
She stared at him.
"You care about the Princess."
"It's my duty."
Chris shook his head.
"...No."
"This isn't only duty."
Silence.
"You love her."
Guinevere looked away again.
"...I stole her right to know."
Chris nodded.
"You did."
Another silence.
"But..."
"You also gave her the chance to grow up."
"If you hadn't..."
"...she would've spent her childhood carrying the weight of the entire world."
The wind brushed across Guinevere's face.
"...That doesn't make it hurt any less."
"No."
Chris answered gently.
"It doesn't."
He smiled.
"You know..."
"I never imagined someone like you could care this deeply."
"...You're kinder than you pretend to be."
For the first time that night—
a quiet chuckle escaped Guinevere.
Chris blinked.
"...Did you just laugh?"
"...Don't get used to it."
"I think I will."
She rolled her eyes.
"...Idiot."
"Probably."
Another comfortable silence settled between them.
Chris looked toward her.
"...Can I ask you something?"
"...What?"
"Why is the Princess so important to you?"
Guinevere took another sip.
"...What would you gain from knowing?"
"...Nothing."
He answered honestly.
"I just..."
"...want to understand."
She remained quiet.
Chris lowered his voice.
"...You always carry everything alone."
"...Maybe..."
"...sharing it would hurt less."
"My pain?"
A faint smile appeared.
"...I'm not in pain."
Chris met her eyes.
"...Your eyes disagree."
The wind swept between them.
Their gazes met.
For several seconds—
neither looked away.
"...You can read my eyes?"
Chris smiled.
"...No."
"I can't read them."
"But..."
"...I can see them."
He hesitated.
"I've always felt..."
"...that you're hiding an entire world inside yourself."
Guinevere remained motionless.
"...And what else do you see?"
Chris answered quietly.
"...Guilt."
"...Loneliness."
"...And a smile that never reaches your heart."
Silence.
A long one.
Then—
Guinevere laughed.
Softly.
Almost to herself.
"...Never thought..."
"...that my heart would want to share its burden..."
"...with someone so random."
Chris grinned.
"I'm honored."
She shook her head.
"...Fool."
"Maybe."
He looked toward the sea.
"But I'm listening."
The wind continued to blow.
Guinevere's eyes remained fixed upon the endless sea.
Chris said nothing.
He simply stood beside her.
Waiting.
After a long while—
she spoke.
"...It started a long time ago."
Her voice was quiet.
"So long ago..."
"...that sometimes I wonder if that little girl was ever really me."
The sound of crashing waves slowly faded.
The cold night disappeared.
And another memory...
began to surface.
---
Eleven years earlier.
The Royal Palace of Lumivale.
Dawn had barely broken.
A heavy fog lingered over the palace training grounds.
The rhythmic sound of wood striking wood echoed through the empty courtyard.
Bang!
Bang!
Bang!
An eleven-year-old girl swung a wooden sword again and again.
Her movements were precise.
Disciplined.
Yet painfully slow.
Her breathing had already become ragged.
Sweat rolled down her forehead despite the morning chill.
Both of her palms were wrapped in old bandages stained with fresh blood.
She didn't stop.
She couldn't.
Bang!
Bang!
Bang!
A pair of footsteps echoed across the stone floor.
The little girl's shoulders stiffened.
She immediately straightened her posture.
The Second Prince of Lumivale stepped into the courtyard.
Tall.
Well dressed.
His golden cloak rested neatly across his shoulders.
His face carried the same elegant smile the nobles admired.
A smile that vanished the moment the servants disappeared from sight.
His cold eyes settled upon the child.
"...Again."
Guinevere silently raised the wooden sword.
She swung.
Too slow.
Crack!
Another wooden blade slammed against her shoulder.
Pain shot through her body.
She stumbled backward.
"...Again."
She stood.
Raised the sword.
Swung once more.
Crack!
This time the strike landed against her wrist.
The sword slipped from her trembling fingers.
It hit the ground with a dull thud.
The prince looked down at her.
"...Pathetic."
Guinevere quickly picked it up.
"I'm..."
Her voice barely escaped.
"...I'm. sorry, Father."
He walked closer.
Slowly.
Calmly.
Far more terrifying than if he had shouted.
He stopped directly in front of her.
"...Do you know why you're here?"
"...To become stronger."
"No."
His voice was flat.
"To become worthy."
He grabbed the wooden sword from her hands.
With a single effortless movement—
he struck her across the legs.
Thud.
Guinevere collapsed onto one knee.
"...Stand."
She obeyed immediately.
"...Again."
The wooden sword felt heavier now.
Almost impossible to lift.
Still—
she raised it.
She attacked.
The prince sidestepped with ease.
His own sword struck her shoulder.
Then her ribs.
Then her arm.
Every hit precise.
Measured.
Painful.
She fell once more.
"...Again."
The fog around them seemed endless.
Time lost all meaning.
Swing.
Fall.
Stand.
Fall.
Stand.
Again.
Again.
Until...
her legs finally refused to move.
She collapsed face-first onto the cold stone.
Her fingers twitched weakly.
The prince looked down at her without expression.
"...Weak."
Silence.
"...Your mother died bringing you into this world."
Guinevere's fingers tightened against the stone.
"And this..."
He gestured toward her.
"...is all she left me."
Another long silence.
Then—
his voice became colder.
"...Do you know why I despise weakness?"
Guinevere slowly shook her head.
"No... Father."
He crouched before her.
His eyes met hers.
"Because weak people lose everything."
"The throne."
"The kingdom."
"The future."
His hand tightened around her chin.
"For years..."
"...that throne should have belonged to me."
His gaze drifted toward the royal palace rising beyond the courtyard.
"But fate favored my brother."
A bitter smile crossed his lips.
"And now..."
"...his daughter stands before me as heir to everything."
Princess Flora.
Even hearing her name made Guinevere lower her eyes.
The prince looked back at her.
"You will surpass her."
"You will become stronger."
"Smarter."
"More capable."
"When the time comes..."
"...everyone will see who truly deserves that throne."
His grip tightened.
"If you fail..."
"...then your existence has no value."
He released her.
Guinevere lowered her head.
"...Yes, Father."
He turned away.
Without another glance—
he spoke.
"Training resumes tomorrow."
"Before sunrise."
His footsteps slowly disappeared.
Leaving only silence behind.
---
Several minutes passed.
Guinevere remained kneeling exactly where she had fallen.
Only after she could no longer hear his footsteps...
did she finally allow herself to breathe.
Her body trembled uncontrollably.
Not from fear.
From exhaustion.
She slowly picked up the wooden sword.
The handle slipped from her bloodied hands.
Clatter.
She stared at it for several long moments.
Then quietly picked it up again.
She resumed swinging.
One.
Two.
Three.
Even though no one was watching anymore.
---
Later that afternoon—
the palace hallways bustled with servants.
Guinevere walked silently through them.
Every servant respectfully bowed.
"...Lady Guinevere."
She bowed back.
"...Thank you."
She kept walking.
No one noticed the bruises hidden beneath her sleeves.
No one noticed the way she winced every time she moved her right arm.
Or perhaps...
they simply pretended not to.
---
She entered the dining hall.
A long table stretched across the room.
Enough food to feed dozens.
Only two seats were occupied.
Her father sat at the head of the table.
Reading documents.
Without looking up—
he spoke.
"...Late."
Guinevere froze.
"...I'm sorry."
"You trained too slowly."
"...Yes, Father."
She quietly sat.
A servant immediately stepped forward and filled her plate.
Before she could touch it—
the prince spoke again.
"...Remove it."
The servant hesitated.
"My Lord..."
"I said..."
"...remove it."
The servant lowered his head.
"...Yes, Your Highness."
The plate disappeared.
Guinevere didn't move.
Her father calmly continued reading.
"...A warrior who loses today..."
"...doesn't deserve dinner."
Her stomach tightened.
She lowered her eyes.
"...Understood."
The meal continued.
Only one person ate.
---
That evening—
rain began to fall.
Guinevere quietly sat alone beneath the roof outside her room.
She carefully unwrapped the bandages around her hands.
Fresh blood stained the cloth.
She bit her lip.
Trying not to make a sound.
Soft footsteps approached.
An elderly maid knelt beside her.
"...My Lady."
Without asking—
the old woman gently took Guinevere's injured hand.
"...This will sting."
Guinevere nodded.
"...Thank you."
The maid smiled sadly.
"You've endured enough for one day."
She carefully applied fresh medicine.
Her movements were slow.
Gentle.
Almost motherly.
Guinevere watched silently.
"...Why..."
The maid looked up.
"...Why are you kind to me?"
The old woman blinked.
Then smiled.
"...Because you're still a child."
Guinevere stared at her.
A child.
She couldn't remember the last time anyone had called her that.
Just as the maid finished wrapping the bandages—
the corridor door suddenly opened.
The Second Prince stood there.
Silence.
The maid immediately stood.
"...Your Highness."
His eyes slowly moved toward Guinevere's freshly bandaged hands.
Then back to the maid.
"...Who allowed this?"
The maid lowered her head.
"I merely wished to—"
Slap!
The sound echoed through the corridor.
The elderly woman stumbled onto the floor.
Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth.
Guinevere instinctively took a step forward.
"...Father—"
"Silence."
His cold gaze never left the maid.
"...Compassion creates weakness."
He looked toward Guinevere.
"And weakness spreads."
He turned back toward the trembling servant.
"Leave."
The old woman hurried away without another word.
The prince looked at his daughter.
"...Remember this."
"If someone shows you pity..."
"...they're insulting you."
He turned.
"And if you ever require someone else's kindness..."
"...you've already failed."
The door closed.
Guinevere stood motionless.
Slowly...
she looked down at the fresh bandages.
Then...
without a word...
she began unwrapping them.
One layer.
Then another.
Until the medicine fell onto the rain-soaked stone.
The rain washed it away.
As though kindness had never touched her at all.
---
Three days later—
the palace gates slowly opened.
The sound of horses echoed across the courtyard.
Soldiers lined both sides of the path.
One after another—
they lowered their heads.
"The Queen has returned."
At the front of the procession rode Queen Anastasia.
Silver armor still carried scratches from battle.
A crimson cape flowed behind her horse.
Despite the exhaustion in her eyes—
she smiled warmly at every servant who greeted her.
As she dismounted—
her gaze drifted across the courtyard.
There...
near the far end of the training grounds...
a lone little girl continued swinging a wooden sword.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Even though both of her hands were bleeding.
Anastasia slowly stopped walking.
Her smile faded.
"...Who is that child?"
...CHAPTER 102ENDS...