Royal Palace, Northeastern Wing.
In this section of the royal palace stood a cluster of palaces rarely visited by others, a rather desolate area inhabited mostly by those who seldom showed their faces in public.
It resembled the cold palaces of Riezel’s previous life in ancient times—aside from patrolling knights and servants tasked with menial chores, few ever came here to seek anyone who lived within.
Many princesses had resided here before their marriages.
In fact, even the frail and sickly crown prince of this generation’s royal family had once lived here for a long time, so it could not be said that only those who had fallen out of favor were banished to this remote place.
Still, it remained largely unvisited, exuding an air of quiet desolation.
Within this lonely corner of the palace complex stood an inconspicuous building—its position slightly hidden, as though meant to avoid drawing attention.
Deep inside the building, in a modestly furnished yet spacious chamber, sat a girl whose delicate face retained traces of youthful innocence, but whose beauty already possessed the makings of something extraordinary.
She held a golden sword in her arms, her long gray hair flowing down to the back of her knees, while her eyes, the same hue of gray, carried a decadent, bewitching allure.
It was none other than Lizbeth, and this building was her residence, once her residence when she had still been a princess.
She had lived here since the age of seven, leading a quiet and secluded life for eight full years, until Hendrick entrusted her with the mission to serve as Riezel’s attendant, which led her to leave, leaving the place empty and unoccupied.
Yet now, several months later—having lost her status as princess, become Riezel’s attendant, and moved her belongings away—she had returned to live here once again.
And judging by her expression, she seemed absent-minded, even sorrowful.
"Your Highness..."
In that moment, a young woman clad in a maid’s uniform, a few years older than Lizbeth, entered the room.
She was as lovely as a flower, and though she lacked Lizbeth’s almost demonic allure at such a young age, she was still a great beauty—one who would easily score above nine out of ten if beauty could be measured.
At first glance, she even seemed more stunning than the former princess Marilyn, and not far inferior to Yuri.
"Luna..."
Upon hearing the maid’s voice, the absent-minded Lizbeth was brought back to herself—she turned her head and looked toward the maid.
Luna was the name of the beautiful maid—she was serving as Lizbeth’s personal maid.
When Lizbeth, at seven years old, first moved into this place, Luna, then only ten, had also been assigned here to care for her daily needs.
In other words, Luna had lived here just as long as Lizbeth had.
However, even after Lizbeth left to serve as Riezel’s attendant, Luna had remained, continuing to manage the countless affairs of the place.
To Lizbeth, Luna was not only a servant but also a childhood friend, so when Luna entered, Lizbeth, still in low spirits, forced a small smile.
Upon seeing that smile, however, Luna’s heart couldn’t help but ache.
"Your Highness, it’s time to eat." Luna said with a smile, carrying a tray filled with an assortment of exquisite dishes in her hands.
"...I’m sorry, Luna... I don’t have much of an appetite..." Lizbeth shook her head, her expression listless as she stared at the food.
"But you haven’t eaten all day—not even a drop of water..." Luna said softly, her tone tinged with concern. "You rarely come back here, Your Highness. You mustn’t treat your body like this."
Her fair, lovely face showed genuine worry, which made it clear that she truly cared about Lizbeth’s well-being.
Lizbeth could see that, but she still shook her head.
"I really don’t have any appetite. Just leave it there. I’ll eat when I feel like it."
Luna clearly didn’t believe her.
"Your Highness, you said the same thing this morning, and you still didn’t eat anything..." Luna muttered in a tone of mild reproach, making Lizbeth feel a twinge of guilt.
"Then why don’t you eat it, Luna?" Lizbeth suggested, half-jokingly. "I know you haven’t eaten yet."
"I could never eat Your Highness’s meal!" Luna replied helplessly. "Ms. Katia would scold me to death."
Katia was the head maid of this wing of the royal palace—responsible for managing all the maids and servants here, and known for her strict dedication.
It had been she who arranged for the ten-year-old Luna to serve Lizbeth, personally training her to be capable of caring for someone’s daily life at such a young age.
Without her guidance, Luna could never have done so.
If that strict woman ever learned that a maid had abandoned her duties and eaten her master’s food, punishment would be inevitable.
"Your Highness, what’s wrong?" Luna finally asked, setting down the tray and gazing at Lizbeth with open concern. "Ever since you returned yesterday, you’ve been so out of it. Did something happen?"
What she truly wanted to ask was whether Lizbeth had committed some kind of offense.
It couldn’t be helped.
When Lizbeth had come back yesterday, she had been escorted—or rather, guarded—by an entire squad of knights, which was clearly not a good sign.
Not long before that, Lizbeth had also come back once, rummaging through her residence as if searching for something that might not even exist, almost turning the entire place upside down.
Luna had wanted to ask back then if something was wrong with her.
"If something’s troubling you, please tell me, Your Highness..." Luna said gently. "I might not be able to help, but at least I can share your burden."
Hearing this, Lizbeth’s expression dimmed even further.
"Luna."
"Yes, I’m here."
"You shouldn’t call me ’Your Highness’ anymore..." Lizbeth’s lips trembled as she forced out the words, her tone bitter. "I’m no longer a princess."
"No." Luna said immediately, shaking her head with firm resolve. "No matter what your status is now, or what you do out there, you’ll always be my princess."
When she learned that the king had given Lizbeth to the renowned Lightning Sword Saint as his attendant, stripping her of her royal title, she was deeply displeased.
’Out of so many princesses, why did it have to be Her Highness Lizbeth who was sent to serve someone else?’
Such a thought always filled Luna with indignation and worry.
Having grown up beside Lizbeth, she knew well that despite her noble birth, Lizbeth was timid by nature—shy, easily flustered, and not used to strangers.
To send Lizbeth into the outside world to deal with so many people, she couldn’t help but wonder if Lizbeth could truly adapt, or even survive, in such a life.
Moreover, Lizbeth was extraordinarily beautiful—so much so that even the royal palace maids, often praised for their looks, paled beside her.
Princes and nobles had long coveted her, yet none could compare to her allure.
And not only was her face enchanting, but her figure was equally irresistible—a true male killer, as Luna privately thought.
Sending such a young, bewitching girl to serve a spirited young man—could that possibly end well?
Luna herself had suffered her own close calls with predatory men.
Given that, how could someone like Lizbeth—whose beauty bordered on otherworldly—not be in danger?
She feared Lizbeth might suffer, be taken advantage of, or worse—be reduced to a pawn, a sacrifice in the royal family’s political games.
Because of this, her heart was filled with both resentment and protective devotion.
To her, no matter what happened outside, Lizbeth would forever remain her beloved princess.
However, Luna had misunderstood.
Lizbeth’s words had nothing to do with her status as Riezel’s attendant at all.
"I truly am not a princess anymore..." Lizbeth lowered her gaze, her voice soft and sorrowful. "I’m not Father’s... not His Majesty the King’s daughter."
As soon as these words fell, Luna froze.
"Your Highness... what did you just say?" Luna asked, staring at Lizbeth in disbelief.
"I said, I’m not His Majesty’s daughter. I’m not a princess of Jinas..." Lizbeth let out a faint sigh, recalling the events of the previous day.
When she had been summoned to the royal palace, Hendrick had said nothing and simply ordered her to cooperate with the court magician’s verification.
In the end, the magician had taken a drop of her blood and one from Hendrick’s, then placed them both into a magical device resembling an instrument, before the two drops of blood immediately repelled each other, flying apart from the device.
At that sight, the magician’s face paled, Rohm—hidden in the shadows—had audibly drawn a sharp breath, and Hendrick’s expression had turned dark.
Right after that, in an icy voice, Hendrick had told her something that shook her heart.
"You are not my daughter... Who are you?"
Leaving these words behind, Hendrick gave her no chance to explain as a squad of knights immediately escorted her—no, dragged her—back to this place.
Throughout the entire ordeal, she had been too stunned to even think of resisting, so she simply followed them, dazed, all the way here, and had been sitting in silence ever since.
Her heart was filled with disbelief, yet for some reason, deep inside, she instinctively felt that Hendrick’s words were right.
She was not his daughter.
She was never truly of royal blood.
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