Thessa startled awake, jolting upward. An ache in her face made the blurriness in her consciousness fade much faster than usual. In fact, rather than fading, it felt like a boulder had crashed into her as a wave of adrenaline poured into her veins like masses of green tendrils.
Wiggling vascularity pumped across her, her body tensing. But very quickly, it was clear that it wasn’t just the pain responsible for this.
Her head had already snapped in a certain direction, her body tightening further as she saw a familiar young man sitting by a windowsill.
The best way he could be described was… so handsome it almost hurt. His skin was almost sickly, but it worked so well with his sharp features and dark hair and eyes that it was easily overlooked.
He was the sort of young man in his early twenties that women and teenage girls would swoon over, but he was also the man that Thessa least wanted to be in a room alone with.
Crown Prince Aetherion Nightingale.
Confusion clouded her mind more than the pain ever could have. He wasn’t supposed to be here; he was supposed to be very, very far away—focused on something he would deem far more important than her in the capital somewhere.
There was so much turmoil, so many things to focus on with that land so, so far away. The last thing he should have had time to do was come to see her.
The worst part was that this was the nicest way she could have put it.
“You’re awake.”
He spoke in a calm, deep voice.
“I…”
Thessa didn’t know what to say, her voice losing itself in her throat as though falling into a maze of darkness.
“You did well killing those two. I’ll let their families go.”
Thessa’s breathing hitched. She wanted to feel some sort of relief, some sort of happiness that she had managed to do at least something for them before their lives were ruined for no other reason than association with her.
“However, your loss today was unacceptable. Losing is fine. Losing in such disgraceful fashion, though…”
And there it was. She couldn’t breathe again, her hitched breath rolling into a ball in her throat. The lump grew larger, and the cry of tears seemed on the verge of spilling forth.
Then he looked over.
Those eyes were like two swirling abysses, a depth of Dark Mana she couldn’t begin to fathom bearing down on her.
“But I will let it go. Today, you lost to a man. So long as you are the best woman in the world, it changes nothing to me. The situation has been handled for you.”
Then came the waves of confusion once again.
And up and down, a volatile storm of emotions. That was the only way to describe every interaction she had ever had with this man.
His words were sickening down to her very core. Who cared if Theron was a man? She wanted to win. She wanted to put him in his place… for what he had done, for what he was doing to Malaya, for what he was doing to little Sadie who had been a complete mess to console these last few days.
What were his words if not a reminder?
Even when it seemed he was being kind to her, he was doing nothing more than putting her in her place, reminding her that she was meant to be a wife to the Emperor in the future and nothing more. ȒàℕօΒЕs
Her skill now, the efforts she put into cultivation, all the blood and sweat she shed for what she thought was herself, would only go toward building up his image, his ego, his legacy.
There was nothing in this life built for her and her alone.
“For the next few days you will remain here and recover your face. Heal well. After this, we will make an appearance together.”
After saying these words, the prince turned and left, not even so much as saying goodbye.
Thessa sat in her bed listlessly, not knowing what to say or do.
In the end, she almost cried once more.
Almost.
With a slow push, she ebbed her way off the bed. Her legs wobbled, and she realized that she must have suffered more than just a broken face. Her brain was most definitely in a terrible state, and she had a severe concussion.
However, she still stood, her gown falling to her shins as she finally stood with the help of the bed and a side table.
Every step was another wobbling sort of torture, the ligaments and tendons of her legs bowing and crying as she tried to force herself to stabilize.
She didn’t know how many minutes it took, but she finally crossed the room, making it to the door.
Train.
She needed to train.
Her sword needed to be faster, her Spirit Mana control stronger, she needed to—.
She opened the door and a pair of backs stood in her way.
Both cloaked figures looked back at the same time, but only a single one of them spoke.
“Please return to your bed, princess consort. You must rest for these coming days. The prince has ordered that you must return to your best condition for the coming public appearance. You are his wife-to-be, after all.”
Thessa didn’t know what it was. They were kind words, all things considered. These men would probably never dare to harm her or say a harsh word to begin with.
But neither of the two were cloaked figures that she was used to. That man had certainly already died. And for what? Because she lost a battle? Because she didn’t listen to him when he said not to go? That Theron was too dangerous?
The tears she had held back returned in a flood.
She tried to fall to the ground, but even that wasn’t allowed. Her arms were caught, and she was slowly put back into bed.
The last thing she heard before her wails took over her soul once again was the clicking of yet another door closing.