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Chapter 80
“You…”
I should have spoken in sign language, but the words slipped out of my mouth instead.
In an instant, it felt as though someone had dumped a bucket of cold water over me, my heart shriveling. A chill ran down my throat, and I could feel the blood draining from my face.
I knew this child.
…You.
You were alive.
But your cabin had been reduced to nothing but a pile of ashes.
Five years ago, when the war ended and I returned to that forest, all I found was a faint trace of the ruins. Where your home had once stood, I sat down in shock before clawing at the earth with my bare hands.
Maybe I would find your bones. Maybe something you used to own.
Even as night fell, I found nothing. My fingertips split and bled as I dug, and at last, I returned to Blansk, empty-handed.
But the child who saved me had survived.
And more than that—she was Davit Mikhailo’s hidden younger sister.
How could that be? Who would dare smuggle a princess of the realm into the deep, northern forests of the capital?
The fragments of the Grand Duke’s words returned to me, stabbing into my chest one by one.
[That child was never acknowledged as family.]
[His Majesty denied her existence.]
[The queen died giving birth to her. Unable to find anyone else to blame, he blamed the child.]
The things I’d heard came together, forming the outline of a hazy picture.
This child was a princess of Dvorka, abandoned by her own father.
With trembling fingers, I reached out to touch her face.
The princess immediately furrowed her brow and pushed my hand away. Her eyes—so uncannily like the Grand Duke’s—glared at me with contempt.
Of course she would. To her, I was nothing but the villain who had orchestrated her kidnapping, while Vera stood loyally at my side.
I withdrew my hand and stepped back.
My mind whirled with thoughts.
Would she remember me? If she looked at my face, would she recall the woman who once saved her? And if she discovered that I was Alisa Lasantia… how would she treat me then?
“Why are you looking like that? As if you’ve seen a ghost.”
Vera asked, irritated. I didn’t reply.
“Ah… do you know her?”
Vera grinned slyly as she asked again.
Yes, I did.
A face I could never forget… a face I must never forget.
The one time in my life when I nearly died—and the child who saved me.
[Untie her. She’s not someone who should be bound.]
I gestured firmly to Vera.
I had been a fiery eighteen-year-old then. Newly come of age, full of confidence, and proud of being the sole heir of House Lasantia, I carried myself as though my shoulders touched the sky.
No matter where I went, the spotlight belonged to me alone. Anything I wore sold out instantly among noble ladies. Even my own royal cousins—the princes and princesses—were jealous of me.
At that time, I feared nothing in the world. Looking back now, I wish I could cut that arrogant phase clean out of my life.
It was during those days that my father, Duke Paolo Lasantia, was dispatched to Dvorka’s royal palace as the king’s special envoy. He was sent to renew a trade treaty concerning exports of iron ore, coal, and gems.
And he took me, his only daughter, along. I strutted into the magnificent Yorca Palace as if I myself were the envoy.
King Madilov hosted a week-long banquet in the Barbika Hall in our honor, eager to secure favorable terms for the treaty.
That was when I first met the five princes of Dvorka.
The crown prince, Georgi, was already married. The second prince, Vitali, and the third prince, Miroslav—both unmarried—pestered me incessantly at every ball, despite knowing I was already engaged. The fourth prince, Pyotr, and the fifth, Bruno, were so obviously childish I had no desire to bother with them.
The balls at Barbika Hall consisted of nothing more than whirling around in wide skirts, dancing with each prince in turn.
When the endless dancing became tiresome, King Madilov made a suggestion to my father.
“Perhaps we should hold a hunting tournament for you. I cannot participate myself, but my sons are not without skill—even if not at the duke’s level.”
Excited, I raised my hand before my father could answer. Hunting had always been both hobby and talent of mine.
“I’d like to join! I even brought my hunting rifle from home.”
“That will not do, Lady Alisa.”
It was the third prince, Miroslav, who cut in, rejecting me outright. I was stunned. Who was he to forbid me?
“Why not? Because I’m a woman?”
“The Yorca hunting grounds are rather rough. Hardly suitable for a lady.”
“I’ve hunted and ridden since I was a child. No matter how rough, I can manage perfectly well.”
At this, the king and all five princes burst into laughter.
“Hahaha! In the north of Yorca lies the Brim Forest. Hills and dense woods aplenty. If you can bring back even a rabbit from there, then we may reconsider.”
Prince Vitali added smugly, provoking me.
A rabbit, not even a deer? I knew it was a jest, but my young pride flared up.
“Come now, the lady seems upset. Pay Vitali no mind—he is fond of foolish jokes. Go and rest, child.”
The king treated me like a sulky child, which only stoked my fury further.
I stormed back to the guest quarters, polishing my rifle with clenched teeth. Brim Forest, Brum Forest, whatever it was—if I went there, I’d bring back a deer or a boar. Perhaps even a bear.
My father, knowing my temper, came to my room to dissuade me.
“Alisa, don’t let their teasing goad you. In Dvorka, it’s uncommon for women to bear arms. They find your hobby strange, that is all.”
Unlike Levanteia, Dvorka did not have a strong hunting culture among women. Their weapons industry lagged, so firearms were scarce.
The princes simply assumed no young woman would seriously take up a gun.
I was determined to prove them wrong.
I pretended to listen to my father but ignored his warnings.
At dawn the next day, I donned hunting attire, slung my rifle across my back, mounted my horse, and rode out of the palace.
Reckless, yes—but at eighteen, recklessness was second nature. I went alone without guards, unwilling to face suspicion of using others to hunt in my stead.
I wandered deep into the forest all day, only to realize too late what a mistake it was. The woods were impossibly dense, the trails like tangled thread, the hills steep and endless.
By sunset, the western sky burning red, I hadn’t caught so much as a sparrow—let alone a rabbit.
The underbrush grew waist-high, obscuring any targets even when I heard animal sounds nearby. I wasted dozens of bullets for nothing.
Perhaps the forest simply had few animals. Perhaps they didn’t move during the day. Perhaps someone had already hunted them all. Over-hunting? My thoughts spiraled.
“Hiiiiiiieeigh!”
Lost in thought, I was jolted back when my horse suddenly panicked.
In a flash, I realized it had stepped into a boar trap.
The horse reared, thrashing violently, trying to throw me off. Against such explosive power, I couldn’t hold on. The reins slipped from my hands, and I slid from the saddle.
My body slammed to the ground.
Thud!
By misfortune—or fortune—it was my leg, not my head, that struck first.
“Ahhh—!”
Groaning in pain, I clutched my leg and rolled across the earth.
Meanwhile, my horse bolted, the trap still clamped to its leg, galloping away so fast it vanished from sight in moments.
“Lila! Don’t go!”
I screamed in despair.
