Princess’s Struggle for Survival

"Oh, Miss Iris..."

Peering through the transparent wine glass, Lyra gazed at the foreign princess before her, dressed in an elegant long gown exuding noble grace, her tone sincere.

"At that time, I never got the chance to properly thank you."

"You are a true knight."

When she held an overwhelming advantage and her opponent was trapped in a breakthrough state, unable to continue fighting, Iris didn't choose to end the match immediately. Instead, she gave Lyra a fair chance to defeat her honorably.

This wasn't some inconsequential group stage match, it was the final deciding who would claim the championship, watched by tens of thousands.

Compared to her outstanding magical prowess that clearly set her apart from her peers, Iris's extraordinary demeanor was even more precious.

Hearing Lyra's heartfelt praise, Iris slightly pursed her lips.

"I believe under those circumstances, Miss Lyra would have made the same decision I did."

"Though the championship is valuable, some things are far more important."

Rather than easily claiming the crown while Lyra remained in semi-meditation, Iris genuinely wanted to face her in an all-out clash after Lyra's breakthrough.

This was a duel between knights. And a true knight is admired not just for strength, but also for noble virtues shining as brilliantly as the sun.

"There's also something I've wanted to tell you, Miss Lyra."

Iris took a gentle sip of red wine, her voice calm.

"Miss Lyra, you're the most resilient opponent I've ever encountered."

"Countless times, I thought you should have fallen, but you raised your sword once more and stood back up."

It wasn't just during their match. In many previous battles, Lyra had repeatedly demonstrated unyielding perseverance and an iron will to fight until the very end.

Lyra blinked softly at the words, replying gently.

"Miss Iris flatters me too much."

"I've often just been forcing myself to keep going. That breath could have given out at any moment."

In Lyra's eyes, she was like a bowstring stretched to its limit, any additional pressure might cause it to snap completely.

"It's no flattery. It's precisely under such circumstances that perseverance becomes truly admirable."

With that, Iris raised her glass and clinked it against Lyra's. The latter, seeing this, extended her own glass politely and tapped it lightly.

"By the way, how is your recovery coming along, Miss Lyra?"

"I'm truly sorry for the injuries I caused you during the match, swords and blades don't discriminate."

Lyra quickly shook her head, her pink lips parting.

"It's nothing serious now. How about you, Miss Iris?"

"Is your hand... alright?"

It should be fine, the hand Iris had just used to clink glasses was the very one whose fingers had been shattered by sword qi. Yet her movements now were completely fluid, showing no hesitation.

"It's long healed," Iris replied.

For someone with a Master Knight level, a fracture of that degree was nothing significant. Not to mention Iris's noble status, her personal healing potions were of the highest quality available in the Kingdom of Velys.

Two people who had fought just days prior now meeting at the banquet naturally led to magical discussions. After a brief exchange of pleasantries, Lyra and Iris began reminiscing about that match, a confrontation that, even now, made Lyra's palms sweat when recalled.

Meanwhile, with Astrid and Monica having gone to the bedroom to change, Amalia stood alone, holding a glass of juice at the bustling venue.

"Miss Isabella, your outfit tonight is truly enchanting..."

"This pure green chalcedony, I recall, was auctioned recently at Rulo Port. Never imagined it would eventually become Mr. Coate's prized possession..."

"My glass is empty. May I humbly invite Miss Liss for a dance?"

"Mr. Sentos, are you saying that due to merfolk's unique physiology, your grandmother still retains the appearance of someone around twenty?"

"How astonishing. I never thought such things existed in this world..."

Amidst the noisy chatter, blended with the orchestra's elegant melodies, occasional crisp sounds of glass clinking echoed like pebbles dropped into a lake.

Amalia lowered her head, sipping the juice slowly. The cool liquid had a refreshing sweetness, yet upon closer taste, carried a subtle bitterness, just like the grape juice her sister once brought into the ancient castle in a crystal bottle.

Though the same drink, its taste when consumed amidst the noisy crowd felt entirely different from those times she sat with her sister atop the old castle, drinking while the wind blew and the moon shone.

It wasn't the quality of the grapes that had changed, but her own, her state of mind, that was no longer the same as before.

As she drank, Amalia kept her ears tuned, listening to the distinct sounds of high heels and leather shoes on the floor, the flowery compliments exchanged among imperial nobles, and the subtle undercurrents of rivalry hidden within their words.

The son of Duke Cassian Ashwick, long at odds with Alistair, expressed his dissatisfaction over the latter's interference in the Mineral Bill, even snorting disdainfully while the other was speaking.

A few reformist nobles Astrid had mentioned earlier gathered together, exchanging polite formalities.

In the spacious reception hall, people in splendid attire mingled, glasses clinking. Light-elemental crystals hung from the ceiling continuously emitted warmth and illumination, refracting colorful beams through various crystal prisms.

Her gaze swept over a noblewoman who'd been struck at a sore point, forcing a smile while her fingers tightly gripped the stem of her glass. Amalia continued past her, her eyes settling on the valuable oil paintings displayed along the walls.

Hibbort himself wasn't skilled in painting, but he loved collecting artworks. Whether in reception halls or his private chambers, nearly every room was adorned with paintings he favored.

Framed and illuminated by warm light, these oil paintings sat silently amid the noise, pristine and untouched by dust.

As Amalia's eyes paused briefly on one particular painting, an ill-timed male voice sounded beside the black-haired little girl's ear.

"Good evening, Miss Livia Calliste..."

Lucas looked at the cold, aloof little girl before him, dressed in a pale pink dress with white tights covering her legs. A flash of light flickered in his pupils.

Sensing Lucas's gaze, Amalia's inner disgust instantly surged to its peak. But before lifting her head, she managed to suppress her emotions, continuing to maintain her harmless, innocent facade.

"Good Evening…Prince Lucas..."

Their last private meeting dated back several years. At the time, Amalia had just been imprisoned by Hibbort in the castle. This brother of hers, related by blood, merely glanced down at her haughtily, his look filled with disdain and revulsion, as if regarding a rat from a sewer.

Despite sharing the same bloodline of Valeria, the illegitimate daughter born to a courtesan and the child born to the Empress, blessed by thousands, still stood worlds apart.

To Lucas, Amalia was his father's stain, a lowly creature who tainted the royal bloodline. Merely looking at her dirtied his eyes; physical contact was unthinkable.

But now, he clearly didn't realize the girl before him shared his bloodline. Maintaining the decorum of the eldest prince, he spoke gently.

"If Miss Livia needs anything, please don't hesitate to tell me."

"As someone brought to reside in the palace by my younger sister, I'll treat you just like a real younger sister."

Treating her like a real younger sister?

Did that mean he wished she'd die sooner, or had never existed at all?

Amalia inwardly sneered, yet on the surface remained the picture of an innocent, naive girl, timidly replying.

"R-replying to Prince Lucas..."

"...I currently need nothing."

Lucas nodded, his blue eyes revealing a hint of brotherly kindness.

"How are you enjoying tonight's banquet, Miss Livia?"

"The juice... is delicious..."

"Good. I was a little worried it might be too noisy for you."

After speaking, Lucas continued.

"Since Miss Livia enjoys this juice so much, I'll have the servants deliver some more in a few days."

"Made from premium grapes from the western estate, excellent in both taste and texture, perfect for someone your age."

According to the forged documents, Livia Calliste was one year younger than the illegitimate Amalia Valeria. That meant, in Lucas's eyes, Livia was just over fifteen, conveniently matching Amalia's actual petite build. Even if Astrid's forger had shaved off an extra year, it wouldn't matter; her appearance gave no hint of deception.

"Thank you, Prince Lucas..."

Amalia spoke softly, her crimson pupils clear as water.

Looking into those eyes so similar to Astrid's, Lucas felt a heat in his heart. With a gentle expression, he extended his hand toward Amalia.

"If Livia finds it too noisy here, come with me. The balcony is relatively quiet."

Her eyes fell upon Lucas's hand stretched toward her, memories of his past treatment and those lustful, unnatural gazes flashing in her mind. Amalia's disgust soared to its peak. She did not take his hand, instead replying quietly.

"Thank you for your kind offer, Prince Lucas... But I'd like to wait here for my sister to return..."

An impeccable excuse, making Lucas's outstretched hand seem rather forced.

Slightly embarrassed by the rejection, Lucas was about to say something else when a black-haired woman in a maid uniform approached Amalia, staring at the crown prince with a blank expression.

"Prince Lucas, Miss Livia is quite shy. Aside from Princess Astrid, she's not accustomed to getting close to anyone else."

As the words ended, Elise stepped to a slightly offset position between Amalia and Lucas, her slender waist and long legs effectively shielding most of the little girl's body.

"Apologies, Prince Lucas."

The excuse was flawless.

Lucas awkwardly withdrew his hand, cleared his throat, and spoke.

"No wonder."

"Then please, Elise, take good care of Miss Livia while the princess is away."

Elise replied calmly.

"I will, Prince Lucas."

Watching the golden-haired, blue-eyed man walk away, Amalia finished the grape juice in her glass and gently placed the stemware onto the tray held by the head maid.

The empire's first prince, her blood-related elder brother, Lucas Valeria, perfectly matched her impressions and prejudices toward this surname.

Ever since staying with Astrid, Amalia had keenly sensed that this seemingly gentlemanly heir to the throne was, in truth, more filthy and corrupt than anyone else.

At first, Amalia thought she might be overly sensitive. But when it came to matters concerning her sister, her instincts were always accurate. Now, at last, she could confirm just how despicable Lucas truly was.

He actually dared harbor such thoughts toward her sister.

Her hatred toward the Valeria name caused her inner rage to surge to its peak. Amalia pressed her hand against her skirt, the ruffled puff sleeves concealing the tiny fingers clenched tightly beneath.

How disgusting.

Anger quietly brewed within her. Amalia picked up another glass of grape juice and sipped it gently. The cold liquid slid down her esophagus, barely quenching a fraction of her fury.

Elise closely observed Amalia's expression. Seeing that the black-haired girl's demeanor remained unchanged, still perfectly maintaining her timid maiden act, Elise inwardly breathed a sigh of relief.

The Fourth Princess was more patient than she had imagined, or perhaps, more calculating.

After a brief moment of displeasure, Amalia once again calmed her emotions, lowering her head to sip the juice quietly.

She didn't know how much time had passed when the familiar sound of high heels echoed nearby. Amalia turned, and sure enough, saw Astrid returning to the hall.

"Sister."

Like a fledgling returning to its nest, Amalia quickly walked back to Astrid's side, willingly taking her hand.

Astrid gently returned the grip, her movements tender. The black-stockinged girl's hand was soft and tender, so delicate it felt almost boneless.

The next moment, Amalia noticed Monica standing beside Astrid. The woman wore a mature white evening gown, a slender white scarf tucked between her ample curves, tightly confined within the cleavage. Her snow-white shoulders, which should have been exposed to the air, were instead covered by a thin layer of black gauze, half-hidden and half-revealed, making them even more alluring.

Amalia didn't recognize the evening gown, but she knew the origin of that black gauze.

It belonged to Astrid.

"I'm back, Livia."

In front of everyone, Astrid bent her knees and hugged Amalia without hesitation. Observing this, the nobles began murmuring among themselves, marveling at how deeply the Third Princess doted on this adopted younger sister.

The more intimate they appeared, the less anyone would suspect that this cold, aloof little girl, her eye and hair color altered, was actually Astrid's once most despised illegitimate daughter.

And precisely this illusion gave Amalia the perfect excuse to openly express her affection toward Astrid in front of the nobles.

After comforting Amalia for a while, Astrid exchanged a few words with Monica, then turned around to search the crowd for Lyra.

Coincidentally, at that very moment, Iris had just finished her previous conversation and softly asked the person before her:

"Miss Lyra, would you like to dance together?"