The Most Satisfied Reincarnate

In the serene embrace of the night, a tranquil hush hung in the air, undisturbed by the veil of darkness that enveloped the surroundings. Amidst this ethereal stillness, a myriad of tiny orbs floated weightlessly, casting a radiant glow over the campsite, illuminating its contours with gentle luminosity.

As the young girl gracefully descended to the earth, her feet gracefully touching the ground, she greeted the people before her with a wave of her hand, her voice carrying a soft cadence that instilled a sense of peace within those who heard it.

Yet, her eyes widened ever so slightly upon beholding the boy and his retinue standing in her path. The young lad offered a modest bow, while his maids curtseyed, their heads respectfully inclined. However, their demeanor seemed to incense the soldiers, including Vesta, as it appeared to reflect a lack of reverence toward the royal family.

Only the mercenaries observed the scene with bemused smiles etched upon their faces.

"Miss Elizabeth, it has been a while," Desmond greeted, attempting to maintain a semblance of formality, his gaze fixed directly upon her piercing blue aqua eyes.

Desmond, whose height was not greatly disparate from Elizabeth's, found himself surprised by the slight difference, with her mouth positioned just below his nose. Upon glimpsing his countenance, Elizabeth's features softened, revealing a kind and warm smile. She paid no heed to the simmering anger within her subordinates, focusing solely on his dark magenta eyes.

"How fortuitous to encounter you here, Master Desmond," she replied, a musical chuckle escaping her lips as she delicately covered her mouth with her pristine white gloves.

Although the soldiers seethed with indignation at Desmond's impertinence, their hearts softened when they witnessed the princess's radiant smile.

"You must be weary. I suggest you rest, Miss Elizabeth. Therefore, I shall take my leave," Desmond spoke, his intent being solely to extend his greetings to the princess in a formal manner.

After all, his parents served in the army that was loyal to the royal family. It would be remiss of him not to offer his respects upon her arrival.

"D-Desmond... What are you doing?" Diana gasped, panting heavily as she rushed to the scene. Her breath came in ragged bursts, her body bent forward, oblivious to Elizabeth's presence.

When she received no response from Desmond, she lifted her head and was dumbfounded to witness the princess's beaming countenance directed toward her, accompanied by a friendly wave.

"Hello, Miss Diana. It seems you've had quite the eventful day," Elizabeth spoke, her smile unwavering. However, Diana detected a trace of subtle jealousy in her tone, subtly tinged beneath the pleasant facade.

"Greetings, Your Highness," Diana promptly bowed, her head lowered, one arm crossing her chest.

"In that case, I shall take my leave," Desmond interjected abruptly, turning on his heel along with his maids. It was evident that prolonging his stay would only complicate matters further.

Tonight, his objective had been simply to partake in some amusement and extend his formalities to the princess.

Upon hearing his words, a sense of disappointment flickered across Elizabeth's visage. The smile that adorned her face now appeared somewhat forced, a mere facade. She watched Desmond's receding figure for a moment before a voice called out to her from behind.

"Eliz, are you ready? Let's head back; the chill in the wind is quite biting," a teenage boy approached, his arm enveloping her shoulders in a protective embrace. Disheveled hair crowned his head, and his snug attire hinted at a well-toned physique.

Diana, taken aback by his presence, voiced her astonishment, "Are you perhaps Clark? The young lad who lost to Matson, one of the princess's childhood friends. A member of the losing family."

All these titles, bestowed upon them by the people, were not lost on Diana. While she didn't have much interaction with Clark personally, she couldn't help but worry about her friend Elizabeth. Clark caught a glimpse of Diana's mocking expression, his teeth gritting with inner frustration.

He met her gaze with a resentful glare before abruptly turning away, leading Elizabeth toward the waiting carriage.

"I'll return the insults you all have hurled at me," Clark swore inwardly, his resentment brewing beneath the surface. His family had endured years of bullying from their neighbors, while he was deemed nothing more than a fortunate bastard, allegedly scheming to ascend the throne through marriage and seduction of the princess.

But the truth was far simpler—he merely sought to prove himself and protect his cherished friend from the clutches of Matson and their malevolent adversaries.

With a swift motion, a wooden structure emerged from the ground, rising up to form a half-shield structure. The shield enveloped him and Elizabeth, momentarily shielding them from the biting cold wind, akin to a protective cloak in motion. However, not a single soul among them seemed impressed by his action.

Meanwhile, Vesta's subordinates were bewildered by the sudden appearance of this audacious lad. How dare he lay a hand on their princess's shoulder, exerting his influence over her decisions? The soldiers exchanged puzzled glances, unsure of how to react, their eyes darting to the royal soldiers for guidance. Yet, the royal soldiers merely snorted dismissively, their expressions unyielding.

"A commoner dares to touch our princess!"

"Humph! If it weren't for his highness's friendship, I'd teach him a lesson he'd never forget!"

One by one, the royal soldiers grumbled and whispered among themselves. Desmond's rudeness might be tolerated, but Clark's insolence, which seemed like a death wish, was not something they could overlook.

Observing their retreat toward the carriage, Vesta stepped forward, halting their progress. "Your Highness, forgive my impertinence. I have an important matter to discuss," he addressed Elizabeth, glancing at the royal soldiers before nodding discreetly and opening the carriage door.

Not far away, Diana stood with her arms folded, silently observing her father escorting the princess. Even the rebellious Diana dared not cause a scene in front of Elizabeth. Once her father entered the carriage, she turned on her heel and followed Desmond.

Meanwhile, after Clark, Vesta, and Elizabeth settled into the royal carriage, they took their seats. Vesta found himself casting a peculiar gaze at the pair seated side by side, almost resembling a couple. Shaking his head slightly, he refocused his attention.

Having heard Vesta's earlier words, Elizabeth responded politely, "Please, Uncle," before nodding in agreement. Yet, discomfort marred her face as Clark's grip on her shoulder tightened. She whispered softly to him, "Clark, it hurts."

"Oh, my apologies," Clark quickly released his grip, offering an apology. Observing her flushed cheeks, he couldn't help but smile inwardly, playfully touching her nose, prompting an adorable shriek from her.

Only in the presence of Clark could Elizabeth freely embrace her childlike nature. Whereas Desmond elicited a different reaction from her—a mix of nervousness and bashfulness, evoking sensations entirely distinct from her bond with Clark.

However, Vesta's frown deepened as he observed their continued interaction. This audacious young man had the audacity to disregard his earlier request and persist in accompanying the princess, despite being aware of the importance of their impending discussion. In Vesta's eyes, Clark appeared even more troublesome than the previous brat he had encountered.

The commander couldn't shake off the notion that Clark possessed the demeanor of a womanizer, further solidifying his belief that this commoner had no right to offer advice or guidance to the royal family. The thought of reprimanding Clark for his insolence even stirred a twinge of guilt within Vesta.

Clearing his throat, Vesta staged a fake cough, deliberately drawing their attention towards him.