Rise of the Unfavored Princess

178 Ch. 177: A Rose By Any Other Name

Identity. An eternal question compressed into a single word.

What makes you… you? Nothing is constant about a person. Our appearance grows and changes over time. And so does our personality or persona. In the span of 10 years, a person could be completely unrecognizable from their past selves both in the way they look and the way they act.

It looks like Julia. It sounds like Julia. But if it weren’t for her familiar, albeit slightly more mature appearance, I would not recognize this girl to be my dreadful half-sister. Yet I know it is still her in there.

But then again, did I ever really know Julia? Did I mistakenly dismiss her as a low-level goon of the final boss, Empress Katya?

Although tittering can still be heard in the sequestered garden we are all seated within, only if you were to look upon us would you see the truth. The brittle smile Elsbeth sports is on the verge of cracking. Antonia’s eyes, keen as ever, flash as she looks between myself and Julia. I’m giving the performance of a lifetime, as every nerve in my body is forcing me to remain calm and unperturbed to any onlookers.

Yes, I want my appearance to say, I love dining with my psychotic, murderous half-sister!

Instead, I raise a pretty champagne flute of freshly pressed juice and actually say, “Cheers to friends, both new and old.”

I want to vomit right after I say that, even as the noble girls I invited gratefully bow out of their tepid conversation with Julia and quench their thirst. Next, I’m going to be going around saying ‘live, laugh, love’ or something corny like that.

Who am I? A young girl, only in appearance. A liar, more often than not. Cinderella, except the shoe does not fit. And there doesn’t seem to be a happily ever after waiting on my horizon.

.....

I do know what I am not: the sort of princess who got pretty fairytales written about her. No, no, no. I’m the sort that gets written about in the fables used to scare children into being good little boys and girls.

“Are you alright?” someone asks. I look up to find 3 pairs of eyes blinking curiously at me and belatedly realize that I am still holding onto my drink without having taken a sip.

That’s an identity crisis for you; you won’t see it coming until it’s tucked in bed right next to you, snug as a bug.

“Yes, of course!” I giggle.

The glasses are lightweight, by my special request so that my weakened right hand may be able to hold them for brief amounts of time. But the clock strikes 12 and my luck runs out. Trembling like a twig, the flute of juice slips from my fingers, dramatically knocking onto the table before spilling its contents onto the grass below.

“Oops,” I chide myself playfully. “I’ll take that as a sign that our time in the garden has come to a close. Shall I show you both the grand prize that Antonia will be taking home today?”

Antonia lights up right away, the allure of a prize held at a distant location tugging her out of her nosey temperament. Eslbeth, in the same breath, sulks, setting down the jam bun she had been about to start eating.

“That’s what I get for my Mama always telling me not to eat sweets. Now I don’t know any of the popular ones,” she pouts as she slides off her seat. Of the four of us present, she is the tallest and her feet easily reach the ground.

“Nina?” I beckon my beloved traitor. “Please escort them in advance.”

Meanwhile, Julia is in no hurry as her gaze follows the slow-spilling liquid. She carefully watches the last of the orange-yellow brew drip away before she looks up to meet my own inquisitive stare. The girls are gone, there is no need for her theatrics any longer.

“So…,” I lean back in my chair and flash Julia an indifferent smirk. “You’ve decided to come out and play.”

I almost miss the days when she used to simultaneously ignore my existence yet get enraged over it.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Julia shrugs in a cavalier way. I look in her eyes for the familiar rage and standoffishness, but it’s gone missing. “Shall we go join them?”

I don’t press the issue, her nonresponse told me all I need to know. “After you,” I urge, dropping the subject altogether. Julia leaves without another word, disappearing in the direction of my other young friends without another word.

She’s changed. Or perhaps, she has become someone she was always meant to be? After all, with a mother like hers, she was bound to smarten up sooner or later. However, in the webnovel, the nearly adult Julia was still dazzlingly maniacal and stupid. So this must be yet another change from the unpleasant butterfly effect that my transmigration into this world triggered.

I rub my chin, slowly ambling after Antonia, Elsbeth, and Julia.

“So many people to consider. So many hidden pieces to the puzzle,” I muse aloud as Marie walks by my side and my attendants trail at a distance behind me. Cold sweat dots my back, but it’s not from the comfortable heat of the winding path through the gardens near the central palace.

I’m overwhelmed, you see. I feel like I’m trying to conduct ten different conversations at the same time.

Jack, my sleeper agent of sorts, whispers in one ear the poems of this world’s esteemed equivalents of Shakespeare and Oscar Wilde to Emma’s great irritation. He prepares diligently to serve as my eyes, ears, and mouth in the male-dominated political arena of the Erudian government, but until then I must ensure that his identity is never discovered.

In the other ear, I hear Emma’s deadpan tone, reciting to me the secrets and desires of not only the current noble class, but their progeny as well – the deviant desires of a Southen noble’s heirs, the gambling addiction secretly crushing a famed merchant family, a duchess who has dalliances with a young commoner man she has trapped in a slave contract.

But I can still hear the other voices. Some of them I recognize, some of them I don’t. One or two may even be my own, urging me to do awful, terrible things.

Our brief journey takes us not to the small treasury room of the exquisite goods I’ve acquired but to the stables. There are two stables on the palace grounds, the ones where the general horses used to commandeer imperial carriages reside and the one where the horses personally owned by the imperial family reside. Within here are the two fine horses that Julian had given me for my 12th birthday. Turns out they are Ferghana horses, the very breed emblazoned on the logo of the Duchy of Mulworth who hate me to death after the incident in my youth with Sir Gregory Taylor.

I hadn’t realized this when I had accepted the gift and I was less amused when I did eventually learn. But my real mother had always said, “waste not, want not”. So I am regifting one of these beasts to an owner who will appreciate them far more than I ever will. If I recall correctly, these girls are still within that precious “horse girl” age demographic.

“No,” Antonia gasps out with a hand on her heart. “Tell me it isn’t so.” Her eyes sparkle brighter than a cartoon character as my horse girl hypothesis is proven correct. Elsbeth bites her fist, envy dusting her cheeks in a blush red.

“Oh Antonia, how I envy you so! A pure white Ferghana! More precious than gold!” the young Laroche girl cries. Julia stands at the back, hopefully done with today’s antics as she watches the scene quite calmly. Although Ferghana horses are rare, she is also of the imperial family and no doubt has one such beast saddled somewhere in this stable.

“Your highness, I cannot accept,” Antonia regains control of her manners and gratefully curtseys in my direction.

“Please, I insist. Fear not, I have another I can still ride.” I wave away her curtsey. The horse huffs and I swear it gives me an unfriendly look. I shrug back. Who told it to be the gift and symbol of not one, but two of my enemies?

“She has two Ferghanas...” Elsbeth shakes her head in shock after muttering that under her breath.

The stablehand standing to the side steps forward at this time, eager to please.

“Your highness,” he calls out in an ingratiating tone, “Would you like to take a ride upon your steed?”

I shake my head. “No, let Antonia have a go at it. It belongs to her now.”

“It has no name?” Julia speaks up for the first time from the back. Both Antonia and Elsbeth turn to face me in surprise. I suppose I was too optimistic to hope Julia would just shut up and tag along.

“No,” I respond curtly, before realizing it could come off as rude. I begin to pat its soft mane to fully paint the picture of a mindful animal lover.

“I have too much respect for this horse to so rudely impose a name upon it. Besides, a name is not what defines a person, let alone a horse. My name is Winter, but by any other name, would I not be the same person?”

When I look up from my little speech, it appears to be a little too effective, with twin looks of awe between Antonia and Elsbeth. Julia innocently looks on from the back, like a snake retreating back to its hole.

“When you speak words of poetry whilst your white locks matches the horse’s coat, I find that my heart begins to flutter, your highness!” Elsbeth coos with her hands clutched together.

“Take care not to let it escape the confines of your chest, for you’ll find that amongst the many staff of the palace, none are more adept at catching a runaway heart than me,” I chide while playfully scratching Elsbeth like a rakish playboy intent on seducing a young maiden.

“Oh!” she gasps. Even the hue of the ripest tomato could not mimic the color of Elsbeth’s face. I must admit, she is quite fun to tease. And our interaction has successfully defused the miniature bomb that Julia introduced.

A stool is produced, upon which the heir of the Bourdain and Grace families hoists herself onto the freshly prepared saddle on the white horse’s back. She is not surpassed by the majesty of the rare horse, with herself hailing from a background that few in the empire can compare to.

“How do I look?” Antonia’s youthful glee is palpable as she poses on the back of the snow-white steed, valiantly waving an invisible sword into the air.

“Gallant,” I respond. She gives me a cunning look from where she is perched, with the reins still in the grasp of the stablehand.

“Why were your words sweeter with Elsbeth than they were with me, your highness? i won, didn’t I?” Lighthearted jealously coats her tone.

“I’m afraid you have already eaten all the sweetness I have to offer,” I laugh, referencing the desserts we all just binged on.

“Touché!” she chuckles. Her poufy skirts make riding more difficult than usual and she shifts forward on the saddle. However, that little movement suddenly sets off the horse. It bucks violently, its reins nearly slipping from the stablehand’s grasp as Antonia lets out a shocked gasp that sounds more like a wheeze.

The mood evaporates like morning dew on a summer’s day. Marie grabs me, suddenly pulling me back from the horse, while Elsbeth stumbles back and falls on her bum in a buffet of lacy petticoats.

“Stop! Stop!” The stablehand sharply commands, straining to hold the leather reins while patting soothing patterns on the horse’s neck and side.

Antonia’s brown face slowly leeches of color as she grits her teeth and clings on for dear life. In spite of the pandemonium that has suddenly ensued, I must give her her flowers for displaying the sort of composure that surpasses her tender age.

“Let go of me, Marie,” I say softly as the stablehand’s usual coping mechanisms prove to be useless. He shouts for a companion to bring a rope and a crop to forcefully subdue the horse before Antonia is bucked off.

“But, your highness-!” she hisses, her arms still wrapped protectively around me.

“It’s ok.” After a faint tremble, the arms fall away and I’m free to walk toward the bucking beast.

“Shhhhhh,” I croon as I reach out and place a hand on its side. While I do know my healing ability works on animals, I rarely use it on them. As I let out a sigh and do something that is easy as breathing for me, I can instantly feel why the horse acted up. The saddle has been tampered with and a nail was planted under its thick layers. It’s a short one, hence why it only pierced the horse once Antonia shifted on its back. But the crux of it is that the nail was planted near the front of the saddle, where Antonia is clutching its neck for dear life. Her salvation is its agony.

“Antonia,” I call out. “Be a dear and lean back for a moment.”

The horse bucks again at that moment, causing me to stumble before I catch myself. I can hear Marie and my attendants gasp behind me.

“But I’ll fall!” she cries, her nerves unwinding as the horse fails to cease its erratic movements.

I look up at her from the ground with what I hope is a trustworthy smile. “I won’t let you.”

Underneath it, I hope she can hear what I’m truly saying as the sharper one between herself and Elsbeth. Trust me. Follow me. And I’ll never let you down.

Her fingers are entangled in the silvery white mane of the Ferghana horse, her jaw clenched so tight I can see the muscle through the layer of baby fat that still covers her delicate features.

But then like taking a breath, she just lets go. Her chestnut eyes still locked on mine, I see her straighten out her back without fear, finally allowing the short nail to burst free from the horse’s back. In a heartbeat, the wound is healed as if it were never there.

And the horse quiets down to the docile thing it had been minutes before.

The stablehand holding the reins marvels at me and when I look over my shoulder everyone else does too. Except for one: Julia. Something dark slithers in her gaze. Envy, perhaps?

I have no doubt that whoever trained these horses before Julian acquired them did their due diligence as it is still a gentle beast despite the sudden scare. But the fun is over and Antonia is eager to disembark.

“Take care when getting off,” I instruct Antonia as one of my attendants helps her shimmy off the horse that stands so still it’s like a statue save for the arrogant whip of its tail. “For even the most docile of creatures becomes deadly if you rile it up enough.”

But as I speak to Antonia, I look not at my shell-shocked companion, but to the new person that my dear sister has become.