Whispers echoed through the grand corridors of the castle, their soft voices filled with awe and disbelief. The maids, dressed in their neat uniforms, gathered near the windows of my room, cleaning with focused precision as their words danced through the air. From the crib where I lay, unable to fully understand the world around me, I could hear every word.
"Oh, my, really? His Majesty named her Highness?" one of them murmured, her voice a mix of wonder and curiosity. "His Majesty himself went to visit her? He never does that. He always leaves her be, as if she were nothing more than a responsibility." Her tone held a quiet surprise, as though she couldn't quite fathom the idea.
"Yes, Her Highness is so beautiful," another maid chimed in, her voice light and melodic, as if trying to convince herself of something she wasn't quite sure about. I could hear the sincerity in her voice, but it did little to ease the emptiness I felt. The castle seemed to stretch endlessly, its vastness a reminder of how isolated I was in this world.
"I'm glad our princess has not been ignored by His Majesty, her father," a third maid added, her tone full of pride and relief, as though the mere act of a name being given to me somehow validated my existence.
Everyone seemed overjoyed by such a simple gesture—His Majesty's decision to name me, Lyunette Del Castillo. They marveled at his authority, the honor bestowed upon me by such a trivial gesture. But what was there to be happy about? What did it change? What did it mean? I had no connection to this man, no ties that could make me feel anything but contempt. I was nothing more than an unwanted child, a byproduct of a responsibility he couldn't escape.
Lyunette Del Castillo—the name meant nothing to me, a hollow title in a world where I was merely an afterthought. The emperor, my so-called father, might have cared for a moment, but I knew it would be short-lived. His attention would drift, just as it always had. After all, I wasn't supposed to exist. I wasn't meant to be his daughter.
"Your Highness, are you hungry?" A voice broke through my thoughts, warm and gentle. I looked up to see one of the maids standing over my crib, her brown hair tied neatly into a bun. She smiled down at me, her eyes filled with care. "I'll get you your milk," she said, but I couldn't understand why she thought I could respond to her question. I was just a baby, barely old enough to comprehend her words. How ridiculous.
Before I could dwell on it any longer, another maid spoke up. "Stop disturbing Her Highness. It's time for her nap. I just fed her earlier," she said, her voice sharp and firm. I could sense the authority in her tone, her dedication to her duties.
The surrounding noises began to blur, my vision fading in and out as a wave of dizziness overtook me. My body felt heavy, and I could barely keep my eyes open. Wait, I suddenly feel dizzy, I thought, my surroundings spun, and darkness consumed me.
The feeling wasn't foreign. It had happened before, in my previous life. I had endured moments of dizziness and weakness, the familiar sensation of something slipping away. My vision faded as the sounds of the castle faded into a distant hum. I had no control over it. I just succumbed to it.
I closed my eyes, the dizziness settling in as I tried to block out the noise of the maids' voices. My thoughts were a whirlwind of bitterness, regret, and resentment. Perhaps I had been foolish to believe that this life would be any better than the one I had left behind.
In my previous life, my father had abandoned me when I was still young. He left me at the orphanage, promising to return once his work was done. Years passed, and I never saw him again. I barely remembered his face, his voice, or even his name. The only thing I knew was that I had been forgotten. The pain of that abandonment still lingered, a scar on my soul that had never healed.
"I'll comeback for you after my work, okay?" his lies are still fresh in my head as if it just happened yesterday. It was as if I truly believed, in that fleeting moment, that the man before me—who, just moments ago, seemed to be contemplating how best to rid himself of me—would actually return.
"Really?!" My small, naive voice rang out, filled with an innocent, almost foolish hope. "I'll wait for Papa here then!" I declared, my words wrapped in the purest form of trust, as though I were unaware of the bitterness lurking beneath the surface of the man I called my father. It was a thought so simple, so innocent, and yet so painfully naive. My heart ached as I spoke, unaware that this same hope had once been crushed by a man who had never intended to come back.
I had been bullied for it—for daring to hope, for holding on to the faintest idea that maybe, just maybe, he would come back for me. They laughed at me for believing in something so impossible. They called me foolish, pathetic. I had wanted to hate him, to despise him for what he had done, but it was hard. There was nothing to hate, nothing to truly grasp. He had left me without a second thought, and I had been forced to grow up alone.
The memories were sharp, biting. Yet, as much as I tried to focus on my anger, it always seemed to fade into something more painful. Despair, loneliness, abandonment—those were the things that truly hurt. I could never hate him, no matter how much I wanted to.
But before my thoughts could sink any deeper into despair, I heard a voice. It was unfamiliar, soft, and gentle, like the sound of a breeze rustling through the trees.
"Lyunette."
The name escaped his lips with such tenderness that it almost made me forget my misery. Almost. I blinked, my eyes fluttering open, and there he was—his face so close to mine. His eyes, a shade of green so soft and calming, stared down at me with a hint of pity. His hair, as white as snow, shone under the moonlight, casting a soft glow on his features. I could hardly believe it, but for some reason, I felt... safe.
"I'm glad your fever has finally gone down," he said, his voice warm and soothing. "It must have been so scary for someone as small as you, wasn't it? Don't worry, little one. Big brother will do his best to ease your pain, alright?"
Scary? It didn't feel that way at all. My tears, however, were escaping rapidly, falling down my cheeks. I didn't understand why I was crying. My heart ached for reasons I couldn't explain. I had endured far worse fevers in my previous life, yet I had never cried out from something as simple as sickness.
His hands, large and gentle, reached down and lifted me from the crib. He cradled me in his arms as if I were the most fragile thing in the world, and for a moment, I felt something I had never felt before—comfort. His arms wrapped around me, holding me close as if he could ease not just my physical pain but the pain that had settled deep in my soul.
I felt his warmth, his presence, and I couldn't stop the tears from falling. This was the first time I had ever been held like this—both in this life and the last. How could I allow him to embrace me like this? How could I cry in his arms without feeling ashamed?
"Big brother is here," he whispered, his voice soft and reassuring.
"There's nothing to worry about when I'm around. I'll always protect you, my baby sister," his voice was warm, soothing, and so full of conviction, as if he believed every word. "Calm down now. I'll use magic to chase away all your pain..."
As he spoke, I felt an inexplicable sense of peace wash over me, as though his words had the power to heal the wounds I hadn't even known were there. Then, I saw it—yellow smoke, soft and ethereal, swirling around me in a delicate haze. The air grew warmer, and I could feel the heat radiating from the smoke, wrapping around my tiny form like a protective cocoon. The warmth was gentle, comforting, as though it was erasing the coldness that had lingered inside me.
Was this... real? Had my fever truly gone down, or was this just another illusion, a fleeting dream? I couldn't be sure. The warmth, the sensation of the magic wrapping around me, felt so surreal—too perfect to be anything other than a figment of my mind. But the steady rise and fall of my chest, the slight easing of the ache in my body, made me wonder if there was something more to it.
As I drifted into a peaceful slumber, the prince, his movements slow and deliberate, gently placed me back into my crib. His touch was light, as if he feared disturbing the fragile moment we had shared. He reached out, carefully wiping away the last of my tears, his fingers brushing my skin with a tenderness that felt almost too delicate for someone who had known nothing but sorrow.
He stood there for a moment, just watching me, as if uncertain whether to leave or stay. His eyes lingered on me, filled with an unreadable emotion, before he turned and left the room. His departure was almost silent, the soft creak of the door closing behind him the only sound marking his absence.
Just as the door clicked shut, the sound of footsteps echoed in the hallway. It was his personal servant, a man of serious demeanor, standing just outside my room. He waited, his presence imposing, but respectful.
"Your Highness, it's time for your night study," the servant announced, his voice calm but firm.
The prince turned to face him, his expression unreadable. For a brief moment, there was a flicker of something in his eyes—hope, perhaps, or maybe just the faintest trace of longing. He didn't respond immediately, his gaze distant, as if lost in thought. But then, with a slight nod, he motioned for the servant to lead the way.
"Does Father say anything about me today?" The question escaped his lips quietly, almost as if he were afraid to hear the answer, but there was an unmistakable trace of hope in his voice, a desire for acknowledgment that he had long since stopped asking for.
The servant, however, shook his head solemnly. "No, Your Highness. The Emperor was busy with his duties as Emperor," he replied, his tone neutral, but there was a hint of pity in his words.
The prince's shoulders seemed to sag, his disappointment barely concealed. He said nothing more, just turned and began walking towards his personal study room, his steps heavy with the weight of unanswered questions. Despite the effort to mask his feelings, the silence that followed spoke volumes. The Emperor, his father, had not spared a single thought for him today, as he hadn't on so many other days.
"I see," the prince murmured, his voice quiet, his thoughts still lingering on his father's absence. The servant, sensing the shift in his mood, tried to steer the conversation in a different direction.
"I heard you were taking care of your new baby sister, the princess," the servant said carefully, his tone tentative, as though trying to bring a lighter topic to the prince's attention.
"Yes," the prince answered simply, his response curt but not unkind. He paused for a moment, considering the question, and for the first time that evening, there was a small shift in his demeanor. His face softened, and his eyes seemed to brighten ever so slightly.
"How was it?" the servant asked, eager to draw out more, though he didn't want to press too much.
The prince hesitated, his gaze drifting downward as he recalled the tender moment from earlier. His thoughts were a jumble of feelings he couldn't quite articulate, but his lips finally parted as if something had gently stirred within him.
"It was..." he stopped himself, thinking carefully. A slow smile began to form on his lips, one that was rare for him—a small but genuine expression. "She was adorable," he finally said, his voice almost wistful. "I can't wait to see her again."