The head maid's voice carried a hint of submission and cautious trepidation as she delivered her quiet report.
After the head maid finished her report, a deep, middle-aged male voice responded.
“It doesn't matter. If she is hard to control, then we do not need to control her.”
The middle-aged man's voice was completely flat, devoid of any emotion—a textbook villainous tone. “Keep this safe. Find a suitable opportunity and have her drink it.”
The head maid took what must have been a glass bottle, as Bai Ci heard the faint clinking of glass against a tabletop.
She gasped, her tone growing tense. “My lord? What is this?”
“No need to ask. Just do as you are told,” the middle-aged man replied indifferently, leaving no room for argument.
Though filled with anxiety, the head maid steeled herself and stepped forward, whispering to explain the rationality of her request.
“My lord, please hear me out.”
“It is not wise for you to enter and leave the palace so frequently. While I know everything is under your control, the church has been keeping a close eye on the palace, and Her Highness may already be on her guard against me.”
“If I cannot judge whether the potion has taken effect based on her behavior, and something goes wrong, we will not be able to cover our tracks. If the church catches wind of this, the losses will far outweigh the gains.”
This was simply perfect. Hearing this, Bai Ci had to try very hard to suppress her laughter.
She had been worried that if they merely spoke in vague terms of “proceeding as planned,” she would have no idea how to guard against them.
All in all, she had to thank the head maid for her abundance of caution.
At the mention of the church, the middle-aged man's tone instantly flared with intense dissatisfaction. Concealed beneath it was also a deep-seated dread and hatred that had been suppressed for years.
“Those charlatans... relying on the ignorance of the common folk to preach that the Vittoris royal family possesses a divinely bestowed bloodline.”
“Heh, utterly laughable. The Vittoris royal family is worse off than some ruined minor nobles. What capability could that fool sitting on the throne possibly have?”
“If not for the church constantly interfering at every turn, I would have dragged that incompetent fool off the throne long ago.”
After venting his frustrations, the middle-aged man suppressed his hostility. His tone turned cold and grim once more as he laid out the entirety of his insidious plot to the head maid.
“There have been too many sudden illnesses and accidents in the palace lately. It is indeed raising suspicions, so we cannot use our old methods.”
“This medicine is not lethal. It merely clouds the mind, causing one to gradually lose their sanity and fall into a state of madness and delirium.”
“Since she has thorns and refuses to be submissive, then let her go mad.”
“Everyone in Thorny Capital knows that Severnia's biological mother went mad shortly after giving birth to her, spouting nonsensical babble about revelations and disasters before dying a mysterious death.”
“If Her Highness suddenly goes mad now, it will simply be seen as a defect inherent to the royal bloodline. No one will ever suspect me.”
“A mad crown princess is unfit to govern. When the royal authority is left vacant, all power will naturally fall into my hands.”
It was a highly meticulous plan with a clear cause and effect, and impeccable logic.
Bai Ci nodded in silent agreement as she listened, genuinely hoping that all future political intrigue she encountered would be of this caliber.
She had originally planned to play the part of Adou, but these people had barely exchanged a few words with her before plotting to ruin her life.
In that case, she had no choice. Her plan to “struggle a little” would have to become “struggle a whole lot.”
By now, Bai Ci's hair had been styled. She walked slowly behind Mia, listening to the private, sinister conversation between the head maid and the middle-aged man.
The corridors wound lazily, carpeted in plush, soft fabric that muffled their footsteps into absolute silence.
Mia kept her head lowered as she led the way, her posture docile and her lips sealed. She perfectly maintained the decorum of a servant, making it impossible to tell whether she was aware of the conspiracy unfolding behind the scenes.
Eventually, they arrived at the pavilion in the garden.
The autumn garden was lush with vegetation. A few lingering blossoms still clung to the branches, while some trees had shed most of their foliage, leaving behind leaves of varying shades to paint a colorful autumn landscape.
A stone pavilion stood at the center, nestled among the flowers and trees. It offered a wide view while remaining quiet and secluded.
A tall figure was already standing inside the pavilion. This had to be her fiancé, Lawrence.
The man wore a well-tailored, dark noble suit. His blonde hair was combed immaculately, and his deep, chiseled features were handsome and refined. With a straight, upright posture, he exuded a warm, steady aura.
He showed none of the bloat or sluggishness typical of middle-aged men, nor did he carry any hint of decay.
Yet, the moment Bai Ci laid eyes on him, her mind was filled with nothing but blunt criticism.
Too old.
She was not good at telling the exact ages of Westerners, but anyone with eyes could see that the face before her belonged to someone who was definitely no longer young.
Hearing the approaching footsteps, Lawrence slowly turned around. His eyes fell upon Bai Ci, and a perfectly measured, gentle smile appeared on his face. It carried not a shred of aggression, radiating the tolerance and care of a benign elder.
He took half a step forward, his posture humble yet dignified. He bowed slightly to Bai Ci, performing the courtly etiquette required for a royal heir with flawless precision.
“Your Highness Severnia.”
“I am Lawrence Colin, the one betrothed to you.”
“Please forgive my presumption in requesting this meeting, Your Highness.”
His deep, resonant voice was warm and pleasant, sounding so sincere and well-meaning that it could easily deceive any clueless bystander.
Unfortunately, Bai Ci had already heard his voice beforehand through her Eye.
Thus, she was entirely unmoved, her mind filled with sarcastic thoughts.
Judging by his presence and demeanor, this Duke Lawrence was roughly the same age as the dying king on his sickbed—at least forty years old.
Meanwhile, her current body was only fifteen or sixteen.
Talk about robbing the cradle.
My dear Duke, isn't your motive a bit too obvious? If only you had sent your son to arrange this betrothal instead.
At least then, the age gap wouldn't look so glaring, and you could still make a half-hearted attempt to pass it off as true love.
Even if you don't have a son, surely you have a nephew?
And if you have neither, why not consider an adopted son?
You are in your forties; it is impossible that you have never thought about grooming a successor.
So really, you could have just let that successor take your place.
Straightening up, Lawrence looked at the young girl before him with a soft gaze, his tone laced with just the right amount of pity and concern.
“Having returned to the country in such haste after an arduous journey, Your Highness must find the palace rules and state affairs quite unfamiliar upon your initial return.”
Before Bai Ci could speak, he took the initiative to speak, beautifully wrapping and presenting his narrative.
“This betrothal was arranged because His Majesty was plagued by excessive worry. Knowing his days were numbered, he could not bear to leave Your Highness behind at such a tender age.”
“Fearing that your youth and innocence would leave you ill-equipped to handle political schemes and human nature, and that you would struggle to support this vast empire on your own, His Majesty personally requested this betrothal. He entrusted me to keep you safe and stabilize the court on your behalf.”
Lawrence's tone was deeply sincere, every sentence highlighting the king's paternal love and his own loyalty.
“Therefore, Your Highness need not feel constrained by this marriage, nor should you harbor any resentment. You need only view me as a subject, or perhaps as a mentor of sorts.”
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