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‘An unofficial invitation, telling me to focus solely on my recovery and absolutely not to let anyone know.’
The fact that they called for me despite knowing my body was far from healed must mean it is an exceptionally important matter. Since Chenko was the one to move, the intentions of my father and Valentin must have been reflected as well.
Was it because of the secretive atmosphere? My heart is pounding—no, wait.
‘They're plotting to lock me up in Shaharansk!’
Could there be a more logical deduction than this?
Coincidentally, five days ago, despite my brothers' warnings, didn't I cause a huge scene at the public prayer service? I suddenly felt depressed. If I'm locked up now, when will I ever be able to return to the Imperial Palace? Who will water my zinnia if I leave...?
And of all people, why the Illin family?
‘This might not be a coincidence.’
The embarrassing question I had blurted out in front of Valentin last night came to mind.
“Your Highness? Why are you shivering? Are you cold? Shall I light the fireplace?”
“...No.”
Fedora, who had approached me with concern, let out a short sigh upon seeing the numerous newspapers scattered across the table.
“I told you to stop checking the articles. They just spout whatever they want when they see an opportunity. The headlines are getting more provocative just to sell more copies. There's no need to get angry.”
“Right, Fedora. I know. I'm not paying much attention, so don't worry.”
Sorry, but I didn't even have the energy to care about that. I was simply curious about what words were circulating in the world while I slept.
Even though five days had passed since the attack at the public prayer service, my face was still plastered across the newspapers. The photos generally fell into two categories: me walking across the white carpet (which, as Emma put it, gave off an impression that was less 'cold' and more 'insufferable'), or me being struck and collapsing on the podium.
The headlines were all equally creative. ‘Was the prophecy Count Valentin left for Princess Larisa death?’, ‘Urging the Holy See to take responsibility for the incident’, ‘Princess Larisa, targeted by two assassination attempts within a month! Confidential sources suggest it may have been more than twice’, ‘The traitor attempting to kill his niece—who exactly is Duke Libertan?’, and so on.
‘I see. They attract people's attention with absurd nonsense, but leave themselves an escape route by phrasing it as a question rather than a certainty.’
Seeing a snippet of an article that read <Princess Larisa has been famous as a cold-blooded person since childhood, and there are rumors that the whispers of ‘Crown Prince Vasily is blood-crazed’ which once swept through Makhachkala were actually about Princess Larisa>, it seems they have a talent for fiction writing as well...
Sploosh.
I stared blankly as the newspaper I had been intently reading became drenched in a red liquid. Drip. Tanya, having shaken out the last drop of black tea, placed the teacup on the soaked table and smiled.
“No matter how I look at it, it's a waste of paper, Lara. Don't you agree? Let's fill your stomach. Here, say 'ah'—”
I took a large bite of the redberry tart held out in front of my face.
It was so sweet it was cloying, but I had no intention of complaining. Because if I did, Tatyana—believing that a Larisa sick of sweets needed to be fed even one more bite—would fill my room with new food, and the thought of that was utterly exhausting.
“Good. You're eating well like a little bird, my little kitten. Now, what do you want to do? Shall I read you a book?”
“I'm not a child, Tanya...”
Tatyana's attendance was excessive and uncomfortable, but I didn't intend to complain. Because it was obvious she wouldn't listen to a word I said anyway.
“Tell me if there's anything you need. Wild raspberries from mountains piled with perennial snow would be fine, or perhaps tasting the curry-flavored eel jelly that's trendy these days wouldn't be bad. Ivan will get them for you. He must get them.”
Looking at her, who was itching to do something for me, made me feel uneasy. It wasn't just Tatyana. Seeing my entire family visit almost every single day made me feel a pointless sense of guilt, and honestly... it was annoying.
For example, Vasily, despite his busy schedule, made time every three hours to visit me, carrying armfuls of gifts as if he were offering sacrifices.
[Lara, how about this flower?]
[Lara, how about these pearls?]
[Lara, how about this holy relic? I borrowed it from the holy hall for a full day.]
[Lara, how about this grasshopper?]
Ah, that last one was Ivan. For the record, Tatyana took the grasshopper Ivan brought, claiming it would be 'perfect for teaching a lesson to meddlesome ladies and gentlemen.'
In truth, the people who spent the most time in my room after Tatyana were my father and mother.
My father, in particular, rarely stayed in my room unless he called me to his, but today, he visited the moment I woke up and spent a full hour looking around the bedroom and drawing room, asking various questions.
[This is the 《Diary of Roo》. You're just like Tanya—you don't write a single word in your own diary, yet you love peeking into others'.]
[...Did you pick all these pearl earrings yourself? Hmm. Tanya did? That child's tenacity always exceeds my imagination.]
[This is... the teddy bear I gave you when you were seven. I struggled quite a bit to find black diamonds that matched the eyes.]
[It was a gift given when she was five, not seven. If you can't remember, it would be better if you just kept your mouth shut.]
My mother told me that until yesterday morning, when I showed no signs of waking up, my father had drunk liquor repeatedly while looking at my drawings and a few photos, shedding a few tears. I wondered if she was joking, but remembering how my father added a few more comments before leaving, it seemed to be true.
According to Vasily, I was to remain in this room, completely cut off from the outside world, until the flesh in the hole in my shoulder had filled in to some extent. I wondered if I wouldn't even be able to see my few friends, but no sooner had I taken a second bite of the redberry tart than a large man burst into the room.
“Lara!”
“...Seryozha?”
“Are you okay?”
Closing the distance in an instant, he forgot to even sit in a chair and worried about my state rather than my words.
“I heard you cheated death five times? How's your shoulder? They said you wouldn't be able to use your left arm anymore, is that true?”
“I didn't cheat death five times. And I can use my arm, look.”
Sergei let out a sigh of relief as he watched my index and middle fingers move back and forth. I asked Sergei, who had collapsed onto the sofa, with a happy heart.
“Seryozha, are you finally meeting me?”
This was the first time we had met since the Imperial Ball.
I obviously knew that Sergei was consciously avoiding me. It bothered me, but I couldn't approach him first. Because it was Sergei, not I, who needed time to organize his feelings.
With a pouty face, he scratched the bridge of his nose and spoke.
“I don't know whether to call this cruel or kind... You seem to think I've given up on my feelings?”
Then you haven't?
Tatyana, who had been sitting beside me silently observing Sergei, let out a chuckle.
“Sergei? If you're a man, you should court a woman at least twice, if not three. How else could you ever meet a girl like Larisa in your lifetime?”
“I didn't expect the sister of all people to say such a thing. You're not warning me to stop bothering Lara and get lost.”
“Shouldn't a decent boy like you keep hovering around so that other men wake up and try to give their hearts and souls to her?”
“Well... I plan to keep a hawk-eye on her anyway. I'm dying of curiosity to see what kind of amazing guy tries to snatch Lara away. And if I don't like him, I'll get in the way a bit.”
“As expected of the man I chose.”
Why are you praising something like that?
Still, thanks to Sergei's visit, with Fedora's help, the three of us were able to immerse ourselves in a card game.
About an hour passed. Fedora, who had stepped away for a moment due to a sudden knock, spoke with worried eyes.
“Princess Larisa. Count Valentin has arrived. ...Shall I let him in?”
The answer came not from me, but from Tatyana.
“Let him in. Right now.”
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