She blinked, a hint of playfulness in her eyes.
Eileen nodded silently. She had already witnessed these scenes on her way here.
Although the empire’s rule was cold, it was undeniably far better at maintaining order and basic livelihood than the chaotic state of the kingdom.
“The casualties in the Holy Capital were also much fewer than expected,” Eileen added, her tone carrying a barely perceptible note of relief. “Thanks to Roseviser’s final activation of the ‘Sacred Domain of the Goddess’ barrier. Not only did it block the Dark Giant’s fatal strike, but its powerful healing and protective energies even brought many soldiers on the brink of death back to life.”
“Oh? The Goddess of Light truly blessed us,” Frederica said, her tone unreadable—whether sincere or merely polite.
She took Eileen’s hand and led her up to the highest watchtower of the fortress.
The biting north wind carried sharp snow particles that scraped against their faces like blades. Before them lay the kingdom’s border, now covered in snow and occupied by the empire, a vast desolation.
“Eileen,” Frederica’s voice seemed to waver amidst the howling wind. She turned to look at Eileen’s silver hair whipped by the gusts. “Is there anything within the kingdom… that you still long for?”
Eileen was silent for a moment. Her golden eyes gazed at the blurred outline of her homeland through the storm, her voice heavy with profound melancholy. “I long for everywhere. After all… this is the land where I was born.”
In her words, the dissatisfaction and helplessness born from being forced to leave and seeing her homeland fall were unmistakable.
Frederica keenly sensed this emotion.
The smile on her face faded slightly, and a complex glint flashed through her emerald eyes.
She reached out and grasped Eileen’s slightly cold hand in the snowstorm. Her fingers were slender yet strong, holding on with a grip that allowed no escape.
“I know… Eileen.” The Empress’s voice deepened, carrying a rare, almost fragile sigh. “I know you bear resentment. It was I… who ‘summoned’ you to the empire in the most dishonorable way, then used your presence to achieve my strategic goals… making you bear the slander of treason.”
She squeezed Eileen’s hand gently but firmly, her crimson eyes locking onto Eileen’s gaze, swirling with an indescribable, nearly obsessive emotion. Her voice carried a faint, almost imperceptible plea: “Forgive me… please? I know this is selfish… but who can blame me… for liking you so much? Liking you so much… that I’d stop at nothing to keep you in my world.”
Eileen stared at the ruler of the world before her, now revealing a pleading, almost humble vulnerability, and felt a complex storm of emotions.
Resentment? Of course there was resentment. Hate? Yet it seemed impossible to hate her.
Frederica’s actions had pushed her into an abyss of no return, but by a strange twist of fate, they also revealed the hypocrisy of many and played a crucial role in the Battle of the Holy Capital.
Their tangled grievances and affections were like a knotted mess of thread—impossible to cut cleanly or untangle.
She withdrew her hand without answering, turning her gaze back to the raging blizzard outside, releasing a long, drawn-out sigh.
That sigh carried too much unspeakable helplessness, exhaustion, and confusion.
Frederica looked at Eileen’s profile, knowing that any more words now would be in vain.
She needed time.
The Empress folded away her fragile emotions and donned once more the mask of absolute control, cheerfully changing the subject:
“Enough of this. I have good news for you. Tomorrow night, the fortress will hold a grand banquet. Officially, it’s to celebrate the success of the ‘peace talks’ and to bid farewell to the imperial troops. Of course—” She gave Eileen a meaningful look. “It’s also to send you off, my ‘Savior of the Kingdom.’”
Eileen blinked in surprise. “Savior of the Kingdom?”
A perfect, politically wise smile curled at the corner of Frederica’s mouth. “Of course. My people on the border have been tirelessly spreading the word these past days. Those fools in the royal capital slander you as a traitor? Ridiculous! The borderfolk—especially those you once helped—they know the truth better than anyone. I tell them Miss Eileen sacrificed her reputation for the future of the kingdom, for the tens of thousands of soldiers and civilians in the three fortresses, risking everything to exchange peace’s first light! She is no traitor; she is the true ‘Savior of the Kingdom!’”
The Empress’s voice carried a stirring power. “You see, they naturally believe it. After all, they have seen what you’ve done here. Now, the people at the border sing your sacrifice and dedication, thanking you for bringing them peace. Tomorrow night’s banquet will have many representatives from the populace coming to pay their respects to you.”
Eileen listened, her heart a whirlwind of mixed emotions.
This crown of the “Savior of the Kingdom” was a carefully woven web by Frederica—both a protective umbrella and a shackle binding her deeper to the empire and the fruits of this war.
Using her kindness and achievements to whitewash the empire’s aggression—though the empire’s iron hoof has withdrawn, the people’s hearts have already been shaken.
*****
Inside the most luxurious guest room of Maria Fortress, before a huge full-length mirror.
The firelight from the fireplace flickered, casting a warm halo on the smooth mirror’s surface, but could not dispel the invisible heaviness that filled the room.
Eileen sat upright on an ornate dressing stool, like a delicate porcelain doll.
Her pale, almost translucent face reflected in the mirror, silver hair like cold moonlit silk draped over her shoulders.
Those golden eyes that once pierced the cosmos and burned with divine flames now seemed hollow, reflecting a strange stranger in the glass and the ceaseless, howling snowstorm outside the window.
A heavy exhaustion weighed down her brow like an invisible shackle.
The maid Layla stood behind her like a lifeless ghost, silent and motionless.
In her hands was a silver comb, moving with precise, gentle, and meticulous strokes through Eileen’s long hair.
Each pass of the comb sent tiny sparks of static electricity crackling—“pitter-patter”—especially jarring in the overly quiet room.
“Miss’s hair is like the purest Mythril,” Layla said flatly, without emotion. “Shall I style it into the empire’s latest ‘Ice Crystal Crown’ design? Her Majesty Frederica has prepared a matching blue diamond hairpin for you.”
Eileen didn’t respond.
Her gaze seemed to pierce through the mirror, through the thick stone walls, landing on the cold, despairing prison deep beneath the Holy Capital, on the kingdom’s borderfolk with their complex, grateful eyes under imperial rule, on Legereef’s painful yet resolute vow, and on Frederica’s unfathomable desire for control hidden beneath that warm smile.
“Savior of the Kingdom”—this title was like a splendid yet icy garment, soon to be forcibly draped over her.
Tomorrow night’s banquet was a farewell, a commendation, and above all, a meticulously arranged political show.
And she was both the star and the exhibited “trophy.”
Layla seemed completely unaffected by Eileen’s silence, continuing her task, skillfully weaving and securing strand after strand of silver hair.
On the dressing table, the exquisitely ornate gown Frederica had sent, encrusted with countless icy blue gems, shimmered coldly and dazzlingly in the light.
The time for the banquet was drawing near.
Outside, the wind and snow howled even more mournfully…
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