Rise of the Unfavored Princess

Ch. 36: Lemon Bars

The weak cries of a child follow me into awareness, almost ringing in my ears when I cracked my eyes open. Thin shreds of light no longer filtered in from under the curtains, indicating to me that it is night time. Who was crying? Why were they crying? I cough weakly, my chest feeling uncomfortable as the last vestiges of my dream slip through my fingers like water.

“W-Water...” I call out, my voice sounding croaky like I’ve got a cold.

Out of concern, I place a hand on my forehead, ignoring the dull sting of my fingertips as an excessive heat meets my palm. I roll my eyes in irritation. In addition to making Princess Winter a weak-willed, irrelevant character in the web, it seems she also had a weak physical constitution.

I hear someone shift in the room and look anxiously to my left, only to see Emma walk over.

“Your highness, you’re sick,” she says matter-of-factly as she tips a cool glass of water down my throat since my hands are still out of commission.

“Indeed,” I respond dryly, in between sips of water. The matter of my illness falls to the back of my mind as I look at Emma expectantly.

“Did you do it?” I whisper in a hushed, excited tone.

She nods, bringing the first smile to my face in 24 hours.

.....

“Good, good. You’re the best! I have 2 coins sitting in the drawer over there for you,” I say. Emma quickly forgets to feed me water as she expertly rolls the coins around in her hands before they disappear into her apron.

“One is for my friend who delivered the letter,” she says. I nod understandingly.

“There is a second bag in the drawer, you can distribute one each to your friends granted they are willing to do what I asked.”

I get down to business right away. One of the most important lessons I learned in my college classes is the importance of word of mouth. Considering how I was planning to work in PR, I understand extremely well the influence of slander or praise can have on a person’s image.

I have yet to understand the layout of Radovalsk and its social circles, so both the matters of acquiring and spreading information are difficult for me. I’m stuck within the Rose Palace for most of my days without a reliable informant and I have no friends in high places. As such, I can only rely on Emma’s ‘friends’, the young children in living the underbelly of Radovalsk, to serves as my eyes and mouth.

A clever smirk finds its way onto my face. “By next week, I hope the capital will be buzzing about how the empress summoned the young princess to Ladies’ Court and burnt her the moment the emperor left to tame a rebellion.”

Emma gives me a confused look. “But why do you want everyone to know?” she asks quietly, her 7-year-old mind not comprehending the reasoning behind my actions.

“Haven’t you heard all the wonderful things people say about Empress Katya?” I start patiently, happy to walk her through my line of thought.

“Aye, your highness.” Emma nods before reciting, “She’s kind, sweet, and beautiful. She loves the people like they is her own children.”

“Are her own children,” I correct. I’ve been helping Emma shed her accent for the past few days and she has proved to be a quick learner, almost sounding like an entirely different person.

“I have a secret to tell you, don’t know if you can keep it?” I whisper conspiratorially.

Emma leans in, excitement evident in her eyes. All kids love secrets.

“The empress... wants to kill me!” I tell my young friend the truth, but she reacts less than I thought, only her eyebrows raising.

“That’s it?” she says dully and this time, I’m the one with the surprised expression.

“Well.. I mean I think that’s a pretty big deal... but-” I mumble, slightly offended that the fact my stepmom wants to murder me doesn’t seem to matter much to Emma.

“I can kill her for you, your highness,” she then says plainly, causing me to look up in alarm.

“What?”

“Isn’t that how it works? If someone is trying to kill you, kill them first.” You’d think Emma is talking about the weather.

“That technically isn’t wrong but... isn’t killing someone a bit much? Besides, killing the mother of the empire isn’t as easy as snapping your fingers,” I hazard out. The teacher has become the student in this conversation.

“True,” Emma acquiesces, and I let out a breath of relief too soon.

“Just poison her!”

“Emma!” I yelp, covering my friend’s mouth before the wrong person hears and razes Rose Palace to the ground.

“Let’s stop talking about murder, okay? I know you’re a gifted child, but even getting away with this would be too much for you,” I say as I try to reason with Emma. I don’t know how explaining the power of public opinion turned into a discussion about murder.

“So you want me to work on my sword skills? No worries, your highness. I promised you, I will be the prince who saves you,” Emma says sweetly. She’s so cute, I want to pinch her cheeks and I give into my urge a minute later as I tug at the newly formed chubby redness now that I share my food with her.

“That’s not a bad idea actually. The part about learning to fight with a sword I mean,” I quickly clarify. A daydream comes to life in my head, of Emma swishing her sword valiantly at anyone who tries to attack me. Since Emma is a girl, in the current era I’m stuck in, no one would suspect her.

Emma looks at me like she just won the lottery. “Really? You’ll let me?” she says with the most animated grin I’ve seen on her face.

“Yes, of course,” I respond, feeling bashful in the face of her joy. “You don’t even need to ask permission from me. As long as it doesn’t interfere with your duties and spending time with me, your best friend, then feel free to do it.”

But all the joy suddenly melts off her face like it was never there in the first place.

“W-We’re best friends?” she says with a blank expression.

I suddenly feel very nervous and rub the back of my neck with stinging hands. “I mean, if we’re being technical you are the best friend I have made here. But if that term offends you, I’ll be honest with you, Emma. I’m starting to regard you as the sister I never had,” I ramble, looking everywhere but at her face.

“S-sisters?” Her eyes are shining and to my horror, I can see the start of tears in Emma’s eyes. Gosh, now I’ve made the emotionless little kid burst into tears. Nothing has gone right for me since I showed up in this stupid world.

My view of Emma’s face switches to the ceiling as something warm smooshes me into a hug. Emma’s short hair tickles at my nose, making me want to sneeze, but I hold it down since sick sneezes tend to be pretty gross. I tentatively pat Emma on the back as her shoulders tremble with tears.

“Yes, Emma,” I say warmly, “We’re sisters. Which means we are each other’s ride or die!”

“Ride or die?” Her voice is muffled since her face is buried in my bedsheets.

“Erm... sworn partners who will stand by each other’s side no matter what! Whether it’s sickness or a powerful enemy, the partners will brave it all together.” I say in a rush explanation for my modern slip up.

The door to my room opens and the soft, moderate steps indicate to me that it’s Marie.

“How sweet!” she coos at the scene. I wonder what it must look like, two very adorable little girls hugging each other. “But do take care, Emma. Her highness has fallen ill and if you catch it, you won’t be able to play with her for a few days.”

I snort softly. Emma and I have never played together and thankfully, she has never shown any interest in the dolls gathering dust in the corner of my room. But the words spark something in Emma as she backs off like I’m on fire. Her face still carries the pleased, little smile of our newly founded sisterhood.

The subsequent days pass quickly. Empress Katya summons me once during that time, but I have the handy excuse of actually being ill so I spend many of these days in bed and planning my next moves.

This planning finds me once more in the kitchen of the Rose Palace, sneezing uncontrollably as I accidentally inhale some flour.

“I thought you said you were good at baking, your highness,” Emma says dryly, watching my plight without bothering to fan the flour out of the air.

“I am!” I insist indignantly. My baking skills are actually mediocre at best, but to this old-fashioned world I’ve landed in, my treats are quite impressive.

I kept Emma’s words in mind since our heart to heart chat, about her eagerness to learn how to wield the sword. So today, I’ve long decided to pay another visit to the royal guard, to both strengthen my relationship with them and if I’m lucky, find a willing teacher for Emma.

The lemony aroma sneaking out from my wicker basket draws the knights in like flies. I’ve scarcely made it over the hill before I see not one, not two, but 30 knights rush towards me! I’m wearing the same red cloak as last time and almost stumble over the long length as I inadvertently take a step back from the approaching horde of half-dressed, sweaty men.

Emma steps protectively in front of me, her small stature not too much larger than my own, and I feel my heart warm at the gesture. Her move also doesn’t escape the eyes of the approaching crowd, who quickly gain some self-awareness and step back with slightly ashamed expressions.

In sync as if they’ve practiced, the men closest all drop to their knees with a fist on their chest.

“Greetings, your highness!” they all say with far more respect than they did last time.

I raise my brows in surprise before shyly telling them to stand up. Whoever said that food is the way to a man’s heart was not wrong.

“I see you are all doing well today. I thought about how hard you are all working last night and decided to bake for you all again. Since there weren’t enough treats for everyone, I have brought two baskets! I hope you don’t feel I am imposing on your practice time when I come to visit.”

I blink my lashes slowly as I speak, the paragon of a sweet, little girl.

“No, not at all! We’d love it if you visited more!” an overeager person in the crowd crowed. I distinctly hear someone whacking him for speaking out of turn and have to cover my mouth to giggle as the person whines.

“Hey, it’s not my fault the chefs at our barracks are trying to kill us with their cooking before our enemies do!” he says with a pout, his voice possessing the telltale crack of those just entering puberty.

The crowd shifts as everyone bursts into laughter and I spy that the speaker is none other than the freckly kid who snatched up the first two churros I made. He’s the runt of the litter, the smallest in the crowd but the gazes of his fellow knights are warm.

I spy the friendly Sir Gregory from last time, and after letting the knights free on the two baskets Emma and I lugged over, I stroll over to the man.

“Good morning, Sir Gregory,” I chirp in an angelic voice.

“Your highness.” He doesn’t go to his knees, but still buts his fist on his chest.

We engage in light conversation that isn’t difficult to follow. I find Sir Gregory to be an agreeable man, his temperament similar to a mountain, or an unmovable rock. Just looking at him, it is easy to tell that he is not someone to be easily shaken or manipulated.

“What do you think of women fighting? Like with swords?” I swish my hands around a few times with an invisible sword for show, even though he probably understood what I am asking from the start.

There is a glint of mirth in Sir Gregory’s brown eyes as he replies thoughtfully, “I am not against the idea. As a commander in the army, I can think of many circumstances it could be useful.”

I fight the urge to pump my fist in victory. Not only is Sir Gregory a decent man, he also isn’t tied down by the misogynistic thinking of this world. But that doesn’t guarantee he will agree to my next request.

“Then,” I start, tapping my fingers together nervously, “Do you think my friend, Emma, can learn?”