Rise of the Unfavored Princess

Chapter 90: Ch. 90: There Are No Strings On Me

I hear out Bishop Duvernay’s proposal with a neutral expression, but one thing becomes exceedingly clear as he finishes speaking.

I would not be a member. I would be a puppet.

And the puppet masters? Naturally, the ones who already have strings buried deep within the nobility and every level of the government. Religion. A quiet, yet unsurmountable force when wielded in the wrong hands.

I blink slowly and count off my fingers to ensure I haven’t missed any ludicrous promises. “So, you wish for me to attend all masses at the Grand Temple in Radovalsk, heal ‘important’ practitioners, perform certain rituals, and heal believers all over the Empire. Does the Holy Priestess not fulfill this kind of role adequately enough for you?”

Thinking back to good-natured Aria, the first hint of displeasure colors my tone.

“You must also take Empress Katya as your lawful mother. And in exchange, House Duvernay would not only no longer seek your death, we would also support you fully into becoming an official part of the imperial lineage,” Bishop Duvernay adds, tossing in an attractive future I’ve only dreamt of.

But the word ‘death’ coming so freely from the mouth of a holy man, even a hardened soldier would be frightened let alone myself.

.....

Regardless, I can overlook it, letting out a small snort like a baby pig snorting at the very first sentence. “Isn’t she already my ‘mother’? I call her such, pay her visits often, and take lessons from her. What more is there for me to do?”

I’m talking too much, an inner part of me begging for me to shut up and quit oversharing. But Empress Katya, needless to say, is a touchy subject for me.

Bishop Duvernay’s thin lips curl into another smile, reading all the emotions on my face like a book.

“Are you afraid of her? That won’t do you any good,” he comments dryly, a faint thread of pleasure at my fear and anger bubbling out.

Of course, Empress Katya’s transgressions wouldn’t be a secret to her family members, but the all too knowing glint in his eyes nearly unseats me. So I strike back with the first sentence that can get the heat off my back.

“Actually,” I say, surprising myself and the bishop, “I admire her. More than I’d care to admit.”

A brief shock travels through his eyes, but as the son of the chancellor and the second highest-ranking figure within the Holy Church, there was no shocking information he hadn’t heard before.

“So do you agree to the terms?”

Hell to the no, I want to yell. Instead, I purse my lips gently. “The terms you’ve described overlap very much with that of the Holy Priestess. Wouldn’t people be angry if I try to perform her duties for her?”

I know I’ve discovered the metaphorical ‘eruption’ underneath this dream he is trying to sell me, although Bishop Duvernay makes no reaction to confirm my suspicions. It’s a tried and true trick that has happened in history, making someone the figurehead of public displeasure the way Marie Antoinette and Louis XVI were sacrificed despite not being the main cause of the people’s problems.

I’d wager my meager savings that if I took Bishop Duvernay up on these terms as is, after he’s taken full advantage of my abilities and promised child status, I would be tossed aside to burn and forced to shoulder any ‘crimes’ they’d wish to put on my head. The people would only spit on my decapitated body and curse me for taking advantage of my promised child status in order to overstep my bounds within the Holy Church and harm the common people.

Sound familiar yet?

Yes, this sounds almost exactly like how I died within the web, except I would additionally have even more notoriety and public hatred. I mentally pat myself on the back for my ability to reason that out in a few seconds. Sure enough, facing death more than a few times really helps to put things in perspective.

“Also, what kind of important members does the Holy Church have? Aren’t we all equal under Helio’s eyes?” I add, gently nudging another problem area in the proposal.

“Naturally the donors of the Holy Church, who keep the doors of even our smallest locations open and free of charge to civilians.”

I smother a loud belly laugh in its cradle, a small chortle coming out. “But I remember that the Holy Church is exempt from taxes so that they can afford to cover any other maintenance and housing fees.”

Bishop Duvernay, to his credit, looks unfazed by my not-so-innocent prodding. “Indeed. But housing our priests and nuns, spreading Helio’s good word across the Empire, and training battle mages have a great cost for our humble church.”

“Hmmm ok!” I reply cheerfully to the extended terms, “But I want to change some.”

“Which?” The bishop asks in a curt manner.

All, I’m extremely tempted to yell. But instead, I say, “I won’t heal important practitioners, that isn’t fair to the common people and as a member of the imperial family I am meant to help all people, not a few.”

I smirk inwardly as I regurgitate the argument my father had brought up when he wanted me to heal the soldiers.

“Secondly, I will not attend every mass at the Holy Church. Pick a few important days out of the year. My etiquette teacher taught me that the imperial family must maintain some distance from the Holy Church. And finally, I will not take the empress as my lawful mother.”

Bishop Duvernay’s lip presses into a thin line, the only indicator to his mood.

“Your highness, what makes you think House Duvernay shall agree to these terms?” he asks icily.

It’s a good question. One I already have an answer to.

“Because,” my lips spreading into the sweetest smile I can muster. “There is someone very important you desperately need me to heal, don’t you? So if you agree to my amended terms, I will agree to heal not one, not two, but three people of your choice. And I will not have the right to refuse, even if you dragged Akira the Devourer himself before me.”

There is a sharp intake of breath. Bishop Duvernay’s eyes are sharper than flint, turning the calming white-robed bishop into a glacier. But I don’t back down, looking back at him without a care as if he isn’t plotting a thousand different ways to get rid of me before the information gets out.

“Don’t worry,” I mutter, waving away the murderous air around the bishop like a bothersome fly. “I don’t have any spies, nor did I learn this from my father. I simply guessed and it seems that my guess was correct.”

That is a lie. But I can’t very well tell Bishop Duvernay that I read in the web that during the long Sarsavalian War, the mysterious patriarch of House Duvernay, an old, powerful figure with webs across the entire Empire and beyond, passed away from the flux, can I?

It seems that rewriting as much of the entire web I could remember, even the minute details, was one of the few smart decisions I made during my early, optimistic days as Winter.

The bishop heaves out a breath, the murder in his eyes abating back to his gloomy, tranquil state.

“Three. No less,” Bishop Duvernay says sternly.

“No less,” I agree with a nod. As long as they don’t ask me to heal Empress Katya, I can swallow down my pride and save anyone they bring to me.

“Good day, Your Highness.” The bishop boys his head, his cap staying firmly on.

I curtsey back at him. “Good day, Your Excellency. May Helio’s light follow you.”

“And you too, Your Highness.”

With our pleasantries, one would not know we had just negotiated for my life.

I turn away from the bishop, my hands quivering as I clasp them in my front. Emma approaches me and I let out a loud breath, pounding at my chest with a small fist.

“Your highness?” Emma pats me on the back.

“Whew! Wow! That was so scary, oh my god!” I gasp out. “Even if you didn’t tell me, I would have realized that he and Empress Katya are related. What are they feeding the kids at House Duvernay?”

“Presumably better than what we ate in the palace,” Emma murmurs seriously.

I pause in my steps, the early morning breeze doing little to suppress the boggy heat that has settled over the military encampment. I turn to Emma.

“A joke? It must be Christmas!” I wrap my arms around a stony Emma.

A day off is in order to destress and celebrate, but the adrenaline high fades off by late afternoon. A deck of hand-painted playing cards is strewn across the bed and grassy floor, remnants of Emma attempting to teach me how to play some traditional Erudian card games all day. I braid and unbraid my left braid over and over, turning over this morning’s decision in my head.

“Hey, Emma? Hypothetically speaking of course, would you, I don’t know, agree to save your mortal enemy’s powerful relative in exchange for your life?” I ask as nonchalantly as possible, my back turned so I can’t see her face.

All I know is that this powerful figure dying caused ripples throughout the Empire, ripples that were still felt years later when the actual web takes place 8 years from now. I look down at my palms, slightly pink from tugging at my hair for the better part of an hour. From the moment John woke up, I knew that these hands, these abilities, would change a lot for me and inadvertently the world around me. But call me nerdy, I can’t help but worry about the long-term consequences of keeping this mysterious leader of House Duvernay alive and well.

Emma thinks for a second. “Yes, your highness.”

“Huh? Why?” I ask, almost expecting her to say no.

“Because he might pay me afterward.”

I nearly choke on my spit, turning around to see that Emma was not being sarcastic at all.

“Fair enough. But Emma, what if he wasn’t rich? Then what?” I add on.

“Is this about your discussion with Bishop Duvernay, your highness?” True to her style, Emma cuts to the heart of the matter.

“Yes,” I acquiesce.

She looks up from the dagger she is polishing. “You already made a deal with him?”

“Yes.”

“Can you take it back?” Emma throws the dagger in the air expertly, the faint light catching on the glistening blade.

“No.”

“Then why are you regretting it?”

This time I really do choke on the spit, my face turning beet red with embarrassment.

“Blunt as ever,” I comment dryly, fanning my face to cool my burning cheeks.

But right when I’m about to ask Emma if she could get apologetic Nina to scrounge up some rare ice, I hear the sound of tearing fabric and heavy footsteps pound behind me.

Emma’s eyes widen and I subconsciously duck from the explosion of sound. She catches the dagger she had been playfully throwing in her hand, before flinging it so close to me the air tickles my cheek.

“BEHIND YOU, YOUR HIGHNESS!”