The Concubine Does Not Love the Emperor - Chapter 10

“My eyes are perfectly fine,” he asserted.

As he opened his eyes wide and shifted his gaze, the tears quickly dried up. Watching this, Klein couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle.

“Why are you laughing? Aren’t you even a bit angry?” she exclaimed, her voice breaking under the weight of her emotions.

“I’m alright,” he replied.

“What’s alright?”

“For the sake of my master, I can endure whatever comes my way.”

“But there’s no place left to endure any more; how can you say you’ll take more?”

“The teacher mentioned hitting my back next time, since my back hasn’t been hit yet.”

Klein grinned playfully and raised the edge of his shirt, revealing his smooth, unmarked back. Observing this, she felt a mixture of frustration and bewilderment.

With a swift motion, her hand struck his back. It wasn’t a forceful hit, yet a red imprint appeared on his skin as her palm met it. Caught off guard, Klein let out an involuntary yelp.

“Why did you hit me, Master?”

Receiving no retort, he muttered with a trace of annoyance. He winced, almost as if her hand had hurt more than the rod he had been struck with previously.

As she raised her hand once more, he hastily retreated—or at least pretended to. Simultaneously, he cast a glance over his shoulder to check if she was pursuing him. If she tried to adopt an angry expression, he’d simply smile and say, “Please don’t hit me,” while increasing the distance between them.

She might not have been the sharpest tool in the shed, but she wasn’t foolish either. She comprehended why the attitudes of the instructors had all shifted in unison and why the lessons had escalated in difficulty. And she discerned the orchestrator behind it all.

In a realm devoid of rigid class distinctions like slavery, Klein’s origin as a former slave from the South was something his father felt compelled to disclose. The nation featured three primary strata: the royal echelon, the nobility, and the commoners. Yet Klein’s presence had revealed to her the subtler gradations of hierarchy existing within people’s minds.

Just as gradations existed within the noble stratum, so too did they exist within the commoner class.

Dressed in attire befitting nobility, sharing meals and classrooms alike, yet receiving treatment inferior to that of commoners—how Klein felt about all this remained a mystery to her.

Months turned into years. Over time, the frequency of Klein’s punishments dwindled. And in the years that followed, Klein’s encounters with punishment ceased altogether.

Throughout this period, she changed teachers multiple times, mastered four languages, and secured two victories in spear-fighting tournaments. To those ignorant of the concealed truths, she was merely seen as a genius or attributed her prowess to innate talents. Her dedication and hard work were overshadowed by the assumption that her abilities flowed effortlessly from her veins.

The name “Margaret” gained prominence within the kingdom, often mentioned alongside her father’s, and even the king expressed a subtle desire to meet her, perhaps influenced by the fact that she was a woman.

“Miss, please return! Esteemed guests are soon to arrive.”

“Just make the necessary arrangements. I’ll be back in due time.”

As she mounted her horse, she paid little attention to the butler’s anxious call from behind.

“Klein! Could you dry me off a bit?”

“You know how it is. Master’s determination is unyielding; no one can change that. If he’s frustrated, he’ll take a spin and be back soon.”

The grown-up Klein followed her with a good-natured excuse. The once petite and skinny boy had matured into a well-built man. He rode up beside her on his horse, his height now requiring her to tilt her head upward to converse. Still, he remained her celestial-like master.

The day was bitingly cold, with breaths freezing upon exhalation, yet the sun radiated warmth. Unmelted patches of snow caught the sunlight, gleaming in response.

Upholding their pace, they traversed the terrain, heading all the way to the lakeside. As they neared the lake, the horse gradually slowed down. Panting audibly, it lifted its front hooves, as if resisting any further advancement.

“Master! It’s dangerous. There might be areas under the snow that haven’t frozen yet!”

Nonetheless, she continued with a determined tone, slowly making her way toward the center of the lake. Klein’s role had always been to restrain her from perilous actions, but he had never left her alone even once.

“Look, Klein. We made it safely to the center of the lake.”

“Please, Master, don’t package recklessness as courage.”

“Haha. This will be the last time for such antics.”

“Please, I hope it really is the last time.”

A gust of wind swept across the lake. The neatly tied ribbon unraveled, flying across to the other side of the lake. Standing behind Klein, who was going to retrieve the ribbon, she shouted.

“When spring comes, I’m going to the royal palace too.”

“Wha-?”

“Duke Elvino responded. If the princess comes and holds a wedding ceremony, yes. The king said he wants me to become a royal guard when she becomes the crown princess.”

“That’s great news! You’ve always wanted recognition.”

Catching the ribbon carried by the wind, Klein shook his hand above his head.

“Yes, my father serves the king. I will protect the king’s son. I have the duty to safeguard the royal family for generations to come.”

“Then I’ll protect you, Master! Just like I have been all this time, I’ll continue to do so!”

“Sure. I’ll leave my back to you.”

As he took a step toward her, the ice beneath her feet cracked. Letting go of the reins, the horse swiftly retreated to a spot where the ice hadn’t thawed.

She plunged rapidly into the frigid water, her body submerged. Her breath caught in her throat.

Klein’s distant figure rushing towards her disappeared in an instant, replaced by the view of the blue water surrounding her.

[I’ll watch over you.]

By whom?

Me, protecting the crown prince?

Klein, are you protecting me?

****

Even though she had fallen into the water, she could still feel the water around her. The wetness enveloped her face once again.

[ This can’t be death, can it? ]

[ She’s still breathing. ]

Slowly opening her eyes, she saw unfamiliar men. They all wore rough clothes and sported beards. One of them approached and slapped her cheeks a few times before widening her eyes and examining her closely.

-Seriously heartless bastards. They should have at least acknowledged that she’s a woman. Fortunately, it seems they don’t want to make a big fuss.

The man who splashed water at her spat out profanities lightly. Another man patted his shoulder, trying to calm him down.

[ But we did pay her well. Right? We should have paid her more if she were a woman. Really. ]

[ Even after seeing her in such a state, you can still say that? A woman with scars has diminished value. If she were a man, we could at least sell him as a servant since he looks somewhat decent. ]

Foreign language. It was a language she had learned, but she couldn’t recall it well. Instinctively, she reached for her sword, but her hands were bound behind her back. Her legs were in the same situation.

The spot where the sword had pierced her was bandaged. It seemed like she had been treated while she was unconscious.

Margarite slowly raised her head and looked around. Inside the tent that resembled a circus tent, there were only women gathered in a circle, with nothing else present. Despite their varying attire and appearances, they shared one common trait.

Both their hands and feet were bound.

These women conversed in their own languages, seemingly unable to communicate with one another. Among them, a few used languages that Margarite could understand, mostly talking about searching for their families with an air of anxiety.

The man wearing a turban eventually entrusted all the work to another man and swiftly exited the tent. The remaining men exchanged helpless glances before approaching Margarite.

“Noble lady, are you coming to your senses?”

“….”

“Do you perhaps know Bormanese? Well then, I guess I, being clever, will converse in the lingua franca. You’re a noble, so you must have learned the common tongue as part of your education.”

“….”

“See, I hope you’ve got quick wits. Your mind should be agile, and your tongue should be sharp.”

The man pointed at his head and spun it around. Unbeknownst to him, such an action meant “crazy” in Margarite’s homeland.

“We bought you thinking you were a man, and we’ve got no information at all. So, will you talk? Do you know? If we can get a good price for you, we might send you home instead of selling you.”

Margarite laughed at the man’s words, knowing they were lies. She had heard something similar from Klein once.

The worst thing about slave traders is that they lie about sending you home. They tell me that if I give them my age, name, and where I live, they’ll send me home. But that’s just like a product description. Slave traders knew that using gentle words is more effective than brute force.

She had scolded the young Margarite for believing such nonsense. But now, in this situation, she found herself wanting to cling to the lie that they might send her home.

“Hey, are you mute?”

Impatiently, the man slapped Margarite’s cheek. Then, grabbing her by the hair, he twisted it.

“I’m speaking nicely here. Ugh, I can’t hit you because you look decent. Fine. Don’t. Don’t. It’s becoming a bother. Your clothes aren’t exactly ordinary, so they might serve as a substitute for a guarantee.”

The man roughly released her hair and spat on the ground before leaving the tent.

“Hehehe…”

A bitter laugh escaped Margarite’s lips, eventually turning into a small sob.

I couldn’t protect them. I survived, but I couldn’t protect them.

Margarite recalled the portrait of the crown prince and princess that fell from the ship. This wasn’t something that happened overnight. It was meticulously planned. Could it be that they had anticipated where they would flee and issued a preemptive search warrant?

The fate of the crown prince and princess remained unknown. It depended entirely on Orleancourt’s intentions.

However, Klein. Her loyal retainer, Klein, would likely have died on the spot. He must have fought until he collapsed, hoping she had escaped unharmed. That was the kind of person he was.

She didn’t shed tears.

But within her deeper and more profound sense of despair, she could only lament endlessly. She remained unaware that her hair had turned white from shock.