Thank you, Jesus—the [Princess] opted to leave her Royal Guard stationed outside. I'm not well-versed in the intricate intricacies of royal decorum, but I'm reasonably sure that having the guard’s eyes fixed upon the [Princess] during a fitting session would be quite inappropriate. Not to mention, what she's trying on isn't even remotely scandalous.

In fact, there's one big oddity about this woman.

"Am I to understand that you also sleep adorned in this armor?" I inquire, my eyes taking in the hefty, gleaming, metallic suit that encases her frame. Fulvia, the best [Seamstress] in Amorium, is meticulously taking her measurements, her face a mask of intense concentration.

We are at Fulvia's because the [Princess] needs a nice uniform to wear tomorrow. What I did not expect in the least is the fact that Laurealia would still be wearing her armor.

With a grave tone, she explains, "The mantle of a [Princess] is accompanied by risks," she says. "This isn't just a suit of armor; it's woven with a myriad of protective enchantments and spells. It’s an extra shield, even in my sleep."

Chuckling lightly, I respond, "Sounds slightly over the top, but I do understand. If our roles were reversed and I were the [Prince], they would probably be out there trying to murder me just about any day."

"I'm sure they try, sweetheart," Fulvia straightens up and pats the [Princess]'s armor, giving me a cursory glance—wait, is it worry that I see in her eyes? "Your Highness, I'm done. Would you like me to make the uniform so that it fits above your armor?"

To my astonishment, Princess Laurealia, with a touch of warmth in her eyes, nods appreciatively at Fulvia, "yes, please. I don't plan on taking my armor off unless I'm in a safe space."

Maybe I should have invented therapy instead of caramel, I find myself thinking, scratching my head.

As Fulvia steps closer, she playfully pinches my arm sharply, follows it up with a conspiratorial wink, and then quickly shuffles off to the backroom, no doubt to begin her work on the royal uniform. The ambiance is thick with tension, and I try to diffuse it.

"So," I begin tentatively, "you're not particularly fond of that noblewoman? Um... her name escapes me."

"Diana Valeria Scarlatta," the [Princess] offers, her voice dripping with a mix of disdain and bitterness.

"Right, Diana. She seems… strong. I would have thought you'd appreciate a strong woman."

"I harbor no romantic inclinations towards women, if that's your insinuation," Laurealia shoots back, her voice icy.

"Woah, woah!" I raise my hands defensively, "That's not where I was headed. I just meant two powerful women working together. No implications."

The [Princess]'s eyes flash with a dangerous glint to them. "You'd do well to tread carefully with your words. Some have met a grim fate for far lesser misconceptions."

"Alright, alright," I raise my hands. "Can I ask why you don't like her, though? Or is that a ploy made up by me, the cunning Human, to get below your skin and… do something nefarious?"

"Diana Scarlatta belongs to a family of vipers. Their matriarch, Diana's grandmother, should have faced the executioner's blade decades ago. Yet, our leniency toward the nobility spares her."

"Why would you want her grandma dead?"

Wait, Magister Mulligan, are we talking about the woman who was with the [General] before my duel with Appius?

Yes, young Luciani.

"Once blood is spilled, it alters the Flora Sanguinis forever," [Princess] Laura speaks with utter disgust. "The Day of Blooming is close, Human. I imagined you would know as much."

"I have no idea what you just said," I frown.

"You don’t?" [Princess] Laurealia seems skeptical.

"I don't. Nope. Nothing."

There's a momentary lapse where I detect a hint of vulnerability in her stance before it's masked by her royal façade again. "If you're attempting to make a fool out of me, Human—"

"Joey," I snap, "the name's Joey."

"Well, Joey, you don't know about the most important day in our calendar?"

I shake my head.

"Nine days from today, it'll be the Day of Blooming. It reminds us of the day we eradicated the Human presence from this continent once and for all."

She looks at me with narrowed eyes.

"The bad weed always grows back," I say, pointing a thumb at my chest. "What about the Flora Sanguinis, though? What's that?"

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

The room's atmosphere suddenly grows dense.

"During the time when the Humans were obliterated en masse, in response to the heinous transgressions they had committed against us, our [Druids] united in force. Such a gathering was unprecedented. While these [Druids] became the pinnacle of our defense, many succumbed to the fierce onslaught as the Humans tried to reclaim their territories, storming our shores," she recalls, her voice a mix of pride and sorrow.

Laurealia's voice then takes on a soft, yet chilling, tone as she goes on, "The Flora Sanguinis is a seemingly innocuous tree. But once it drinks deeply from blood, it undergoes a startling transformation. Its bark turns a permanent shade of crimson, and without the regular sustenance of more blood, it withers away, losing its capacity to draw nutrients from the earth. Yet, this gruesome transformation makes its wood almost unbreakable, and its leaves, which also turn scarlet, become akin to the sharpest of blades. Generations of [Druids] capitalized on its fortified nature, cultivating vast expanses of these forests. Now, we gather to celebrate our liberation from your kind."

"Damn, that's one gory holiday," I frown.

She looks at me, her eyes cold, but the story isn't finished yet. "Cornelia Valeria Novafamilia used the Day of Blooming to enact a heinous act. To signify the pruning of weakness, she heartlessly slit the throats of all the family members she considered 'useless and corrupt.' She had a rather large patch of her family's forest die to make a point: you must be ready to cut off the dry branches."

"And you hate Diana because…"

The [Princess] spat out, her face contorted with loathing, "She's Cornelia's flesh and blood. She carries the same rotten blood responsible for that slaughter. The Novafamilia think like a Human. People are just disposable tools to her."

"You hate her just because she's that woman's granddaughter? Do I have this right? You don't like someone because their grandparent is an asshole?"

"Diana's parents are useless—she was brought up by her grandmother. Later, she ran away to become an Adventurer, but she's just like her. She disgusts me."

"Ah, alright. So, she ran away, and therefore… she's just like her grandma?" I look at the [Princess], fully confused.

"It takes more than lucky breeding to avoid being as foolish as your parents," The [Princess] turns away, a hint of vulnerability creeping into her voice. "Sometimes, becoming yourself comes at a cost. But it's necessary to see through your parents’ foolishness."

I instantly feel like she's not talking about Diana anymore.

"Do your parents hate Humans then?" I ask curiously.

The [Princess] turns back to me, her lush purple hair swaying in the morning light.

"No."

"Huh," I say, confused. "Then why do you hate Humans?"

"My parents showed me everything the Humans had done since the moment I was born, Joey. I know everything about your kind. What is more surprising is that my parents don't hate Humans. After all the genocides, slavery, and monstrosities you stained your kind with, it's beyond me how my Royal Parents don't finish the job initiated by my ancestors. But that's how they are…"

"Alright, I think we can stop there," I say, raising an eyebrow, "I'm not really comfortable with you suggesting genocide for my entire race, Laurealia."

"[Princess] Laurealia," she narrows her gaze.

"Nah. Not my [Princess]."

"I'm done!" Fulvia suddenly says, swinging back into the room before the atmosphere can get any worse. "Look at this!" She brings in a very nice garment to the [Princess], who bites her lower lip not to scream at me.

"Lovely," Laurealia says. "How much is it? I don't want to owe him any money."

"Oh, Your Highness, Aureamanus has taken care of all your expenses for the stay. She said she would have me clubbed if I had you pay for anything."

I see Laurealia freezing slightly before nodding mechanically, "thank you."

The [Princess] puts away the uniform and the special apron made for her and swiftly leaves. Before I can follow, I feel Fulvia’s grip on my forearm.

"I gotta go, Fulvia. No time for chit-chat today. I still haven't visited Irene. She'll probably take my head off."

But before I can free myself, the woman clamps down twice as strongly.

"You need to listen," she says, her expression dead serious. "You're in danger, Joey."

…

"How do you know Marcella anyway?" I catch up with the [Princess], the Royal Guard clearly displeased with my presence.

"She's a powerful [Merchant]," Laurealia says stiffly.

For a [Princess], she really cannot lie.

"And?"

"None of your business," she snaps, suddenly turning to me with a fiery gaze—well, what I suppose is a fiery gaze since she's wearing her helmet again. "This, Joey, is my duty. I will not, however, entertain you! Now, get lost before I cut you down!"

"Dayum," I say, smiling tightly, feeling anger fire up from the bottom of my guts. "You know what, I'll go. I have somewhere to be before our demonstration. I'll see you later at the Pratus."

The [Princess] turns away when I can't help myself from speaking again, "oh, one thing!"

She turns, clutching her gauntlet around her sword.

"You can try and cut me down, [Princess]. But just remember: you might see me as a Human, but truth to be told, I'm actually ethnically Italian, culturally and by birth American, but most importantly, a Vanedeni by fucking flesh and blood."

…

It is refreshing to see you take pride in your new heritage.

It is refreshing to insult that woman. Do you think I can take her?

No.

Damn. Hey, da—DAMN! Come on, you didn't even think about it! Why do you do me like that?!

She's much stronger than you.

Christ, really?

The difference in physical strength is actually minimal, but she clearly has much more combat experience and levels than you. Perhaps you could cunningly attack her with your magic, but… I doubt it would hurt her.

What about the goddamn huge sword?

You would never hit her.

Fuck, really?

She has a dexterity-based, probably [Duelist]-adjacent class.

I make a fist, angry, but then I take a deep breath and just knock on the door I’ve just reached.

Irene opens it moments later.

"Hey, sorry about yesterday, I was just really tired and—"

"Joey," Irene speaks with an even tone, "it's ok. I—I understand. Yesterday… it was a weird day."

"Oh, thank God," I sigh, "I thought you'd be angry,” I say as I make a move to step inside.

But Irene puts a hand on my chest and stops me dead in my tracks.

"Joey, I have something to tell you," Irene says.

Oh, shit. Is this going to be…

"Sure?" I say, stressing a smile.

"About Lucinda," Irene specifies, looking straight into my eyes with her brown, hazelnut irises.

Oh, dammit.

"It was all Flaminia, my little bear," I say, trying to use a cute name to calm her. "I didn't have anything to do with it."

"I know," Irene nods, and I immediately sigh in relief. "However, if you want to see me ever again, that’s the last time you’ll ever speak to Lucinda."