CLIP-CLOP!

SPLASH!

“Oh, pardon me!” A lady in her twenties, clad in what seemed to be her everyday clothes ran past two men in a long hallway; the liquid scattered on the floor splashed to her bare legs, staining them. The odd choice of wearing some sort of heeled sandals contributed much to the mess she made on her own legs.

“Lady, we are still cleaning! Stop running around!!!” One of the two men, clearly on cleaning duty, shouted angrily at the woman. In his hands a large mop that’s clearly been used too much, silently begging its user to change the mophead into a clean one. 

“Sorry! I have little time on my hands~ I hope you’ll forgive me~!” She stopped and courteously bowed to the man in charge—and she dashed off again, making the clip-clop sound she made earlier. Before the man could say anything, she had disappeared into another turn in the hallways.

“Wait—!”

“Hush, let her be. General already told us not to mess with her, so it’s best if you let it go.” The other person who had been wiping the windows silently spoke up. As he turned around, it was clear that he was older than the man with a worn mop. The white facial hairs on his face dressed up the expression, silently draping them with blankness. 

“Yeah, but—”

“Nuh-uh. We’ll just focus on cleaning. Else, we won’t have time for break.” With a calm and collected expression, the old man held the young man’s shoulder. After a moment of silence, the young man’s shoulder tensed down and with a sigh, he continued his duty to wipe the floor of any stains, oblivious to the strain he put on his worn-out mophead.

***

CLIP-CLOP!

The lady didn’t stop running; her heeled sandals were something she was used to wearing, and it didn’t slow her one bit. Her dress was lifted up in such a way that it exposed half of her bare thighs, a clean and sleek portion of her limb, showing signs of her health and the care she put on her body. Her golden hair, combed into ringlets, waved behind her as she swiftly moved through the hallways filled with obstacles and uncleaned stains.

“Hup! Ha! Whoops! Hah!” As she jumped over them one by one, words escaped her mouth, accompanied by the same noise her footwear made before. This time, there was nobody in the hallway, so she’s quite free to go as fast as her heart desired. Her destination was a room before the next turn, anyway.

“There we go~ Nice and easy.” As the room door creaked open, light shone into the dark room, revealing a stack of abandoned pillows, blankets, and many other bed essentials. Despite the room’s condition, it seemed that none of these wares were dusty.

She picked up one pillow and inspected it, before muttering to herself, “Sebastian really told the maids to clean every inch of this place. What a scary old man.”

It seems like the fine condition of these wares were the courtesy of a man named Sebastian. If someone were to look closely at the walls, too, they’d realize that it was indeed quite the clean walls. No cobwebs could be seen on the ceiling, and if a finger was to swipe the surface, they’d feel what could be felt from every unabandoned wall they could find: a tended surface, inviting no disgust to its interactors. 

“Ugh, I forgot to carry a container with me… I guess I’ll use the basket here instead.” All the pillows were white. There were liquid stains in the hallway, and she’d like her pillows clean! In one rushed motion, she gathered a pillow, a blanket, and two bedsheets inside an emptied basket. She didn’t even bother to close the storage door behind her, such a hurry she was in!

One hand at the basket over her shoulders, and the other focused on keeping her skirt high. She ran off and disappeared into another turn in the hallway. 

***

“Coming through! Pardon!”

CLIP-CLOP!

“Hey, careful!”

CLIP-CLOP!

“I know what I am doing! No need to worry!”

“You’re going to trip, Lady.”

“I am not! Thank you for the warning!”

In a slightly distorted accent, she answered the worried concern of the men in the hallways. She strode off quickly, not stopping for a second because she was, in fact, having one of the busiest times in her life. Obviously, she could slow down and be late—there were no real repercussions for her if she did so because she had her life at the guarantee of someone with power. However, she merely wanted to speed up the process of what she’s doing, exactly because she had a guarantee on her life.

It’d be quite disrespectful if she overused that generosity, wouldn’t it? That’s what she thought, at least. 

After a few more turns at the hallway, she finally reached the one she desired to be in; one leading to a huge room inside the building, a place capable of containing at least two-hundred––nay, three-hundred people if they were to gather in it. A small spark of joy flashed in her eyes, knowing that she’s closer to what she wanted to accomplish.

But that moment of joy was where the opening appeared; she let her guard down for a moment, and a calamitous mistake was about to befall her. Poor girl, not realizing the obstacle just a few centimeters before her feet. 

THUD

“Eh—?”

With but a single word that escaped her mouth, her leg tripped over something. An obstacle, harder than clay, yet softer than marble. In a gentle-yet-ungraceful motion, her body steeped forward, suffering the leftover inertia she built-up running. The contents of her basket, affected by Newton’s First Law, flew out of the container, soaring into the open air. She could see it with her own eyes as she got closer to the ground: the white pillow, the white bedsheets, the white blanket; all about to touch the floor. And the floor was dirty.

Each millisecond passed as she cursed her own ignorance, regretting how much she could’ve saved those pure white bed wares from the stain that was about to dirt them. Now, she had to run back around, resupplying herself with a new pack of those, likely to be more careful when she’d traverse the hallways. 

If only she heeded the warning of the men who cleaned the hallways. Now, she could only close her eyelids in hopes that it’d lessen the pain of losing another clean pillow for her bed….

Or does she have to?

A few seconds had passed, she could feel it, but no sound of a soft pillow thumping the ground could she heard. And there was this strange sensation of someone holding her body. Huh? Was someone even close enough to even save her from falling? She was sure that nobody was in this particular hallway.

“Lady Amalia, are you alright?” A soothing voice of a young man came over to her ears. It was a familiar voice, one she had heard yesterday. She didn’t open her eyes, and instead, tried to stand up—obviously, the man helped her.

“Why, yes, I am fine, thank you.” She dusted herself off, despite it being clear that she avoided the fall. “I thought you were busy organizing your men, Sir Guillarme?”

In front of her, stood an armored knight. He was tall, and under the armor, it was clear that he was properly built with enough training and nutrition. A crown of neatly arranged silver hair nested on his head, complete with silvery brows. Even his eyes were tinged with silver irises, giving off the impression that someone just coated him with silver from his birth.

It was a rare color, a mark for someone that was born gifted. A successor of the Truth Seeker Lineage, a lost lineage of gifted swordsmen with clear hearts and bright minds. The lineage itself was nothing out of blood relation; it was simply whoever had the noble soul to wear it, would be born with the mark and skills. It was said, no two Truth Seekers could exist at the same time, as there can only be one for each era. And this man was this era’s Truth Seeker: Jacques Guillarme, formerly known as “The Silver Guard”.

The woman’s eyes were then fixated on his right hand, as he seemed to hold something in it. It was her basket, complete with the contents that were about to spill and stain themselves! How glad she was, to have Sir Guillarme save her from the trouble of having to traverse the hallways a second time. “O-Oh, thank you. I thought I’d have to travel back to the storage and get new ones.”

“No need to, Lady Amalia. It was my duty as a gentleman that I’d have to help a lady in trouble.” Courteously, he nodded as he presented the basket to Amalia. 

“Aw, Sir Guillarme, you’re making me blush.” Without actually blushing, Amalia took the basket to her own hands. The white wares weren’t stained at all, and surprisingly, they were already neatly arranged. He did that in a few seconds? Such strengths, she thought to herself.

It was no secret that those who have mastered the blade could commit feats that a normal human wouldn’t ever dream to do, but to see it with her own two eyes made her wonder—that there was no question how his husband lost to this man. He could never win against Jacques Guillarme, despite being a swordmaster himself. Their gap was simply too huge to be closed off.

If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

“I would ask why are you in such a hurry, Lady Amalia, but… it seems that the common courtesy would be to answer your question first before I do; so, yes, I was supposed to organize my men. Fortunately, my friend Erik decided that I should get some rest after my last battle, so here I was. It was by mere chances that I saw you from the end of this hallway, so I came rushing over. Thankfully, I wasn’t too late!”

“Ah, you truly are a kind and noble person, Sir Guillarme. Now, now, you need not to ask me why the hurry; I was merely preparing to… leave the castle sooner.”

Guillarme showed a surprised expression on his face before realizing why. “Ah, I see. Sorry if it caused your discomfort, but the guarantee that I and my friend Erik placed on your life was a sincere one. Although, this was technically your home, and we were merely the perpetrators to it; it would indeed discomfort anyone to have their life laid on the hands of whoever invaded their home, whether peacefully or not.”

The woman sighed. Well, what could she do? There was nothing she could do towards this. She didn’t know about it until the last second when her husband threw her into their room and locked her in it. By the time she managed to bust down the door, it was already over. There was nothing she could do. “Yes, Sir Guillarme. It is indeed, discomforting. And thus, I have decided that I shall leave the castle immediately. After all, with the death of my beloved husband, I have no more connection to the palace.”

“I could only respect your wishes, Lady Amalia.”

“Thank you, Sir Guillarme.”

“Know that the guarantee still applies anywhere you go. Would you like Erik to arrange your transportation?”

“There’s no need to. You have given me enough, Sir Guillarme,” she smiled and turned her back against him. “Please give my regards to Sir Regulus. I am glad he was willing to heal the wounded palace personnel.”

“Erik would be glad.”

With that final exchange between them, Amalia walked over the obstacle she tripped over before—a corpse. It wasn’t very fresh, but it would be cleaned soon. Even the blood had started to dry. Amalia didn’t bother to run again, this time. She walked into the King’s Court as is, holding the basket with two hands. Her husband died here, and he probably died with the intention of protecting her. 

She was glad that he locked her up in the room.

Yet, it also saddened her, as she couldn’t be with him in his final moments. By the time she reached the court, his heart wasn’t beating anymore, and the only thing she could do was to stare with her saddened eyes.

She was sad, but she didn’t shed any tears. She merely touched his body and said, “you’re such a foolish husband.”

She refused to attend his funeral—planned to be done in a few hours from now. The funeral held no meaning for her, as she loved him for a mere five years, and to her, it wasn’t enough to get her to love him in his death. She wanted more time to spend with him until she’s satisfied. Her greed to love him wasn’t fulfilled, and the void that appeared in her heart was probably her fate all along.

The curse of having to love a tyrant such as him.

She was merely a young noblewoman. She knew nothing of her soon-to-be marriage partner. 

A young man of another noble house, who managed to topple the previous royal family with his own power and took over the ruling before their marriage. 

Suddenly, she was an Empress Consort of sorts. 

Suddenly, she was cut-off from her family.

Suddenly, she had to love someone who was later known as a bloodthirsty ruler; one with power to crush any opposition handed to him. It was the first in the kingdom’s history, to have a coup d’etat sponsored by practically one family, to successfully take over the country. That year was later written down as the worst year the kingdom had, with how many people her husband had killed to smooth over his rule. Though, it was mostly an internal conflict, and not many peasant blood was shed. Rumors had it that he hung the opposing ministers and executives in the courtroom headless; but she knew that it wasn’t a rumor. It was something she saw for herself. 

The end of the year was their marriage, probably the only good thing to ever come out of that. Even the kingdom’s subjects viewed it as a blessing later on, seeing that their tyrant became less bloodthirsty—still with a bunch of terms degrading the lives of the lowly.

Indeed, it was her doing. She married him, and secretly, held the rein to his neck. Who would’ve known that the bloodthirsty tyrant that took over the kingdom by force would be so weak to his wife?

Amalia chuckled as she remembered how her life had been all this time. It was nonsensical—so nonsensical that she’d rather call her husband a fool instead of her darling. She was always regarded as a frail woman by those who knew nothing of the royal household; in truth, she was frail, but with a matured and fine political acumen over her husband’s enemies. She had the knowledge on how to maneuver the tough world of nobility, and she committed herself to it.

This is where it landed her.

A tyrant’s widow. 

Even then, she did love him. Despite what he did, she couldn’t deny that her love was genuine. They never had a child, but that was her wish so she could spend more time alone with him. 

Despite the initial arrangements, she could say that they lived as a good household. She’s glad.

She stopped in the middle of the court and stared at the throne that her husband just sat on yesterday. It was empty, obviously. Beside it, a throne for herself, empty as well. There were a few specks of blood in her husband’s throne, most likely his own blood. Perhaps, if it wasn’t for Guillarme, she’d be dead by now. 

But, having her life saved by the killer of her husband? What a joke. 

She sighed and turned her back towards the empty thrones.

In front of her, was a pile of bodies. The bodies of those who fought Guillarme and her husband—namely, the palace guards and the revolution army. She was lucky—lucky that she wasn’t in one of these piles. She had read stories of a successful revolution in a neighboring country and in a continent far away; the royal family was hung, all of them. Even the children, who knew nothing of what their parents ever did. Guillarme was indeed of the Truth Seeker Lineage. If he wasn’t, she’d also be dead by now, after having her body desecrated by the hands of the revolutionist men.

Once more, she sighed. Perhaps, if it wasn’t Guillarme, her husband could’ve handled it perfectly. Even if she was to be kidnapped, she knew that he’d chase whoever did it with his own hands and give a taste of his sword. He’d never let his wife be desecrated by whoever’s not him.

And so, she sighed again. 

A tear formed in the corner of her eyes.

“Ah, silly me,” she said. Amalia simply wiped off the tear as she closed her eyes. 

At that moment, everything felt frozen. It was a mere second, but it was something Amalia knew and felt. She had felt it before, twice, and now she was about to experience it for the third time. She knew of it, but she had no time to react to it. It was simply too fast for her shock to process. There were neither warnings nor signs, it’d just happen as is. The first time she had it, she questioned “Why?” but no one was there to answer. The second time, she still questioned, and there was still no one to answer.

But this time, she might know the answer. 

The scenery in front of him slowly faded out of existence, and slowly, it was replaced by something else. The basket in her hand dematerialized, along with her clothes. They turned into something else entirely; a handheld fan and an elegant red dress which skirt touched not the ground. Her hands were suddenly wrapped with thin evening gloves, containing the beautiful skin underneath. The ringlets on her blonde hair were gone, and it was replaced by a high ponytail, held by an emblematic black rose ribbon. The rays of light that shone through the court’s window was replaced by the gentle moonlight.

Though, there was something else that didn’t change: there were still piles of corpses in the court. The blood was fresh. The smell of iron was strong. Even she could feel the souls slowly leaving the room. 

“N-No—! Forg—AAAAGHHH—-!!!” 

Behind her, the sound of steel grinded through flesh and bones could be heard. She turned around and found her husband standing on the stairs leading to the throne, his body clad in black and white linens. Under him was the corpse of a dead man, with a blade that went through his neck. The life on his eyes had left the body, probably even before he was stabbed. 

She remembered.

This was some time after their first year of marriage. A group of naive militants would infiltrate the palace when she was attending a ball by herself, and as she returned to the court, this was what she found. It seems like another coup, sponsored by the executives of the palace had taken place, and she managed to return on the right time to see the aftermath. 

“So uncouth,” a voice exclaimed. “Any civilized man would know not to disturb a man’s rest. Yet here they are, waking me up from my early bedtime.”

“Is that the reason why you’re still in your pajamas?”

“Fairly.” 

Amalia then closed in on her husband, who had been woken up from his sleep and still managed to slaughter all the opposition that were sent to him. Halfway through her steps, her husband took the stairs to the throne and sat on his seat. Consequently, she stopped to have a better look at his figure.

“At least, I had time to put on my boots. I’ll commend them for that.” He was indeed, not barefeet.

“That should be the least of your concern, you fool.” Amalia hit her own head with the fan.

“How was the party, then, Lia?” He leaned forward from the throne, eager to hear his wife’s answer.

“It was boring. Such is every party attended by nobles.” She stared at the corpses below her feet before continuing her words. “I shall arrange the maids to clean this by at least tomorrow night.”

“Poor them. But that’s their job. If they want anyone to blame, they should blame these traitors for adding more filth to clean.” The man on the throne smiled and shrugged. Obviously, it wasn’t a daily problem for him, but killing anyone that opposed him was already a routine since the day before he was coronated. 

“You see, I have thought of something, my foolish Darling.” Suddenly, Amalia stared at her husband with sharp eyes. It was a gaze that he could never forget, as it struck something inside him. It inspired fear, an emotion he could impossibly receive from anyone else but her.

“E-eh? L-Lia? Y-Yes?”

Amalia started closing in on the throne. She walked over the corpses of the dead men as if it was nothing. She had seen this scenery countless times, and it was nothing she’d be afraid of anymore. “I start to think that your position isn’t quite safe enough, my Dear Husband.”

“W-What do you mean…? Don’t you see I could easily defeat those who stood in my way…?”

“Yes, that is indeed correct; I wouldn’t doubt my beloved darling to easily slay his foes as easily as a hot butter knife cuts through butters. It would be no exaggeration that there were no butters you couldn’t cut. However,” Amalia was finally right in front of the throne, staring at his slouching husband. 

“However…?”

Without so much as to actually answer, Amalia raised her right heels and planted it just right above his husband’s head. The throne didn’t so much as budge, but the seat owner’s heart definitely did. He was slowly sliding down the throne.

“Uh… L-Lia, I could–I could see your—”

“My undergarments? You can see them all you like. But of course, I wore something that could please your eyes tonight. That, however,” disregarding whatever struggle he had, Amalia pulled him by his shirt’s collar and while still having her leg practically preventing him from going anywhere, she closed in on his face, giving off a stare that could even parallel that of a dragon’s. “Was not my concern.”

“And… what is your concern…?”

“One day, that butter knife would have to go through a block of steel, and in an unexpected turn of events, it would break and could never be of use anymore.”

A silence emerged after. Then, a second later, he chuckled. “Are you saying that I’d die from a coup?”

“Truth Seeker.”

“...what?”

“The Truth Seeker Lineage. In four years, this era’s Truth Seeker would come and lead the revolution army, within such a short notice that nobody saw it coming. And you will die in a face-off against him.”

“...what?”

“And I wouldn’t want my husband to die like that.”

“...pardon me, Lia, but have you gone insane from the boredom?” And now, a genuine question mark appeared in front of his face. He had known how his wife acted for about a year; sure, she was scary, but he didn’t know she could go insane from boredom.

Another silence emerged, and Amalia slowly formed a smile on her face. It was slow. A smile formed slowly, as slow as her own realization. Insane, she probably has gone insane, indeed. Realizing this, she laughed. She laughed and laughed, until she couldn’t hold the tension in her right leg.

Before she could fall backwards, her husband gracefully caught her in his arms. She, however, was still laughing. She kept laughing and laughing, until her husband decided to ask something. “So, has my beloved Lia actually gone insane, then?”

Amalia stopped laughing, and in its place, a smirk formed. She gazed at his husband’s eyes before leaping onto his mouth, delivering a passionate kiss without warning. The kiss lasted for a minute before Amalia herself stopped it and pushed her partner to the throne. He, obviously, followed and sat on it, slouched. Amalia followed soon, lying her body beside him, caressing the toned and well-trained muscles he had. “Oh, my Dear Husband; indeed, your Lia had gone insane. Lia have loved his husband for five years, and will continue to love him even more. I know more than you about what shall happen in the future, and I’d like to spend more years with you. That is why, starting tomorrow, I am going to whip you up into shape~”

He silently sat there, answering nothing. Just a little, he shivered at what his wife told him.

“I have gone insane from loving you, and you will take responsibility by living longer. I’ll make sure you won’t lose to even the Truth Seeker~~” 

Amalia didn’t care about what they were in: a court filled with blood. She climbed over her husband’s body and as she hugged her deeply, words were whispered softly into his ears.

“I came from the future where I lost you, but now, I am not losing you a second time. That, is my promise. That, is what Amalia Sylvia-Sigrid Lehtinen wanted.”

[]