Click clack, click clack—

Splash—

“Oh, dear me, I sincerely apologize.”

With a powerful yet mellifluous voice guaranteed to set people’s ears and hearts aflutter, the shapely woman clad in simple casual clothes reserved for royalty momentarily lowered her head in repentance to the gentlemen whose water bucket she had kicked over. Her footwear of choice being heeled allowed her to avoid most of the liquid from wetting her legs, however, she still felt the cold snap of water on her lower limbs.

“Madam, we are still in the middle of cleaning! Stop running around!!” the younger of the two men rudely scolded, callously jerking the incredibly used mop in his right hand in the woman’s direction. With how intensely he was shaking the mop, it was a wonder to see its worn sweeper remain intact.

“Oh, do forgive me, I am quite pressed for time! Sorry~!” Only slowing down to give them yet another bow, she immediately took off once more, her heeled footwear clacking against the cement floor. Before the younger man could shout after her once more, the woman had already vanished around a corner.

“Wait—!”

“Leave her be, Simeon,” the older man reprimanded. “Lord Truthseeker has already informed us to not mess with her and you already know the consequences for getting yourself on Lord Truthseeker’s bad side.”

“I’m well aware of that but—”

“Quiet,” the older man ordered bluntly. “Our job is to focus on cleaning; if we are not done by the time Lord Truthseeker returns, we won’t be allowed to break.” Squeezing the younger man’s shoulder with a rather powerful grip, the younger man tensed before relaxing. He silently proceeded to return to work, oblivious to the fact that after seven more repetitions, his mop would break.

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Click clack, click clack—

The woman did not stop running despite wearing rather ornate heeled footwear; she was—after all—used to wearing such things and they hardly affected her stride. Lifting the hems of her dress with her hands as she ran, she exposed her wet legs to the air for the purpose of drying them off. For the scattered few people she ran past, they were able to see the amount of care put into her legs—sleek and well-built—despite her naturally weak constitution. Her silver hair, bound by nothing, magnificently flowed from her crown and away with the wind as she swiftly moved through the hallways, daintily avoiding obstacles and stains of uncleanliness.

“Hup! Ha!” Letting out unladylike grunts as she maneuvered past the obstacles she so abhorred, she slowly made her way through the labyrinthine complex of the imperial castle to one specific room. “There it is,” she muttered to herself as she cracked open the door. Almost instantly afterwards, she doubled over in pain as she coughed. Her left hand flew to her mouth, covering just in time for her to pull her hand away to reveal a fresh clot of blood, hacked out of her body. “Ugh, I shouldn’t have—”

As she muttered curses to herself, she inspected the room, finding stacks of neatly folded yet entirely abandoned sheets, blankets, and other essentials for bedding. She even found a pile of pillows. Despite the room’s neglected condition, none of the textiles were dusty. She closely regarded the pillow in the top pile, mumbling, “Sebastian really told the maids to keep this place clean… What a truly terrifying man.” Silently applauding the work of the imperial castle’s head butler, she gazed throughout the room; of course, she found nothing out of place—no cobwebs, no grime, and no trash. In fact, she felt that if she swiped a finger against the wall, she wouldn’t find a speck of dirt. “Ugh, it slipped my mind to prepare a proper container… Ah, I’ll just simply make use of this laundry basket.”

With a sense of urgency, she packed a single pillow and two items each of the other bedding essentials into the laundry basket; after all, it was still quite dirty outside and she did not trust her body to be able to carry it all without dropping them and dirtying the textiles. Upon finishing, she hurriedly left the room, forgetting to relatch the door. With one hand hiking up her dress and the other hand wrapped around the basket, she continued her run, heading for a specific room in the castle.

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“Do excuse me, I am coming through.”

“Careful, Madam!”

“Not to worry, I know where I tread.”

“Madam, you’re going to trip!”

“Oh, that won’t happen. However, I do thank you for the warning!”

Even as she breezed right past them, the egregious lady left some comments in the wind for them to catch before vanishing as quickly as the wind itself goes. She was, after all, quite pressed for time; she could of course slow down and be late, however, that is most certainly disrespectful especially considering she is to meet the person who started this whole mess and is allowing her to escape out of pity. Surely showing the minimum level of decorum by being on time is not that far-fetched.

That gentleman has already made the choice to spare me even after executing him. It wouldn’t do for me to disrespect his mercy by being late. She continued running down the hallways until after a few more turns, arrived at her destination. Usually, there would be some attendants to announce her presence for she was about to enter the massive throne room doubling as the official audience chamber. Of course, as the audience chamber of the imperial palace, it was of such massive size that one could easily squeeze two hundred persons and perhaps more inside. Joy flashed across her face as she picked up the pace, close as she was to her destination.

However, she erred greatly when she paid little attention to what was at her feet. Her left foot catching on something, she tripped forward, a gasp of confusion escaping from her lips, “Eh—” Gently yet entirely ungracefully, she pitched forward, the items in her laundry basket following her. Her eyes sadly followed the pearl white beddings as they neared ever so closer to the ground, stained with both muck and blood. Cursing her own inflexibility, she lamented at how she had to return back to that storage room and prepare another set of fresh sheets and coming back here; the amount of time lost because of this possibility would certainly make her late to her meeting with the gentleman, however, this was necessary for her comfort and he would understand since he was showing pity to her.

Despite this, she found herself suspended mid-fall and the items she had dropped too floating in the air. Momentarily befuddled, she racked her brain in an effort to identify the person holding her; after all, she was sure there was absolutely no one in her vicinity who could’ve saved her with such practised ease.

Her contemplations were interrupted by a sonorous yet mellow inflection. “Are you alright, Madame Amalia?”

“Why, yes, I am quite fine thanks to you,” she replied after the gentleman rearranged her sheets and let her go. Making a show of dusting off her dress, she added, “If I am not mistaken, I was so sure you were busy organizing your men. You are quite early, Sir van Hofwegen.”

In front of her stood a man in light armour, a scruff of silver hair not unlike her own nested serenely atop his head. His gaze locked onto hers—those eyes, a pool of the purest quicksilver. It was as if he was bathed in silver from the moment he was born. This man’s inhuman beauty was a result of him being a Truthseeker, a guiding beacon of humanity born once every hundred-odd years; it was said that there could never be more than one Truthseeker in an era as guidance by two different beings will surely bring more chaos than order. His name was Floris van Hofwegen. “I received a report of a woman with silver hair rippling through the hallways, leaving behind an otherworldly scent.”

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“Ahaha, do refrain from trying to woo me,” Amalia smiled. “My husband may be dead but my love for him is not.”

“Do excuse me, that was merely a jest in poor taste,” van Hofwegen replied, brushing the disguised verbal barb aside. “I have taken the liberty to save your beddings.”

“My deepest gratitude, Sir van Hofwegen. I was so sure I had to return to the storage room to retrieve a new pair.”

“It is but a gentleman’s duty to help a lady in trouble,” he deflected as he handed her the basket. “For you are the world’s most beloved yet most feared lady, are you not, Empress Consort Amalia, the Thorn Princess?”

“My, Sir van Hofwegen, how many women have you beguiled with that silver tongue of yours? You’re making me blush.” Of course, Amalia showed no semblance of bashfulness in her countenance as she retrieved her basket. Glancing into it, she noticed that the wares inside have been refolded and neatly arranged in such a fashion that even the castle maids would fold upon seeing it. What a terrifying man. How fast did it take him to so neatly arrange these? Her husband was a Swordmaster—someone who has achieved the peak of the sword arts, however, seeing van Hofwegen’s skills in person allowed her to come to terms with the fact that it was no small wonder that her husband had lost his duel to this man. The gap in skill was simply too large for him to have closed off.

“I would be asking why you are in such a hurry, however, common courtesy dictates that I, the gentleman, answer the graceful lady’s question first. Indeed, I was organizing my men, however, my closest friend Erik insisted that I move ahead to meet you first in lieu of recovering my strength. The rumours around the Tyrant Emperor were certainly not exaggerated; he was an incredibly talented opponent. It is a shame that I had no choice but to kill him.”

“My husband has garnered far too much animosity in his horrendous reign of terror; it was only a matter of time for the Truthseeker to come for him.”

“I—” Sir van Hofwegen bit his lip as he considered how to word the next sentence. “I most sincerely apologize as this is certainly far too late, however, I must confess—if it were up to me, I would’ve loved to be friends with the Tyrant Emperor. Even during our duel, he seemed to be the type to be open to someone like myself. Perhaps together we could have overcome the animosity of the high class…”

“I need no further pity from you, Sir van Hofwegen.”

“I meant—”

“Enough,” she snapped. “You must escort me away from this palace. I may be used to the scent of blood and the sight of corpses but even I have a limit.”

“I… Yes, of course. I promise to escort you to safety.”

“Of course. After all, with my husband’s death, I no longer have any connection to this palace. It was my home for the better part of seven years but I no longer belong.”

“I don’t suppose that you are still considering the offer of being placed under my personal protection?”

“A very tempting offer, Sir van Hofwegen, however, I have already burdened you with the crime of murdering my husband the emperor. I cannot imagine what kinds of terrible rumours were to circulate around you if it were discovered that you sheltered me.”

“That does not matter—”

“That should matter, Sir van Hofwegen. I am nothing but a powerless woman now. One in your position should not risk compromising it for a powerless woman such as myself. Now, are we to go or not?”

“—” Sir van Hofwegen had no proper reply. Only after scratching his head in frustration did he say, “In that case, allow me the right to protect you from the shadows. Shall I at least have Erik accompany you until the border?”

“Unnecessary. You have given me far more than enough.” Amalia turned around and started for the secret passageway behind the garish throne that used to be her husband’s seat of power. “Please give my kind regards to Sir Regulus; I am truly grateful for his willingness to heal the wounded palace personnel.”

“—Erik would be glad,” Sir van Hofwegen sighed. At that moment, he made a fatal mistake; throughout their conversation, Sir van Hofwegen was accompanied by another one of his companions, a tall and lanky man by the name of Mattias Nordskov. Eluding van Hofwegen’s gaze, Nordskov slinked towards the unsuspecting Amalia, having completely erased his presence. In one smooth movement, he drew his blade and cleanly drove it through Amalia’s heart.

“Ghrk—” An unrecognizable groan escaped from Amalia’s lips as she looked down in both abject horror and peaceful tranquillity at the sword sprouting from her chest. Ever since her husband had locked her away in a room of the castle before the full invasion of the rebel army, Amalia figured that she was now on borrowed time. If there was one thing she was allowed to regret, it was that she was unable to die at his side.

“Treason, Nordskov!” Sir van Hofwegen shouted when he noticed—far too late to react.

Nordskov did not immediately reply and instead withdrew his blade embedded in Amalia. Swishing the blade to remove her blood, he turned around after having returned the sword to its sheath. “I ask again, why must we keep her alive?”

“I made a promise with the warrior that was her husband that I would keep her safe in his stead!” Drawing his sword, Sir van Hofwegen did not hesitate to immediately close the distance between himself and Nordskov and impale him. “Why, Nordskov? Why would you jeapordize our friendship like this?”

“Ha—” Nordskov made no attempt to explain himself as blood escaped from his lips and the light left his eyes, his body adding to the number of corpses already covering the audience chamber.

“Madame Amalia—”

“It’s alright, Sir van Hofwegen.” Amalia said from the floor. Without the sword supporting her, she had crumpled like a puppet with its strings cut. Facing the ceiling, the wound in her chest kept effusing blood, pooling beneath her in a fantastical flower of death.

Suddenly, Amalia found herself looking at a younger version of herself, around age seven, being taught by her personal tutors that she was an important lady, destined to marry the future emperor.

She looked upon her twelve-year-old self, bedecked with only the purest of jewels and the most immaculate of cloth in preparation for her wedding.

She saw the man who would be her husband slain in front of her eyes by another man—someone who immediately stole her heart away.

She found herself staring up at the empty ceiling once more as she muttered, “I—”

“Madame Amalia!”

“I so wish I could have attended his funeral… if at least in secret…”

“I’m sorry, Madame Amalia, I’m so sorry—!”

Amalia laughed weakly as she hacked out a clump of blood. “It truly was… a curse to have loved… a tyrant like him.” As she slowly closed her eyes, she mumbled, “I should’ve… held tighter… onto his reins…”

“Yes… I’m sure that you would have been able to guide him on the right path. I truly believed that he and I could have been the best of friends, had we met under different circumstances.”

“Now that’s… too much flattery…”

“It is not, Madame Amalia. I swear to you on my life and name as a Truthseeker—I shall never forget you nor your husband.”

“What… an honour…” Amalia felt her consciousness slipping away as she once again mulled over her life.

She had chosen to love and marry a despot, someone who had no qualms with immediately drawing their blade against those who disagree with him. With her at his side, she kept a firm grasp on her husband’s murderous tendencies and decreased the number of lives lost after their forcible acquisition of the crown. How many people knew that the Tyrant Emperor was so adorably weak to the whims of his wife?

So nonsensical was her love for the Tyrant Emperor that she could do nothing but laugh at herself—because where did it end up leaving her?

A widow.

She expected to feel nothing as she was carried away by the river of souls, however, she felt herself anchored before seemingly finding herself going backward.

Wait a minute, this—!

Amalia knows this feeling—nay, she recognizes it. I’m being reincarnated again…!?

“Oh, lost one, I require your assistance.”

What?

“One of my colleagues played a truly foolish prank. I only just now discovered his meddling. This was not supposed to happen.”

Oh, gee, I wonder why.

“I see where you earned your title of Thorn Princess; truly, you are unbridled.”

Why, thank you. I unfortunately can’t curtsy due to my current state but—

“A nonissue. If anything, it should be me performing it as I am asking you to assist me in repairing the worldline.”

Say what now?

“As I’ve previously stated, my colleague has done a major grievance with his fiddling of your specific worldline. Neither yours nor your husband’s death was supposed to occur at that point in time should your worldline progressed normally.”

So… I’m going back in time to fix the worldline from the inside out?

“I’m so very glad that you are this clever; as expected of the Thorn Princess—the lady feared to possess the world’s greatest intelligence.”

Why, thank you. With that being said, how far back are you sending me?

“That, I cannot tell you, however, I will gift you with greater abilities. While I am unable to adjust your physical body—conditions that affect me as a divinity, I can most certainly adjust everything else.”

So… I’ll be way stronger in every department but I’ll still have my piss-poor constitution?

“Now is that in any way for a lady such as yourself to speak?”

Bah, the only one who’ll hear me is you.

“True, I suppose. I’ve made all of the necessary adjustments to you. I will occasionally check in on your progress but do not expect me to assist you any further; I am forbidden from direct interference.”

In that case, I’ll wait for the next time you connect with me.

“Oh, one last thing, I have left behind something that would assist you in your journey.”

Amalia was about to ask but found her eyes fluttering closed; she figured she would find out soon anyway and so, relinquished her spirit to the whims of the divine.