Baby Prisoner of the Winter Castle

Chapter 2

The king of Shefers postponed their return for a day. He said it was to give Clarisse time to prepare, but he surely had other intentions. It was clearly an indirect offer for Maximilian, the Duke of Sheridan, to go back on his decision and mentally prepare himself to execute the young princess. That was the most reasonable explanation.

Killing a child you cared for when she turns eighteen sounds ghastly. Quentin Sinclair, Maximilian’s aide, immediately tried to dissuade him.

“My lord, do you truly mean to take the princess with you?”

“Yes. Why the long face?”

“Because I cannot help but wonder how you can be so clueless! Having another resident in the estate is not a simple matter.”

“Is that so?”

“You may think of it as just a matter of setting the table for one more person, but it is certainly not!”

At his words, Maximilian seemed to finally consider the realistic implications that came with his decision. He pondered for a moment and nodded slowly.

“I see. I will order the servants to buy a set of tableware for a child.”

He immediately picked up a pen and wrote “buy tableware” on a piece of paper.

Quentin buried his face in his hands. “My goodness! That’s only the tip of the iceberg! You may have made your decision in a moment of sympathy, but the servants are the ones who will suffer for it!”

He took a step closer toward Maximilian’s desk—or to be precise, the desk of the prince killed by Maximilian.

“The princess looks like she is about seven years old,” Quentin said.

“No. She’s nine,” Maximilian replied.

He recalled the information he had read about the Grezekaiah royal family. But that did not seem very important at the moment, as Quentin continued making a fuss.

“Seven or nine, she is still just as adorable!” he screeched, looking as if he was about to cry. “Think about it, my lord. A nine-year-old child running around the cold northern lands of Sheridan. You would need to dress her in warm, fluffy clothes!”

“All right, all right. I will have them prepare warm clothes for her as well.”

Maximilian jotted down “warm, fluffy clothes” on the piece of paper below “tableware.” Come to think of it, some warm clothes will be necessary. He had heard that the winters of Grezekaiah were only as cold as the falls of Sheridan.

“I must warn you: Caring for her will make you grow fond of her!”

Grow fond of her? Maximilian mouthed the unfamiliar word and tilted his head to one side. Of course, he had come across the term in literature, so he understood what kind of emotion it signified—something foolish that pushed people to make unreasonable decisions. It was one of the things he despised the most.

All nobles were obligated to make the right choice, and not killing the princess was simply that. He did not think she was adorable or pitiful in any way. The child must have enjoyed many luxuries as a royal. But the children of Grezekaiah he had seen on the way to the palace were all skin and bones, and even their soldiers seemed to have no energy left in them after so much starvation. Most of them had already fled when the Shefers army arrived.

They had won the war in less than a month—without shedding much blood, either. In fact, many more lives were probably saved by the invaders. The people of this kingdom actually praised them for giving out food aid. So naturally, it was impossible to pity the princess of such a wretched kingdom, even if she was a child not involved in the matters of state. Maximilian simply did not wish for his younger half-brother Lysander, the king of Shefers, to break the law. The more that other kingdoms were involved in Shefers affairs, the more important it was to stay within legal boundaries.

However, Quentin continued going on, clueless to his lord’s thoughts.

“The people of the Sheridan Estate are not immune to such cute children. The princess is sure to melt the cold hearts of all of us northerners and make them surrender to her charm in the end!”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Do you not read, my lord? Lots of popular books these days contain such stories. And do you know why they are so popular?”

“Because they’re interesting?”

“No! It is because no one can resist the cuteness of a child! Children are precious and adorable! They make you want to protect them!”

“That’s great,” Maximilian replied with a nod. “I was just about to decide who her main caregiver would be. You can do it.”

“My lord…? M-me?”

Quentin stood stiff with his jaw dropped for a moment, then shook his head.

“I... I cannot.”

“Didn’t you just say you read a lot of books on childcare?”

“They are not books on actual childcare, they are simply novels that fulfill your fantasy about it. The reality of childcare is the complete opposite.”

“I thought you said you wanted to protect her.”

“I mean, that would happen eventually! Because every child is adorable!”

“That’s why you can take care of her.”

“No!” Quentin shouted, taking a few steps back. “Raising a child only to behead her when she turns eighteen? And then bring her head to His Majesty? I could never do such a thing.”

“She’s not just a child to be raised. She’s a captive, a criminal,” Maximilian corrected him in a solemn tone.

“But she is still a child nonetheless!”

“The child of a slain king. Her existence alone may be justification enough to rebuild the kingdom.”

“Then, my lord,” Quentin began to ask as he adjusted his silver-rimmed glasses, “Can you honestly tell me that you are able to raise the child yourself and then kill her when she turns eighteen?”

Of course, Quentin was expressing his horror at the idea, but Maximilian replied without hesitation.

“Yes.”

That was the reason he was taking the princess back to their kingdom in the first place—to execute her according to the law.

“Oh, dear… It may be better to just kill her now, my lord.”

Maximilian was about to say that was impossible when he heard a dull thud from outside the half-open door. The knights had brought Clarisse, and the sound seemed to have come from her ragged pouch falling to the floor.

“Oh…”

Clarisse hesitated for a moment before she quickly picked the pouch back up and held it tightly in her hands.

What’s in that? Precious gems or coins? Perhaps she thought she would need such things in a foreign land, the duke thought.

The child’s eyes darted cautiously, and when they met Maximilian’s, she flinched. Then she began to beg. Her frail voice was shaking.

“P-please, spare me my life. I will live quietly as if I am dead.”

Did she overhear us? It was not something a nine-year-old would say.

Unable to bear the horror, Quentin shook his head.

“I cannot do this. You do whatever you wish, my lord. But I am warning you: This is a bad idea.”

Once Quentin marched out of the room with the soldiers while letting out a deep sigh, only the duke and Clarisse remained. Looking down at the child silently, the duke recalled the things he had read about her.

Clarisse Lenon Grezekaiah, the one and only princess of the Grezekaiah Kingdom. She was known as the daughter of the king’s mistress. But when Maximilian looked into it the day before, there was no record of who her mother was. It was likely that the mother was a lowborn woman. The queen—from a powerful family herself—had probably gotten rid of her, and the king had turned a blind eye to it. And so the child was called a bastard her whole life so she would always know her place.

“I…”

Once he had his thoughts in order, the duke slowly began to speak. He had no intention of giving her false hope just because she was young. It was better not to harbor such hope in the first place. Living in despair the entire time would help her more than suddenly losing everything after a life of blissful ignorance.

“I will kill you, Clarisse Lenon Grezekaiah.”

The child’s face grew pale with terror, sensing the darkness oozing from the duke. She fiddled with her pouch, which made a rattling sound, and finally parted her trembling lips. He guessed that she would beg for her life this time as well, but the words she uttered were unexpected.

“Wh-when?”

“The day you turn eighteen,” he answered coldly. This will devastate her.

But to his surprise, a wave of utter relief seemed to wash over her face. The girl took a step closer to him and asked in disbelief, “C-can I really live until I am eighteen?”

He was glad she did not sob loudly or whine about wanting to live, but he didn’t expect her to look so happy.

“Yes…”

His answer came a beat late due to his confusion.

Clarisse placed a hand over her heart and sighed, finally looking relaxed. “I thought you changed your mind because of the scary things the other man said. I was terrified.”

“I do not break the law,” he stated solemnly.

The child smiled, clutching the shabby pouch in her arms. Even Maximilian, who never cared much for others, was perplexed at her reaction. Of course, she was glad she wouldn’t die right now, but how did the thought of being killed at eighteen give her hope?

She seemed to have noticed what he was thinking, as she began to explain cautiously, “My brother used to say he would get rid of me as soon as he ascended to the throne.”

The duke knew well that the king of Grezekaiah had been preparing to abdicate due to his ill health. But what he did not know was that the young crown prince had been threatening his little sister this way. Seeing how the prince had behaved the day before, it was no surprise.

“He told me every day that he would kill me before I turned twelve. But now, I can live until I’m eighteen.”

The child seemed to be feeling a mix of emotions, as her cheeks flushed and she continued squeezing her ragged pouch. Maximilian could hear the rattling from inside it.

“I cannot believe it. I am so happy. You are so kind, Your Grace.”

Yet, it was Maximilian feeling the numbness of disbelief. He never expected to hear such a compliment, especially from someone he vowed to kill at eighteen. The child looked up at him with a bright smile that had no hint of any doubt or hatred.