Ophelia's feelings toward Princess Fili were complicated, to say the least. In Blake's eyes, the princess was a woman with no sense of judgment, slow on the uptake, and hopelessly scatterbrained. To put it bluntly, she was the kind of person who "would smile and count the coins for us even if we sold her into slavery in the Sith Empire." Of course, Ophelia knew full well that Blake's words were nothing more than frustrated complaints. She understood exactly what was going through his mind—after all, long before they set their plan in motion, her lord had prepared a whole arsenal of elaborate arguments and persuasive tactics. Knowing Blake as well as she did, Ophelia could easily picture him brimming with confidence, ready to outmaneuver and outwit the princess with his silver tongue and clever schemes. But reality was often crueler than fantasy—and as it turned out, the princess was not just lacking in wit; she was positively *oblivious*. After hearing Blake's made-up story, she had believed every single word without the slightest hint of doubt. That, more than anything else, was what had left Blake seething with frustration. Ophelia knew exactly why—men like her lord thrived on the back-and-forth of verbal sparring, the subtle dance of probing, attacking, and defending during a conversation. In truth, Ophelia felt much the same way. Though she had little love for politics, when discussing matters of state with others, she too would employ all manner of linguistic arts—deception, misdirection, innuendo, and other psychological tactics—to achieve her goals. And the sense of satisfaction that came from succeeding through such means was indescribable.
To put it in a metaphor: it was like a merchant telling his slave, "I am going to sell you," then proceeding to convince the slave to *voluntarily* accept his fate by analyzing his lineage, value, cultural background, and market trends. That kind of victory would fill the merchant with immense pride in his own intelligence and skill. But if the merchant told the slave, "I am going to sell you," and the slave nodded in agreement without the slightest hesitation or question—well, that would bring no sense of fulfillment whatsoever!
This was precisely why Blake was complaining. The princess was so guileless, so utterly lacking in suspicion, that it made all his careful planning and scheming feel like a complete waste of time—as if *he* were the fool for overcomplicating things. Ophelia could sympathize; she had felt the exact same way during her own interactions with the princess. After all, what Blake was doing was extremely risky—if the truth ever came to light, the consequences would be catastrophic. So even though Fili's behavior was consistently naive and harmless, Ophelia remained extremely cautious in her presence. She barely knew the princess, so there was no foundation for trust between them. Moreover, they could not afford to let their guard down for even a moment. Habits were hard to break; if they grew too relaxed around the princess, they might slip up when dealing with others in the future—and that was the last thing they wanted.
Frankly speaking, Ophelia would have preferred to avoid the princess altogether. But the situation had suddenly grown dire. She knew exactly who had arrived at the castle, but she had never expected him to come *this soon*. If he laid eyes on Princess Fili, there would be no way to sweep this under the rug—this matter would not end quietly!
"Miss Ophelia?"
The door creaked open, and Fili appeared before her, her expression filled with confusion and curiosity. Though she was actually several years older than Ophelia, her wide-eyed, innocent look made it easy to mistake Ophelia for the elder of the two.
"Is something the matter?"
"Yes. There's something I need to discuss with you."
Ophelia took a deep breath to steady herself, then met Fili's gaze.
"The truth is, envoys from the royal family have arrived at Duskwood Castle... Please don't worry, Your Highness. They are not here for you—in fact, they have no idea you are even here. And we would like to keep it that way. So..." Ophelia offered the princess a helpless smile. "I'm afraid you will need to stay in your room for the next few days and avoid going outside as much as possible. Of course, to make sure you don't get bored, I will stay with you. That is why I came here today."
"Really?"
At these words, Fili's face lit up with delight. She swung the door wide open and gestured for Ophelia to enter with a graceful, welcoming motion.
"That would be wonderful! Please come in, Miss Ophelia. To be honest, I would be thrilled to have someone to talk to."
"..."
Faced with Fili's warm, completely unguarded invitation, Ophelia hesitated for a moment before letting out a resigned sigh and stepping into the room.
It had to be said that Blake had treated the princess quite generously. The guest chamber was luxurious and tastefully decorated; though the furniture and furnishings were somewhat old, the maids had polished and tidied them until they shone like new. And Fili, unlike most spoiled noblewomen, seemed perfectly content with her surroundings. Of course, to prevent anyone from discovering her presence or spreading rumors, Blake had strictly forbidden her from leaving the castle grounds. In other words, the princess was effectively under house arrest. However, Fili herself seemed completely unaware of this. According to the wraith maids assigned to attend to—and keep an eye on—her, the princess spent her days in perfect contentment: sunbathing on the balcony, reading poetry and bardic tales in her room, sipping tea quietly, and admiring the view.
One had to admit that it was rare, if not unprecedented, for someone to enjoy being under house arrest to such an extent.
"There are only two possibilities here. Either this princess is a master manipulator so skilled that she can even fool *us*, or she is so naive that she borders on idiocy. Personally, I would be delighted if she were the former—but unfortunately, reality tells me the latter is far more likely."
Recalling Blake's grumbling words, Ophelia could not help but let out a soft chuckle. She shook her head, then turned her gaze to the teacup in front of her. Across from her, Princess Fili was chattering away happily about all sorts of trivial gossip and fashion trends, her face glowing with innocent enthusiasm. Unlike Blake and Ophelia, who were preoccupied with matters of state and survival, the princess cared nothing for politics, national affairs, or war. Her interests lay solely in the kinds of "noble ladies' topics" that dominated high society: the latest fashion trends, exotic teas from distant lands, and dazzling jewelry. While Ophelia was well-versed in such matters—having been a princess herself once—she had been dead for thirty years, and after her resurrection, she had thrown herself entirely into rebuilding the Duskwood territory. As a result, the poor former princess had become completely out of touch with current trends. Now, she was forced to listen awkwardly as Fili rambled excitedly about the so-called "deep-necked gowns" that had become all the rage in the past two months—by the Light of the Divine, Ophelia could not have cared less!
She even began to wonder if making up this excuse to avoid the chaos downstairs had been a terrible mistake—if she had, in fact, dug her own grave.
"Miss Ophelia? Miss Ophelia?"
"Hmm?"
Startled by Fili's voice, Ophelia snapped back to attention, turning to face the princess with her usual polite smile.
"Did you say something, Your Highness?"
"Yes... There's something I've been wanting to ask you..."
As she spoke, a faint blush rose to Fili's cheeks. She fidgeted nervously with the hem of her dress, her wide eyes fixed on Ophelia with a look of eager anticipation.
"Will... will Mr. Blake come to see me?"
"..."
Here we go again.
Ophelia sighed inwardly. To be honest, this was entirely Blake's own fault. In the elaborate lie he had crafted, the story went like this: after Princess Fili and her entourage were ambushed by royalist assassins, Blake—who had long disapproved of the royalists' tactics—had rushed to the scene and killed the attackers. Unfortunately, he had arrived too late to save the prince and the general. Why Blake had chosen to spin the tale this way was anyone's guess, but the end result was that the princess had clearly come to see him as her dashing knight in shining armor, the hero who had rescued her from mortal danger. Though Blake had deliberately kept the details vague (lies were always most effective when left ambiguous), Fili had interpreted this as a sign of his modesty and humility—a true gentleman who did not boast of his heroic deeds.
This was a problem. Blake was not unattractive by any means; on the contrary, he exuded a rugged, rebellious charm that had a way of drawing women to him. Add to that his unmatched skill with a sword, his "modesty," and his "impeccable noble manners," and it was no wonder he had captured the princess's heart. Furthermore, Fili was effectively destitute now—her family dead or scattered, her country lost. Alone and vulnerable, she naturally longed for a strong protector—and in her eyes, Blake was the perfect candidate.
"I'm so sorry, Your Highness. Lord Blake is currently swamped with affairs concerning the territory. He simply doesn't have the time to spare right now. But I'm certain that as soon as he's free, he will come to visit you."
Ophelia forced a sympathetic smile as she spoke, silently cursing her lord inwardly. She knew all too well how lazy Blake could be. He either handled everything himself, only bothering to inform her of the outcome (or sometimes not even that), or he tossed her a rough outline and left her to fill in the details while he went off to do as he pleased. Either way, he was hardly a model lord. And now, because Blake had no interest in this empty-headed woman and refused to waste his time entertaining her, Ophelia was stuck here making excuses for him—painting him as a hardworking, dedicated ruler who was far too busy with statecraft to visit. The mere thought of it made her want to groan in frustration.
"Please be sure to tell him that I am very much looking forward to meeting him."
"I will pass along your message, Your Highness."
As Ophelia looked into Fili's bright, hopeful eyes, her heart sank. She stared at the princess, her mouth opening and closing, but she could find no words to say.
Blake could not understand how a princess could be so foolish—but Ophelia could. In fact, in a way, this was a choice that many princesses made.
As members of the royal family, princes and princesses bore very different political burdens. Princes were destined to inherit the throne and govern the realm, so from birth, they were groomed for this role. But princesses were a different matter. First, as women, they were not in the direct line of succession. Second, once married off in political alliances, they became difficult to control. While such marriages could bring great benefits to the kingdom, rulers often worried whether these princesses might one day turn against their homeland—for love could sometimes conquer all loyalties. For this reason, the upbringing of princesses was far more varied than that of princes, and could be divided into several distinct paths.
Talented princesses generally had two options. The first was to follow Ophelia's example: understand the limits of one's power and abilities, and strive to maintain a balance that would be acceptable to those around you, thereby minimizing the threat you posed to others. In doing so, the nobles and ministers would praise your prudence—a form of self-protection through diplomacy and compromise.
The second option was to wield one's talents without restraint, seizing power to protect oneself. The Silver Princess Lindilot of the Sith Empire was a perfect example of this. Though she had not yet ascended to the throne, her influence within the empire was unmatched; she could even make political and military decisions in her father's stead, acting as the de facto ruler of the realm. These were the two paths available to princesses of ability. The former offered limited freedom but ensured a peaceful coexistence through mutual understanding. The latter granted ultimate freedom but came with extreme danger.
Of course, these paths were only open to princesses who possessed courage, talent, and intelligence. For those who were less gifted—even foolish—these options were not available. And royal families could not simply discard such princesses like unwanted livestock; that would be both cruel and damaging to the family's reputation. Instead, they had to find another way to ensure these princesses grew up in a manner that would serve the royal family's interests.
One such method was... *brainwashing*.
Princess Fili was clearly a product of this approach. Raised within the confines of the palace, it was likely that once her lack of talent became apparent, she had been subjected to this kind of conditioning. And what were the results? She could now stay quietly in this castle, completely indifferent to her precarious situation, and trust Blake unconditionally—all thanks to this upbringing. This method minimized her suffering; after all, a princess with no sense of self, no ability to make independent judgments, would not grieve or resist if she were married off to a foreign kingdom. Moreover, by never teaching her anything about politics or statecraft, the royal family eliminated the risk of her leaking sensitive information to other nations.
To outsiders, this was a cruel fate. Under such indoctrination, these princesses became little more than living, breathing dolls—able to eat, walk, and talk, but nothing more. What kind of happiness could there be in such an existence?
Yet, in another sense, they were truly the happiest of all. Looking at Fili now, sipping her black tea and chatting amiably with a soft smile on her face, Ophelia could not help but think this. Was she unhappy? From Ophelia's perspective, her country had fallen, her family was dead or dying, and she was trapped in a foreign land filled with dangers. If Ophelia were in her place, she would be unable to sleep at night, let alone sit here enjoying herself so calmly.
*She is happy, isn't she?* Even if Blake was right, and she would smile and count the coins if they sold her into slavery—so what? To others, the sight of a once-majestic princess reduced to the lowest form of servitude would be tragic, a cause for sorrow and pity. But if *she* herself saw it as just another form of happy life—then who were they to judge?
Thinking this, Ophelia turned restlessly to look out the window. From outside, the clashing of swords could be faintly heard echoing from the square below. She lifted her teacup to her lips, but her thoughts remained fixed on the duel unfolding outside. It was then that Fili looked at her curiously and asked a question that caught her completely off guard.
"Miss Ophelia... you like Mr. Blake, don't you?"
At these words, Ophelia choked violently on her tea, coughing uncontrollably.
"Clang!!"
The duel was over.
Celtic stared down at his sword with a look of dejection, then sighed and slid it back into its scabbard.
"I must admit, I did not expect your swordsmanship to be this extraordinary, Lord Blake."
"You flatter me, Envoy Sir. It is no surprise that you are one of the kingdom's three great Legion Commanders—your understanding of swordsmanship far surpasses that of ordinary men."
Blake also sheathed his pitch-black longsword, his usual elegant smile playing on his lips. How much of this praise was genuine, however, was anyone's guess.
During their duel, Celtic had fought with all his strength—he had even unleashed the full power of a high-ranked swordsman in the final stages. Yet Blake had remained unfazed, his movements relaxed and effortless throughout. Through the clash of their blades, Celtic had been able to sense the immense power of Blake's soul—but to his great surprise, he had been completely unable to discern its true nature.
"It seems the future truly belongs to young men like you."
As he sheathed his sword, Celtic looked at Blake and sighed, a note of melancholy in his voice. Thinking of the prodigy knights of the Sith Empire, this feeling grew even stronger in his heart.
"Us old men... we are perhaps on the verge of being left behind by the times—or perhaps we already have been."
"I cannot agree with you, Envoy Sir."
To Celtic's surprise, Blake responded with unexpected earnestness, a hint of complex emotion flickering in his dark eyes.
"I still believe the old saying: *Old ginger is always spicier*."
"I hope you're right."
Celtic nodded helplessly, dismissing Blake's words as mere polite flattery—and thus failing to catch the deeper meaning hidden beneath them. But at that moment, a new thought had occurred to him. He glanced around, hesitated for a moment, then spoke up.
"Lord Blake, there is something I would like to ask you—if you don't mind."
"Go ahead."
"It's about... someone in your territory."
Celtic cleared his throat before continuing.
"I have heard that there is a young noble lady helping you manage affairs here. If I remember correctly, her name is Ophelia—is that right?"
"That is correct."
Blake nodded slightly, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly.
"Do you have some business with her, Envoy Sir?"
"It's not that I have business with her, exactly... it's just..."
Celtic trailed off, a wry smile tugging at his lips.
"I'll be honest with you. Once, a long time ago, I knew a young lady named Ophelia. Thirty years ago, she was a princess of our kingdom—a remarkably intelligent and talented woman."
"I see."
Blake raised an eyebrow, his interest clearly piqued.
"But I suspect your interest in my Miss Ophelia goes beyond a mere coincidence of names. Would I be correct in assuming you had some kind of relationship with that legendary princess?"
"Well... to tell you the truth, our relationship was as close as that of brother and sister. And she was also..."
Celtic paused for a moment, his voice softening.
"...she was also the woman who nearly became my fiancée."