Rise of the Unfavored Princess

Chapter 75: Ch. 75: ... And Into the Fire!

“Woah, woah, woah, woah! Jack, let’s talk this out properly instead of resorting to violence?” I laugh weakly as the razor presses further against my neck. I feel faint moisture in that area along with a sting and my heart drops since I know he’s cut into my flesh. Who would’ve thought I’d be more in danger of losing my head outside the palace than in? What a dazzling twist of irony.

“It’s Clever Jack, passenger! Say it correctly,” Jack complains. Seeing how worked up he’s getting about his name, I see a crack in his adultlike persona and go for the kill.

“Are you that clever? After all, threatening a royal person is grounds for execution in Erudian civil code, last I checked,” My voice is low and full of deliberate, suggestive inflection, although it’s hard to maintain in my weird body position. However, it seems that being threatened at knifepoint really has a way of clearing one’s head.

“But would anyone know that you’re here, Maria? Didn’t you say that your stepmother wants to kill you? I’d be doin’ her a favor,”

“Eh, that’s true,” I answer calmly, somehow managing to shrug as I’m still bent backwards over the edge of the cart, “She does want me dead. But you know what else the empress wants? A good reputation. And once I’m dead, she can do the whole song and dance of how much she loved me and wishes to avenge me. And I wonder just who she’ll make a spectacle of hunting down and killing first? Is getting a good story really worth implicating your entire gang?” Like an earworm, I can hear my crystal clear logic burrowing into Jack’s head. Every word I just said is absolutely true.

“Jack,” Emma barked sharply, louder than the typical monotone she usually converses in. Jack looks over his shoulder at her and I give myself a double chin trying to keep the knife steady while taking a glance. Emma’s wicked dagger, which is much more effective than Jack’s thin razor knife, is pressed against the neck of one the other crony who was seated on the floor of the cart the entire time. The kid is the only one of us behaving like a kid, snotty sobs wracking out of his throat as Emma holds the dagger dangerously over his generous stomach area.

“One stab here, Tommen will never be able to go to the restroom naturally. Here,” Emma’s knife moves with surety as it drags the cloth of his shirt and forces a whimper out of Tommen. “Tommen will never be able to swallow his food. Back here, Tommen will bleed out in under 5 minutes. I will choose one at random if you don’t release her highness in the next minute.”

.....

Her threats sound more frightening with her childish, monotone voice. But I’m still proud of her. She really is my knight in shining armor. I swivel slightly triumphant eyes at Jack as I gauge his reaction, my lip inadvertently curling as I see indecision take a front seat to his prior confidence.

Emmett, seeing that his crew are in a tight spot, moves to slow down the horse, but Emma pipes up again.

“If you stop the cart Emmett, I will choose Tommen’s kidney as my first target,” Emma says without turning around. The sleeve of her maid dress, which looks like an ordinary black dress without its apron, is wrapped firmly around Tommen’s neck and as they’re close to the same size, Tommen cannot wriggle away from Emma.

“Boss,” Tommen lets out in a choked voice, fat tears rolling down his face. I feel a little bad, but it’s not like I asked Jack to threaten me so that Emma could respond in kind. Every action has an equal and opposite reaction. Newton’s third law, aka the only thing I remember from high school science.

At the end of the day, Jack is still a kid and despite being a cutthroat little bastard very similar to the young vagrants who wandered around the impoverished slums I was originally raised in, he cares about his friends. The knife pressing against my throat loosens and something warm trickles down my neck.

“Hmph, leaving West Bend really changed you, Emma. Look at you, suckin’ up to the same damn people who put us in the slums,” Jack says bitterly. He wipes my blood from his knife onto his trousers before magicking it away to wherever it was before with quick movements and slight of hand.

I wipe at my neck, revealing a smear of red on my hands. Emma’s eyes darken at the sight and she doesn’t relinquish her grasp on Tommen. “Just get us to Belhelm,” Emma counters. “And I just left the Black Fist because it wasn’t paying enough.”

“Oh, don’t worry I will most certainly be bringing you both to Belhelm. But I’m afraid we must now discuss the subject of payment, thanks for the timely reminder Emma,” Jack scoffs. The flash of hurt I saw in his eyes drowns once more in his cocky gaze.

A high blush has crept up Emma’s neck, the only signifier of her dismal mood. But eventually, she shoves away Tommen and crawls over beside me, her entire person beset by a foul mood.

“Free transport is only available for members of Black Fist, a lifelong commitment,” Jack drags out ‘lifelong’ as he glares at Emma, “But since you currently don’t consider yourself one and would rather clean up the messes of a royal brat, then I will require some compensation for this journey.”

Something moist touches the neckline of my dress and I realize the cut Jack made is leaking again.

“Alright,” I say right after the words leave his mouth. He looks a little flabbergasted, his hands already settling on his knees in an authoritarian position. But it is a reasonable expectation for Jack to want money. Which I don’t currently have, save for the few coins sewed into my clothes. But I’m sure if I ever make it back from the battlefield in one piece, I can start worrying about compensating this kid. “I agree.”

“Your highness!” Emma hisses, her eyes flashing towards Jack with distrust and malice. Jack glares back, the kiddie glare off only amusing considering they’re both only 10 years old. They are way too young to be worrying about making money and learning how to fight, but unfortunately, their living circumstances didn’t give them a choice.

It’s not fair. For any of us.

I let out a long sigh, feeling once again like a harried babysitter forcing little siblings to make up with each other as I did in my part-time gig.

“Look. I know you’re doing us a great favor. And for the record, I am sorry that Emma and I had to lie to you about my identity. But logically speaking, as a member of the imperial family, I’ve got a target on my back at all times. Emma didn’t tell you not only for my safety but for yours as well,” I say in a calm tone. Emma slips a handkerchief in my hand and I wipe off at my neck although the blood is partially dried and stands out stark against my skin.

“And come now, do you really think I’ve got it so good?” I chuckle softly. “Sure I had decent meals and clean clothes, but everyone wants me dead. I’ve been poisoned and tortured before I lost my first tooth. Without Emma, I’d wager the grass on my grave would be as tall as I am. Really! Look, Jack, life hasn’t been fair. Not for you. Not for me. Not for any of us.”

I wave my hand around the cart, having successfully taken hold of everyone’s attention. “One day, I’d like to change that. I’ve recently been told I have a gift, something that could make a difference for all of us. But I would have to live long enough to figure out how to even use it. So yes, I will pay you. I’ll buy you a fine and dandy house maybe not in East Bend, but somewhere nice. I swear it. So can you bring us to the frontier safely?”

My earnest plea ends and I slump against the back of the cart, having said my piece. I can see Jack turning my words over and over again in his head and Emma is silent as usual, but her thoughts feel introspective rather than angry now.

His lip curls into a sneer. “Pretty words from a pretty girl. Where my mother used to work, she’d whisper pretty words into the ears of noble snots day in and day out without meanin’ a single word. How do I know you’ll be honest, especially about this so-called ‘house’?” he asks with distrust. Emmet and Tommen, whose eyes had begun to sparkle once I mentioned the house, now switched to matching scowls.

“What kind of leverage would you want for me to keep my word then?” I ask, throwing up my hands as a gesture of good faith. Based on his words, his mother must have worked in a Red House, which explains why he’s a good-looking child with abandonment issues from Emma’s exit.

From the little I know, Red House ladies aren’t allowed to keep their children in the establishment once they reach a certain age, which was why Bianca had opted to take up a slave contract as a prostitute in West Bend when she took me in as a baby. In her drunken rants and temper tantrums, her cheeks glowing red from the alcohol and the glow of the humble fireplace, I had pieced this much together over the years.

“Hmmm...” Jack says, rubbing his fingers on his chin as a positively devilish expression crosses his face. I’ve seen it before many times, the face of a kid who’s about to do something utterly stupid.

“Jack! Don’t be unreasonable,” Emma harshly commands her distant cousin.

“Why don’t you worry about your dearest relative bein’ taken advantage of instead of this royal brat, huh?” Jack retorts bitterly. The meager peace I’d managed to build is already on the verge of collapse. Guilt laps at my conscience as I realize that the only reason these two kids are having a disagreement is because of me.

“The name is Winter. Not passenger, not royal brat. That would be referring to my half-sister. And Emma, it’s alright for Clever Jack to be hesitant. I would be too in his position,” I mildly scold them both, but appease Jack by using his given nickname.

“Psshhh. It’s going to be one or the other until you earn my trust, passenger,” Jack scoffs.

I shrug. “Alright, Jack.” His little face darkens as I skip out on his nickname after generously using it for the first time ever. Two can play the game.

“I want something that can be easily identified as yours. Something like,” He suddenly reaches forward and I embarrassingly flinch from the sudden motion. “This snow-white hair of yours. I’ve never seen anythin’ quite like it.” A hand grabs my one of my braids, which miraculously haven’t gotten dirty in yesterday’s wild escapades and gives it a good tug.

“Ass,” I mutter, prying my hair-free. A handprint is now staining the previously pristine hair.

Jack carries on as if he didn’t hear. “Cut a lock of your hair and give it to me and then I will take you straight to Belhelm.”

“It won’t be a big piece, right?” I nervously argue, thinking of the long locks that have grown out since I was born. Its length is one many women would envy, and over time I’ve grown to like it.

“Naturally,” Jack reassures in a tone that says otherwise. I gulp lightly, feeling as if I’m being held over the edge of the cart by knifepoint once more.

“Hey, boss,” Tommen, his slightly pudgy crony mutters. “What’s the difference between ‘er hair and an old lady’s hair.”

I move my arm as if I’m going to smack him but he sits there shamelessly and smirks. Doesn’t this brat know how popular white hair is these days in manga and manhwas? I was over the moon when I first saw it in a reflective bucket of water and have heard many clients praise Bianca’s hair which was slightly more off-white than my own. Even Maria has complimented me hundreds of times when she does my hair. The interwoven silvery strands sparkle like the full moon off a placid lake. I’m sure this kid is just jealous.

“Oh it’s different alright,” Jack disagrees, flipping up his razor knife out of nowhere with a skill that belies years of patient practice. “When you get up close, it’s unmistakable.”

I unbraid with shaky hands and don’t see him cut since I squeeze my eyes shut before the deed is done. And then we went happily ever after to Belhelm without a hitch.

Not.