Chapter 6
At his casual gesture, Demoleon, who had been guarding the door, swiftly opened it.
Matari entered with a composed demeanor and bowed deeply toward Hippolytus.
“Skip the greetings. What’s the situation?”
“Just as you predicted, the beatings have already been going on for several days.”
“So—she’s been beaten enough?”
“Yes.”
With Matari’s reply, he straightened from where he’d been leaning against the window.
To deceive the woman who would now be battered to a pulp as planned, Hippolytus left the room with light steps.
A princess born of a lowly mother, a crimson existence born after killing the woman the king loved most.
The king, wailing in agony, had gone mad and thrust a dagger at the infant, but the baby was spared thanks to the green eyes she had inherited from her mother.
However, the princess raised in the stone tower from the time she was nursing was gradually forgotten.
The number of maids attending her dwindled, and after she turned five, there were only two left who brought her meals each day.
By the time she could wash herself alone, speak clumsily, and read the expressions on people’s faces, the first thing Ezra learned was cold.
As she spent all day huddled against the chill wind seeping through the cracks in the stone, she would finally hear the footsteps she had been waiting for.
Excited, she would linger by the stone door, and soon it would open.
A familiar maid would come in and set down bread and soup.
Perhaps thinking that Ezra, who was always waiting at the door, wanted more food, the portions doubled—but Ezra continued to wait only for the maids themselves.
Yet they never spoke to her first.
They would say only what was absolutely necessary, then turn away without waiting for a reply, fleeing as if in escape.
Watching the backs of the maids as they disappeared, Ezra worried and worried every day.
If I speak first, will they answer?
Will they frown, pull their clothes away, and let out a deep sigh?
Can I say that it’s too cold here to be alone?
“Come out.”
On bath days, the maid would say that coldly and turn her back.
When Ezra hurried down the stairs with her short strides, the maid would open the bath door and shove her inside.
In the pitch-dark bathroom where not a single ray of light entered, young Ezra, frightened of the black darkness, would hastily splash water over herself and come back out.
If she came out dripping wet, sometimes the maids would roughly dry her off, so even when she felt frozen stiff, she would leave the bathroom without drying herself properly.
Even that stopped after she turned five, as it earned her nothing but looks of contempt.
Then one day, after finishing her bath in the basement, just as she was about to climb the stairs to the top, she saw it—the stone tower door, always tightly shut, was slightly open.
Ezra’s eyes widened at the sight of the crack. Pure white light she had never seen before poured in, along with fresh air, and through her blurred vision she glimpsed deep green foliage.
“Where is that place?”
The maid blatantly ignored her, pretending not to hear, but Ezra, with pleading eyes, hesitated for a long while before asking again.
“If I go out there… is it not allowed? Just for as long as it takes to fold my five fingers.”
Afraid they would shake their heads, she quickly spread her palm, but the maids exchanged troubled glances before raising a finger right in front of her face, their expressions firm.
“No.”
For the briefest moment, it almost seemed as though a hint of pity flickered in their cold eyes.
“No one wants you outside.”
She couldn’t ask why. She was too young to understand what it meant to be unwanted.
She only felt resentful toward the maid who roughly dragged her away.
Looking back now, perhaps it would have been better never to have discovered it at all.
Even with her eyes closed, she couldn’t forget the sunlight shattering into white brilliance or the fresh air tickling her nose.
Beautiful things only give rise to futile hope.
From that day on, whenever the maid brought her meals, young Ezra would fearlessly cling to the hem of her skirt.
Her pleading fingers went from five to three as she begged just once—just once—to go outside, but the maids ignored her without even blinking.
Still, Ezra’s daily, not-quite-tantrums wore them down.
At last, one maid, furious, slapped her hard across the face and shoved her shoulder.
As Ezra fell backward and whimpered, the maid, seething, spat out her words in an agitated voice.
“Be grateful you can breathe and live as if you’re already dead! You should’ve died the day you were born!”
Her eyes were bloodshot. Faced with the shadow of an adult who had lost all reason, Ezra wrapped her arms around herself and trembled.
“If you go outside, you’ll die. Why? Because everyone out there wants you dead. And us too, for that matter.”
“I—I’m sorry…”
“Coming out of your mother’s womb after tearing it open, and you think you deserve to ask for this and that? The mother you killed, your father, no one in this world wants you. So know your place and keep your mouth shut! Don’t stir up trouble for innocent people!”
Drunk on her twisted emotions, the maid leaned in and whispered,
“Better off dead.”
Ezra couldn’t understand everything she said, but one thing was clear—
the deep hatred and revulsion, the madness in eyes that truly wished for her death.
That day, left alone once again, Ezra learned how to give up.
No—she learned how not to want.
And after that incident, the queen began visiting the stone tower, under the pretext of educating the princess.
Thus, at the very bottom of the stone tower lay an underground prison—
a prison meant for only one person. She was locked there, starved, and beaten.
If there was any small mercy, it was that she was never dragged there without reason.
“…Ugh…”
When had she lost consciousness?
When she finally came to, her entire body ached as if shattered. She couldn’t move a single finger.
With her swollen eyelids, she couldn’t even look around.
The icy stone floor pressed against her cheek smelled of blood—probably from her nosebleed and the blood leaking from her split lip.
She groaned and tried to move, but collapsed back onto the ground.
“Hey, looks like she’s awake.”
As Ezra stirred, one maid guarding the bars called out to another.
The two pairs of eyes watched her squirm for a moment, then scooped water from a wooden bucket.
“We should wake her properly. We don’t know when he’ll come.”
One of them stepped inside the cell and dumped cold water over her head.
A chill shot down her spine and her body trembled, but the maid turned away as if disgusted and fastened the lock.
The maids giggled over meaningless chatter, complained that the king’s favor was too little—
their voices fading in and out. Ezra’s right ear, struck repeatedly, rang dully.
“I mean, really, why go there without knowing your place? When you know the queen’s there.”
“She gets beaten because she’s stupid. Stupid. Would it kill her to live quietly without bothering Her Majesty? This is awkward for us too.”
“But this time it really went too far. I never imagined Lady Matari would pull something like this. She’s usually—”
“Wait. Be quiet.”
Both maids clapped hands over their mouths at once. Someone was coming down into the basement.
Thinking it might be the queen, they straightened their backs stiffly.
But the steady footsteps carried too much weight to be hers.
Ezra closed her barely opening eyes and clenched her fists.
By old habit, red marks were etched into her palms once more.
How long had she trembled at the approaching presence?
“Y-Your Highness… the Crown Prince?”
The maid who had poured water over her called his name in a shrill voice.
Her eyes were so wide with shock they looked ready to pop out.
“How did you know about this place…? No—what brings you here?”
The other maid came to her senses and bowed deeply, watching his expression.
The prince, expressionless, soon narrowed his brow. His red eyes gleamed fiercely, like a beast’s.
The maids flinched, then scurried behind him and crouched in a corner.
Hippolytus coldly observed the frail body trapped behind the bars.
With her condition, she wouldn’t be able to see his expression anyway.
He parted his thin lips.
“Princess Ezra. What… happened here?”
There was no reply.
Her pale, naked body was covered in whip marks and bruises. Whoever beat her must have exhausted themselves.
Even he, numb to cruelty, frowned at the sight and clicked his tongue inwardly.
What stood out most was her small fist, clenched tight and trembling.
Her nails had once again broken her palm, fresh blood seeping out. Watching this, Hippolytus licked his red lips.
“Who did this to you?”
Though he asked in anger, there was still no answer.
She wasn’t unconscious, yet she ignored him—an attitude that grated on his nerves.
Just as he was about to act impatient, a fragile voice pierced his ear.
“I’m fine… so please go.”
“I don’t want Your Highness to see me like this.”
Her words were slurred, soaked with tears, ending in a sob.
As if trying to hide her painful wounds and wretched state, she curled her weakened body in on itself, her small back trembling with the effort.
“Ezra.”
She had shown the part of herself she wanted to hide most, to the person she least wanted to see it.
But the moment he gently called her name, she finally broke down, sobbing aloud.
The tears she had swallowed back, overwhelmed by clear pity, choked her breath.
“I—I’m so… so ashamed right now.”
Calling her name thoughtlessly, and she cried like a child.
Hippolytus hesitated briefly, then stepped closer.
“So please… go.”
Ridiculous.
Hippolytus looked down at her with a suppressed scoff. This was a carefully staged play—she could not die here.
“Then at least let me treat you. Let me examine you. I’ll leave right after.”
