Princess’s Struggle for Survival

The next night, Astrid arrived at the castle as scheduled. As she passed by Amalia's room, she noticed the door was closed.

A faint light seeped through the gap, casting a soft, yellowish glow on the small floor tile at the entrance, as if laying a delicate blanket of light.

Astrid entered the adjacent room and put away the items she had brought. She then made her way to the bathroom.

As she stepped inside, a wave of warm vapor greeted her, carrying with it a subtle, almost imperceptible fragrance, a scent she recognized from being around Amalia. It was so faint that it seemed to blend seamlessly into the air.

Astrid reached out and touched the washbasin. Her pale fingertips left a faint mark on the misted mirror, and tiny droplets of water soon formed on the surface of her skin.

Amalia must have just finished showering.

After waiting for a while and realizing that the blonde girl was unlikely to seek her out on her own, Astrid approached the door of Amalia's room and knocked gently.

At the sound of the rhythmic knocking, Amalia's hand, which had been resting on the page of her book, trembled slightly.

Her eyes remained downcast, as if she hadn't noticed the noise. The flickering candlelight reflected in her blue pupils.

It wasn't until the third knock that Amalia shifted her legs, her slender feet playing with her sandals.

She slowly rose from her seat and walked to the door, pulling back the bolt and opening it with an expressionless face.

"Good evening, Miss Amalia~"

Livia, dressed in a white long skirt with thin tights of the same color hugging her slender legs, stood at the door with a gentle smile.

Her fingers were clasped in front of her chest, and the precious gems adorning her dress sparkled with her movements, their emerald hue nearly matching the color of Amalia's eyes.

"Good evening, Miss Livia," Amalia replied coolly, her hand still gripping the door handle, showing no intention of letting go.

Sensing that Amalia's demeanor was even colder than before, as if she were deliberately distancing herself, Livia maintained her smile. She had a rough idea of what might be troubling the girl.

Amalia was likely upset that Livia hadn't come to the castle the previous night. Now, she was acting distant, as if to shield herself from further disappointment.

After all, Amalia was only fourteen, a girl who had grown up without much affection. It wasn't surprising that she longed for companionship, especially in the solitude of the castle.

"I had an urgent matter to attend to last night, so I was away the entire time. How was your evening, Miss Amalia? Did you enjoy the books you were reading?"

Livia's voice was as soft and warm as ever, like a gentle spring breeze drifting into the castle. Amalia tightened her grip on the handle, her gaze deepening.

Was Livia explaining herself to her?

Their relationship was purely transactional, a simple arrangement of lodging and payment. Why bother explaining anything? It was meaningless.

Amalia chose to ignore the faint flutter of relief that stirred within her, and her lips, a soft cherry pink, parted slightly.

"The book was quite good," she said, her tone still cool but no longer as sharp as before.

Hearing this, Livia felt more confident in her assumption. She smiled warmly and continued, "I'm glad to hear that. To make sure you're not left without books to borrow during this time, I'll do my best to come here every night. Yesterday was just an exception."

For children, the promises made by adults hold significant weight, and once given, they should not be easily broken.

However, considering the unpredictability of life and the various priorities that might arise, Livia couldn't guarantee that she would come to the castle every day.

Instead, she chose to use phrases like "I'll do my best" to ease Amalia's unease.

After hearing Livia's reassurance, Amalia lifted her head and silently gazed at her. In the woman's eyes, she saw determination, calmness, and a kind of care that she had rarely experienced since childhood.

After a few seconds, the blonde girl responded softly, "Thanks."

Feeling that her words might have been too vague, Amalia quickly added, "I mean, Miss Livia is a very trustworthy person."

She preferred to deal with people who kept their word, nothing more.

Hearing this, Livia smiled gently and tilted her head slightly, her figure swaying softly under the weight of her elegant attire.

"I also enjoy doing business with Miss Amalia," she replied.

Sensing that the tension had eased, Livia continued in a calm tone, "By the way, have you been painting recently, Miss Amalia?"

The night before, Livia had expressed her desire to see Amalia's paintings, and the girl had agreed.

Amalia paused for a moment, recalling her promise, and then nodded slightly. "I've drawn one."

"May I see it, then?" Livia asked.

"...Yes," Amalia replied after a brief hesitation.

With that, Amalia half-closed the door, leaving Livia outside as she turned and walked toward the box where her painting was stored.

The crisp sound of her footsteps echoed faintly in the room.

Livia remained standing at the door, her white lace-up boots just a few centimeters from the threshold.

She made no attempt to step inside, respecting Amalia's unspoken boundary. If Amalia didn't invite her in, she would wait patiently at the door.

About half a minute later, Amalia returned with the canvas in hand. Livia suggested they go to the next room to look at it together.

Amalia hesitated for a moment, then nodded in agreement after a few seconds.

Deep down, Amalia truly wanted to hear Livia's thoughts on her painting.

Chanting the universal spell of light on the oil lamp, Livia sat at the desk and carefully spread out the canvas. Amalia stood nearby, glancing at the hard bed but choosing not to sit.

The painting depicted a deep, ancient castle surrounded by a ruined garden. A solitary moon hung high in the sky, casting a silvery glow over the scene.

Overgrown weeds intertwined with rusted fences, creating an atmosphere of desolation and silence.

The entire image exuded a sense of loneliness, with every brushstroke emphasizing the deathly stillness of the environment.

Livia studied the smooth lines of the canvas.

The dark castle loomed like a massive maw, capable of devouring one's soul.

The coolness hidden within the cold brushstrokes seemed to seep into reality through the dye, sending a chill through the viewer's heart.

As a painting, it was highly accomplished. The play of light and shadow, the composition, everything demonstrated the artist's exceptional skill.

Every stroke of ink was used with precision, creating a level of maturity that seemed almost impossible for a fourteen-year-old girl.

Livia wasn't an expert in art, but she had a natural sense of beauty. Even compared to the masterpieces displayed in the corridors of her own home, this painting held its own, only slightly less refined.

It struck Livia as strange that Amalia, with such remarkable talent, was never mentioned in the original novel.

The story had focused almost entirely on her later tyranny and mad conquests, reducing her to a one-dimensional villain.

Yet here she was, a girl with depth and skill, her artistry revealing a side of her that the narrative had completely ignored.

Livia's gaze lingered on the painting, her thoughts swirling. Amalia, standing quietly, waited for her response.

The silence stretched on, and for a moment, Amalia wondered if her work wasn't good enough.

Finally, Livia looked up, her eyes filled with a complex emotion.

Unlike Lyraa, who had found a way to thrive despite her hardships, Amalia seemed destined for tragedy from the moment she was born.

Her identity as an illegitimate child had cast a shadow over her entire existence. Even as a villain, she had been portrayed in the story as little more than a tyrant, her humanity stripped away.

But Amalia was a living, breathing person. She had her own passions, her own desires.

The path that led her to become the tyrant in white might have been influenced by her own choices, but it was also shaped by the oppressive environment that had surrounded her since childhood.

This painting was proof of that. If an adult were forced to spend years in such a lonely, suffocating environment, they would likely lose themselves.

For a child who had never known love or warmth, the impact was even more profound.

As if touched by the tenderness in Livia's gaze, Amalia gently smoothed the fabric of her nightgown and lowered her head, a flicker of uncertainty appearing in her light green eyes.

About this painting... Did Livia have anything to say?

While Amalia was lost in thought, Livia spoke softly, "This painting is incredible..."

Through the canvas, she could almost feel the girl's fragile, fading heart.

Amalia narrowed her beautiful eyes at the compliment but didn't respond immediately.

A moment later, Livia continued, "I thought Miss Amalia was just a beginner, but I didn't expect your skills to be so refined. Do you practice often?"

Her gentle voice washed over Amalia, who nodded quietly and replied in a low tone, "I've been practicing for a few years."

She could endure being alone for two or three days, but without something to occupy her mind for long periods, she would have gone mad.

Before she had traded for proper painting supplies with the maid, Amalia had resorted to squeezing dyes from freshly picked roses in the garden to paint on the walls. In the early years, the garden had been filled with a variety of flowers, but as time passed, the blooms withered, and hardy weeds took over the flowerbeds, leaving her without natural pigments.

"A few years... Miss Amalia, your work surpasses that of most painters I've ever seen," Livia said, her voice filled with admiration.

She turned back to the canvas on the table, studying the delicate strokes.

If Amalia hadn't been born into the royal family but into an ordinary noble household with access to proper art training, she might have become a legendary painter, her name etched into history.

Yet... this artistic soul had, in the original story, transformed into a tyrant who expanded her empire through military conquest.

The irony wasn't lost on Livia. It was a familiar trope, but one that felt painfully real in Amalia's case.

Amalia's expression remained calm, but a faint warmth stirred in her chest. Livia had praised her painting... called it beautiful...

"Miss Amalia," Livia began softly, breaking the silence, "do you have many more paintings like this?"

Amalia tilted her head slightly, puzzled by the question, but answered promptly, "Yes, I have quite a few."

After years of painting, her small bedroom could no longer hold all her works.

Many of her pieces were hung in a room on the fifth floor, which she used as a studio.

Whenever her inspiration ran dry, she would sit among her old paintings, drawing comfort and ideas from the canvases that held fragments of her past.

Upon hearing this, Livia slowly straightened her cuffs, her mind briefly recalling the information she had asked Elise to gather earlier.

Although Amalia was nominally imprisoned in this long-abandoned castle by Hibbort, her basic needs were never neglected.

Her meals, daily necessities, and even the fire crystals used to heat water were regularly replenished.

If any furniture broke, the royal logistics staff would promptly replace it upon her request. After all, Amalia carried the blood of the Valeria royal family, a fact even Hibbort couldn't deny.

As a member of the royal family, she was entitled to these basic necessities, but nothing more.

Beyond the essentials required to sustain her life, Amalia had no access to any form of entertainment or luxury.

Books, brushes, dyes, these were things Amalia couldn't obtain on her own.

Combined with the fact that she had approached Livia the day before yesterday to propose a trade, and the familiarity with which she had done so, it was clear this wasn't her first time engaging in such an exchange.

The only person who could bring her these items was the maid who delivered her meals.

After a moment of hesitation, Livia spoke softly, "I really like this painting. Would Miss Amalia consider selling it to me?"

Knowing that Amalia had no other means of spending money except through the maid, and to avoid raising suspicions, Livia added, "As long as it's within my means, I can offer something of equivalent value in return."

Amalia's delicate features softened slightly, her dark brows relaxing like distant mountains.

An item of equal value...

This meant she could exchange her paintings for the dyes and supplies she needed without depleting her limited stash of gems. For Amalia, this was an offer she couldn't refuse.

"Miss Livia... do you really like this painting that much?" Amalia asked quietly, her voice tinged with doubt.

Everything seemed to be going too smoothly, almost unnaturally so. Amalia couldn't help but feel a flicker of suspicion.

Livia's arrival had drastically changed her life in the castle. Not only had she gained access to books she'd never have seen otherwise, but she now had a way to sell her paintings and obtain materials.

The woman before her seemed almost like an angel from a fairy tale, descending just for her sake.

But Amalia knew better, there were no angels in reality.

Sensing the doubt in Amalia's tone, Livia stood up solemnly, her fingers gently tracing the edge of the canvas as she studied the painting with great care.

"I truly admire Miss Amalia's work and would like to purchase it for my collection. Is that... strange?"

While Amalia's paintings were indeed remarkable, Livia wasn't desperate to acquire them.

Her true intention was to convey something far more important to Amalia through her actions.

Someone recognized her talent. Someone valued the art she created. Someone believed her work was worth paying for.

Amalia Valeria was not an isolated island adrift in the sea.

Her existence had meaning, and she was needed by others, even if, for now, that someone was only Livia.

Hearing Livia's words, Amalia clenched her fingers tightly, her delicate fingertips turning pale from the pressure.

"Not strange..." she murmured in a low voice.

"Then... how much does Miss Livia intend to pay for this painting?"

Though Amalia had never left the castle, she had read enough to know the value of a loaf of bread or a bottle of ale.

After a moment of thought, Livia offered a fair price.

"How about twenty gold coins?"