System of the Beast Slayer [litrpg Adventure]
Copyright© 1999 by CaffeinatedTales
Chapter 161
Cintra Castle.
In a lamplit chamber, a small, delicate figure sat on the windowsill. Two pale, lotus-root-like legs swung idly as she gazed down at the web of roads beneath the castle, watching the ant-like crowds flowing through them.
Beneath mouse-gray hair, a pair of beautiful green eyes brimmed with distress and irritation. “Hjalmar, Cerys ... where are you? I miss you.” The soft, childish murmur trembled as her narrow shoulders shook. She raised her hands to her face and began to sob.
“Oh! Damn it!”
Rapid footsteps approached. A sudden figure rushed in and scooped her off the windowsill from behind, arms wrapping around her waist.
“Cirilla, my little darling, how many times must I tell you? Don’t sit in such dangerous places...” The woman looked to be in her forties, her features striking. Fine lines traced the corners of her eyes, yet her elegance had not faded. Her voice was gentle to the extreme. “Now it’s just the two of us, grandmother and granddaughter, relying on each other. If anything were to happen to you again, how could I go on living?”
She wore a resplendent royal gown, dignified and sumptuous, and possessed a pair of emerald-like eyes. Yet the deep nasolabial lines between her cheeks lent her an air of severity, while her thin lips and high, straight nose added a sharp edge to her beauty.
“Put me down...” The girl gave a small, animal-like huff. The heavy nasal tone made it sound more like sulking than protest.
The woman held her by the shoulders and turned her to face her. Two pairs of strikingly similar eyes met, neither willing to yield.
“Cirilla, your grandmother is very worried about you. Promise me you won’t climb onto the windowsill again.”
“No.” The girl lifted her clean, delicate face, stubbornness plain. “I grew up in Skellige. Uncle Crach told me that one should be a free seabird over the ocean, not a canary locked in a cage. You’ve confined me here and won’t let me go anywhere. Now you want to take away even my last bit of joy?”
“If you swear to me that you won’t try to run away again,” the woman sighed, “then your grandmother will give you freedom.”
“If you swear you won’t make me marry that little fat lump,” the girl shot back, “then Cirilla won’t run off!”
“That’s enough!” Calanthe suddenly roared, rising to her feet. A flush of anger surged onto her face, like a thundercloud rolling over a calm sea. The authority of one long accustomed to command crushed down instantly. The small figure opposite her shrank, lowering her head in silence.
“Cirilla, your grandmother knows you’ve been in a foul mood these past days.” The woman’s voice hardened. “But as the princess of Cintra, you must shoulder responsibility for this kingdom and ease your grandmother’s burdens. Stop this willful nonsense.”
“But...” the girl murmured faintly, barely louder than a mosquito, “I already promised Hjalmar. I said I would marry him one day...”
“Nonsense. All of it is nonsense. It doesn’t count!”
“How can it not count? Cerys was there as a witness, Pavetta ... Pavetta agreed too.” As she spoke, her voice weakened, her eyes reddening.
Calanthe’s anger vanished at once. Pain flickered across her face. “Your grandmother promised Pavetta that I would find you a good match. Cirilla, you’ve heard the fairy tales of princes and princesses. As the princess of Cintra, with your noble standing, only a prince of a kingdom is worthy to be your betrothed. Kristin of Verden is the most suitable choice.”
She continued, coaxing her gently. “He may be a bit plump now, but he’s still a child, just like you. In a few years, he will surely grow into a handsome and kind prince.”
“Then let him become handsome first and come back to get engaged.” Ciri stamped her foot and snapped back petulantly.
She did not realize the consequences of those words.
Before long, an enraged Calanthe ordered soldiers to seal the windows of her chamber shut with boards and nails, then locked the little girl inside alone with a pile of dolls and books.
“Stay in your room and reflect properly. When the time comes, whether you want it or not, you will go!”
With that, Calanthe turned and left without hesitation, swift and unyielding. The Lioness of Cintra rarely bowed her head to anyone, not even to her own granddaughter.
“Hmph!” Ciri stared at her retreating back and made a few mock bites like a kitten. She then grabbed a thick book and hurled it onto the bed, knocking over a heap of cloth dolls.
“So boring!”
The girl who had grown up in Skellige played at skating, racing, and catching crabs with her companions. She had no interest at all in books, nor in the lifeless dolls piled on her bed.
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