The Munchkin Princess Wants to Run Away - Chapter 23

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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“This must be your first time in the Southern Region. Did you enjoy the itinerary?”
The Countess nodded with satisfaction as she watched Ivanna sip her tea, then steered the conversation forward.
“Yes. It truly was as beautiful as I’d heard.”
She’d been told that without drought, wheat would grow across the vast plains.
Spring had just given way to early summer, when tender shoots pushed through the soil, and she regretted missing that beautiful sight.
After the rain, sowing would be possible, though she’d use a Teleportation Magic Circle for the journey back to the Capital.
She was certain she would never see those fields in full golden bloom in her lifetime.
“Without the drought, you would have witnessed the Southern Region in all its abundance—truly the heart of the empire. Thank goodness the rain has come at last.”
“I share your regret, but I’m grateful the drought is resolving.”
She set down her cup in agreement with the Countess’s words.
She nodded along appropriately and prepared to take her leave.
Ivanna stood behind the Countess, pointedly ignoring the gazes of the attendants fixed upon her.
They, too, were studying her as the Countess did—a behavior one would never dare attempt in the presence of an authentic royal with true authority.
‘Ordinarily, tea parties maintain civility on the surface, no matter how dark the undercurrents.’
The Countess clearly deemed her unworthy of such pretense.
“I would have liked to show you the gardens if not for the rain—what a shame.”
Even if the gardens had been in full bloom, she sensed they would not be taking that walk together.
“Instead, I would be delighted if you could tell me about the latest fashions in the Capital. I’m eager to hear fresh accounts from the young people.”
Ivanna faltered at the Countess’s mild smile.
‘Does she truly mean to turn me into an adversary?’
Or was this her way of saying that a duchess’s conversation had nothing more to offer, and she should hold her tongue?
Ivanna had never participated in court society, neither as a princess nor as a duchess, so she knew nothing of Capital gossip or the fashions there.
What little she understood of how things worked in the Capital came through Elisa and Anthony.
“I’m afraid I have nothing to share, as my weak constitution prevents me from engaging in such activities.”
“Oh, I’d heard you were delicate, but I confess I didn’t expect it to be true.”
After offering tea to her guest, the Countess raised her own cup for the first time. It released a bitter fragrance, different from Ivanna’s blend.
Ivanna deliberately let her shoulders droop with pathos.
“As you know, I’ve been frail since childhood.”
A member of the Royal Family bearing the bloodline of Authority was not supposed to be weak—the notion was absurd.
Yet Ivanna proceeded without shame. It was common knowledge that a princess without an Authority was sickly.
“Forgive me for raising such an awkward subject.”
The Countess sent her a look of regretful pity.
“Having spent so much time isolated, I fear I have nothing worthy of your interest to share.”
She wanted to finish this tea time quickly—the Countess would never hear what she truly wanted.
Anthony, this wasn’t like those tea times with genuine laughter and warmth.
Ivanna swallowed a sigh. She should have claimed fear at the Duke’s suggestion and declined the invitation altogether.
“I understand perfectly. You must have suffered greatly as well.”
“You’ve been ill yourself, then?”
Though she already knew this, she pretended ignorance naturally enough.
“Yes, and that’s why I was so delighted when you came to visit. What do you usually do to pass the time in your room?”
The Countess nodded as if in complete understanding and changed the subject.
Ivanna had worried about how to respond if the attacks continued, so this was almost a relief.
There was a predictable answer for such a question.
“When my condition permits, I take walks in the garden, or read books in my room—that’s all.”
Ivanna smiled innocuously, as though she knew nothing. Perhaps the Countess truly meant no harm.
By her own account, she had spent long periods bedridden and might genuinely have welcomed company.
Perhaps her own defensiveness was merely a reflection of her twisted heart.
Ivanna swallowed a faint sigh along with her tea.
The wound of abandonment and the anxiety of deceiving others had always made her guarded.
Though she tried to resist, whenever someone spoke to her, suspicion flared first—was she being looked down upon, was there hidden contempt in their words?
It was too late to blame the gods for withholding Authority; part of herself had already shattered.
Whatever the Countess’s true intentions in requesting this tea time, they didn’t seem entirely benevolent.
Ivanna mocked herself for having hoped for an ordinary encounter.
When, exactly, did hope vanish?
“You seem much like me. It must have been difficult for you as well, even as a young princess.”
The Countess spoke with a sympathetic expression.
“If you don’t mind, might I ask what sort of books you’ve been reading?”
“Mostly poetry and literature.”
In truth, she had read far more books on politics and economics. Being cast aside hadn’t stripped her right to enter the Royal Library.
Whenever there was nothing to do, she always retreated to the library to escape curious eyes.
She had glimpsed family members coming and going from the Royal Library on occasion, but each time she would flee like a hunted animal before they could spot her.
‘I’ve regretted not speaking to them many times, if I’m being honest.’
But in those moments, she felt only fear.
Approaching them seemed certain to force her to confront the truth of her abandonment all over again, and she lacked the courage for that.
From a distance, she would glimpse her father’s face once, her brothers’ faces once more.
And then she would have to turn away, watching those beloved features from afar until she could bear it no longer.
“Difficult books only give one a headache, after all.”
Ivanna spoke as she pushed thoughts of her family aside.
There was no reason a duchess shut away in her rooms ought to be clever. Ivanna waited for the expected response—the polite agreement, the understanding nod.
“How interesting. Your tastes seem rather similar to mine. Have you perhaps read the poetry of Mariel de Lucerne?”
“Of course. I’m most fond of ‘Dawn Light.'”
Mariel was the empire’s preeminent female author. Her prose was warm and suffused with solace.
“Ah, drawn to the most celebrated work, I see. Such beautiful verse—hope kindled by the sun rising at daybreak.”
The Countess nodded, her expression satisfied.
“What do you suppose the hope in ‘Dawn Light’ truly is?”
“Perhaps it is whatever hope each person carries within their own heart?”
Ivanna offered her reflection in measured tones. There were times, after all, when she found herself praying that God might grant her an Authority.
“Each person’s own hope—a lovely notion. But viewed from the perspective of the entire empire, what then?”
Why was the Countess asking her such a thing? Ivanna’s eyes met hers.
Her gaze was steady and composed.
If Ivanna gave her usual answer—feigning ignorance as she always did—the tea would end here without consequence.
Though that was what she most wanted, Ivanna felt a surge of bitterness.
It was not her fault that she had not received an Authority in time. She could not fathom why she should bear the reproach for it.
The Countess’s question felt like a rebuke for her failure to receive an Authority that might serve the empire.
Ivanna’s grip tightened on her teacup as she spoke.
“One might wish, then, for someone who could resolve the drought.”
And meeting the Countess’s eyes, she continued with quiet force, as if to say: This is not my fault.
‘If I were to reveal my Authority, could I become someone’s hope?’
At that very moment, the ambition Ivanna had so carefully buried stirred and lifted its head.
“Someone possessing the Water Authority, for instance.”
She ought to live meekly, wanting nothing, as Duke Reynold desired.
But when wounds were reopened like this, the urge to push back rose up in her. She had been scolded many times as a child for her inability to accept defeat.
And now that stubborn nature waved its hand, still alive after all these years.
“Oh, how intriguing a supposition. Such a being would surely be a beacon of hope not merely for the empire, but for the entire continent. Is that your hope as well, Your Highness?”
Hearing her own words reflected back, Ivanna smiled bitterly.
“No. I mustn’t wish for what I dare not have.”
She had no desire to openly wield her Authority unless the empire teetered on the absolute brink of ruin.
Even before her marriage, she had already opened her power to bring rain to the regions surrounding the Capital.
Seeing rain fall this time, she realized that using her strength significantly could indeed influence nature itself.
She could ask the Duke for leave to travel, visit various estates under that pretext, and sow rain across the lands—the drought would be solved.
But it was not yet time for her to step into the light.
Ivanna lowered her gaze and lifted her cup. There was no reason to bare her heart to someone who harbored no goodwill toward her.
This much was enough.
Judging by the fact that her posture had not been corrected, she seemed to have remembered well the lessons of her childhood.
It was a mercy that some skills still remained useful.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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