The Villainous Princess Wants to Live in a Gingerbread House - Chapter 8
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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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The Villainous Imperial Princess Wants to Live in a Cake Shop
Chapter 8
While Asha tilted her head at the Emperor’s peculiar conclusion, the Attendant, who had been holding his breath all along, flinched.
‘Granddaughter?’
The Emperor had always referred to his grandchildren merely as Imperial Grandchildren. The same went for his sons. It was his way of treating them not as family, but solely as members of the imperial household.
“In a few days’ time, something will arrive that I shall have sent to you.”
He was actually going to give her a gift? The Attendant found himself searching his memory for another instance of the Emperor behaving this way, only to recall that leaving an Imperial Grandchild in the Imperial Palace at all was a first since the Imperial Heir Apparent. And that the Imperial Heir Apparent had never received anything personal from him either.
“No, Your Majesty. The head chef helped me a great deal as well. And I should really be heading home now…….”
It was the moment Asha was about to continue speaking, unaware of what thoughts troubled the Attendant. She stopped mid-sentence and her eyes widened.
Something like a phantom flickered in her vision. The translucent shawl draped around the Emperor wavered as though moving of its own accord.
‘What……? What?’
The hem of the shawl rippled softly and gently, spreading outward, drawing ever closer before finally brushing across her forehead and cheek. Even as Asha stumbled backward in surprise, the Emperor didn’t blink once, simply pointing toward the door of the Study.
“The head chef was Pavel Marca, was he not? I shall bestow a reward upon him as well—see that he knows. It grows late; escort the Imperial Grandchild to her Bedchamber.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
The Attendant bowed his head swiftly, barely suppressing the relief of one who had just escaped the gates of hell. Asha found herself gaping at the sudden confirmation that she would be staying longer in the Imperial Palace, then finally slumped her shoulders and turned away.
Behind her, the closed door of the Study felt like a wall symbolizing the misunderstanding between the Emperor and her.
‘So why on earth was he curious about who made the cake?’
She’d stepped forward out of concern that the head chef might find himself in trouble, only for everything to end without her even learning what it was about. If that was the case, she should have just sent the head chef in the first place!
‘And what was that shawl anyway?’
The Attendant hadn’t seemed to see anything. Had it only been visible to her eyes? Asha was curious about its nature, but she found herself thinking quietly that she’d rather not know—she just wanted to get home as soon as possible.
* * *
The Emperor gazed quietly at the empty plate.
Sweet, then pleasantly bitter; crisp, then suddenly moist—this mysterious Cake was something even he, the Emperor, was tasting for the first time. While he was by temperament one who viewed sweets as an indulgence and refrained from enjoying them, he was hardly ignorant of fine cuisine. Believing that anyone capable of creating something this accomplished deserved recognition, he had summoned the head chef.
But…….
– I made it for you, Your Majesty!
Even after his youngest son—whom he had marked as his successor for his exceptional gifts—had abandoned everything and fled the Imperial Palace as though escaping, the Emperor occasionally kept track of his whereabouts. He had learned the same way that a granddaughter had been born to him.
Yet in all that time, he had not confined his inquiries to news of Yuriye and that granddaughter alone. He had done the same regarding his other grandchildren. And while meeting these grandchildren for the first time in ten years did not stir any particular emotion in him, it would have been a lie to say he felt no fascination whatsoever toward the small girl with her bright, articulate manner and her pale green eyes.
“Shamal.”
At the name the Emperor murmured as though to himself, a sudden gale swept through the Study. It was a wind that should have been impossible in a room with all its doors shut.
“Did that child see you?”
The one to answer the Emperor’s question was the translucent shawl that had been enveloping him all this while. It rippled like waves before transforming into wind.
The wind was fierce yet raised not a speck of dust as it swiftly shifted before the Emperor—from a translucent youth to the form of an old man and back again. It was a truly extraordinary sight.
This was one of the two heads of the Double-Headed Eagle, the symbol of the Kaiye Lus Dynasty.
The Spirit King himself.
An existence symbolizing the divinity of the Empire, one whom only the Emperor could command, and the credential without which one could not even dare to challenge the throne.
And the one now before the Emperor’s eyes was Shamal, the Spirit King of Wind.
It had taken the Emperor decades since his Spirit Pact to perceive the Spirit’s form with his own eyes, an existence that was otherwise incorporeal. It was likely that no one in the entire Empire even knew that it was possible to see a Spirit’s true form. Among the learned scholars and in ancient tales, it was merely a subject of study and discussion.
Yet his granddaughter—barely ten years old—had glimpsed the shadow of the Spirit King, however faint it might be?
‘I shall need to pay closer attention.’
“……But a peach, you say?”
Now that he thought about it, there was nothing wrong with the characterization. The Emperor’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he let out a soft chuckle, and the wind began to drift about restlessly. Its form flickered from dog to cow to human to bird and back again, shifting chaotically.
“Curious about what?”
Was it possible that even this Spirit, who had lived for a span of time beyond human comprehension, still found things curious and wonderful? The Emperor’s question caused the wind’s form to still for a moment, truly for the first time.
“What?”
As the Emperor raised his eyebrows, the wind burst into cackling laughter.
That little peach was only interested in how deliciously you ate her sweets. You said you’d grant her a reward? Did that peach even care what the reward was?
“Hmph.”
Beyond that, all she thinks about is when she can return home.
……
The Emperor fell silent for a moment. He knew well enough that his youngest son’s family, having left the Imperial Palace, had lived in poverty all these years. He told himself that his granddaughter’s desire to return home despite seeing the splendors of the Imperial Palace was merely because she was still so young—yet something in his chest stirred with unease.
It felt as though he glimpsed the shadow of his beloved youngest son.
‘I do hope she hasn’t inherited only his stubborn streak.’
I’ve never before seen a being who, standing before you, would indulge in such idle thoughts. How curious indeed.
“……Such a temperament must be inherited from her father.”
Ah, so that little peach who spoke such harsh truths and took his leave recently—is she your youngest’s daughter?
The Emperor clicked his tongue. All the while, the wind’s form continued to shift this way and that.
“Your ‘recently’ seems very distant to you, doesn’t it?”
Yet to the Emperor, “recently” was much the same. In his memory, his youngest son still wore the face of a young man.
And now that youngest son’s daughter had come to the Imperial Palace. A girl who seemed to have tumbled out of some rabbit hole unknown to anyone, carrying a small cake she’d baked for him.
“……You contracted with the Spirit of a small bird, I hear. That must be correct?”
A small bird’s spirit?
In that instant, Shamal’s ever-shifting form froze entirely. It stopped mid-transformation, a massive lizard caught in the process of becoming a rose—a grotesque sight. As the Emperor’s brow furrowed at this eerie spectacle, Shamal spoke again.
That little peach contracted with a bird spirit, you say? Who told you that?
“The Marquis Serenetepe. He has contracted with the Spirit of Discernment.”
The Emperor spoke of his own son as though referring to a stranger.
Hmm……
Shamal’s form began to shift again, but this time more slowly than before.
The Spirit of Discernment is never wrong……
“It sounds very much like you’re saying it was wrong this time.”
How strange this is.
The wind did not answer the Emperor’s words, and instead murmured to itself, its translucent form flickering here and there.
A small bird? Now that you mention it, I suppose that could be it.
“I’ve never heard you speak with such uncertainty before.”
Nor have I.
The wind churned and roiled for some time after, before at last settling.
The riddle will unravel in time, but one thing is certain—your Marquis must care for that little peach of yours very deeply.
With that, Shamal vanished all at once. A cold wind swept through with a sharp whoosh, and it was done. The Emperor exhaled slowly and drew his hand down across his chest.
From Shamal’s manner, it seemed the spirit had no intention of revealing the truth just yet. Throughout his long life, the Emperor had not been without regrets about his choices, yet now a vague premonition seized him—the feeling that this decision to keep his youngest granddaughter in the Imperial Palace would come back to him as a great storm.
* * *
When Asha returned to her room with the attendant, who seemed to have lost his very soul, Lis mercifully still appeared to be held captive in the main palace kitchen.
Asha quietly heard the door close behind her, threw herself onto the bed, and found sleep would not come. Her heart trembled—perhaps because she had made sweets for the very first time in her life.
‘I wonder what the gift will be? I hope it’s something I can sell.’
Then the moment I get home, I can sell it and use the money to buy sugar and butter and flour, and bake more sweets……
‘If it’s something large enough, maybe I could even get a house….’
Not a house where rain seeps in unless you do roof repairs every year, but a proper home where she could live with her mother and father.
As her mind wandered this far, Asha suddenly traced her fingers over the embroidery on her nightgown. When there was a commotion in the kitchen about two cakes going missing, the small bird had vanished as though finding the whole affair tiresome—and had burrowed into the embroidery of her nightgown. Asha pressed the embroidery with her fingertips, which was far too vivid and plump to be anything but real.
“Ugh, wait—you’re the reason I……”
It was you who wanted to make something called Fondant Chocolat……
“Ahhhhhh!”
A brief commotion followed Asha’s shriek.
First an unfamiliar maidservant burst in, that maidservant summoned Lis, and within moments Lis came rushing into the room. Asha explained to them that she’d had a nightmare.
Lis soothed her and lingered for some time, worried, before finally leaving. Asha lay in bed with no choice but to catch her breath. Only when the surroundings grew quiet did Asha sit up and tap her own head repeatedly.
“Was that an auditory hallucination?”
It was not a hallucination. I am the Grand Spirit of Sensation!
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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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