The Cursed Princess

Chapter 3 The Wildflower Princess

Home?

I bit down on my lip, my heart hammering wildly. Could it really be? Could they truly have come to take me back?

After casting me aside in the frozen isolation of Northtown, could my family really have changed their mind?

Abby always insisted that my mother loved me and that sending me away was her way of protecting me from the king's wrath.

But I couldn't forget the woman who treated me as a curse and didn't even bother to see me off on the day I left.

The black carriage slowed as it rolled up to the manor entrance. A gloved hand reached to part the deep red velvet curtains and pushed open the door. Then, those black leather boots that hugged a pair of muscular legs came into my sight, as well as the delicate lace on his sleeves.

My heart pounded as if a drum were exploding in my ears, deafening me to every other sound.

I clutched at my chest, trying to calm the frantic rhythm of my heart.

From beneath the brim of his hat, a man's brown curls peeked out, framing a rough, square face as he lifted his gaze.

My heart seized in an instant, breath catching painfully as tears stung my eyes.

Eight red gold-leaf badges gleamed on his chest pocket, marking his rank as a duke.

At that moment, the secret hope I had harbored all these years shattered completely.

So, it was true—banished royalty like me were no different from thorns in the wild, something everyone abhorred.

Teal noticed my sudden tears, her face full of concern. "Your Highness, do you know him?"

"No."

I wiped the tears from my cheeks, my voice harsh and brittle like Northtown's frozen marshlands. "Teal, there's no one left in this world that I know. And no one will ever remember me, the exiled princess."

Teal hugged me close. "Your Highness, I'm sure your father will come for you."

I couldn't bring myself to crush her fantasy.

I had overheard a conversation between Owen and Isabella years ago.

On the very day I was sent away from Reysland, the Crown Prince had been assassinated while on patrol.

The day after my mother sent me away, my father was crowned Prince Regent, the new heir to the throne.

See? Even parental love had its price.

Downstairs, my dear uncle Owen's expression was full of fawning flattery, barely masking his sycophantic delight.

He hurried forward to the carriage, extending his arm in an overly eager attempt to assist the young guest.

"Welcome, Duke Exeter of Swording. Many years ago, I had the privilege of meeting your father in Reysland. You truly resemble him."

"Good day, Viscount Owen."

The young Exeter wasn't blinded by Owen's enthusiasm. He deftly sidestepped Owen's hand, his movements elegant and aloof, embodying the untouchable distance of his noble status.

Owen rubbed his hands together without a trace of disappointment, a wide grin spreading over his face. "Allow me to introduce my wife and children."

My dear aunt Isabella and my two cousins emerged, dressed in their finest attire as if they were guests at a wedding.

Their necklines plunged to reveal ample flesh, dusted with glittering powder, more like the performers outside a tavern than nobility.

Isabella removed her white lace glove, extending her hand to Exeter in anticipation of a kiss.

Alyssa subtly adjusted her corset to push up her small chest, hoping to appear fuller.

Josephine, meanwhile, positioned her necklace so that the heart-shaped ruby nestled provocatively between her cleavage.

Exeter's gaze flickered over them. Then, he curled his lip slightly in disdain as he gave Isabella's hand the lightest of touches before dropping it as if he had touched something foul.

His obvious disdain darkened Isabella's face instantly. She muttered, "Your Grace, I had heard that your family is even more ancient than our king's. I see now that some stories are exaggerated."

Owen shot her a warning glance and was about to step in, but Exeter cut him off.

His magnetic voice suddenly became cold, as if carrying a blizzard.

"Madam Viscountess, you do live up to your reputation." His golden eyes flashed, showing a hint of his disdain. "Hospitality must run in your family."

His pointed sarcasm left Isabella's face flushed with rage, her lips quivering.

Owen swiftly pulled Alyssa in front of Isabella to block her scowl, his ingratiating smile widening even further.

"Your Grace, this is my eldest daughter, Alyssa. You're of similar age; perhaps she could show you around Jenny Manor. You young people always find more to talk about."

My dear uncle truly wouldn't let any opportunity slip by, offering his daughter like merchandise at a market.

Owen's desperation must have struck a nerve with the proud Duke of Swording.

Alyssa's shy demeanor sharply contrasted with Exeter's growing irritation, turning the scene into something out of a theater production, reminiscent of the traveling performers who once visited the manor.

Amused, I watched the farce unfold below, when suddenly, I found myself locked in a gaze as clear and sharp as emerald lakes.

A pair of black military boots stepped into view, accompanied by deep black pants with a scarlet stripe running down the side, giving his long, straight legs a martial elegance.

Though clad in a simple cavalry uniform, he was strikingly handsome—sculpted as if by the hands of God—that even Exeter faded in comparison.

His eyes, piercing and unyielding, bore into mine, flashing with a razor-sharp intensity that made me instinctively retreat behind the window frame.

Heart pounding in my chest, I pressed a hand to it, trying to contain its relentless thudding.

His gaze was steely and penetrating, like a dagger stabbing into my heart.

In that brief moment, a chill crept up my spine.

That man... Who was he?