Chapter 107 The Half-Blood Princess (Illustration)
Chapter 107 The Half-Blood Princess (Illustration)
A little girl with luscious blond hair and two small, pointy ears—barely three years old—lay on a rough bed in a candlelit chamber. The room had no windows, only a bed, a small table, and a bathroom corner. Everything was rustic, bare, and minimal.
She often lay there for hours, staring at the ceiling. She wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t move. To her, this was the whole world.
Until—click, clack. The sound of locks turning.
Her eyes lit up. Her face brightened like the sun as she scrambled clumsily out of bed, her little feet pattering across the stone.
“Mommy!” she called happily, rushing forward as the heavy door shut behind a tall figure.
Two soft, thin hands rested on the child’s head.
“Agnes, did you just wake up?”
“Mommy, I waited for you,” the girl said. Despite her young age, her words were clear, her smile wide.
Agnethe, the ethereal elf, scooped her daughter into her arms. Her tall, slender frame shimmered faintly, skin pale as moonlight, golden hair spilling free as she pushed back her hood. Yet despite her natural radiance, her face looked worn and tired. She set a small basket on the table, then carried Agnes back to the bed, sat down, and hugged her close.
“I told you, dear Agnes—you should sleep at night. It’s bad to stay awake during the day. You need rest to grow big and strong.”
“Day?” Agnes tilted her head. “Mommy, how does ‘day’ look?”
Agnethe’s eyes trembled. She pressed her child tighter against her chest, hiding her own sorrow in the embrace.
“Let’s sleep first. I can see your tired face. We’ll sleep together.” She forced a gentle smile.
Agnes raised her tiny hands, beaming. “Yeey!”
Almost every night, the saddest moment for Agnes was when her mother left the room.
That evening, Agnethe sat at the edge of the bed, her golden hair still damp from the bath she had just shared with her daughter. Her gaze lingered on the locked door, waiting. When no sound came, she let out a quiet sigh of relief.
Turning back, she lay down beside Agnes and whispered gently:
“And where were we, Agnes?”
Agnes giggled, eyes shining. “The big tree… eh? The big… cats?”
“Ah, right,” Agnethe smiled faintly. “Back in Sylthiel Grove—the forest of the elves—we kept great beasts as companions. Strong, noble creatures, loyal to their kin…”
Agnes pictured them in her candlelit world, eyes dreamy. “Ohhh…”
Little by little, her eyelids grew heavy. Her mother began to hum a lullaby, soft and low.
“Hush now... little child… let shadows fade…
The night will pass... don’t be afraid…
The sun will rise... it breaks the gloom…
A new day waits... beyond this room...
Sleep, my star… let darkness run…
Tomorrow’s light... will surely come...
The sun will find you... warm and true…
And one day, love will shine for you...”
Agnes drifted into sleep.
Then—a knock echoed at the door.
Agnethe stiffened. Slowly, reluctantly, she rose to her feet. Leaning down, she pressed one last kiss to her daughter’s forehead.
“Sleep well, Agnes. I’ll be back in the morning…”
With quiet steps, she turned and slipped out of the room.
Agnes jolted awake—and found the room empty. Her mother was nowhere in sight. She sat up, scanning the dark corners, before lying back down, eyes fixed on the ceiling.
She waited. And waited. As always, she refused to close her eyes, her gaze locked on the door. A faint tremor stirred the air—perhaps only her imagination. She rose, peered into the shadows, then lay back again, still hoping the door would open to her mother’s smile.
But hours bled into days. Two full days passed without her. Agnes nibbled at the scraps of food left behind, drank what little water remained, yet her small body grew restless, her spirit uneasy.
Finally—click, clack. The locks turned.
Her heart leapt. She bolted upright, a wide smile breaking across her face.
“Mommy!”
But the sight froze her in place.
It wasn’t her mother.
Two strangers filled the doorway. Agnes had never seen anyone besides her. She knew she had a father—but nothing more.
The first was a woman in her thirties, weary and robed, a staff gripped loosely in one hand. Her short purple hair framed a lined, tired face, her clothes caked with dust. She looked down at the child with sorrow, shaking her head.
Behind her loomed a young man, barely past his teens—tall, armored, his face scarred. Despite his youth, his eyes were cold, sharpened by years of killing. He carried himself like a soldier who had taken too many lives already, his spear still in hand as though fresh from battle.
He spared Agnes only a quick glance.
“She isn’t worth anything right now. A half-blood... At best, if she grows pretty enough, she might warm the bed of one of my allies. If we still have any allies left…”
The robed woman’s eyes flashed with anger.
“You’re a monster, Alden—speaking that way about your own daughter.”
“Tch.” Alden clicked his tongue, glaring. “Careful with your words, Vitka. I’m not in the mood for your retorts.”
the woman’s voice trembled, but she stood firm.
“At least show some empathy for what just happened to her mother. After everything—after the way you treated her—if it weren’t for her, you might not even be alive. And now you call her worthless? Don’t drag this child into your cruelty. Let her out of this place.”
Alden’s eyes narrowed, his tone sharp and cold.
“I already have half the nobles sharpening blades for my throat. And you want me to parade her around now? Showing her would only give my enemies more fuel at court.”
“…Then once things stabilize, you need to help her. Bring her out,” Vitka muttered.
“Don’t give me orders—I am the king,” Alden snarled. He cast one last, unreadable look at Agnes, then turned and left.
The little girl trembled, fear rising in her chest. Tears welled and spilled down her cheeks.
“Where’s Mommy…? Mommy, where are you?” she sobbed.
Vitka knelt before her, voice soft but strained.
“Listen, child… your mother had to leave.” She sighed heavily, pity twisting her chest—not only for the girl, but for herself as well. “I promise I’ll come visit you. But please, stay here and behave. There are still problems outside. Once it’s safe, I’ll take you out of this room.”
Agnes sniffled, her voice trembling.
“To see Mommy?”
Vitka forced a small smile.
“…Yes.”
She set a basket of food beside the bed. Just as she was about to leave, she paused, pulling an old book and a small green stone from her bag.
“Here. Keep these close until I return.”
Agnes tilted her head, her small face clouded with confusion.
Vitka sighed, placing them carefully on the table.
“These belonged to your mother. Strange… the language isn’t elvish, nor any I know…” The last words slipped out as a murmur beneath her breath.
Then she turned and stepped out. The door shut with a heavy click.
Days passed. Vitka came only sporadically, leaving food and a few words behind each time.
At first, Agnes smiled whenever she heard the locks, hoping it might finally be her mother. But as the visits continued, hope slowly faded. In time, she stopped expecting her mother to return.
“Look, I brought you some parchment and ink. Come, sit with me,” Vitka once said. Agnes obeyed quietly, though her heart wasn’t in it.
Two years passed. Agnes was five, on one of Vitka’s visits.
She sat at the small wooden table, surrounded by scattered parchments and blotched ink. Crude drawings filled the pages, mingled with shaky lines of writing. By then, she already knew how to read and write. Vitka had been her teacher—bringing books, sharing lessons in basic knowledge, even whispering the truth of who her father was.
The child rose as Vitka entered.
“Greetings, Miss Vitka,” Agnes said politely, bowing her head—though her voice carried little warmth.
Vitka’s robes were torn, blood staining the fabric. Her hair hung in disarray as she collapsed onto the bed with a weary sigh.
“Ahhh…” Her voice cracked, tears threatening to spill. “It’s finally done. At last… revenge. But it feels so empty.” She buried her face in her hands. “And at what cost? To ally with such criminals… such monsters… and now… what’s left? What do I do now?”
When she finally looked up, she saw Agnes standing silently—head bowed, eyes dulled of all childish light.
“When will Mommy be back?” Agnes asked, her voice so faint it was nearly a whisper.
A sharp ache pierced Vitka’s chest. Regret washed over her, heavy and bitter. Rising from the bed, she crossed the room, knelt before the child, and draped a small cloak around her shoulders, pulling the hood gently over her head.
“Agnes,” she said softly, “would you like to become my magic apprentice?”
Agnes’s eyes flickered. Her voice was steady—far too calm for a child.
“Would it help me see Mommy?”
Vitka shook her head slowly.
“...It will help you gain strength for yourself. And… perhaps, find your own purpose in life.” Her voice wavered.
She took Agnes’s hand and gently pulled her toward the door.
“Come with me, please. And remember—never speak of your mother, or of who your father is, to anyone. Always keep your ears hidden beneath your hair.”
Together they walked through hidden corridors, climbing stair after stair. At last, they emerged into a wide hall where sunlight spilled through high windows.
Agnes froze, eyes widening as the first dawn she had ever seen bathed her face in gold. She reached out timidly, as if to catch the light in her hands, the warmth stirring a memory of her mother’s embrace.
“D-Day…?” she whispered, her voice trembling in awe.
Vitka’s lips curved into the faintest smile, her tone gentle.
“That’s right. It’s the morning sun… rising to give hope for a new day.”
For the first time, Agnes’s world changed. She had escaped the dark room, but what awaited her was still another kind of prison. She was moved to a chamber with windows, placed beside her master’s quarters. Though she could now step outside with Vitka, the castle walls still held her fast. There, her lessons in magic began.
Little by little, she learned. She often saw servants and guards passing by, yet always kept her distance, obeying her master’s strict instructions. Once, she even glimpsed her father walking through the hall, accompanied by knights. But when she tried to meet his eyes, she saw nothing—he did not even acknowledge her existence.
When Agnes reached twelve, Vitka decided she was old enough to hear the truth. That evening, after a long silence, Vitka’s voice wavered.
“Agnes… there is something you must know about your mother.”
The girl’s heart gave a small flutter. “She’s… coming back?”
Vitka’s face twisted with pain. She reached out, taking Agnes’s hands.
“No… she isn’t. That night… the night she left your side… she was killed.”
Agnes blinked once. The words didn’t land at first.
Vitka continued, forcing herself to speak. “Your father, King Alden, had made many enemies when he seized the throne. There was an assassination attempt. Your mother was caught in it… and she never returned.”
Agnes lowered her gaze. She gave no cry, no protest. She simply sat there, small hands still in Vitka’s, her body still and quiet.
Only her eyes betrayed her—once filled with light, now dulled to gray, as though something had quietly broken inside her.
From that day on, the world felt hollow. Her very purpose seemed to have been torn away.
From her window, Agnes often watched the world below—knights marching, servants bustling, the kingdom slowly prospering. The manor expanded, more people settling within its walls. Yet even with her master nearby, loneliness gnawed at her. Vitka’s constant travels for court duties and the kingdom’s defense left her alone for long stretches, and Agnes forever missed the mother who would never return.
That solitude only grew heavier as the years passed. Until, at fifteen, Agnes gathered her courage. She slipped past guards and servants, hiding in the shadows until, at last, she stepped outside the castle walls for the first time.
The night air was cool, the darkness strangely freeing. As she wandered through the city streets, cloaked and hooded, she reached a quiet neighborhood of houses. There, she saw a small family outside their home—a father and mother playing with their child, laughter echoing softly. For a moment, the sight reminded her of the warmth she had once known. Watching the father spin his child in his arms, a thought pierced her: Is this what fathers are supposed to be?
She moved on, drifting without direction.
Farther along, she came to a secluded place. A group of robed figures knelt in prayer before rows of tombs.
Her heart ached. She didn’t even know if her mother had been given a grave—Vitka had always avoided her questions. Maybe… maybe hers is here, Agnes thought, stepping closer.
The mourners noticed her. Startled, Agnes stepped back, uneasy. She had so little practice speaking to strangers.
One of the men approached, his voice calm and kind at first.
“Are you visiting, child? Did you perhaps lose someone too… to the long-ears’ invasion?”
Agnes flinched and quickly bowed her head.
“Ah… I was only passing by. Just curious. Forgive me if I disturbed you, sir,” she said with the utmost respect.
The man gave a faint smile.
“Don’t worry, child. We must take care of one another.” His tone shifted, sorrow hardening into steel. “Mankind must look after its own. Who knows when those creatures—those beasts who dare call themselves our equals—will strike again?”
Agnes flinched once more. The venom in his words cut straight into her.
“Well, perhaps you were too young to remember,” he continued, “but sixteen years ago those wretched demi-humans—the elves from the south—invaded our kingdom. They slaughtered innocents, destroyed families, and left our people in ruins. If it weren’t for King Alden and Lady Vitka overthrowing that useless royal line, we might have been exterminated—or enslaved as their playthings.”
Agnes’s eyes widened in shock.
“E-excuse me,” she whispered, bowing once more before hurrying away.
A chill crawled up her spine as she slipped back into the shadows. Fear quickened her steps until she reached the castle, darted inside, and shut her chamber door firmly behind her. Her breath came uneven, her hands trembling.
Slowly, she staggered to her bed and collapsed.
“Does this mean… Mother was an invader?” she whispered.
Her thoughts spiraled, breaking apart inside her chest.
“Then… what does that make me?”
Quiet numbness swallowed her. She could no longer grasp the meaning of her own existence.