DEDLB | Ch 22

Episode 22  Golden Eyes and Quiet Plans

Priscilla still wasn’t used to palace life. She kept switching her gaze between Yvonne and Frederick with wide, round eyes full of curiosity and a little fear. Yvonne let out a quiet sigh inside.

If Yvonne had found Priscilla first, or if this hadn’t been the palace, things might’ve been different. Priscilla’s innocence — almost transparently pure — wouldn’t last long. At the dazzling center of royal life, surrounded by flattery and luxury, people would fawn over her beauty, and that attention would change her.

Priscilla wasn’t innately evil. Yvonne knew that. The palace and the noble society were powerful, and privilege could transform gentle people. What seemed ordinary to Yvonne and Frederick would feel intoxicating and dangerously sweet to someone like Priscilla, who’d come from a rural, lower-status branch of the royal family. So nobles would scheme and plot to climb higher — and Priscilla would be the prize.

Yvonne spoke in a formal, slightly grand way, but the message was clear: she wouldn’t interfere in Frederick’s affairs anymore.
“Your Majesty handles Sildron’s affairs well. I’ll stand behind you and wish you well,” she said, making it obvious she’d step back.

Frederick smiled and nodded, clearly pleased by her praise. Of course, he’d love to hear compliments in front of the woman he secretly liked. Watching him get distracted by the small and miss the larger point made complicated feelings rise in Yvonne — but not pity. Frederick had betrayed her enough; he deserved to be left alone.

“I’ll excuse myself now. I’m worried about what I’ll wear for the Blooming Festival,” she said. Frederick nodded quickly and urged her to step away, probably wanting private time with Priscilla. Yvonne didn’t care. Feelings like love didn’t sway her; her big, ambitious goals mattered most.

She left through the doorway opened by the royal guards and melted into the hallway.

Priscilla sat there, a small, thin figure, eyes dropping reflexively. Her hands on the white silk were darkened from farm work. Unlike other noble girls, she’d never had the same sheltered, pampered upbringing. She’d been in the fields under the hot sun, so her skin wasn’t the pale, delicate type nobles prized.

Priscilla quietly remembered Yvonne’s gentle smile. Yvonne wasn’t just pretty — she was elegant and noble in every gesture: straight posture, pale skin, shining blue eyes. Even a girl used to being called pretty, like Priscilla, felt small beside someone like Yvonne. If the Emperor’s interest in Priscilla cooled, she knew she’d be ruined.

“Why are you so pensive?” Frederick asked, noticing her gloomy face. Priscilla couldn’t say everything she felt. She knew how to speak politely in front of nobles — or at least she’d heard polite words enough to try them. Men, she’d learned, liked a little mystery; honesty often made them lose interest.

So she chose her words carefully. “I worry, Your Majesty,” she said.

“What do you worry about? I will always protect you here,” Frederick replied and smiled, the shape of the imperial crest shining on his chest. Being the center of the Emperor’s attention felt like the most incredible thing. Priscilla murmured, “I’m afraid the Empress-to-be will dislike me…”

“She won’t,” Frederick answered, then stopped himself — reminding himself that Yvonne hadn’t actually been crowned Empress. Whether Priscilla liked it or not, she had to keep living in the palace and learning its rules. Over time, she’d notice the court’s etiquette and adjust.

When Yvonne had been kind to Priscilla earlier, Frederick was relieved. He hated palace rivalries — his father’s court had been ruined by jealous fights, and Frederick didn’t want to repeat the past. He was thankful that Yvonne, who’d been by his side for so long, didn’t react with hostility. He thought maybe Yvonne could teach Priscilla the ways of the palace.

“I’ll arrange a place for you. I don’t think Yvonne will refuse to help either,” he said, reaching out and smoothing Priscilla’s hair. Priscilla blinked like a calm, obedient cat, cheeks flushed.

Yvonne sat at her desk, holding a quill, staring at an empty sheet of paper. An hour passed like that — she just stared and sighed. Ricardo’s brief visit kept replaying in her mind; it felt like he was still there even though he’d left. She’d find herself opening the secret door to the dressing room or wandering to the greenhouse, checking for signs he’d been there. But there was nothing — neat and quiet, as if he’d never been there.

She shook her head and tried to focus. The trace of him that lingered in the room only made it harder. She had plans to move forward, and she couldn’t indulge in distraction.