The journey lasted for fifteen long, agonizing days. They traveled across vast plains, through dense forests, and over rocky hills. And every single day, Kian treated her like his personal, highly disposable servant.
On the fourth day of their travel, the sun was incredibly hot. Lexi had stopped the carriage near a small, clear stream to let the big horses drink.
Kian, sweating slightly in his black clothes, stepped out and tossed a large, heavy wool blanket at Mirelle. It completely enveloped her small body.
"Wash this," Kian ordered flatly. "And dry it. I want to sleep on it tonight."
Mirelle pushed the heavy blanket off her face. "How am I supposed to dry a giant wool blanket in time for tonight?" she asked, genuinely confused.
"Figure it out," Kian sighed, walking toward the shade of a large tree to take a nap. "You have all afternoon."
Mirelle stood there holding the heavy fabric. Her face twitched violently.
She dragged the big blanket to the stream. It took all of her strength just to push it into the water.
When the thick wool absorbed the river water, it became unbelievably heavy.
She spent an hour aggressively stomping on it in the shallows just to clean the dirt out.
Then came the hardest part. She dragged the soaking wet, incredibly heavy mass of wool out of the water and draped it over a large, flat boulder sitting in the direct sunlight. She sat beside it for four hours, constantly rotating the heavy fabric so the hot sun would bake the moisture out. Her blistered hands ached terribly.
By the time the sun began to set, the blanket was perfectly dry and smelled like fresh river water. She proudly carried it back to the camp, expecting at least a tiny nod of approval.
Kian woke up, touched the blanket, and frowned.
"It is entirely stiff," Kian complained, rubbing the rough wool between his fingers. "You just baked it on a rock. You were supposed to beat the fabric with a stick while it dried so it would remain soft. This is like sleeping on a giant piece of cardboard. Do it again tomorrow."
Mirelle's jaw dropped and her hands shook with pure rage.
"You did not tell me to beat it with a stick!" Mirelle yelled.
"It is common sense," Kian replied lazily while climbing back into the carriage. "Do better next time."
Mirelle stood completely frozen in the dirt while clutching the stiff blanket. Her face was bright red.
She stomped furiously to the edge of the camp. She found another patch of soft soil. She grabbed a sharp stick and violently carved his lazy face into the ground again. She made the eyes even lazier this time.
I hate him! Mirelle thought while violently stabbing the dirt face with her twig. I hate him so much! He always gives me commands and he still scolds me even if it is his fault for giving completely unclear orders! He is the worst in the entire world!
She stomped on the drawing with both feet, twisting her heels into the dirt until Kian's face was completely erased from the earth.
On the eighth day, the absurdity of her situation reached a new peak.
Lexi was currently repairing a broken leather strap on the carriage harness. Kian was sitting in his chair while staring at a small pile of dry firewood Lexi had gathered earlier.
"Orphan," Kian said. "Start the fire. I want hot tea."
Mirelle, who was currently trying to comb the knots out of her blue hair with her fingers, turned around. She glared at him. She was the Imperial Princess.
Back in the palace, if she wanted tea, a specialized servant would brew it, a different servant would pour it, and a third servant would test the temperature before it ever touched her lips.
Now, she was expected to spark flint and steel like a common peasant.
"I do not have flint," Mirelle said bluntly.
"Use the friction method," Kian instructed, flipping a page of his book. "Spin a stick against a dry board until it smokes."
Mirelle's face contorted into an expression of pure disbelief. She walked over to the firewood. She picked up a straight stick and a flat board and knelt in the dirt and began spinning the stick between her palms, just like she had seen the imperial hunters do once.
She spun it for ten minutes. Her palms burned but no smoke appeared.
She spun it for twenty minutes. She was sweating heavily. Her arms felt like they were going to fall off.
"Who does he think he is?" Mirelle muttered to herself, keeping her voice entirely completely hushed so he wouldn't hear. "I am an Imperial Princess. The absolute audacity to order me around like a common lumberjack. When my father finds me, I am going to have this lazy jerk locked in a prison forever."
After thirty agonizing minutes, a tiny wisp of smoke finally appeared. She blew on it gently, adding dry grass until a small flame burst to life. She proudly placed the iron kettle over the fire.
When the tea was finally boiling, she poured it into his wooden cup and handed it to him.
Kian took one sip and immediately spat it out onto the grass.
"It is too hot!" Kian scolded while glaring at her. "Are you trying to burn my tongue off? Let it cool down first!"
Mirelle squeezed her eyes shut, her small hands balling into tight fists. She took the cup back. She stood there in the wind for about five minutes while glaring at the liquid. Then, she handed it back.
Kian took a sip. He frowned again. "Now it is entirely cold. Did you blow on it? Ruined. Throw it out and boil a fresh pot."
Mirelle's right eye twitched so violently she thought it might pop out of her skull.
Without saying a word, she turned around and dumped the tea into the dirt. She grabbed her sharp drawing twig. While she waited for the second pot of water to boil, she aggressively carved Kian's face into the mud right next to the fire.
She drew a big, ugly tongue sticking out of the flat mouth.
Oh, is the tea too hot, My Lord? Mirelle mocked him in her internal monologue, driving the sharp stick directly into the drawing's eye. Is it too cold? You are so fragile! A wyvern could eat you and spit you out because you are too annoying to digest!
She kicked the drawing, throwing a handful of dirt over it to hide the evidence before he could see.
By the twelfth day, her transition from a terrified captive to a fully functioning, highly annoyed servant was entirely complete.
They were crossing a muddy plain. It had rained the night before, and the carriage wheels were sinking deep into the sludge. Lexi was currently pulling the carriage out of a ditch by herself, completely replacing the horses through sheer, terrifying physical strength.
Kian had stepped out of the carriage to avoid the bumpy ride. His heavy leather boots were completely caked in thick, wet mud.
He walked over to a relatively dry patch of grass, unfolded his portable chair, and sat down. He tossed a dirty, wet rag directly at Mirelle's face. It smacked her right in the nose.
"Clean my boots," Kian ordered. "They are heavy with mud."
Mirelle pulled the dirty rag off her face. She did not cry. Not even trembling anymore. She let out a long, highly dramatic, incredibly exhausted sigh.
"Yes, Master," Mirelle said, her voice dripping with thick, thinly veiled sarcasm.
She dragged her flat rock over to his chair and sat down and grabbed his right boot. She aggressively scrubbed the mud off the leather. Her hands were no longer soft and fragile. They were covered in thick calluses from spinning fire sticks, washing heavy blankets, and hauling buckets of water. She wiped the leather with a terrifying, rhythmic intensity.
Here we go again, Mirelle thought while scrubbing so hard the leather squeaked. My annoying master is giving me, his deeply obedient servant, another unreasonable order. He just walked through a literal swamp, and he expects his shoes to look like they just came out of a royal boutique.
She finished the right boot and roughly grabbed the left one.
Wipe, wipe, wipe, she thought angrily, glaring at his knee. I am the Imperial Princess Mirelle Vireldria! I have memorized the lineage of a hundred noble houses! I can speak three languages! And my current greatest skill is making sure this lazy man's shoes are shiny enough so he can look at his own boring reflection!
She finished the boots. They were perfectly clean.
"Good enough," Kian grumbled, not even looking away from his comic book. "Go wash the rag."
Mirelle stood up and walked behind a large tree near the stream. Out of pure habit, she found a patch of soft dirt. She drew his face again. She had drawn it so many times over the last twelve days that she could sketch his lazy eyes perfectly in three seconds flat.
She drew his face, added two giant, ugly ears, and then aggressively stomped on it until her own cheap peasant shoes were covered in mud. It was her daily ritual. It was the only thing keeping her sanity intact.
Finally, on the fifteenth day of their journey, the carriage arrived at the edge of a massive, sprawling forest. The air was cool, and the dirt road was smooth and solid.
Lexi was sitting on the roof, silently observing the camp below.
Kian was sitting in his chair. Mirelle was standing next to him, holding a wooden tray. On the tray was a freshly brewed cup of hot tea, a perfectly folded soft cloth for him to wipe his hands, and a small plate of wild berries Lexi had gathered.
Mirelle stood perfectly straight. Her posture was flawless. Her cheap brown peasant clothes were clean. She waited in absolute silence, her expression completely neutral, acting exactly like a highly trained imperial servant.
Kian reached out and took the cup of tea. He took a sip.
He paused. The tea was not too hot. It was not too cold. It was brewed to the exact perfect temperature.
Kian looked at the folded cloth. It was perfectly soft, beaten with a stick while drying exactly as he had instructed days ago.
He looked at the tiny twelve-year-old girl. She was staring straight ahead, not making eye contact, completely obedient. Kian felt a deep, uncomfortable shiver run down his spine.
Why is she so good at this now? Kian panicked internally. She stopped crying a week ago. Now she just stares at me with this weird, intense focus. She does all the chores perfectly. It is actually kind of creepy. I need to find an orphanage and dump her immediately before she starts demanding a salary.
"The tea is acceptable," Kian muttered lazily.
"Thank you, Master," Mirelle replied smoothly, bowing her head slightly.
Kian turned back to his book, completely unnerved by her sudden extreme competence.
Mirelle turned around and walked away to clean the cooking pot. As soon as she was out of his line of sight, her perfect servant facade instantly dropped. Her face twisted into a massive, highly annoyed scowl.
She walked over to the bushes and found her daily patch of dirt. She grabbed her trusty twig.
He didn't even say it was good! Mirelle thought furiously while violently carving his face into the soil. He just said it was 'acceptable'! I spent twenty minutes getting that fire to the perfect temperature! I beat that stupid cloth with a stick until my arms went numb!
She drew a big, ugly crown on his head in the dirt.
You are the worst king of the worst dirt pile in the entire world! she yelled in her mind, stabbing the twig directly into the center of the dirt crown. She stomped on the drawing, twisting her heel, utterly destroying his face for the fifteenth day in a row.
Up on the roof of the black carriage, Lexi watched the blue-haired girl aggressively attacking the soil.
Lexi let out a soft, highly impressed breath.
The Kian's mental fortitude training is flawless, Lexi analyzed silently, her terrifying eyes tracking Mirelle's movements. He pushes her to the absolute breaking point with mundane chores, and she uses physical exertion to vent her frustration, building her stamina and emotional control simultaneously. She is no longer a fragile child. She is becoming a true survivor.
Lexi nodded in deep respect. Kian truly is an unfathomable genius.
Down in the dirt, the Imperial Princess finished stomping on her master's face. She wiped the sweat from her forehead, picked up the dirty cooking pot, and marched down to the river to scrub it clean, cutely cursing his name under her breath the entire way.